DISTINGUISHING WHISTLES. “BACKING” THE GUN. RETREAT FROM AND RESUMPTION OF POINT. RANGE UNACCOMPANIED BY GUN. HEADING RUNNING BIRDS.

501. A DISTINGUISHING WHISTLE FOR EACH DOG; disadvantage of employing but one Whistle for several Dogs; supposed Case.—502. Another Case.—503. Third Case.—504. Reader will admit correctness of reasoning.—505. Dissimilar Whistles, or distinct notes on one whistle.—506. Boatswain’s Whistle almost a musical instrument.—507. Railway Whistles; Porteous’: general Rule for whistling.—508. Porteous’ newly-invented Dog Whistles.—509. DOG TO BACK THE GUN; how taught; it creates Caution; in Note, sagacity of Fawn Antelope in concealing itself; want of like sagacity in Pea-fowl. Portable rest for Rifle.—510. Advantage of Dog backing the Gun.—511. American Wood-duck.—512. DOG TO RETREAT FROM POINT AND RESUME IT.—513. How taught.—514. Shows dog object for which he is hunted.—515. Not taught too early.—516. Dog’s Consciousness of its Object.—517. Pointer doing it spontaneously.—518. Setter which was taught to do it.—519. Surprising author by volunteering the feat.—520. Irish Setter retreating from, and resuming point at Hare.—521. Bitch that barked when pointing and hid in cover.—522. DOG TO HUNT FROM LEEWARD TO WINDWARD, UNACCOMPANIED BY GUN; how taught.—523. A careful Dog running down wind would not spring birds.—524. The great Advantages of the Accomplishment.—525. DOG TO HEAD RUNNING BIRDS; could be taught.—526. Tolfrey’s “Sportsman in France.”—527. Instance of Dog’s spontaneously heading, and thus intercepting, red-legged Partridges.—528, 529. M——i’s “Albert” volunteering to head Guinea-birds.—530. Lord M——f’s “Suwarrow” spontaneously heading running Grouse; then keeping his stern towards them.—531. How accounted for.—532. Not so extraordinary had the Dog been taught to hunt “unaccompanied by Gun.”—533. The accomplishment taught by “lifting;” not commenced first season. In Note, “Niger’s” spontaneously running to further side of hedge to drive birds to this side.—534. Could be taught as easily as Shepherds’ Collies are instructed.—535. Particularly useful where the red-legged Partridge is found. Shooting in Africa.

A DISTINGUISHING WHISTLE FOR EACH DOG.

501. Though you may have only begun to shoot last season, have you not often wished to attract the attention of one of your two dogs, and make him hunt in a particular part of the field, but, for fear of alarming the birds, have been unwilling to call out his name, and have felt loth to whistle to him, lest you should bring away at the same time the other dog, who was zealously hunting exactly where you considered him most likely to find birds.

502. Again: have the dogs never been hunting close together instead of pursuing distinct beats; and has it not constantly happened, on your whistling with the view to separate them, that both have turned their heads in obedience to the whistle, and both on your signal changed the direction of their beat, but still the two together? And have you not, in despair of ever parting them by merely whistling and signalling, given the lucky birds (apparently in the most handsome manner, as if scorning to take any ungenerous advantage) fair notice of the approach of the guns by shouting out the name of one of the dogs.

503. Or, if one dog was attentive to the whistle, did he not gradually learn to disregard it from observing that his companion was never chidden for neglecting to obey it?—and did not such laxity more and more confirm both in habits of disobedience?

504. I believe several of my readers will be constrained to answer these questions in the affirmative; and, further, I think their own experience will remind them of many occasions, both on moor and stubble when birds were wild, on which they have wished to attract the notice of a particular dog (perhaps running along a hedge, or pottering over a recent haunt; or hunting down wind towards marked game) by whistling instead of calling out his name, but have been unwilling to do so, lest the other dogs should likewise obey the shrill sound to which all were equally accustomed.

505. Now, in breaking young dogs, you could, by using whistles of dissimilar calls, easily avoid the liability of these evils; and by invariably employing a particular whistle for each dog to summon him separately to his food (30), each would distinguish his own whistle as surely as every dog knows his own master’s whistle, and as hounds learn their names. Dogs not only know their own names, but instantly know by the pronunciation when it is uttered by a stranger. To prevent mistakes, each dog’s name might be marked on his own whistle. You might have two whistles, of very different sound, on one short stock. Indeed, one whistle would be sufficient for two dogs, if you invariably sounded the same two or three sharp short notes for one dog, and as invariably gave a sustained note for the other. Nay, the calls could thus be so diversified, that one whistle might be used for even more than two dogs.

506. Whoever has heard the boatswain of a man-of-war piping all hands on deck, must think his whistle, from the variety of its tones, almost a musical instrument; but it could not well be employed for dogs, as they would not understand it when sounded by any one but their master.

507. Railways have led to the introduction of new whistles. Porteous, the band-master at Chelsea College (whose Light Infantry Field Pipe is well-known to military men), has exercised his ingenious talents in making several, but they are too shrill to be of much service to the sportsman. The acorn (or bell pattern) has, however, a much softer tone, yet it, too, makes an awful noise.

But whatever whistle you choose to employ, be sure, both in and out of the field, to sound it softly whenever the dog is near you. Indeed, you would act judiciously to make it a constant rule, wherever he may be, never to whistle louder than is really requisite, otherwise (as I think I before remarked) he will, comparatively speaking, pay little attention to its summons, when, being at a distance, he hears it but faintly.

508. I wrote to Mr. Porteous, explaining how much a whistle was wanted that might be used by the most unmusical person, yet give distinct unvarying sounds, so that no dog could mistake his own whistle, let it be blown by whom it might. He at once understood what was required, and has invented one with a slide that answers well for two dogs. He told me that he was making further improvements, and expected to contrive one which would answer for as many as three or four dogs. Messrs. Stevens, Darlington Works, Southwark-bridge Road, are the manufacturers.

TO BACK THE GUN.

509. In shooting, especially late in the season, you will often mark down a bird, and feel assured that you stand a better chance of getting a shot at it if the dogs cease hunting whilst you approach it. You can teach your dog to do this by holding up your right hand behind you when you mark down a bird, saying at the same time, “Toho,” in an earnest, quiet voice, and carrying your gun as if you were prepared to shoot. He will soon begin, I really must say it, to back you,—for he actually will be backing you, ludicrous as the expression may sound. After a few times he will do so on the signal, without your speaking at all; and he will be as pleased, as excited, and as stanch, as if he were backing an old dog. Making him “drop” will not effect your object; for, besides that it in no way increases his intelligence, you may wish him to follow at a respectful distance, while you are stealing along the banks of some stream, &c. Ere long he will become as sensible as yourself that any noise would alarm the birds, and you will soon see him picking his steps to avoid the crisp leaves, lest their rustling should betray him. I have even heard of a dog whose admirable caution occasionally led him, when satisfied that his point was observed, to crawl behind a bush, or some other shelter, to screen[94] himself from the notice of the birds.

510. The acquisition of this accomplishment—and it is easily taught to a young dog previously made steady in backing another (it should not be attempted before)—will often secure you a duck, or other wary bird, which the dog would otherwise, almost to a certainty, spring out of gun-shot. If you should “soho” a hare, and wish to kill one, you will have an excellent opportunity of practising this lesson.

511. In America there is a singular duck, called, from its often alighting on trees, the Wood-duck. I have killed some of these beautiful, fast-flying birds, while they were seated on logs overhanging the water, which I could not have approached within gun-shot had the dog not properly backed the gun when signalled to, and cautiously crept after me, still remaining far in the rear.

TO RETREAT FROM A POINT AND RESUME IT.

512. Amidst coppices, osiers, or broom—indeed, sometimes on a rough moor—you will occasionally lose sight of a dog, and yet be unwilling to call him, feeling assured that he is somewhere steadily pointing; and being vexatiously certain that, when he hears your whistle, he will either leave his point, not subsequently to resume it, or (which is far more probable) amuse himself by raising the game before he joins you. There are moments when you would give guineas if he would retreat from his point, come to you on your whistling, lead you towards the bird, and there resume his point.

513. This accomplishment (and in many places abroad its value is almost inappreciable) can be taught him, if he is under great command, by your occasionally bringing him to heel from a point when he is within sight and near you, and again putting him on his point. You will begin your instruction in this accomplishment when the dog is pointing quite close to you. On subsequent occasions, you can gradually increase the distance, until you arrive at such perfection that you can let him be out of sight when you call him. When he is first allowed to be out of your sight, he ought not to be far from you.

514. You may, for a moment, think that what is here recommended contradicts the axiom laid down in 359; but it is there said, that nothing ought to make a dog “voluntarily” leave his point. Indeed, the possession of this accomplishment, so far from being productive of any harm, greatly awakens a dog’s intelligence, and makes him perceive, more clearly than ever, that the sole object for which he is taken to the field is to obtain shots for the gun that accompanies him. When he is pointing on your side of a thick hedge, it will make him understand why you call him off;—take him down wind, and direct him to jump the fence: he will at once go to the bird, and, on your encouraging him, force it to rise on your side.

515. You will practise this lesson, however, with great caution, and not before his education is nearly completed, lest he imagine that you do not wish him always to remain stanch to his point. Indeed, if you are precipitate, or injudicious, you may make him blink his game.

516. After a little experience, he will very likely some day satisfactorily prove his consciousness of your object, by voluntarily coming out of thick cover to show you where he is, and again going in and resuming his point.

517. I was once shooting in Ireland with a friend (Major L——e), late in the season, when we saw a very young pointer do this solely from his own intelligence. Unperceived by either of us he had broken fence, and was out of sight. In vain we whistled and called. At length we saw him on the top of a bank (in that country usually miscalled “ditch”); but the moment he perceived that we noticed him, down he jumped. We went up, and to our great satisfaction found him steadily pointing a snipe. I need not say that he received much praise and many caresses for the feat.

518. I was partridge-shooting a few seasons back with an intimate friend, who was anxious to give me a good day’s sport, when I observed him beckoning to me from a distance. He told me, when I came up to him, that some birds were immediately before him. I was puzzled to conceive how he could know this, for his white setter was alongside of him rolling on her back. He signalled to her to go forward, and sure enough she marched on, straight as an arrow’s flight, to a covey lying on the stubble. In answer to my inquiries, my friend, who seemed to attach no value to the feat, but to take it as a matter of course, told me that he had called the bitch away from her point lest her presence should alarm the birds, and make them take wing before I could come up.

519. As my friend was obliged to return home early, he left the lady with me. I had marked some partridges into the leeward side of a large turnip-field. I could not get her to hunt where I wished; I, therefore, no longer noticed her, but endeavoured to walk up the birds without her assistance. After a time she rejoined me, and ranged well and close. I then proceeded to beat the other part of the field—the part she had already hunted contrary to my wishes. Instead of making a cast to the right or left, on she went, directly ahead, for nearly three hundred yards. I was remarking to my attendant that she must be nearly useless to all but her master, when I observed her come to a stiff point. I then felt convinced that I had done her great injustice,—that she must have found and left this covey, whilst I was hunting far to leeward,—and that she had gone forward to resume her point, as soon as my face was turned in the right direction. On my mentioning all this to her owner, he said he had no doubt but that such was the case, as she would often voluntarily leave game to look for him, and again stand at it on perceiving that he watched her movements.

520. An old Kentish acquaintance of mine, though he is still a young man, has an Irish setter that behaved in a very similar manner. F——r, having severely wounded a hare in cover, put the dog upon the scent. He immediately took it up, but “roaded” so fast as to be soon out of sight. After a fruitless search for the setter, F——r was obliged to whistle two or three times, when he showed himself at the end of a ride, and by his anxious looks and motions seemed to invite his master to come on. This he did. The sagacious beast, after turning two corners, at each of which he stopped until F——r came up, went into cover and resumed the point, which my friend feels satisfied the dog must have left on hearing the whistle, for the wounded hare, whose leg was broken, was squatted within a yard of him. Such instances of a voluntary relinquishment and resumption of a point, must lead us to think that this accomplishment cannot be very difficult to teach dogs who have been accustomed to the gratification of always seeing their game carefully deposited in the bag.

521. In a capital little treatise on field diversions, written by a Suffolk sportsman upwards of seventy years ago, it is recorded that a pointer bitch, belonging to a Doctor Bigsbye, used to give tongue if she found in cover and was not perceived, and that she would repeatedly bark to indicate her locality until she was relieved from her point.

TO HUNT REGULARLY FROM LEEWARD TO WINDWARD WITHOUT THE GUN.

522. In paragraph 201 I observed, that when you are obliged, as occasionally must be the case, to enter a field to windward with your pupil, you ought to go down to the leeward side of it, keeping him close to your heels, before you commence to hunt. After undeviatingly pursuing this plan for some time, you can, before you come quite to the bottom of the field, send him ahead (by the underhand bowler’s swing of the right hand, iv. of 141), and, when he has reached the bottom, signal to him to hunt to the right (or left). He will be so habituated to work under your eye (176) that you will find it necessary to walk backwards (up the middle of the field), while instructing him. As he becomes, by degrees, confirmed in this lesson, you can sooner and sooner send him ahead (from your heel),—but increase the distances very gradually,—until at length he will be so far perfected, that you may venture to send him down wind to the extremity of the field (before he commences beating), while you remain quietly at the top awaiting his return, until he shall have hunted the whole ground, as systematically and carefully as if you had accompanied him from the bottom. By this method you will teach him, on his gaining more experience, invariably to run to leeward, and hunt up to windward (crossing and re-crossing the wind) whatever part of a field you and he may enter. What a glorious consummation! and it can be attained, but only by great patience and perseverance. The least reflection, however, will show you that you should not attempt it until the dog is perfected in his range.

523. A careful dog, thus practised, will seldom spring birds, however directly he may be running down wind. He will pull up at the faintest indication of a scent, being at all times anxiously on the look-out for the coveted aroma.

524. Not only to the idle or tired sportsman would it be a great benefit to have a field thus beaten, but the keenest and most indefatigable shot would experience its advantages in the cold and windy weather customary in November, when the tameness of partridge-shooting cannot be much complained of; for the birds being then ever ready to take wing, surely the best chance, by fair means, of getting near them would be to intercept them between the dog and yourself. The manoeuvre much resembles that recommended in 284, but in this you sooner and more directly head the birds.

525. Here the consideration naturally arises, whether dogs could not be taught (when hunting in the ordinary manner with the dog in rear)

TO HEAD RUNNING BIRDS.

Certainly it could be done. There have been many instances of old dogs spontaneously galloping off, and placing themselves on the other side of the covey (which they had pointed) as soon as they perceived that it was on the run,—and by good instruction you could develop, or rather excite, that exercise of sagacity.

526. Tolfrey (formerly, I believe, of the 43rd) gives, in his “Sportsman in France,” so beautiful an instance of a dog’s untutored intelligence, leading him to see the advantage of thus placing running birds between himself and the gun, that I will transcribe it, although I have already mentioned (end of 206) Grouse’s very similar behaviour.

527. “On gaining some still higher ground, the dog drew and stood. She was walked up to, but to my astonishment we found no birds. She was encouraged, and with great difficulty coaxed off her point. She kept drawing on, but with the same ill-success. I must confess I was for the moment sorely puzzled; but knowing the excellence of the animal, I let her alone. She kept drawing on for nearly a hundred yards—still no birds. At last, of her own accord, and with a degree of instinct amounting almost to the faculty of reasoning, she broke from her point, and dashing off to the right made a dÉtour, and was presently straight before me, some three hundred yards off, setting the game whatever it might be, as much as to say, ‘I’ll be ****** if you escape me this time.’ We walked steadily on, and when within about thirty yards of her, up got a covey of red-legged partridges, and we had the good fortune to kill a brace each. It is one of the characteristics of these birds to run for an amazing distance before they take wing; but the sagacity of my faithful dog baffled all their efforts to escape. We fell in with several coveys of these birds during the day, and my dog ever after gave them the double, and kept them between the gun and herself.”

528. Mr. M——i, an officer high in the military store department, wrote to me but last Christmas (1863) almost in the following words:—

529. “When stationed in Jamaica, quail and the wild guinea-fowl were the only game I ever hunted for. The latter are very difficult to approach, as they run for hours through the long grass and brushwood, and will not rise unless hard pressed; but when once flushed, they spread through the cover, and lie so close, that one may almost kick them before without raising them. My dog, ‘Albert,’ was broke on grouse before I had him out from home. A steadier or better dog you will rarely see. The first time we went out after guinea-fowl he set to work as though hunting for grouse, pointing, and roading cautiously when he came on the run of the birds, but, from their pace through the cover, never coming up with them. This occurred the first two or three mornings, and annoyed him greatly. At last one day, as soon as he found that the birds were running through the bush, he halted, turned round, and looked up at me as much as to say: ‘My poking after these fellows is all nonsense; do let me try some other dodge.’ So I told him to go on, when he instantly started off, making a wide cast until he headed his game, when he commenced beating back towards me, driving the birds before him until they were sufficiently near me, when he dashed suddenly in amongst them, forcing the whole pack to take wing. They spread through the surrounding grass and cover, and ‘Albert’ and his mother, ‘Peggy,’ went to work, picking up the birds singly or in pairs as they lay. Old mother ‘Peggy’ was far too sedate and stanch to follow her son in the chase; she remained with me until he had brought back, and flushed the birds, and then she vied with him in finding them.

From this time I never had any difficulty in getting shots at these wary birds, for the very moment they commenced running, ‘Albert’ was off until he headed them, drove them back, and flushed them, as above described.

When looking for quail, ‘Albert’ behaved quite differently, working steadily and cautiously, and never attempting to run into or spring his game until I came close up to him.”

530. Grouse were unusually on the run one misty day, when the able Judge mentioned in 490 was shooting over “Captain’s” companion, “Suwarrow.” The dog “roaded” a pack for some time very patiently, but suddenly darted off for a considerable distance to the right and dropped into a long hag, through the mazes of which Lord M——f followed as fast as the nature of the ground would permit him. Every now and then the dog just raised his head above the heather to satisfy himself that his Lordship was coming. Where the hag ceased, and “Suwarrow” could no longer conceal his movements, he commenced a very curious system of tactics, travelling, after a most extraordinary fashion, sideways on the arc of a circle, constantly keeping his stern towards its centre. At length he wheeled about, and stood stock-still at a fixed point, as if inviting Lord M——f to approach. He did so,—raised a large pack, and had a capital right and left.

531. It would appear that the “Marshal” soon perceived that he had no chance of being enabled by a regular pursuit to bring his artillery to bear upon the retreating party; he, therefore, resorted to a novel strategy to lull them into fancied security, and induce them to halt. He at once made a feint of abandoning the pursuit, and moved off to the flank. He made a forced concealed march in the hag; and when it would no longer mask his plans and he was compelled to show himself, he merely let them see his rear guard, that they might still think he was retiring, and did not show any front until he had fairly entangled them between himself and his guns. It was a feat worthy of “Wellington” or “Napoleon,” let alone “Suwarrow.” By-the-bye, it explains why Lord M——d’s dog (295) faced about whenever he perceived that his presence alarmed the birds.

532. If “Grouse” (206), Tolfrey’s bitch, “Albert,” and “Suwarrow” had been taught to “hunt from leeward to windward without the gun” (522), they would have been habituated to seeing game intercepted between themselves and their masters,—and then their spontaneously heading running birds (though undeniably evincing great intelligence) would not have been so very remarkable. They would but have reversed matters by placing themselves to windward of the birds while the gun was to leeward. This shows that the acquisition of that accomplishment (522) would be a great step towards securing a knowledge of the one we are now considering. Indeed, there seems to be a mutual relation between these two refinements in education, for the possession of either would greatly conduce to the attainment of the other.

533. This accomplishment—and hardly any can be considered more useful—is not so difficult to teach an intelligent dog as one might at first imagine; it is but to lift him, and make him act on a larger scale, much in the manner described in 309 and 544. Like, however, everything else in canine education—indeed, in all education—it must be effected gradually; nor should it be commenced before the dog has had a season’s steadying; then practise him in heading every wounded bird, and endeavour to make him do so at increased distances. Whenever, also, he comes upon the “heel” of a covey which is to leeward of him,—instead of letting him “foot” it,—oblige him to quit the scent and take a circuit (sinking the wind), so as to place himself to leeward of the birds. He will thereby head the covey, and you will have every reason to hope that after a time his own observation and intellect will show him the advantage of thus intercepting birds and stopping them when they are on the run, whether the manoeuvre places him to leeward or to windward of them.[95]

534. If you could succeed in teaching but one of your dogs thus to take a wide sweep when he is ordered, and head a running covey before it gets to the extremity of the field (while the other dogs remain near you), you would be amply rewarded for months of extra trouble in training, by obtaining shots on days when good sportsmen, with fair average dogs, would hardly pull a trigger. And why should you not? Success would be next to certain, if you could as readily place your dog exactly where you wish, as shepherds do their collies (143). And whose fault will it be if you cannot? Clearly not your dog’s, for he is as capable of receiving instruction as the shepherd’s.

535. Manifestly it would be worth while to take great pains to teach this accomplishment, for in all countries it would prove a most killing one when birds become wild; and, as Tolfrey shows (529), it would be found particularly useful wherever the red-legged partridge abounds,[96]—which birds you will find do not lie badly when the coveys are, by any means, well headed and completely broken. But there are other accomplishments nearly as useful as those already detailed; the description of them, however, we will reserve for a separate Chapter.