Ladies in the Field: Sketches of Sport Part 9

DIANE CHa.s.sERESSE.

SHOOTING.

BY LADY BOYNTON.

"The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill."

"A mingled yarn--good and ill together."

A few years ago a "shooting-lady" was almost as much a _rara avis_ as the Great Auk; if here and there one member of the s.e.x, more venturesome than her fellows, were bold enough to take to the gun in preference to the knitting needle, she was looked upon as most eccentric and fast, and underwent much adverse criticism. Now, however, _nous avons change tout cela_. Ladies who shoot, and who shoot well, too, are springing up on all sides, and the clamour raised by their appearance is gradually subsiding. There are still dissentient voices here and there, it is true, voices which proclaim aloud that women have no place in the covert and among the turnips, and that the cruelty of the sport should be an insuperable objection to their joining in it. A discussion of all these pros and cons is, however, outside the scope of these notes, we have simply to deal with facts as they stand, and, undoubtedly, the "shooting-lady" is now as much an established fact as is her sister the "hunting-woman."

That a woman who is fond of sport need lose nothing in grace, charm, or refinement, we have ample evidence to show. She does not necessarily become masculine either in manner or conversation; but she should, nevertheless, endeavour to master the rudiments of whatever sport she engages in; and it is with the hope of a.s.sisting some of my fellow-sportswomen to accomplish this, that I here record some of my experiences, not omitting my mistakes, and adding a few hints to beginners; though I regret that I have no moving accidents by flood or field, nor "hairbreadth 'scapes" to recount!

There is certainly a pleasant amount of excitement about shooting--not perhaps equal to that afforded by "forty minutes without a check," but quite enough to make one willing to brave the elements, even on a raw November morning, and to stand with one's fingers aching with cold behind a fence waiting for the advent of that little brown bird who will flash past you like a meteor--alas! too frequently only to leave a feather or two floating behind him, and then to continue his course rejoicing!

I well remember the first running rabbit I ever killed. I was armed with an old-fas.h.i.+oned muzzle loader--we were walking round the hedgerows in some pastures. The rabbit was sitting in a tussock about thirty yards from the fence. I cautiously advanced in such a manner as to get a crossing shot. The rabbit was put up, and I, taking a _very_ deliberate aim, had the intense satisfaction of seeing him double up just as he reached the fence! _What_ a moment! No 'Royal'

killed at 140 yards could have afforded more delight than did that wretched little bunny.

Of course, previously to this, I had fired at a mark and at sitting objects, in order to get into the way of handling the gun, aiming and so forth.

It is of the _first_ and greatest importance on beginning to shoot to learn to be careful, and the golden rule is, _always_ to handle a gun as though it were loaded and c.o.c.ked; the habit once acquired, it is just as easy to carry a gun safely as not.

Coolness and confidence are equally necessary--but practice alone will bring these. A beginner is apt to be flurried when the game gets up; she sees nothing else, thinks of nothing else but killing it, and takes no account of the beaters, guns, or dogs surrounding her. She points the gun at the bird or beast, and perchance (horrid thought!) follows it all round the compa.s.s with her finger on the trigger! Wherefore it is better she should not take the field with other guns (unless she wishes to make enemies of her best friends), until she has full command over the gun and can put it up easily and quickly. If the game gets up too near, she must wait till it has reached the proper distance, _then_ raise the gun to her shoulder and fire at once. This is the only way to become a quick and steady shot.

_Apropos_ of following; once when grouse-driving I was placed in a b.u.t.t between two other guns, both of them strangers to me. They looked _very much_ askance at me, and I fancy one of them thanked his stars he'd insured his life the week before! The one in the left hand b.u.t.t at once moved both his "guards" on to the side of the b.u.t.t next me. Soon three birds, the forerunners of the army to follow, came over between my right-hand neighbour and me, two of them making straight for his b.u.t.t.

To my surprise he did not fire. The third bird I hit with my first barrel, and seeing as it pa.s.sed me that it had a leg down, I turned round and killed it going away from me with the left barrel. After the drive was over I asked him why he hadn't shot. "To tell you the truth,"

he said, "I was watching you. I was a little anxious to see if you would _follow_ that bird, but after that, I saw you were _all right_!"

My left-hand warrior confessed, later on, that he had been peppered by the gun on the other side of him! Whereat I chuckled!

As to the gun used, everybody must please themselves. I shoot with a 20-bore, the left barrel slightly choked, weight 5 lbs., and loaded with 2-1/4 drachms black powder, 3/4 oz. No. 6 shot. For covert shooting, E. C. or Schulze is better, it is quicker up to the game and almost smokeless.

A 16-bore makes killing easier, but the extra weight, at the end of a long day, counterbalances this advantage. I shot with a 28-bore belonging to a friend one day last winter, and was perfectly astonished at the way and the distance it killed, but you have to be _very_ dead on to make good practice with so small a bore. A gun to fit you should come up to the shoulder quite easily, and, without any adjusting, you must bring the sight straight on to the object. If you see all down the barrel, the stock is too straight, if, on the contrary, you see nothing but the breech, it is too much bent and you will shoot under everything. But I would advise the beginner to go to the "Worth" of London gunmakers (Mr Purdey), put herself in his hands, and, like the sartorial genius of Paris, he will turn her out fitted to perfection.

An indiarubber heel-plate is sometimes a wise precaution, to avoid a bruised shoulder and arm, which if you happen to be going to a ball, does not perhaps add to your beauty!

The left-hand should be held _well forward_. This gives much more power over the gun, it also looks much better. With regard to the position of the feet, it is well to recollect that elegance _is_ compatible with ease!

It is a matter of some difficulty, at first, to judge distance correctly. The novice generally begins by blowing her game to bits, to make sure of killing it, I suppose, though in reality this makes it far harder. The other extreme, firing very long shots, is equally reprehensible, as nine times out of ten the game goes away wounded, even when occasionally it is dropped by a fluke. Any distance between twenty and forty yards is legitimate, though the latter is rather far for a hare going away from you.

_Never_ hand the gun c.o.c.ked to an attendant, and always unload when getting over a fence, and on putting the gun down for luncheon.

Now for a few words on aiming; but I must here protest that this does not profess to be a shooting "Bradshaw," but merely, as it were, an A B C guide!

For a beginner, no doubt the easiest way, in the case of any ordinary crossing shot, is to put up the gun on the object, then fling it forward as far in front as is thought fit, and fire, but, after a time, I think this kind of double action will no longer be found necessary.

The gun will be put up _at once_ in front of the game, the eye taking in by instinct and practice the line of the object, and experience telling how far in front of the game to hold the gun. This is certainly true with regard to ground game. Quite high-cla.s.s aiming is to put the gun up a little before the head of the object, and swing the gun forward with the bird, pulling the trigger _without stopping_ the gun.

This is beyond doubt the best and most correct method, but not easy to accomplish.

I take it for granted that you shoot with both eyes open.

It is impossible to lay down a rule how far in front to hold the gun for a crossing shot. It depends upon the pace the bird is going, and its distance from you, but, roughly speaking, for an ordinary shot at twenty-five yards, the object's own length in front _may_ be enough (but I write this with some diffidence). For a driven bird or high pheasant, my experience is, you can't get too far ahead! For a rabbit or hare going away from you aim at the back of its head; coming towards you, at its chest.

One of the greatest charms of shooting is its "infinite variety." Let us take for example, to begin with, a day's covert shooting.

The waggonette with its pair of matched bays (of course we have the best of everything--on paper) stands at the door. You pack yourselves in, with a goodly amount of rugs and furs, and away you go, ten miles an hour, through the park. There has been a sharp frost, the cobwebs are all glistening in the sun, and the road rings under the horses'

feet in a manner ominous to the lover of the chase proper, but music in the ears of the shooting-man. The leaves are mostly off the trees, but here and there some few remaining ones s.h.i.+ver gently to the ground; the bracken is brown and withered, and rustles crisply as the deer brush through it, startled at the sight of the carriage. The wind is keen and biting, but you turn up your fur collar and defy "rude Boreas."

Arrived at the starting point you take, on your way to the first cover, two or three rough gra.s.ses. The rabbits having been previously ferreted and otherwise harried, have forsaken their strongholds, and have, so to speak, gone under canvas--they are dotted about all over the fields in seats. (It is astonis.h.i.+ng how easy it is, until the eye becomes practised, to miss seeing a rabbit in a seat.) You form a line, a beater or two between each gun across the pasture. Before you have gone ten yards, a rabbit jumps up from underneath a beater's foot, and makes tracks for the nearest hedgerow or plantation, only, however, to fall a victim to the right-hand gun. The report alarms another, who, without delay, seeks to follow in the steps of his predecessor, but a charge of No. 5 interferes with his scheme, and he also succ.u.mbs to fate.

Soon the fun becomes "fast and furious," four or five rabbits are on foot together, necessitating quick loading and steady shooting. Here one breaks back through the line, and comes past you full tilt. You take a rapid look round to see that no unlucky beater lurks in the rear picking up the wounded--bang--ah! you didn't allow for the oblique line of bunny's course, and were half a foot behind him. The second barrel, however, stretches him a corpse on the field of battle.

At the end of the pasture runs a narrow strip of plantation. Here the shooting is more difficult. The brambles are very thick; you have to take snap-shots as the rabbits bounce from one thicket to another. You must fire where you think he'll _be_ (not where he is), but even this manoeuvre is not always successful, as that old man who has been acting as stop at the end of the strip will tell you. "n.o.bbut eleven!" says he, "there's bin fortty shots fired! Ah c.o.o.nted 'em!" Conscience-striken, you look at one another, and positively tremble before the scorn depicted in that old man's eye.

Then comes a small outlying covert. Two guns placed back to back command the end--the rest go with the beaters. A wood-pigeon is the first to make a move, which it does with a tremendous bustle and fuss; it affords a pretty shot, coming straight overhead, and falls with a "plop" behind you. Next to take alarm is an old hare. She scampers through the brushwood, staring _behind_ her, and makes for her usual exit--a hole in the hedge, little knowing, poor thing, that she is galloping straight into the jaws of death, for your neighbour's unerring weapon promptly does its duty.

Then, maybe there arises a wild shout, a discordant "Tally-ho!"

followed by sundry yells of all shades, and a banging great fox breaks away across the stubble, disappearing in the fence only to emerge again in the pasture. I think a fox one of the most beautifully-proportioned animals there is. He is built on such racing lines! with those long galloping quarters, that deep chest, and muscular neck. Look at him as he steals away over the gra.s.s without an effort; he doesn't appear to be going any pace at all, and yet in a moment he is out of sight! No hurry, my friend! You may take it easy to-day, but in a very short time you'll dance to another and a quicker tune played by 17-1/2 couple of the "best hounds in England!"

Meanwhile, four rabbits have taken advantage of your soliloquy to make good their escape. You fire a snap-shot at one as he bobs into the fence. "Mark over," and a pheasant whirrs over the top of the wood. You hastily cram a cartridge into your gun, raise it and pull, only to find that you've forgotten to c.o.c.k the right barrel; you change on to the left trigger, but this has put you "off," the pheasant goes scathless, and is handsomely knocked down by your companion-in-arms. Perhaps this is an argument in favour of a hammerless gun!

On reaching the big covert the aspect of things is changed. The guns are placed at intervals down the rides, and the beaters go to the far end to bring it up towards you. It is always well to let the guns on either side of you, know your whereabouts, both for your own sake and theirs. Only let us hope you won't meet with the treatment that a friend of ours received. He was placed next to a very deaf old gentleman. Aware that he could not make him hear by calling, or (which is much preferable) by whistling, he took out his handkerchief and waved it to attract his attention. The old gentleman caught sight of it, put up his gun and took a steady and deliberate aim at it! You can easily imagine how our friend ducked and bobbed, and threw himself p.r.o.ne on the gra.s.s round the corner!

After a pause a distant shot is heard, then another, and soon you hear the tap tap of the beaters, and "Rabbit up," "Mark over," "Hare to the right," may be continually heard, unless, as in some places, silence is enjoined on the beaters. "Mark c.o.c.k" is, however, everywhere an exception to this rule, and at the magic words, every gun is on the alert! I never understand why a woodc.o.c.k should be productive of such wild excitement and reckless shooting as it generally is! The bird flits through the trees a little above the height of a man's head, looking as easy to kill as an owl, but it is a gay deceiver, for barrel after barrel may discharge its deadly contents at it, and still that brown bird flits on as before, turning up and down as it goes. Of course (on paper) _you_ are the one to kill it, when you are loaded with congratulations--their very weight testifying how unexpected was the feat. Rather a doubtful compliment! Half the wood being shot, the guns move round to the outside. What has. .h.i.therto been done, has been chiefly a means to an end. The pheasants have been driven with the object of getting them into this particular corner. Possibly the wood stands on the slope of a hill; this gives the best shooting, as the birds fly over the valley affording high and difficult shots, especially if coming down-wind. I think there is nothing prettier than to see real high birds well killed. They fall like stones, with heads doubled up--not waving down, wings and legs out-stretched like the arms of a semaph.o.r.e!

"Thick and fast they come at last, And more, and more, and more."

But do not let this tempt you into firing too quick. Pick your bird and kill it, though I grant you this is not an easy thing to do. Many men seem quite to lose their head at a hot corner. They fire almost at random, though, in the case of a few birds coming, they will scarcely miss a shot.

By this time it is growing dusk. The December afternoon is closing in.

There is a mist rising from the river, the air feels damp and chill, and your thoughts turn to a bright fire, a tea-gown, and those delicious two hours before dinner.

To my mind, grouse-shooting is the cream of sport. To begin with, Scotland itself has a charm which no other country possesses. Then it is such nice clean walking! However much you may curtail your skirt, _mud_ will stick to it, but on the heather there is nothing to handicap you--you are almost on a level with MAN!

From the moment you leave the lodge on a shooting morning, your pleasure begins. The dogs and keepers have preceded you. A couple of gillies are waiting with the ponies. You mount, and wend your way over the hill road, ruminating as you go, on the possible bag, and taking in, almost unconsciously, the bewitching feast that nature with such a bountiful hand has spread before you.

On either side a wide expanse of moorland, one ma.s.s of bloom, broken here and there by a burnt patch or some grey lichen-covered boulders.

The ground gently slopes on the right towards a few scrubby alders or birches, with one or two rowan trees, the fringe of green bracken denoting the little burn which to-day trickles placidly along, but in a spate becomes a roaring torrent of brown water and white foam. Beyond is a wide stretch of purple heather, then a strip of yellow and crimson bents, dotted with the white cotton-flower. The broken, undulating ground, with its little knolls and hollows, tells of nice covert for the grouse when the mid-day sun is high, and the birds are, as an old keeper used to say, "lying deid in the heather."

Further away rise the hills in their stately grandeur, green, and olive, and grey, and purple; how the light changes on them! One behind the other they lie in ma.s.sive splendour, and, more distant still, the faint blue outline of some giant overtops the rest, with here and there a rugged peak standing out against the sky. And, pervading all, that wonderful, exhilarating, intoxicating air!

Rounding a bend in the road, you come across three or four hill-sheep, standing in the shade of the overhanging bank. Startled, they lift their heads and gaze at you, then rush away, bounding over the stones and heather with an agility very unlike the "woolly waddle" of our fat Leicesters.

Anon, in the distance, you see Donald and the dogs on the look-out for you, the dogs cl.u.s.tered round the keeper, a most picturesque group.

When you reach them and dismount, a brace of setters are uncoupled and boisterously tear around, till peremptorily called to order. You take your guns, etc., the dogs are told to "hold up," and the sport begins.