Part 3

I have said it is graceful, and so it is, in a remarkable degree. Let me advise you, if you live in New York, to visit the Zoological Gardens, in Central Park, and watch the fine sinuous turns and sweeps as the otter seizes or seeks for its prey. Its body is long and flexible, and its feet short and webbed, and the adjacent muscles are of immense muscular power. Its eyes are large, the ears short, and it is bewhiskered like a Viking. Its coat is double, like that of the seal. Long glossy hairs form the outer one, and a short waterproof woolly waistcoat comprises the inner, so that neither cold nor wet can affect the well-being of this amphibious hunter. In the daytime it hides itself in its hole, which usually is some feet deep in the bank, _above_ highwater mark, but at night its depredations commence; and when the female has young, say five, and the male otter works with her, as he generally does, I estimate that from thirty to forty fish per night are, if anything, rather within the number than beyond. Can any one deny, therefore, that the otter comes within the common-sense definition of vermin?

If the otter be taken young, and great kindness and care be shown it, it may be transferred from the category of vermin into that of “pets,” and I do not think there is a much more interesting pet in existence, and I recollect one which used to run about after its master at Eton, England, some years since. A friend of mine (head river-keeper on a nobleman’s estate) took a tame one from an old poacher which the latter had constantly employed to catch fish and bring to him. My friend tells me that when he caught the poacher he had some sixty fine trout, scarcely injured, in a bag, all of which had been captured by the otter.

There are many instances of a similar character referred to in the natural history books which I cannot produce here. It is sufficient to say that otter-taming, and even the utilizing of the creature for fishing purposes, is by no means uncommon.

The otter is usually hunted with dogs of a particular breed, but I shall not attempt to describe this species of sport in this place. There are those who object to hunting on principle, and I am not bigoted enough to say they are altogether wrong. Certain, however, it is that otter hunting is remarkably exhilarating, and there is a great deal of fun to be got out of the mishaps which are sure to ensue to the hunters as they scamper and splash and rush and dash over the bowlders, through bush and brier and stream and rivulet, till the wily brute is either caught or “kenneled.” So far as we are now concerned, I shall content myself with telling you how to trap this vermin of the water, and if ever you become possessed of a stream or lake of fish do not forget that the otter is your chiefest enemy--excepting the human poacher, of course.

Now we will presume you are one morning early taking a walk by the side of your favorite stream. On each side the willows and alders bend over the water and their roots clutch the banks with rugged fingers, forming coverts for rats, moorhens, dabchicks, and other small fry, as well as for the quiet-loving trout.

Presently, as you attentively note these features, you are aware of a sort of footpath proceeding from the stream, and on looking closer you notice that fresh excrement has been left and that footprints of a dog-like animal are to be seen in the soft earth. Follow this trail and perchance, ere many steps have been taken, you come upon the carmine-spotted body of a two-pound trout, minus head and shoulders, or a pound silver eel with its broadest part eaten away. You now know that an otter has been at work, and you must vow that he shall die. But how? Listen. The track is fresh. Good! Procure the largest rabbit-gin you can, and after attaching it firmly to a stake driven under water, drive two more sticks under water exactly where the otter comes ashore, and set it upon them. Do not bait the trap at all, or the otter will not come near, but simply set it under water, so that when his ottership comes to bank with his ill-gotten booty he puts his foot on the plate of the gin. A good plan also, where this one is not practicable, is to carefully cut up a sod of dirt in the pathway of the otter, and set the gin very gingerly, covering it up completely with short grass and a sprinkling of dirt. In any case use gloves, so that your hands are not smelt, for, strange as it may seem in an animal getting its food by sight, the sense of smell is exquisitely developed in the otter. When caught be very careful not to handle him. His teeth are “orful.”

Daniel, in his “Rural Sports,” says “the trap must be set in and covered with mud to prevent the otter seeing it. The instant the trap strikes, the otter plunges into the water with it, when its weight preventing his rising to the surface soon destroys him.” But I incline to my own plan in preference. Of course, if the “spoor,” “spraint,” or “seal” cannot be seen it is advisable to set several traps at intervals along the bank, covering them lightly with moss.

V. THE SQUIRREL.

At the commencement of this series of articles I referred to the squirrel, and quoted the words in which Mr. Ruskin describes his unbounded admiration for this sprightly little fellow. The squirrel has a very voracious appetite, however, and if he once by accident or design tastes the luscious richness of pheasant or partridge egg he becomes a poacher of very extreme character. Game-keepers do not object to squirrels as a rule, as long as they confine themselves to those parts of a covert where game are not, though in the case of largely stocked preserves these parts are not easily found.

When Master “Squiggy,” however, takes to sucking eggs and teaching his grandmother and uncles, aunts and cousins, to do the same, then it becomes a manifest duty to snare him and take him away if you do not kill him. Of course it is not likely that my boy readers will be called upon to assist professionally in such a proceeding, but I will briefly describe how squirrels may be caught alive, for when removed from the place of mischief they make capital pets after a time of patience and taming.

It is necessary for two to embark in the proceedings that follow. One is the climber, and he, I need scarcely say, should be a tolerably good one. A pair of climbing irons are almost indispensable, and I should certainly advise boys to get them. He is also provided with a long pole with a loop of fine twisted brass wire attached to it (Fig. 1).

Now let us term these two warriors A and B. Having spotted a squirrel and observed him run up a tree, A attaches his irons and prepares to climb. Before this is done B stands beneath the tree and attracts the squirrel’s attention, and keeps his eye fixed on him, B never moving from where he stands. Meanwhile A is gradually approaching from behind the squirrel, and when he is near enough he slips the loop over the creature’s head, gives a sharp wrench, and lets the pole, squirrel, and all drop to the ground to be secured by B. Of course the squirrel is almost choked, but a firm hand in a thick leather glove soon releases the frightened animal, and you have to do with him as your pleasure will. You ought to take a bag with you and instantly pop him into it. This is the way the men catch squirrels in the country, and is far better than trapping them so as to cause pain.

I have thus told you how to catch squirrels without materially hurting them, and I suppose I may as well tell you how to keep them. Well, having caught the lively young gentleman, keep him in the dark for a day or two, only occasionally letting him get a glance of the outer world. Feed him during this period with beechnuts, chestnuts, and by all means let him have plenty of water. After a time you may take away all covering from his cage and let him, like yourself, enjoy the glories of the sunlight. In a very short space of time his captivity will cease to be so irksome, especially if for the first week or two you use him to only seeing yourself near.

The squirrel, or at least the common red one of our forest, seems remarkably intelligent, and its humors vary almost as much in comparison as those of a child. I kept four, having brought them up from the nest, and their antics and different moods were a source of continued amusement. Sometimes Tom would quarrel with a sort of mimic anger with Jill, and Jim and Sam were almost continually finding fault with each other over poor unfortunate Lady Jill, whose chief misfortune seemed to be that she preferred Tom to either of the others. The affection seemed to be returned, for if we gave a piece of potato to Tom he instantly passed it over to Jill and shared it. Sometimes entire good-humor would prevail, when the gambols with each other were a very pretty sight. This was generally on a fine sunny spring morning after a good meal of nuts. The cage was large, and a sort of leap-frog was kept up for half an hour, ending by somebody getting Tom’s temper out over Miss Jill. I never had a bite from either, and this I attribute to my never handling them unnecessarily, and never being afraid to take hold of them carefully but firmly.

Their end was a sad one. I acquired a splendid Persian cat, and the strangeness of a new habitation made Miss Pussy very spiteful and bad-tempered. One day I had turned out the four squirrels in order to clean the cage thoroughly, and they as usual betook themselves out of the window. With a sudden bound Puss had poor Jill, and with one scrunch she was dead. Puss then bounded after the others, and they escaping up a large yew tree I lost sight of all but one forever. What ultimately became of Jim and Sam I never knew, but Tom would often show himself in the tree and look down with eyes which seemed to say mournfully, “Ah, you’ve killed my little wife between you, and I’m not such a coon as to trust myself within range of her murderers.” Shortly after this we removed, and thus ended my squirrel-keeping, not, however, without much regret on my side at least.

VI. BIRD TRAPPING.

Bird-catching has always a fascination for boys, and, indeed, in my opinion, as a harmless but most interesting pastime, it may be compared not unfavorably with fishing.

“But,” I hear some one say, “is it not cruel to catch and imprison or kill our pretty feathered friends, and if so, is it not wrong to teach boys cruelty?” I answer emphatically “No” to the first of these, and that reply does away with the other question.

It is not cruel to catch the hawk that preys on kindred species, as does the shark or pike, or the beautiful kingfisher that ruthlessly slaughters your innocent baby trout, or the weird and ghostly heron, whose insatiable maw will ever cry, “Give! Give!” like the daughters of the horseleech, from every inhabited stream, or the bad-mannered crow, or the mischievous jay with his egg-eating proclivities.

Then there are some birds, such as pigeons, blackbirds, thrushes, redwings and plovers, and the water-fowl, such as moorhens, widgeon, teal, ducks, etc., which are excellent eating, and who shall say that to kill and eat necessarily implies cruelty?

“But about the pretty song-birds?” you say. Well, now, what bird is happier in captivity than your consequential cock bullfinch, or merry-voiced chaffinch? And are there more annoying birds in existence to those who live by the soil? If you doubt me, go and ask the gardener and hear what he says about Chaffy’s and Bully’s work on the fruitbuds. Then remember what present pleasure the joyous song of the well-fed and warmly-caged linnet or siskin gives to all; but perchance most of all to some one whose hours are spent wearily on the bed of pain.

Of course, catching birds for the mere sake of doing it is wrong, and pray is not fishing liable to the same objection? To go out for the mere purpose of bringing home lots of fish, which are afterwards put to no use, is an abuse of an otherwise harmless sport to which such great and good men as Izaak Walton, Sir Henry Wotton, Archbishop Paley, Charles Kingsley, Mr. John Bright, and many others, have been and are devoted.

Besides, the methods I shall explain, except for the larger birds of prey--_vermin_, in fact--need cause no pain to the captured bird, or if it does, only of the most instant character, which is over when the bird is dead or caged. The wildest birds require only proper treatment to render them happy in confinement, and of this fact I was never more forcibly convinced than when, visiting a very experienced bird-catcher the other day, I saw a huge tabby tom-cat reposing in the cage of a cock gold-finch, whose sweet song must have lulled the cat to sleep and a forgetfulness of its fierce destroying instincts. Hearing it sing, I could not help recalling Walton’s pious and beautiful reflection anent the nightingale: “Lord, what music hast Thou provided for Thy saints in heaven when Thou affordest bad men such music on earth!”

Finally, in defense of the bird catcher’s art, let me urge the benefit young people derive from an intimate knowledge of the natural history of birds and their surroundings. As in fishing the best naturalist in fish is invariably the best angler, so whether he be scientific or not, the best ornithologist is, by virtue of his knowledge, inevitably the most successful bird-catcher. Nothing can conduce to an unaffected love of nature--the “time vesture” of God, Carlyle terms it--more readily than close observation of the habits, instincts, and intelligences of the creatures over which man has been given dominion.

Birds, the flight of which man, with all his mechanical ingenuity, had never yet been able to imitate, are of the most beautiful and wonderful of these, and their capture within the limits I have laid down is a pastime at once innocent, amusing, instructive and profitable. One word more. Be gentle boys, and then presently become gentle_men_ in the true sense of the word, and handle each captive, if it be alive, mercifully, “as if you loved him,” inflicting no unnecessary pain or discomfort in any wise.

Having then in some sort justified bird-catching, if indeed this was needed, let me say how I intend treating the subject in the few following chapters. First, with your attention, I will refer to bird-catching by net; secondly, catching birds by bird-lime; and thirdly, trapping birds, which latter division will embrace the various use of the springs, traps, snares, gins, etc., in vogue amongst professional trappers, game-keepers and others. As the directions will be severely practical, any one will be able to succeed from them--assuming, of course, he has the requisite patience. There is one thing, however, to be borne in mind, that is--there is a Wild Birds’ Preservation Act, which, inefficient and muddling as it is, is nevertheless the law of the land, and in it a close time is provided, during which bird-catching is illegal.

VII. BIRD-CATCHING BY NET.

There are several sorts of nets used for various species of birds, but for song birds the most common is termed the clap-net, of which Fig. 1 is an outline representation. In looking carefully at it you will see I have left one side without netting; this, however, should of course have a net; consider, therefore, the two sides as similar to that on which the net is shown.

Now the net from which the drawing was taken was somewhat different from the usual kind. Those ordinarily used are of twine, and netted diagonally with mesh three quarter inches.

This one, however, if of silk undressed fishing line, and of half-inch mesh, netted with a square mesh instead of diamond-shape or diagonal. At each end of it are attached jointed poles which fit in each other like joints of a fishing-rod; these are when put together six feet six inches in length, but the net itself is broader to allow of a certain amount of bagging.

If this were not so the birds would be liable to run along underneath the net and escape, whereas as now arranged they entangle themselves in the soft silk meshes. Of course silk is not necessary, but it is best if expense is no object. A twine net will do very well for boys, and if they have mastered the instructions for netting they need have no difficulty in making their own.

The engraving, if carefully looked into, explains itself, but I will, to further elucidate the matter, tell you how it is laid. First, bear in mind the net in the cut is now placed on the ground as it should be laid; this is how to do it. Place both nets spread out as shown, roughly on the ground (you can measure their proper relative distances afterward), and drive in the farthest peg (_i. e._, farthest from bird-catcher), to which is attached both the “top” and “bottom” line (see cut). Let this peg be firmly driven in, for on it the chief strain falls. Now plant the peg at the end of the jointed pole farthest from the bird-catcher (E). The pole is linked to this peg either by means of two staples or loops of rope attached to both in such a way as to act as a hinge. Now stretch the bottom between the two jointed poles as shown, driving the peg in firmly as before. Finally plant the peg _nearest_ E, having stretched the bottom line tightly throughout.

Measure now a space of width sufficient to allow the two nets when drawn over toward each other to fall, covering their _top_ edges about six inches with each other. Thus, as in the cut, if the net be six feet six inches broad you must allow twelve feet six inches between them. Having done this, fix the other net in a manner precisely similar to its fellow. C on the engraving, as can be seen, is the pull-line, and it is joined as is shown to a line stretching at right angles between the four top line ends of the jointed poles. The effect of pulling this is to bring the nets up and over, both falling in the twelve feet six inches space, and thus inclosing anything within that space. The birds are enticed by the cage-birds in the first instance (see cut), and finally by the play-birds perched on the play-stick (B).

The play-bird is a bird of the same kind as those sought to be captured, which is attached by means of miniature harness (to be presently shown) to the play-stick, and it being comparatively free it proves very attractive (see Fig. 2). C is the bird. This stick is of three parts: A, a piece of wood made like Fig. 3; and B, a piece of brass tubing beaten flat at one end and placed on the stick, which may be a hazel or ash twig. A hole is punctured through this tube, and a peg passed through it holds it in its place, as well as serving as an axle on which its movements work as prompted by the play-line, which passes also through A, as shown in Fig. 2.

I have said the bird is harnessed and tethered to the stick at C (Fig. 2). This harnessing is perfectly painless to the little fellow, and consists of a sort of double loop affixed to a swivel (Fig. 6). The head of the bird is passed through and the loops are drawn down over and round its wings close to the body. Of course they are drawn and tied just tight enough to fit the body, and the swivel is attached; then a piece of fine twine of about a foot and a half in length connects the play-bird with its stick. The method of using this bird is as follows: Directly the call-birds--which are cock birds in full song--have attracted others of their species, the bird-catcher gently pulls the play line, raising and lowering the stick. This prompts the play-bird to use its wings in a perfectly natural manner, and the consequence is, the wild birds becoming bolder at seeing one of their brethren so apparently unrestrained, venture in the forbidden space, and with no fear visible at once proceed to exchange civilities. As soon as the bird-catcher observes the bird well in the reach of the nets, he pulls swiftly and strongly at C (Fig. 1), and the nets close over both the play or decoy bird and those he has innocently lured to their captivity. Now this in no case injures them, and running up, the bird-catcher places them in a large airy cage opening inwards, and commonly covers them over with a cloth, lest in the first moments of restraint they injure themselves against the bars. Two or more play-birds should be used, so that not one may be over-tired.

Thus you have the whole apparatus of “clap”-netting and its use explained. Now for a few hints as to where to set a net. First, do not forget to mark the habits of the birds yourself, and so learn where to find them at all seasons. Larks and linnets are easily found in open plains and by water brooks, goldfinches come in autumn to feed off the thistledown, starling swarm as winter comes on and are met with in all sorts of pastures where some growth of underwood or deciduous trees are found. For shy birds let your full line be quite forty yards long; and a good plan for blackbirds, starlings, and other wary birds is to lay your nets and get behind a hedge or other hiding-place. A little ingenuity in this way will often procure a goodly stroke of success. The other morning after a frost I caught fourteen blackbirds close to a long laurel hedge, hiding myself in a large rhododendron.

Sometimes hawks, and even birds of a non-preying but quite different species to your call-bird, are caught in the clap-net. The former usually pounces down upon or near the poor little play-bird, and thus the biter is bitten. “Serve him right,” say you; so say I. The other birds are probably only curious to know what it is all about.

This kind of net is the best for amateurs, and I shall therefore not describe that sort which is used by professionals for lark and other birds at night time, often, I am sorry to say, when it is illegal, and when partridges and pheasants can be taken. Kingfishers may be caught by stretching a fine net loosely across an archway of a stream on which they are known to be, and sparrows may be taken in any numbers from old thatches, barn, rick, etc., at night in the following manner:

Stretch your net on two cane poles and let two people carry it upright; another holds a lantern at about the middle of this net on the outer side from the barn to be “netted.” Let another, taking a long pole, buffet about the interior under the eaves and in the nooks and corners; the birds will then fly out and make for the light, only to be entangled in the net. Beating the hedgerows at night will produce the same effect; and, let me tell you, sparrow pudding is not to be despised.

Water-birds, such as dabchicks, moorhens, and even ducks, may be taken by means of nets stretched across ditches and “drawns” which they frequent. I have especially been successful with those little nuisances of the fish culturist, the dabchick, or dapper as they are called in some places, by means of a common dragnet, which I use for trout catching in spawning time, but as my readers have already the facilities I have in this direction, I need not say more about that style of netting.

VIII. BIRD-CATCHING WITH TRAPS.