My friend the partridge; memories of New England shooting, by S. T. Hammond ("Shadow")

Contents

Chapter ^^^^

I.— The Charm of Upland Shooting.. i

II. — The Ruffed Grouse 7

Chapter I. The Charm Of Upland Shooting

There is a charm in the pursuit of New England upland game that appeals to the heart of the sportsman, that fills his soul with a sweet content and delight that seldom comes to him in other, even the best, game sections of this broad land. Faith in this statement permeates my whole being; corroborative evidence in abundance can be readily obtained from many hundreds of sportsmen who are quaHfied by a large and varied experience in different localities to give expert testimony as to its truth.

In the silent watches of the night, while camping out on the broad Iowa prairies with my com.panion and three strangers who had joined us at sunset, I answered, in response to the question as to how I liked Western shooting, that I

MY FRIEND THE PARTRIDGE.

one day among the forest-crowned hills of dear New England was worth weeks on the treeless plain. One of the strangers grasped my hand with a grip that made my fingers tingle, another threw his arms around me with a fervent, "God bless you," while the third gave by far the most flattering and impressive indorsement of the opinion I had expressed by hastily drawing his hand across his eyes as he arose, and with bowed head walked away. I afterward learned that this man was born among the Berkshire hills in old Massachusetts, where he had spent many happy days in pursuit of his favorite sport, and it was his description of the wondrous beauty of the locality that led me a few years later to one of the fairest sections of country for the sportsman that I have ever seen. When I gazed upon his former home surrounded by the everlasting hills, and feasted my eyes upon the beauties of nature in its rugged wildness here displayed, I could not doubt that the well-springs of his heart were stirred to their utmost depths when on the bleak and desolate prairie he heard from stranger lips ardent words of praise for the old home of his youth so fondly loved.

THE CHARM OF UPLAND SHOOTING.

I was once in the dense canebrakes of Mississippi in search of the elusive turkey, with a genuine swamp angel for a guide. When our barren hunt was over I changed my shells, and by quick work succeeded in bringing down several woodcock. The "angel" rolled up his eyes at me and queried, "Is you a Yank?" Telling him in the words of the immortal Whittier that *T gloried in the name," he exclaimed, "Dat's right, boss; dat's right. Jess like de one was here lass week. We done killed seben turks on dat sandbar when he tole me dat de shootin' up norf was a heap better dan down here, and dat dere was right smart more fun in de pattige dan dere was in de turk." Thinking that perhaps he did not quite understand why this should be so, I made everything as plain as possible by explaining that the "pattige," as he called it, was not only a gallinaceous bird, but a herbivorous and gramnivorous one as well, and that its propulsive power was such that at times its momentum was phenomenal. I was intending to give him more of the life history of the bird, but the manner in which he received my remarks led me to stop speaking, for the way that counte- 3

MY FRIEND THE PARTRIDGE.

nance worked, and the whites of those eyes dilated as the long words fell upon his ear was a study for an artist. When I stopped he looked up to me with an expression that plainly showed me that he was now convinced, and ejaculated, "Well, boss, I speck dat Yank was 'bout right, and I reckon you 'uns must think a heap of dose pattige."

The love of that "Yank" for the sport to be found in the home of his childhood, gave me a sympathetic feeling of brotherhood with the unknown stranger, and as I meandered through the tangled canebrake, thoughts of glorious days with the "pattige" among the forest-crowned hills of beloved New England came to cheer me, and soon the poignant feeling of regret that I had not held a trifle further ahead on that big gobbler mellowed down into a fading and rather pleasant remembrance of the great black living picture that had so swiftly crossed my path.

This love for the shooting in New England is not merely love for the sport in itself, but is a far deeper, holier feeling than ever comes to him whose joy in the life of the field is inspired by success. A profound appreciation of the beau- 4

THE CHARM OF UPLAND SHOOTING.

tiful in nature, for the grandeur of our ever-new, ever-changing panorama of hill and mountain, of sequestered nook and lovely dell, of laughing brook and bubbling spring, of whispering pine and stately oak, of balmy air and deep blue sky, creates and fosters this love until it permeates the whole being.

There is an endless diversity of happenings, as well as surroundings, when in pursuit of our game birds that adds much to our enjoyment when summing up the pleasures of the day. In many sections different varieties of game are to be found in the same coverts, and there is often a glorious and deeply interesting uncertainty as to just what bird it is that is crouching before your dog. The "partridge crank" grips his gun with firmer clasp as he walks in to flush the bird, fondly hoping to hear the thunderous roar of the swiftly beating pinions of his favorite. The man who best loves the royal woodcock advances with eager step, dreaming of the weird music of that querulous whistle and the gentle swish of the silken wings so pleasing to his ear, while he whose choice is the gamy quail, with satisfied smile is reveling in thoughts of the 5

MY FRIEND THE PARTRIDGE.

tumultuous rush and roar of the startled bevy, and by faith he sees the air thickly dotted with the flashing forms of the little bird he loves so well. Who shall say that this* glorious uncertainty is not almost the best of the whole? Surely not I, for I have enjoyed these pleasing sensations too many times to deny their power. I have a choice as to the bird I would flush, for my first favorite is that best of all game birds, the ruffed grouse; but I so love them all that I am cheerfully content with what the gods provide, and am truly happy when either of the beautiful trio blesses me with its presence, and I spend no time in vain regret for a bygone "it might have been." Scores of times have mine eyes been gladdened and my pulses quickened by simultaneous rises of two of these varieties, and fond recollections of many a glorious double of this nature often come back to me when in overhauling memory's storehouse I find myself again threading the leafy aisles of some favorite cover of the good old days. On several occasions I have flushed all three of these birds from one point, and with the assistance of a companion have gathered them all in. 6

CHAPTER 11.

THE RUFFED GROUSE.

The rufifed grouse in New England, commonly called partridge, is the very best game bird that inhabits this continent. I say this advisedly, and without fear of contradiction from any sportsman who has hunted them enough to become fairly well acquainted with their habits and is at all expert in their capture. Many writers insist that this royal bird is a very unsatisfactory one to pursue for sport, and they have written columns in its vilification and are unsparing in epithets, condemning some of its characteristic habits. All of which goes to prove conclusively that these same writers have scant knowledge of the subject upon which they have wasted so much valuable ink.

I have many times been greatly amused to wit- 7

MY FRIEND THE PARTRIDGE.

ness the sudden change in the opinion of one of these outspoken gentlemen when given opportunity to participate in the pleasure that comes to those only who dearly love the fascinating sport, and have learned by a large experience, some at least of the many interesting traits and habits that are a part of the life of this truly royal inhabitant of the forests that crown with glory our beautiful hills and mountains. A brief period with the expert grouse hunter in the haunts of his favorite bird will nearly always prove to the cynic or tyro that there is a hitherto undreamed of wealth of sport and pleasure in the pursuit of this splendid bird; and if he is possessed of true sportsmanlike instinct and has patience to persevere, his reward is sure, and regal sport awaits his pleasure.

The late Hon. George Ashmun — than whom more finished gentleman or truer sportsman never went afield — was not in his earlier days a lover of the partridge in the way of sport. He was often the shooting companion of the immortal Webster, and the only criticism of the great statesman that I ever heard him utter was that he loved the partridge "not wisely, but too well." 8

THE RUFFED GROUSE.

My first two shooting expeditions with Mr. Ashmun were devoted to the woodcock covers, and no attempt was made to search for grouse. Of course we took an occasional shot at them when we found them — intruding, he called it — on the woodcock grounds; but his distaste for following them was so pronounced that I rather reluctantly suppressed my inclinations and devoted my time to his favorite bird, the woodcock. The third time we were out together we visited the quaint old town of Holland in the southern portion of the old Bay State, a town that can boast more ragged rocks and rugged hills to the square acre than any town I know that holds or rather did hold so many birds.

On this occasion we very fortunately found one of his favorite woodcock covers without a single longbill, but we did find a noble covey of grouse that flushed wild and settled in some small detached patches of dense cover that looked most promising. With the most serious expression of countenance and voice that I could assume I launched torrents of abuse at the intruding grouse for usurping the ground that was the birthright of the woodcock. Then as the next

MY FRIEND THE PARTRIDGE.

friend of the evicted innocents, I appealed to my companion, as a lawyer, for advice as to the proper course to pursue. With a merry twinkle in his eye and a broad smile upon his countenance he took a firmer grasp of his gun, and in a melodramatic tone exclaimed, "Fiat justitia mat coclum." Then we went for those intruders, and for more than two hours we reveled in the enjoyment of such sport as only comes to the elect when, with congenial companion, "the best dog in the world," beautiful surroundings, plenty of birds and straight powder, he adds one more priceless gem to the store of memories that shall come back to cheer and bless his joyless hours when shooting days are over.

Mr. Ashmun — as he afterward acknowledged — proposed going for the birds more to please me than with any thought of sport. He well knew that the royal bird had the warmest corner in my heart, and that every nerve in my frame was still vibrating with responsive echo of the music of the quickly beating pinions. I plainly saw that his countenance lacked the animated expression that illuminated it when following his favorite bird, and it was with unbounded pleasure and

THE RUFFED GROUSE.

satisfaction that I noted the gradual change in his features as the sport became more and more exciting, until even the "woodcock expression" was intensified and glorified, and I did not need the assurance he gave to know that he too had become a "partridge crank." Mr. Ashmun never forsook his first love, the woodcock, but ever after this he had a good word for the bird he had so often condemned, and was always ready to try conclusions with them.

I could record scores of similar instances, for I have very many times had the pleasure of witnessing just such change of heart; but perhaps I have said enough to illustrate the point I wished to make relative to the great love for the sport of grouse shooting that comes to those who have opportunity to enjoy the pleasure that attends successful pursuit of this wise and wary will-o'-the-wisp of the tangled thicket.

The life history of the ruffed grouse has never been written. Many deeply interesting sketches of portions of it have from time to time been placed before us, but never a comprehensive and truthful description of the going and coming, the likes and dislikes, the resultant ef- II

MY FRIEND THE PARTRIDGE.

fects of unnatural conditions as well as a thousand and one other items of interest that all belong to the daily life of this preternaturally wise and most interesting bird.

Many years ago I took no little pride in the belief that I knew about all that was worth knowing in relation to this bird, but as the years rolled on I learned — and enjoyed pleasure in the learning — that my boasted knowledge was in truth insignificant; and the more I learned of the habits and characteristics of my wily favorite, the less inclined was I to make a fool of myself by pretension to knowledge that I knew was far removed from perfection. Each season for more than a half century I haye devoted considerable time to the pursuit of my favorite bird, and I believe myself to be fairly proficient in their capture; but even now, with all my experience, they often get the best of me by playing me some new dodge or trick, and so well do I know them that I feel sure that no matter how proficient I may become, their wits, sharpened by experience, will often cause me sorrow as I realize that I have again been outwitted.

Chapter III. Local Names

This magnificent game bird was known to the scientist of early days as Tetrao umbellus. The well known naturalist, Bonaparte, interpolated the subgeneric term Bonasa, making the scientific name Tetrao (Bonasa) umbellus. Scientists of later days, Nuttall, Samuels and many others, dropped Tetrao, and a few years ago the American Ornithologists' Union put the seal of approval upon this and now our beautiful friend is known to the scientific world as Bonasa umbellus. Many that make no pretension to scientific knowledge know it as the ruflfed grouse. Nearly every one in New England, as well as in portions of the Middle and Western States, calls it the partridge, while to others in some of the Middle and Southern States it is known as the pheasant, 13

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and in some portions of those sections as mountain pheasants. In northern portions of the country, where the spruce partridge is found, our bird is called the birch partridge. In New Jersey I have had it pointed out to me as the heathcock, and several times in widely separated sections I have been told that it was the tippet grouse. I was hunting turkeys in Virginia, having as a guide a veritable "child of the mist," who lived in a lone cabin in the mountains some two miles from Ashby's Gap. While walking along a bridle path a grouse rose nearby and I cut it down, when the old darkey made a rush and seized the bird, which he held aloft in triumph as he exclaimed, "Fore de lawd, boss, if you hain't done killed a ghost bird." This was the first time that I heard this name applied to it, but I have since learned that in some localities the name is quite commonly used. I have also frequently heard it called the drummer as well as the thunder bird. I have also often heard the name brown grouse, and have been told several times in different localities that this was the shoulder-knot partridge.

A wise sportsman has told us that "a rose by

LOCAL NAMES.

any other name would smell as sweet," so I shall find no fault with either of these names, nor shall I quarrel with the sponsor for bestowing them, for I have enjoyed too much of sport in all of the sections where these cognomens prevail to cavil at trifles like these. I must, however, draw the line at "ruffled" grouse. I cannot stand this misnomer, nor extend the hand of fellowship to the man who bestows it upon my very best bird.

The naturalist Trumbull quotes from an old author who was writing of the partridge : "Their flesh is good in hectic fevers, the gall sharpens the sight, and the blood resists poison." True for you, brother sportsman ; every word is gospel truth, for oftentimes when the "hectic fever" born of ardent longing for communion with my dearly loved bird in its sylvan home has held me in its grasp, I have been quickly and completely brought to my normal condition by even only a fleeting glimpse of my favorite bird in the flesh. Often has the gall engendered by failure to catch a glimpse of a startled bird "sharpened" my sight and brought me into better condition to see the next one through the dense 15

MY FRIEND THE PARTRIDGE.

covert. Often has the poison instilled into my mind by contamination with worldly affairs been completely neutralized and driven from my system at the sight of the blood of this beautiful king of the forest.

I shall not undertake to give anything approaching a complete description of the characteristics belonging to this bird, nor even of its habits, natural or acquired, for I well know that I have yet much to learn regarding its life history, and I shall therefore confine myself strictly to such facts as have come under my own observation during the many pleasant interviews I have held with these magnificent birds in different sections of the country, leaving all guess work and pedantic abstruseness for other subjects with which I am less familiar.

Nearly all writers about the ruffed grouse persist in pronouncing it the very wildest bird to be found in our country. This has been the almost universal view expressed for many years, and so much has it been harped on that "wild as a partridge" has passed into a proverb. That the bird is wild, so far as living in a state of nature is concerned, is patent to all; but to say r6

LOCAL NAMES.

that it is wild in the sense that most writers believe and endeavor to demonstrate, is to misrepresent this highly gifted bird. There is no game bird which possesses greater perceptive faculties and reasoning powers than this; and for one to state that the wisdom, born of bitter experience, that leads it to shun one's presence, is simply wildness, argues little for the quality of the knowledge so characteristic of this preternaturally wise and crafty bird. When time was young— with me— I have, hundreds of times, flushed from almost under my feet large coveys of partridges, and many times I have seen them, not twenty feet distant, skulking away from my path with never a "wild" one in the lot. In recent years, I have seen many instances of the same nature in our grand old Northern forests, where the modern shooter is comparatively unknown. This conclusively proves to me that the ruflfed grouse is not naturally wild in the sense that so many writers and talkers would have us believe, while the abundant reasons— from their standpoint— that this wise bird gives them for their belief, just as conclusively proves that it has risen to the occasion and learned the truth 17

MY FRIEND THE PARTRIDGE.

and value of that modern axiom so vital to success that ''only he who hustles will get there." The manner in which this knowledge has become so widely diffused among the partridges passes my comprehension. I can readily understand why it is that a bird that is constantly hunted and shot at should in a short time become wary when it had reason to believe that deadly foes were seeking its destruction, but I cannot understand how it is that young and presumably unsophisticated birds, that have never been previously disturbed by the hunter, should vie with the "oldest" patriarch in the knowledge of ways and means to outwit even the most expert hunter. I know absolutely nothing that will shed any light upon this question, and shall therefore leave the matter for others to determine, whether this is an instinct or acquired knowledge, or whether there is a bird language by which the callow brood is taught the principles of cause and effect that generally obtain when the hunter is abroad in the land, as well as the crafty tricks and dodges that so often succeed in convincing the would-be captor that his intended victim is too "wild" i8

LOCAL NAMES.

for him. Year by year, I have watched, with ever-increasing interest and deHght, the constant and truly wonderful increase of wisdom that comes to even the youngest and most isolated of these birds, and as I realize the significance of this important change in the habits and instincts — if I may be allowed the expression — of my favorites, there is, deep down in my heart, a feeling of profound joy and satisfaction in knowing that in spite of modern methods and countless hordes of modern shooters, this sovereign of stately wood and sylvan dell still lives and gives fair promise to bless future generations with untold wealth of most fascinating sport.

Chapter IV. Tricks And Subterfuges

I HAVE always taken great delight in witnessing the many tricks and subterfuges to which this crafty bird resorts to escape the hunter, and it is well that I do; for very many times this is all that I have had left to console me for the defeat of well laid plans and the coming to naught of long and weary tramps.

Early in the season of the year 1905, while out shooting, I met a farmer friend who told me of a large covey of grouse on the summit of quite a steep hill near by, and I at once started in pursuit of them. When I gained the summit, I found myself in an open pasture liberally sprinkled with patches of blackberry briars, with a promising looking alder cover on the opposite side. The dog struck scent within a few 20

TRICKS AND SUBTERFUGES.

rods of the edge and soon had them fast; but as I started to go to him a large covey of grouse rose out of shot, and, flying across the pasture, settled in the alder cover. When I arrived there I found the cover to consist of clumps of young alder sprouts not more than four feet high with zig-zag paths between the clumps, from two to four feet wide. Congratulating myself upon the soft snap I had in such a spot, I sent on the dog and he soon pinned one. As I walked up to him, I well remember that there was a feeling in my heart of commiseration for the poor birds, for it was impossible for them to escape from such a place. But when I forced a rise, this feeling vanished as by magic, for I never saw the "poor" bird, although it rose within ten feet of me, for it twisted along those zig-zag paths and never showed itself until out of shot.

This performance was something entirely new to me, and it gave me quite a turn, but the trick was so neatly done that admiration for the wisdom of the performer soon dispelled my grief, although I did feel rather foolish about my sentiments of pity for the poor unprotected

MY FRIEND THE PARTRIDGE.

bird when I heard them rising all around me with never one of them showing so much as a single feather until at a safe distance. Every one of the covey cut that same caper, and the last I saw of them, they were far away, amid the sheltering arms of a dense grove of pines. When the first one sprang this low down trick on me, I believed it to be the old hen bird with wit and wisdom sufficient for the present occasion at least, but when the entire family repeated the performance, I regretfully came to the conclusion that there was something radically wrong in the educational system that I had so long and ardently pursued; or that I had sadly neglected my opportunities, to get so badly left in an encounter with these young and unsophisticated dwellers in the wildwood whose habits and traits I had spent a lifetime in studying. I was deeply interested in the future of these birds, and in order that they should not deteriorate or become careless from lack of opportunity to keep their wits sharpened, I gave the snap away to three or four friends, and from all I could gather in relation to the matter, I judged that there were quite exciting

TRICKS AND SUBTERFUGES.

times upon that hilltop for many days; but I failed to learn that the gallant band lost more than two or three of their number during the whole season.

Next October, I shall again climb that steep hill, and again pit my skill against their cunning, and, my word for it, there will be no pity in my heart when I get among them. I shall not again return with empty pockets, for I intend reading up all that I can find in relation to their habits. Surely I shall find something that will give me a pointer as to the proper course to pursue in order to circumvent these up-to-date and very fly dwellers on that beautiful hilltop

Within the limits of this goodly city, and not more than two miles from where I am now sitting, there is an extensive tract of forest and swamp with several little outlying alder runs, that was a famous place for birds some years ago. Even now, one can occasionally enjoy a little sport there. The queen of that section of country is a famous old hen partridge. She has lived in that vicinity and reared her family each season for several years. This veritable ghost bird has seen enough powder burned to an- 23

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nihilate her race, and heard profanity enough to put to shame "our army in Flanders." Tricks and subterfuges without number are part and parcel of her daily life throughout each open season. Strong of wing and ever watchful, she is up and away before danger approaches within harmful distance, and so long and deviously uncertain is her flight that it is rare for one to find her the second time. I once saw her rise two gun shots away, and fiy straight as an arrow for a favorite cover, approaching it with every indication of alighting, even to lowering near the ground and setting her wings; but just as she was near the edge she swerved sharply to the right and with the seeming vigor of a newly started bird she laid her course in the direction of another cover. My companion joined me a few minutes later when I explained matters to him and assured him that this was the turning point in this bird's career, for we now had her down fine where she could not escape. With mutual congratulations upon our good fortune in getting on to this well planned dodge, we complacently wended our way to the cover with never a doubt that at last, after so many inglorious 24

TRICKS AND SUBTERFUGES.

failures, the long sought prize was ours. Arriving at the run that I had seen the bird making for, I sent my companion around to the point where she would be forced to pass, and, ordering on the dog, I followed along the edge of the run, feeling perfectly sure that there was no escape for our very uncertain friend. But when we came to the upper end and the dog had carefully worked out every foot of the cover we found, upon comparing notes, that we did not feel quite so sure of the result, for she most certainly was not there.

There was a patch of birch cover a short distance further on, and we decided that she had taken refuge there. We proceeded to invest the stronghold by deploying to the right and left. My companion was to take position at the far corner while I entered the cover at the opposite end. We started for our respective posts. Some thirty yards away and right in my course was a patch of hazel, about the size of a hogshead which I passed so near that some of the branches brushed me, but it was not until I was twenty steps beyond it that I gave it a thought and then I had no time for much de- 25

MY FRIEND THE PARTRIDGE.

liberation, for out from the clump came the roar of the quickly beating pinions of a startled grouse. It took me only the fractional part of a second to right about face and present arms, but there was not a feather in sight. Intuitively I realized that this ghost bird was flitting away, out of sight, under the protecting cover of that bunch of hazel. Instinctively I cut loose at the center of it. At the crack of the gun my companion gave a cheer that filled my heart with unalloyed pleasure, for I well knew that the escape of our long sought quarry could never inspire a shout like that. When he joined me, my dog was delivering the bird into my hand. As I looked at it, I cut short my friend's exordium upon the wildest, most crafty, exasperating of birds by telling him that this was not the bird he was holding an inquest upon, but only just an ordinary young bird that had made an ocdinary mistake in leaving its stronghold at least an hour before the one we had been searching for would have stirred.