beef, without skin or fat, will supply their place. With a shout—“Hoo-hoo! ha, ha, ha!”—and a shriek of the hawking-whistle, constantly hanging at your button-hole at feeding-time, and subsequently in the field, present a morsel about the size of a small horse-bean to each of the greedy little pensioners in succession, till they cease altogether their shrill, chirping screams, and will receive no more. Thrice or four times in the day, but always at unvarying hours, from sun-rise to sun-down, the interesting process should be repeated. Leave no meat in the hamper, which should be kept scrupulously clean, and the eyasses are never to be handled. Hawks do not drink, the blood and juices of their flesh diet being all that nature requires, but they intensely enjoy a bath in hot weather. Place them gently on the brink of a shallow sandy spot in some small crystal brook, and they will rush in, splashing vigorously until wet as a fish, and then sunning and pluming themselves upon the grassy bank. If no brook lies convenient, a shallow earthen pan, about thirty inches in diameter, and four inches deep, nearly filled with pure water, will serve. But a bath of some kind cannot be dispensed with. They sicken without it.
By pursuing this treatment, your hawks, which are by nature exceedingly intelligent, and, when subdued, fond of human society, speedily learn to challenge, the moment they hear the whistle and voice of their keeper. This they do by uttering a loud, chirping note, and as soon as their pinions are grown they will leave their hamper at their master’s well-known call, and, flying towards him, perch upon his head, arms, and shoulders, eager for the expected meal. Give to each by times an oft-repeated fancy name—“Jessie,” “Death,” “Beauty,” &c., are appropriate. Shakespeare has “Old Joan”:—“In sooth, my lord, the wind was very high, and, ten to one, ‘Old Joan’ had not gone out,”—i. e., had refused to fly. They hate a breezy day. The growth of eyasses is rapid: they will soon desert the basket entirely, perching on the branches of adjacent trees and roofs of buildings, sometimes extending their flights to a considerable distance; but, if fed constantly at the same spot, and at the same hour, they will certainly return. At this time only, leaden bells, covered with soft leather, are by some falconers attached to their legs in addition to the usual sonorous musical ones formed of silver bell-metal, and thus hampered they may be confidently left to their own pleasure and devices. Feeding times are now reduced to twice a day, and the meat need be no longer carved for them. Cast down to each a fresh blackbird, rook, jackdaw, starling, &c., or slice of fresh beef and mutton, throwing yourself on the greensward in the midst of your plumed favourites, and cheering them to the onslaught with voice, whistle, and swinging-lure, till you waken the echoes from rock, hill, and valley. The lure consists of four jackdaws’ wings, placed two and two, face to face, firmly united at their butts, so as to resemble a bird’s pinions as they appear when extended in flight; a couple of slight thongs, three or four inches long, are fastened to the upper and lower surface, to which meat can be tied in training, and a looped strap of three feet enables the hawker to whirl it round his head as he cheers and shouts to his falcon, when he calls her from the perch a long distance off, or desires to make her descend from her pride of place, invisible amongst the clouds. Garnished with meat on both sides, up goes the lure, and almost before it descends to the ground, the falcon has seized it, and with cowering wings makes it her prey. The falconer must bear in mind that appetite—appetite—is the chief bond of union and obedience between him and his favourite, however noble and generous the race to which she belongs. A very moderate meal, therefore, if any, should be given on the morning a falcon is taken to the field. If full-fed, she probably will take perch in some tree or rocky ledge—alike deaf and insensible to voice, whistle, and lure. .png)
Hawk with Trappings.And now it is that the utility of her bells becomes manifest, for, although out of sight, each movement gives them sound. Should she also, after killing her game beyond the falconer’s ken, attempt to plume—i. e., feed upon it amongst the tall fern or stubble—every movement of her talons reveals her whereabouts with a silver sound.
