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FALCONRY.
The Pæan of the Falcons is being sung again. An amusement originally derived from the East, where the "Grand Seignior" once boasted of a retinue of 6000 falconers, and still almost universally practised in countries where people are too indolent for the more active sports of the field, is about to be brought back from the same country, and is again spoken of as a most noble and gentle pursuit—fit for "knight and ladye fair;" a source of healthy and innocent enjoyment, and, above all, "a pageant of past glory."
Knox, in his pretty little treatise on "Game Birds and Wild Fowl," has given a graphic account of this exhilarating sport; Mr. W. B. Barker, who has had much experience of the art as practised in the Levant, has devoted two interesting chapters to the subject in his work on "Cilicia;" and we have now before us a still more graphic and amusing sketch of Oriental falconry, in Mr. Burton's "Falconry in the Valley of the Indus."[1]
It would be difficult, indeed, to imagine scenes for sport of any description more prolific or more gorgeous than are presented by the long Valley of the Indus.
It was a heart-gladdening spectacle for a sportsman. The pure blue sheet of water lined with a fringe of vivid green, was literally covered with feathered life. The king-curlew with his ruby crown, and the common curlew so celebrated, despite his homely garb, for the soaring and racing chase he affords, were pacing the banks in busy troops. Gulls and graceful terns hovered over the marsh, here alone in the air, there mingled with flights of red and white Brahminee ducks, wheeling about in search of a spot to light on. The tall Saras stood in pairs, now plunging their bills into the shallow waters, now scattering pearly drops from their pink throats: the bittern's ruff peeped out of the green weeds, and the snowy white cloak of the paddy-bird glistened dazzlingly amongst the russet-coloured uniforms of duck and diver, snipe and snippet, plover and wild goose. Lank herons were there, and stout matronly pelicans gazing stolidly before them, with bustards large as turkeys, and a goodly array of plump little teal; the painted snipe with beautiful dark colours ornamenting his wings; the mallard with his gorgeous plume, and many varieties of quiet-looking cranes swam, and dived, and shook, and splashed, all screaming each in his own tongue, their natural joy in a life to them at that moment full of charms.
The fates protected the denizens of that marsh. Hawks generally dislike flying at birds over water; and unfortunately for us the thick vegetation of the leeward bank prevented our taking the wind of the water-fowl.
This became apparent, when a couple of matchlock balls whizzing through the air, and the loud report ringing upon the surface of the Jheel, startled its occupants from their proper occupations. Those that caught sight of the hawks fled shrieking down the wind towards another pond, in a straight line, so that pursuit would have inevitably entailed the loss of a Bashah. Others, with instinctive cunning, wheeled round and round the crystal floor, never passing its limits, till fear allowed them to settle again. A few, but so few, exposed themselves to danger, that we lost nearly two hours in "bagging" half a dozen snipe and teal.
Presently we left the marsh. Our Bazdar had remarked, with many curses,- ↑ Falconry in the Valley of the Indus. By Richard F. Burton, Lieut. Bombay Army, Author of "Goa and the Blue Mountains," &c. John Van Voorst.
