The merlin, the lady’s hawk, has always been the hawk par excellence for larks. Hobbies, no doubt, have taken them in the old days, though they were used more often for “daring” them by waiting on above, which so terrified the larks that they could be picked up by hand. They take them now constantly in the wild state. But when reclaimed, they have for many years past proved complete failures in the hands of our modern amateurs. The late Lord Lilford made several attempts to get work out of them, but with hardly any success. Mr. George Symonds obtained a large number when he was in Italy, but out of the whole lot could only get one to fly wild quarry. The writer has twice attempted to train a male hobby for larks, and on the second occasion enjoyed the advantage of valuable assistance and advice from Colonel Sanford, who was at the same time training a brother of the same bird. Great pains were taken with both of these hawks, which were in perfect plumage and condition, and had been well hacked by no less able a falconer than Mr. Newall. They were well broken to the lure, and thought nothing of waiting on for a quarter of an hour or more at a vast height. Yet it was found impossible to induce either of them to make any serious attempts at a flight. I started mine on one occasion at least twenty times at various small birds, sometimes putting them up underneath the hawk as he was waiting on, and at other times throwing him from the fist at them. These were skylarks, woodlarks, pipits, and other small frequenters of the turnip-fields. When they were put up under the hobby, he seldom took the smallest notice. When thrown off at one, he would generally make a show of pursuing, but give up before he had gone fifty yards. One lark put in in front of him to a small heap of hurdles. But instead of being “surcharged with fear,” and allowing himself to be picked up, he seemed to have as much contempt for his pursuer as the ? 131 ? latter deserved, and went up briskly again before there was any chance of even trying to pick him up.

The other hobby, which I trained some years before, did a little better. He once made two or three rings after a wild lark. The rings were very pretty, and the style of flying most correct. But there was one thing wanting, the pace was insufficient. To tell the truth, it was poor; and at the risk of being denounced by all ornithologists and most falconers, I venture to express a doubt whether the hobby is really a fast hawk. To support the common theory that he is exceptionally fast we have, no doubt, the fact that he kills swallows and swifts. But then he has the advantage of them, owing to his habit of constant soaring at a great height. From this vantage-point, if he killed one swallow out of a hundred aimed at, it would not be a conclusive proof of any great speed in flying. Much more difficult to explain are the passages in Latham and other old writers to the effect that hobbies, and especially female hobbies, have “plenty of courage,” and will well repay the trouble of training. Blome, in the Gentleman’s Recreation (1636), is especially loud in his praises of this hawk. After declaring that she is very amiable, bold, and daring, and will make a hawk of great delight, he adds that she may be left out in the field after being fed up, and will come back home to the place where she was hacked (except at migration times); and ends up by affirming that she is “in all respects, according to her capacity, as bold and hardy as any other hawk whatsoever.” Either the training of them has become a lost art, or the hobby has changed his nature entirely since he was thus eulogised.

Very different is the account to be rendered of the merlin, so inferior in external appearance, so vastly superior in courage and energy. This, the smallest of the true falcons, has not yet been persecuted out of existence in England with gun and snare, though the days of its disappearance are doubtless not far distant. Of this little hawk I speak perhaps with undue enthusiasm, having made them an object of special care. But the merlin has had admirers amongst some very illustrious persons. Louis XIII. kept hundreds of big hawks. He could have a good day’s hawking whenever he liked at cranes, kites, or herons. Yet he did not disdain, amidst all these temptations, to devote a whole morning to lark-hawking with merlins, and was overjoyed at killing one lark with a cast of them. It is true that this was a winter lark, but it was only a lark for a’ that! One of the greatest falconers that modern times have produced, Mr. E. C. Newcome, declared that after heron-hawking, already ? 132 ? extinct in England in his day, the flight with the merlin at larks excelled all others in this country. Catherine II. of Russia was also an ardent admirer of this diminutive squire of dames.

The training and entering of the merlin, eyess or wild-caught, differs in no important particular from that of the peregrine which is to be flown at rooks. Only the reclamation is much more speedily effected. Often it can be completed, even in the case of an adult jack, in less than a fortnight—with the exercise of diligence, of course. An eyess, well hacked, can be manned in less than a week. This, however, does not mean that they can be trained to larks in that time. Writers on falconry sometimes inadvertently lead their readers astray by declaring that the merlin is easily trained. What the writer means is probably that they are easily manned and made to the lure. This is so; but the preparation for flying in the field, at least at larks, is quite a different matter. Merlins, like all other hawks, differ greatly in temperament. Occasionally you will find a whole nest of them quite free from vice. Such hawks are all easily trained for the field. But more often these little creatures are imbued from the first with a disposition to carry. And to fly a merlin at larks before she is cured of this weakness is to involve yourself in endless trouble. Eyesses are as bad as haggards—often worse. Consequently, when the hawk is manned and made to the lure, more than half your work is still before you. A non-carrying merlin can be trained in less than a week after being taken up from hack, whereas a determined carrier will hardly be safe to fly in double that time.
TRAINED MERLIN

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There is another respect in which doubts may be entertained as to the truth of the opinion that merlins are easy to train. If by training is meant merely the qualifying them for driving moulting larks into covert, and killing them there, the saying is true enough. You may go to an enclosed country full of moulting larks. You may put one up and start the hawk. The lark, after a short flight, will go into a hedge; and there, if the merlin does not take him herself, you can either pick him up with the hand or drive him out for the hawk, which has taken perch on the fence; and he will be counted in the bag. But if by training you mean making the hawk fit to take ringing larks in open ground, the case is different. To do this a merlin must be in the pink of condition—quick, long-winded, persevering, and a good footer. How will you make her so? She will not wait on; no exercise is to be got that way to bring her into condition. If an eyess, she has had no practice at footing. How is she to learn that art? Then the dieting is a matter of extreme delicacy. If you give butcher’s meat, she will become dull and heavy; pigeon’s flesh will give her a sort of fever; in sheep’s heart, the food which most amateurs recommend, there is but poor nourishment; and she must be strong enough to go up half a mile, if required! Again, how are you to measure out the exact quantity that is good for her? If you give a peregrine or a goshawk an ounce too much or too little, the mischief done is slight. But give even half an ounce too much or too little to a jack-merlin, and he is straightway wrong in his condition. A big hawk is fed only once a day; there are about twenty-four hours on an average between each meal. If you fly the big hawk on a fast of twenty-two hours or of twenty-six, it matters little. But between the feeding-times of a merlin there is only an average of twelve hours. Therefore it matters a good deal whether you fly her early or late. She may be either too hungry or not hungry enough to do herself full justice.

The trainer who aspires to make a good score with ringing larks, and not to be content with mere hedge-row pot-hunting, must work pretty hard. He must not make many mistakes. He must observe very strictly the instructions already given for guarding against the besetting vice of carrying, never allowing a piece of food to be negligently fastened to the lure, or giving any bagged quarry that can be taken into a tree. He must find freshly-killed small birds almost daily for every merlin, so that her digestion and strength may be unimpaired. And in order to keep his hawk in wind, he must give her plenty of exercise. He can hardly do this without stooping her often to the lure. Ten minutes of this work, if the hawk is going all the time at her best pace, means a good many miles flying. Then the merlin must be taught to look principally to the fist for food. When feeding on the lure, whether it is garnished with a newly-killed sparrow or with a tiring, she must be provided with tit-bits from the hand, until, instead of fearing the approach of the falconer, she looks for it with pleasure. She must constantly be called to the fist. If there is a good-sized spare room available, she may be exercised there in coming often from one side of the room to your fist at the other. Some falconers advise keeping merlins loose in an empty room, where blocks and perches have been placed; and this is, no doubt, a very good plan when you have or can build for yourself the right kind of room. The sort of place recommended later on for moulting ? 134 ? purposes will sometimes do well enough. I have found that the roof or ceiling is the great difficulty, as the hawks, constantly flying round just underneath, rub off the outer web of the long flight feathers. Of course the windows must be guarded with vertical bars, upon which the little hawks can find no foothold.

For the worst cases of carrying I must refer the reader to the chapter on “Vices.” But even with a well-behaved merlin the trainer must be constantly on his guard, at least for a fortnight after the hawk has begun work in the field. He must beware, when she has killed, of shepherds’ dogs, of wandering crows or rooks, and of the fowls which are now often found colonising the open fields, far away from a village or farmhouse. All or any of these may attack the hawk, and by inducing her to carry away the lark, sow the seeds of the vile habit. “Once a carrier, always a carrier,” is not an entirely true maxim, but it is not far from the truth. I have known merlins carry badly, and afterwards abandon the practice; but such cases are not common, and the trouble involved in effecting the cure is sometimes more than the merlin is worth. Prevention is many miles better than cure; good, honest miles, too, measured over the stony hillsides of Wilts! As you approach your merlin on the ground, remember not to stare at her, and to give her plenty of time. On the first few occasions you must exercise the patience of a veritable Job. She is now, after her victory, more apprehensive than ever that her hard-earned meal may be ravished from her. As you walk about, pretending to look at anything rather than her, she is all the time wondering whether your intentions are honourable or the reverse. Instinct tells her that they are base. Her previous experience, on the other hand, is reassuring to her. Your attitude, as you stroll about, is indicative of no sinister design. “When in doubt do nothing,” is a hawk’s maxim, as well as a diplomatist’s. Meanwhile there is the quarry to be plumed. So with many lookings round, and many pauses, and with a rather misdoubting mind, she falls to at the work of picking off the feathers. Not greedily—unless she is a greedy hawk, or too thin—but with a provoking deliberation, and with intervals that seem interminable. At last the feathers are off; and the warm food—the best she has ever had—begins to engross more of her real attention. Now she is ten times easier to approach. If, thinks she, you had been going to claim the quarry for yourself, surely you would have interfered before this. When she is fairly busy, you may by degrees get nearer, but keeping a keen look-out, and on the least show of alarm retreating quietly, but quickly. At length you will be able to get ? 135 ? your hand, well garnished with a tempting morsel, within reach of her.

With a troublesome merlin you may employ, if you are sure of not bungling it, a very admirable device. You may resort to what may be called the “fishing-rod trick.” You will take with you into the field two joints of a fishing-rod, not including the top joint. On the thin end of the thinner of these joints, which must be stiff and stout, you will have fitted a brass hook or tooth, with its sharp point standing out an inch or so at right angles from the rod. This apparatus is sometimes invaluable. You may use one or both joints, as you find you can get nearer or less near. When you begin to be afraid to go any nearer, slide the thin end of the rod along the ground as you kneel until it is quite close to the dead quarry. If your hawk has had any decent manning at all, she will not be alarmed at it, even if she notices its stealthy approach. Having got the point on the lark’s body, steering clear of the hawk’s feet, turn the point downwards on it, and firmly but gently press it down and in. If you bungle, and the point slips, you are probably done; but if it holds you are safe. Proceed then with your making in, just as if there was no rod in the case. Always endeavour to take up the hawk with the hand alone, retaining your hold by the rod only as a last resort, in case of mischief. Each time that you can take her up without any trouble occurring, the easier the job will become. And even an attempt to bolt, which your firm hold with the rod renders unsuccessful, will tend to convince the evil-doer of the futility of her proceeding. Beware particularly of making in if a bagged lark is the victim. With bagged larks, easily taken, hawks are always inclined to bolt. On the other hand, if the lark has flown well, and the hawk is winded, there is less to fear.

When you have taken up your hawk, if you intend to fly her again, contrive that the body of the lark is held in the palm of your hand, and the neck alone protrudes between the forefinger and the base of the thumb. Then, when the brain has been eaten, and you have thrown away the beak and as much of the rest of the head as you conveniently can, let her think, or try to think, that there is no more to be had. If, on the other hand, you intend to feed her up, let her eat the rest of the lark, or almost all, and, as she finishes it, slip on the hood, and let her pull through the last few mouthfuls. Or, as the remains of the lark may be too bony to pull through easily, you may substitute a morsel of sheep’s heart, which she can more easily dispose of. A jack which has had half a lark in the morning, and three ? 136 ? or four heads already in the afternoon, will be generally too much gorged if allowed to take ............