The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1884-03-12
The Quail.

was about ten years of age when what
am about to relate occurred.
1t was summer time. In those days l
lived with my father on farm in south
ern Russia. Around US, for distance of
many versts, the steppe extended in every
direction. No forest, no stream was
found in the neighboring country; only
shallow ravines, covered by brushwood.
and looking like immense green snakes
here and there, made their way through
the otherwise unbroken surface of the
plains. Tiny rivulets flowed at the bot
tom of these ravines; in places to which
well-beaten footpaths generally led, you
could see, very near the top of the bank,
small springs of limpid water, like tears,
issue forth from the ground, and on their
edges, in the damp clay, the tracks of
numberless birds and other small ami
mails. Man and beast alike need fresh,
pure water.
My father was passionately fond Of
hunting. Every moment he could spare
from his work-provided the weather
was fine-would see him take down his
rifle, strap his pouch about his waist,
whistle for his old dog Tresor, and start
to hunt quail or partridge. Hare he
thought little of fit only, he would say,
run. These and snipe, which came in
the autumn, were all the game found in
the neighborhood.
But quail and cartridges we're quite
numerous, especially the latter. In fol-
lowing the banks of the ravines you would
encounter at every step little hollows in
the dry ground where they loved to squat.
Old Tresor would then come to sudden
stop, his tail wagging furiously, and his
forehead gathering in wrinkles, while my
father, pale with excitement, would eau
tiously raise the hammer of his gun.
At times, to my great joy, would be
permitted to accompany him. l used to
tuck the legs of my trousers into the tops
of nv boots, hang my little flask over my
shoulders, and 80 equipped, would imagine
myself true sportsman. Though perspi-
ration might cover me from head to foot,
and gravel and dust enter my shoes, l
never felt the least fatigued, and never in
single instance allowed myself to drop
behind. At each report of the gun, and
as soon as the bird fell, l bounded forward
with joyous shout felt 80 happy |
The wounded quail might struggle, flap
its wings, sometimes on the ground, at
other times in Tresor's mouth, its blood
fowl only became enthusiastic; never
felt the least sentiment of pity
What would have given to be able to
fire gun myself, to kill quail and par
tridges with my own hand ? But my
father had repeatedly explained to me
that | was not to have gun until l
reached the age of twelve, and that was
then to have single-barrel gun, and that
] would be allowed to shoot lsrks only.
Large numbers of these were found near
our house; on sunny days you could see
them by the dozens in the clear sky.
mounting higher, even higher, with chirps
resembling the tinkling of little bells.
looked upon them as my future spoil,
and aimed at them with stick which
carried over my shoulder like gun. 1t
is very easy to get close to them, when
they hover with quivering wings perhaps
five or six feet above the ground, before
suddenly plunging into the grass.
Sometimes, in the distance, on stuble
fields or green prairie, bustards could be
seen. "Ahl" would sigh "to kill
big bird like that, and then die !"
pointed them out to my father with
my finger, but he would invariably answer
that the bustard was very shy bird,
which would not permit anybody to get
near it. Once, however, he attempted to
steal upon solitary bustard, thinking
that it had been wounded, perhaps, and
was tagging behind the rest of the flock.
he ordered Tresor to keep behind him,
and babe me not to stir. Charging his
gun with buckshot he turned to the
dog and exclaimed in a low voice /:
Back, back" Then, covering as low as
possible, he advanced cautiously upon the
bustard. Tresor would not couch down,
but assumed gait something like that of
bandy.legged person, wagging his tail
and holding one of his lips between his
teeth. | couldn't keep still any longer,
and followed my father and Tresor,
crawling carefully all the way. But the
bustard wouldn't allow us to get within
three hundred yards; it started on run
first, then, Tapping its wings, it flew away.
Tresor made bound forward and started
at it. /, too, looked at it-with such a
disappointed heart Couldn't it have
stayed just a little longer2 We should
certainly have killed the bird.
One day / started with my father to 90
hunting. 1t was on the eve of st. Peters
day. At that season of the year the young
cartridges are still very small, and my
father would not shoot any. He there.
fore entered patch of oak trees situated
on the edge of rye field, where you were
always sure to find quail. AS it was rather
difficult to cut the grass in this piece of
wood, it had been allowed to grow freely
and had attained great height. Myriads
OF flowers, vetch, clover, haste bell, mouse
ear and sweet.william throve there in
abundance. Whenever | came to this
spot with my sister or the maid servant
carried home whole armfuls; when in the
company of my father did not think
of picking flowers. considered that oc-
cupation unbecoming sportsman.
Suddenly Tresor came to stop. My
father made signal TO me to be cautious.
Right in front of Tresor a hen onail rose