HUNTING WITH THE BOW
by Cliff Huntington
A reprint of an article written by Will Thompson
in Forest and Stream - November 20, 1879 (pg. 837)
Having been for several years a careful and much interested reader of the
contributions of Mr. Van Dyke, upon the theory and practice of hunting with the
rifle, it was no small gratification to me to read his article in the FOREST
AND STREAM of October 16th, upon "Archery Marksmanship." For many
years my brother, Maurice Thompson, and myself hunted with the bow, when we two
were the only archers in the United States, and before either of us had ever
seen an archers target. We did not, of course adopt the bow as a weapon
superior, or equal in destructive powers, to the cheapest and poorest guns, but
solely for the greater pleasure of its use in pursuit of game. To me it has
always seemed a greater feat to stalk a fox to his ruin, as I once knew Captain
H. H. Talbot to do, killing him at the seventh shot, two miles from the
point where we first found him, following him through the heavy woods of the
Wabash bottoms, than to have killed fifty quails without a miss as they whirred
up in the weed fields, by pouring an ounce and a quarter of No. 9 shot out of a
big No. 10 gun which destroyed the peace of the world, and racked the brain with
its intolerable thunder. Now, Captain Talbot could easily have killed the fox
the first shot, at the moment we started it from its bed in the bushes, had he
been armed with a good shot gun loaded with a charge of BB shot, and thus have
saved the two miles of cunning and toilsome trailing through the thick woods;
but the dead fox was not valuable, and we were out for the pleasure of the
chase, and not for the purpose of obtaining a supply of meat for use or pelts
for sale. What gentlemen will admit that he abandons his business for a week,
dons the rough garb of the hunt, toils over hills, wades through foul sloughs,
defies the clinging tortures of thorns and burrs, bears the expense of a three
hundred dollar breech-loader and its expensive ammunition, for the reason that
he must have a few quail, or a dozen ducks, upon which to regale himself? Of
course, all will admit that the tyro, who only kills one quail out of ten shots,
sees the same beauties of field and wood as his more skilled friend who brings
down the hurrying grouse with almost unerring certainty. What then is the chief
pleasure of the hunt? Is it the joy of securing a huge bag of dead birds? Surely
not. If that were the principle moving the hunter, he would seek his cowering
and huddled flocks on the ground and pour the volleyed murder from both barrels
into their midst. But it is not the mass of dead birds he seeks, but the
exciting pleasures of the chase. This being admitted, how easy it is to
understand the feeling of the true sportsman like Mr. Van Dyke, when he passes
by the little spotted fawn that tamely stares at him from the open glade, and
sends his bullet far flying after the great antlered fellow who goes smashing
through the tangle of the mountain side! This is the true spirit of the hunter;
and though such may be the exception to the rule, yet such are growing in
number; and the time will come when the men who boast of one hundred ducks
killed in a single day, will be scorned of all good sportsmen and true. For such
reasons I have loved the bow as a weapon of the chase more than any other. I
have spent many a long day in pursuit of game with bow and arrow, and returned
without "fur, fin, or feather" as a trophy, and yet have intensely
enjoyed the days sport, for many a close shot at long range had thrilled
me with that indescribable flush of exaltation that intoxicates like rich old
wine. There is something about the shooting of game with a bow that produces a
feeling of personal pride in the performance, which does not come with the same
result when the killing is done with a gun. I can only account for this by
attributing it to the fact that a gun is more of a machine than a bow. When the
gun is loaded, all that is necessary to do to send its deadly messenger forth,
is to simply press the trigger. There is no great muscular effort, no strong
arraying of the forces of the man against the game, but only the mechanical
training of the long tube upon the game, and the loosening of the imprisoned
energy within the shell. With the bow you do not say, "Now that duck is
swimming this way, and if it reaches yon clump of sedge it will be within fifty
yards, and my gun is sure of it;" but the excitement of the shot is
wonderfully enhanced from the fact that you cannot surely depend upon killing it
at any given distance. One great feature in hunting with the bow is denied the
votary of the gun, which to me has been productive of more intense excitement
that any other event of hunting experience, and that is in the habit of birds
and rabbits squatting close to the ground at the sound of the first passing
arrow, and there remaining until a dozen arrows have hissed about them, and cut
up the turf and weeds so close as to almost dislodge them forcibly. These are
moments of exhilaration to the archer. I remember one instance, when I found a
woodcock near my house, and went to the house for my bow and arrows. Returning,
I found him by careful search squatted by a tuft of sedge, and from a distance
of thirty yards I discharged seven arrows at him--the wildest shot not missing
him five inches. He sat perfectly still, with the arrows ringed round him deeply
driven into the soft earth. Having no more arrows, I could do nothing, except
walk up and flush him, which I did. He flew a short distance and alighted, and I
procured my arrows and followed. After a half hours search I found him
again, and the same exciting piece of sport was repeated, till at the firth shot
I knocked him over. It is safe to say, that I obtained more real hunters
joy out of the bout after that one woodcock than does the sportsman who kills a
dozen as fine birds in an afternoon with his shot gun. I do not deny the
pleasure of wing-shooting with the shot gun, and I have myself taken a selfish
pride in some fine bags of birds killed over a fine old setter, but I do
maintain that the greater pleasure is to be obtained by the less noisy and less
destructive bow. So far as the question of losing arrow is concerned, the
expense of keeping a supply is not nearly so great as that of satisfying the
ravenous maw of a breech-loader. One does not loose so many arrows as might be
expected. I remember one notable instance, when, in the spring of the year 1877,
Captain H. H. Talbot and the writer went upon a ten days hunt down the
Rock River armed only with bows and arrows, and during the expedition neither
lost a single arrow. Of course, this was better fortune than generally befalls;
but the loss of arrows is never a serious matter. Another advantage the archer
possesses, is in the fact that everything is game for him. He follows the rabbit
with the same joy that the gunner pursues the deer; to him the meadow lark is as
fine game as the grouse to the man with the Greener, and the little wood duck as
big game as the canvasback or wild goose to the fellow with the Currituck
cannon. Now that the love of target archery is possessing the American lovers of
out-door pastimes, it will not be long before there will be many archers with
bows in hand haunting the sedge fields beloved of the rabbit, and following the
ways of the little streams where the thick grasses, the overshadowing willows,
and the ripple of the hidden water allure to the domain of the heron. There is
no thrill of joy which the chase provokes so subtly fine and intense, as the
tip-toe approach, the soft parting of the impeding willows, the eager peering
for the wary game, the startled flocking of the blood from the heart as it is
discovered close--so close as almost to shock the sight--and then the gently
raising of the bow hand, the strong drawing of the taut cord, the sudden
settling of the nerves and muscles into utter rigidity, the ringing of the
loosed string, and the low whisper of the flying arrow, and the dull thud of the
bow. No tiger hunter in the jungle ever glared with more excitement into the
eyes of his fierce game, than thus the archer upon his less dangerous prey.
Will H. Thompson
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