Now! Then! William Allison (15) goes grouse shooting for the first time, on Saltergate Moor (Pickering)

12 August 1866: William Allison (15) goes grouse shooting for the first time, on Saltergate Moor (Pickering)

William Allison. 1920. “My Kingdom for a Horse!”. New York: E.P. Dutton and Company. Get it:

Excerpt

We arrived a little before four and soon started shooting. At about four o’clock, I heard bang, bang, bang, and great shouts. “Now then, look out!” said Mead (that is the man’s name) firing up into the air, with no effect. I saw a black object looming in the distance, and fired vaguely into space, and, of course, missed. The fortunate grouse escaped everybody (there were now about seven shooting). After this, you can imagine my disgust on finding that the dog, which I have fed myself every day and taken the greatest possible pains with, would persist in following and fighting with Mead’s dog, and, when driven away, turned sulky and would not range; so I could only get a chance at birds which had been shot at by someone else and, of course, were much harder to hit, as they flew faster. However, my second shot was more successful, at 4.5 A.M. (of course I timed my first grouse), driven, of course, by the shots fired at it. Mead (now some distance away) saw it, but could not get a shot. “Now then!” he cried; nearer it came; thoughts flitted through my mind as to the consequences if I missed it. My hand trembled, I pointed my weapon … and as the smoke cleared away an attentive observer might have seen an inanimate and white-trousered bird, lying on the heather, and a youth apparently of about 15 years of age making frantic attempts to load again in less than no time, on account of his extreme desire to pick up the game – it, of course, being unsportsmanlike to advance with empty gun.

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To facilitate reading, the spelling and punctuation of elderly excerpts have generally been modernised, and distracting excision scars concealed. My selections, translations, and editions are copyright.

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Original

After this, you can imagine my disgust on finding that the dog, which I have fed myself every day and taken the greatest possible pains with, would persist in following and fighting with Mead’s dog, and, when driven away, turned sulky and would not range; so I could only get a chance at birds which had been shot at by someone else and, of course, were much harder to hit, as they flew faster. However, my second shot was more successful, at 4.5 A.M. (of course I timed my first grouse), driven, of course, by the shots fired at it. Mead (now some distance away) saw it, but could not get a shot. “Now then!” he cried; nearer it came; thoughts flitted through my mind as to the consequences if I missed it. My hand trembled, I pointed my weapon … and as the smoke cleared away an attentive observer might have seen an inanimate and white-trousered bird, lying on the heather, and a youth apparently of about 15 years of age making frantic attempts to load again in less than no time, on account of his extreme desire to pick up the game – it, of course, being unsportsmanlike to advance with empty gun.

279 words.