“The great thing in punting is not to lose your pole.”
But it is also important not to lose your punt!
Over twenty years ago the Fairlie foundered in the Indian Ocean. Spars had been thrown overboard to form a raft, yet before anything but the skeleton of the framework could be lashed together the ship went down. The crew jumped into the square, scrambled on to the boundary spars, and remained astride them with their legs in the sea until they were rescued a day or two afterwards.
This is as simple a raft as any recorded in shipwreck annals. But what is a raft? It is indeed a difficult thing to define. Rafts are of all shapes and sizes, varying from the few booms of the Fairlie up to the elaborate raft of the Medusa, of which the model was shown in the London Fisheries Exhibition. A raft would seem to be any floating substance on which a man can sit or stand. Boys have paddled in a pond on rafts of a couple of planks, soldiers have crossed rivers on rafts of barn-doors, and we hear of armies using rafts of house-roofs, and wooden-shed walls, and casks and inflated skins, and pontoons of all shapes, of tin, zinc, copper, iron, leather, wood, and canvas.
Perhaps the simplest kind of river raft is that common in South Africa, where a stack of reeds some fifty feet in diameter is pushed into the water and allowed to float down stream, each day, as the under stems get waterlogged, more being cut from the banks and thrown on to the heap. A similar rough raft is not uncommon amongst us in winter, when the ice is very thin, for if a heap of reeds is then thrown on to a slab of ice, and well watered, a solid mass can be built up with alternate layers of reeds and ice which will float considerable weights. Besides the floating stack there is another reed raft in use amongst the Kaffirs, made of a mattress of reeds about four feet long, three feet broad, and eight inches thick, tied together with strips of the reeds themselves, with reed posts and railing round.
Skins stretched and inflated are in use all over the globe for raft purposes. In Peru a hide pinched up at the corners, secured there with a thorn, and dried in the sun, furnishes the only boat. In another American form we have holes bored all round the edge, a thong run through them and pulled tight over a framework of withies,—in fact, a coracle such as the Celts were so fond of, the washing basket with the waterproof covering which exists on the coast of Ireland to this day.
The contracting force exercised by skins as they dry has a great deal to do with the water-tight qualities of hide boats, as, in all cases, the framework is covered as soon as possible after the death of the animal.
It is astonishing what simple things have been made into boats. Admiral Fitzroy once sent a party of sailors ashore, and while they were encamped their boat was stolen. Out of the boughs of the trees around them they made a large basket, covered it with their canvas tent, puddled the inside with a little clay, and put to sea, spending eighteen hours in this crazy contrivance before they got back to safety.
Alexander’s army passed the Indus, as Hannibal’s did the Rhine, on rafts made of inflated skins, or of skins stuffed with hay. On the Tigris and elsewhere at this very day such goat-skin rafts are still in use. The skins are lashed to a framework with one of the legs of each animal upwards; through this leg the air is driven in, and, as the traveller journeys down the stream, he visits the skins in succession and blows in fresh air to make up for what has escaped. A single ox-hide when inflated is said to make a float capable of sustaining three hundred pounds.
Casks are almost invaluable in raft-making, and many a shipwrecked crew has been saved on a platform lashed to floating barrels. One of the early lifeboats simply consisted of a boat with holes bored in her bottom and empty casks lashed inside her, the casks giving the floating power while the shape of the boat was retained. Four spars lashed together with a cask at each corner and a square of canvas fixed on them was all that one of the patent life-rafts consisted of.
Casks furnish great floating power in such a convenient form that it is hardly to be wondered at that they have been used over and over again in the construction of military bridges where boats have been unattainable. They are, however, but a makeshift, pontoons nowadays being always carried. When Darius crossed the Bosphorus and afterwards the Danube he did it on a bridge of boats oft very elaborate construction. When Xerxes crossed the Hellespont he had two bridges, one consisting of three hundred and sixty vessels anchored side by side and head to stern, and another, nearer the Archipelago, of three hundred and fourteen vessels similarly anchored. These were connected by cables, a platform of planks was laid stretching from each to each, and on the platform from shore to shore there was laid a thick bed of earth to form the road on which the Persian hosts passed into Europe. At Xenophon’s passage of the Tigris thirty-seven vessels were used.
The most famous boat-bridge in modern times was that thrown by the British over the Adour when Wellington invaded France. The bridge was 810 feet long, and was at first supported on hawsers, which were kept tight by capstans placed in the centre of each of the thirty to forty-ton chassemarées which formed the piers. These chassemarées were moored side by side at a distance of forty feet from each other’s centres, so that the intervals were equal. The platform was after a day or two shifted on to balks. To protect the bridge a boom was thrown across the river on each side of it. The best of the raft-bridges was Sokolniki’s over the Niemen at Grodno in 1792. The trunks, fifty to sixty feet long and about two feet in diameter, were lashed together in tens and joined end to end until they reached across the stream. The bridge was three hundred and sixty yards in length, and formed a great curve towards the current, with the centre of the curve supported by an anchored vessel. These trunks were lashed together. A better plan, however, is that adopted by the Canadian timber-men, who cross-lay their rafts, bore an auger-hole at the corners through both thicknesses, and fix a wedge in the cleft end of the stick which keeps them together. As the stick is driven home the wedge is forced upwards into the end and makes all fast.
On the coast of India it is a very common thing to see two or three natives afloat on a raft made of three logs of wood—of the pine varnish-tree—the centre log being about five-and-twenty feet long and the breadth of the three together about a yard. These rafts are manœuvred with very great dexterity, and safely brave the roughest seas. Similar to them is the Brazilian catamaran, which carries a large triangular sail.
The Cingalese catamaran is a log of wood rounded beneath, and scooped out, with two planks lashed on the top, so as to increase the height above water. It has a boat-shaped outrigger, supported on two curved poles, to enable it to carry the large lug-sail, which in a fresh breeze so heels it over that the crew have to sit well out to windward on the connecting-bars to balance the swift but crazy craft. In the Mauritius the catamaran is an ordinary boat with a smaller boat at the end of the outrigger, in which is set a peculiar mizzen. In the Fijis the catamaran becomes a double canoe, with both hulls exactly the same, and bearing a platform giving just a little play, so as to allow of the individual peculiarities of the boats being sufficiently humoured.
These boats, although they may in a few rare cases upset end on—that is, turn a somersault—are the safest craft in the world, for, consisting as they do of double hulls sustaining a raft, should anything go wrong with the hulls, the raft will never sink, but will simply settle down until it floats on the waves. Owing to the great breadth there can be no question of ‘initial stability,’ and an ordinary capsize is impossible, while the very light draught of the hulls will take the craft over places where even a rowing-boat would meet her doom.
To build such a craft is not difficult, and Mr. W. L. Alden has recently shown us how it can be well and cheaply done. Adopting the principle of the flying proa of the Ladrones, which are credited with their twenty knots on a beam wind, he makes his hulls quite flat on one side, and thus avoids the ‘funnel difficulty,’ as it was called in the case of the Castilia and other steam catamarans, where the inner sides of the hulls being curved, the water between them was heaped up as it rushed through the narrowing strait. To make such a catamaran as that shown in our sketch—a craft speedy, safe, and handy, which is easily built, and will bear any amount of rough usage—four deal planks are required. These should be fifteen feet long, eighteen inches wide, and an inch thick. The width is unusually great, but should single boards not be obtainable, two or three boards can be keyed together so as to make it up. Take one of the planks, which should have been bought ready planed, divide it into five equal parts as shown in the diagram, and at each of the four divisions screw, with brass screws, a three-inch batten three-quarters of an inch thick. This will not only prevent the plank from warping, but will strengthen the joints if you are working with a board that has been made up.
Fig. 1-6.—Construction of Catamaran.
Fig. 1-6 enlarged (146 kB)
Now shape the ends as shown in Fig. 1, first with a saw and then with a draw-knife and spokeshave. Take another of your eighteen-inch planks and treat it in exactly the same manner, and when you have finished the curves, which should exactly resemble the others, cut off along the longer side an inch and three-quarters off every cross-piece, so that when the planks are placed at right angles together they will fit close. Whitelead these edges thoroughly, and then nail the planks together with galvanised iron nails, as shown in Fig. 2, which gives you a section end-on. Now cut four quadrants eighteen and a quarter inches radius, and off one side cut a strip an inch wide and trim the other end so as to leave you a piece of the shape shown in Fig. 3, one side of which (A B) is seventeen inches long, and the other (A C), eighteen inches, and which is so made to fit exactly into the angle made by the broad plank and close against the battens as sketched in Fig. 4. Finish all the edges off smooth and square and true, whitelead them well, and fix them in with galvanised iron nails.
Now make, or get made, six iron staples such as are shown in Fig. 5, where the distance from A to B horizontally and A to C vertically is just four inches. The iron is best an inch and a half wide, between an eighth and a quarter of an inch thick, and in it should be three holes, shown at P and in the ears marked H, large enough for quarter-inch bolts. You also require six other staples of the shape shown in Fig. 6, made of half-inch rod iron with counter-sunk sockets for the screws, and these, like the eared sockets, must be four inches wide.
Figs. 7 and 8.
Fig. 9.
Screw down one of these eared sockets just where the curve goes off on the narrower side, as shown in Fig. 7, and in the centre fix a third. Use galvanised nuts and bolts for fastening, with a thin leather washer under the bolt and an oak washer under the nut, and make the holes watertight by hard screwing and plenty of whitelead. To the other edge at the angle, and so as to project beyond it and correspond with the eared sockets, fix your flat staples, as shown in Fig. 8, so that a bar can be passed through each, as shown in Fig. 9. Along the centre of the board above which the staples project bore five holes an inch in diameter, one in the centre of each of the five divisions with which you started, and then having first fitted a thin batten from A to B, as shown in Fig. 4, and let it down flush into the quadrants, give the construction a thorough coating of red-lead paint inside and out.
Next get some canvas forty inches wide. Coat it well with boiled oil, dry it thoroughly, and placing the lower edge of your framework along its centre, strain it up tight all round. Use copper nails to fasten it with, and running a streak of paint along its lower edge, finish it there with a thin oak batten, steamed to shape if necessary, and screwed on outside while the paint is wet, so as to serve for protection and form the keel. Now give your pontoon a good even coat of paint, and when that is thoroughly dry give it a trial coat of any colour you please.
Now make another pontoon in exactly the same way, and when it is finished fasten both hulls together with three pieces of scantling, as shown in Fig. 9. The cross-bars should be nine feet long and four inches square, and kept in their places by copper bolts slipped into them through the holes in the centre of each of the sockets.
Next make a platform of quarter-inch boards by nailing them together in two layers at right angles to each other. Use copper nails and clinch them. Round the outside of the platform run a low ridge of hard wood, so as to turn it into a tray, as shown in the sketch, and keep the water off the edges of the boards. Cut out a dozen grooves for the tops of the sockets to sink into; put the platform flat down on the cross-bars, and screw it into its place with galvanised nuts and bolts passing through the bars. The catamaran is now finished and ready for the mast, which can be stepped in an iron collar raised on three strong iron supports about twenty inches long, strongly riveted and bolted into the deck. Her sails and spars are made in the ordinary manner, the same as those of other boats as previously described. She requires a traverse or ring for the painter, and a rowlock to steer her by, and then, having carefully overhauled her to see that she is thoroughly watertight, whiteleaded every crack and crevice, and remembered throughout her construction never to have nailed a nail or screwed a screw without first covering it with whitelead, you can give her a farewell top coat of colour. Wait till she is thoroughly dry, and then, having placed a cork securely in each of the ten holes leading to her watertight compartments, which holes were made for you to get the water out in case any should leak in, you can launch her, seize your steering rudder, and be off. She will go anywhere and do anything, providing always that the waves are not rough enough to wash you off her deck.
Fig. 10.—A Safe Craft.
Says Mr. Alden: ‘There is no better boat to cruise in than such a catamaran. At night you anchor her, unship your mast, pitch your tent, and sleep safely and comfortably. If you come to a dam you can take the craft apart and carry her round piecemeal. If you once try to build a catamaran and succeed—as you certainly will if you have patience—you will have the safest and most comfortable sail-boat in the world.’
A Case of Sea-birds.
It is surprising at how early an age the sporting instincts of the English race develop. The ordinary schoolboy let loose for the summer holidays, when not actively engaged at any game, is apt to look about him for something to destroy, and to destroy aimlessly and indiscriminately also. Now there are few surer protections against such a reprehensible habit than to make the Creator’s works in some branch or other a special study. The practical entomologist never kills for the mere sake of killing, and when he does deprive of life he endeavours to do so with as little cruelty as possible. Hence we need make no apology for this chapter. When we consider how many men hunt for exercise, or for food or clothing for the body, one can hardly consistently condemn a little margin to feed the mind.
Most boys have a taste for natural history, and the following practical hints may, it is hoped, tend to develop it, by teaching them not only how to destroy life, but how to preserve what they have destroyed. Thus they may learn wonderful lessons regarding the habits and the structure of the marvellous insects and birds and beasts with which the Almighty has peopled this beautiful world of ours.
I propose to begin with hints about butterflies, because the average British boy is apt first to turn his hunting instincts to these. Yet the catching and collecting of butterflies is a pursuit worthy of any age, and, to be done well, requires dexterity, delicacy of touch, and care. Under these conditions, and armed with a few simple implements, there is no reason why any boy should not, in time, become the happy possessor of one of the most beautiful of natural history collections, the which, should fate ever call upon him to leave his native shores, he will, in other climes, find a new pleasure in increasing. For butterflies may be collected in many a dull, out-of-the-way quarter, where larger game is conspicuous by its absence, or the means of pursuing it wanting.
The first consideration, however, is the momentous question, as to which is a butterfly and which is a moth? The answer to this is, that butterflies have blunt ends like pins-heads at the points of their antennæ, and that moths have none. In England there are seventy-two sorts of butterflies, not to be confounded with night or day moths, which number over nine hundred families in this country alone. A point which strikes the collector almost at the beginning, are the extremely local habits of butterflies. In almost every place new specimens are to be found, and the varied flight of each kind will soon lead the collector to learn to detect a new species. These are usually classed by their undermarkings, as many which present the same appearance on the top side are different underneath. My small boy, with his rough cotton net and wild shout, left very little of the unfortunate insect he had captured, to put into his trouser pocket! The greatest care and manipulation are required to procure a specimen fit for a collection.
The net should be of silk gauze, fitted on to the circle of cane, nearly eighteen inches across. The two ends of the cane should run into a T-shaped brass socket. The foot of the T is a screw, which screws into the stick handle, the which may be used also either to hold a gaff or a landing net. The circle of cane should be covered with some soft thick flannel, firstly, that the silk gauze may be sewn on securely, and, secondly, that the butterflies, which are often struck by the rim of the net, are not injured by it. The flannel is, moreover, a saving to the wear and tear of the net.
Another kind of net is the collector’s scissor net, with which you can pick a butterfly off a flower. It is about five inches square, in the form of two bags mounted one on each point of a wire, which opens and shuts.
Having caught the butterfly, the next thing is to kill him. A pinch through the net, across the thorax (the part from which the wings spring) will accomplish this. For obstinate specimens, such as ‘skippers,’ a lethal chamber can be prepared, in the shape of a wide-mouthed two-pound jam bottle, with a well-fitting cork. At the bottom of this is fixed some blotting-paper, on which a few drops of chloroform have been poured. The butterfly should be left in the bottle a quarter of an hour.
The specimens can be carried home in safety in a collector’s box, about five inches long by three deep and broad, in the pocket. Triangular envelopes, varying in size, according to that of the butterfly, are often used. Into these the insects can be slipped with folded wings, and left for any length of time till it is convenient to relax and set him.
Fig. 1.
Now for the setting of the butterfly. Drying-boards can be bought of any length, made either of soft deal, or, better still, of cork, covered with white paper. They have a groove down the centre to receive the insect’s body. Different widths are required for different-sized insects. Place the row of butterflies to be set down the board, their bodies pinned in the groove. Cut strips of writing paper an eighth of an inch wide. Pin a strip of paper on each side of the groove, about the centre. Secure it additionally by a pin between each butterfly. With the point of a pin arrange the wings equally under the strips (Fig. 1). These drying-boards should be kept out of the dust, or ants or flies may damage the specimens. Some people have a box with a perforated zinc door, into which they slide the boards. I called such an one my meat safe!
In the case of dried specimens preserved in envelopes and which need relaxing before setting, there are two ways of going to work. The first is to float a piece of cork in hot water, and to pin the specimen on to the cork. The wings should not touch the water. A saucepan is a good thing to use, as the lid can be put on. The cork should float high in the water.
But the best plan is to steam them in a tin box with cork in the lid. Pin the insects to the cork and half fill the box with boiling water, and close it. If the boiling water as it cools is renewed two or three times, in an hour or so the insects will be perfectly relaxed. They should then be set at once, after shaking off the drops from the wings, and placed near enough to the fire to feel the heat and to dry quickly, but not too near. The outer margins of the wings should be covered with the setting braces (the paper strips), or they will curl up with the heat. The wings should, if possible, not be allowed to touch the cork when being relaxed, as they suck up the moisture.
A butterfly cabinet with drawers is very expensive, and beyond the means of most boys. Cases to hold the butterflies should be uniform in size, made of mahogany, seasoned deal, or cedar, and lined with cork, to be procured at any shoemaker’s, and fitted with a glass lid on hinges. These can be hung as ornaments against the wall. In one corner should be fixed a little perforated tin match box containing a lump of camphor. The appearance of a collection is much improved by having a piece of black cotton stretched from two pins down the box, between the lines of butterflies. Cases for travelling should on no account be glazed, but be shaped like a book, with a hinge in the centre, that the butterflies may be put on either side.
The pins used had better be the headless taxidermist pins, sold for the purpose, which being so much slighter than the ordinary pins, do not spoil the specimens.
Should the larger butterflies show signs of decay in their bodies, paint them with a little solution of carbolic acid, equal parts of acid and water.
It is unnecessary to catch more than four or five good specimens of each class. First, the male (which is much smaller than the female), secondly, the female, can be set out. Then two butterflies, which have been set with their wings closed to show the undermarkings, can be placed body to body to economise space. The fifth specimen may be some abnormal one of the same class, if such has been caught.
All valuable collections are kept away from the light, which deteriorates them. In the British Museum but few specimens are shown to the general public, and even the cases containing these are covered with a square of American cloth, which the public are asked to replace after looking at them. The real collection is kept downstairs, and can only be seen by applying for an order.
Some of the best specimens in England have been bred for collection from the caterpillar. This accounts, to my mind, for the occasional appearance of some brilliant foreign specimen in this country. It has probably escaped from some one’s menagerie. I caught last year, on the southern coast, a beautiful specimen of the North American linea plexippus in such perfect condition that it could not possibly have been wafted across the Atlantic.
No creature in Nature goes through such marvellous evolutionary changes as the butterfly. It emerges from the chrysalis hanging on the bough, the male appearing fifteen days earlier than the female. This latter lays her eggs, as it were, on her death-bed, and they are hatched the following year into the minutest of larvæ. Each kind of butterfly lays its eggs in a spot where the caterpillar can procure the food peculiar to it. Thus caterpillars kept in confinement require each kind a different sort of leaf. Some caterpillars hibernate and do not turn into a chrysalis till the second year.
In concluding this part of my subject, I must warn boys against handling hairy caterpillars with bare hands, as when the hand touches the face or neck it is apt to produce a rash like nettle-rash.
The wholesale destruction, for the sheer love of taking life, which goes on at all seasons round our seacoasts, is simply appalling. It is trusted that these hints on bird-stuffing may not stimulate it, but rather, by leading boys to take an interest in the marvellous structure of bird life, to venerate and spare it, shooting only here and there a solitary specimen for preservation.
On inspecting a bird which is intended for stuffing, it must be borne in mind that many species change their plumage in summer and in winter. This applies especially to sea-birds, and it is often difficult to recognise an individual in his sober winter garb as contrasted with his rich summer attire. Therefore it is quite allowable to preserve two specimens of the same sex and class, in order to show the difference in their plumage.
Mid-winter or midsummer is the best time to shoot birds for stuffing, as when they have been recently sitting, or moulting, their feathers are apt to be worn or only half formed. Be careful to use only small shot and small charges, at short distances, for small birds, or the skin will be irretrievably damaged. Increase the charge in proportion to the size of the bird, but it should never be a very heavy one. A friend once brought me to stuff a tame parrot of his which had flown away. Thinking to injure the skin the less, he had shot it with a charge of peas, but with the result of crushing it almost to a jelly, tearing the skin so that it was useless.
In the event of the bird being only wounded, press the breast bone in with the finger and thumb till life be extinct. This operation will not take more than two minutes. Push a piece of cotton wool down the throat, a piece of thread through the nose just above the beak, and make a loop to hold the bird by. Carefully examine the bird for any wounds, and stop such with a small plug of cotton wool. This will prevent the blood staining the feathers. Smooth down these with a handkerchief and pull out any that are bloodstained, as the sacrifice of a feather here and there is immaterial.
When the bird is brought safely home, it must be decided whether it should be slit down the back or down the breast, or whether, as in the case of large-headed birds like kingfishers, a small incision should be made in the throat, to skin the head through. But first, as regards the implements for the process, which need only be few and simple—a couple of dissecting knives with celt handles, a pair of pointed scissors, a large fish-hook, and a small gouge for the eyes being all that is required for the skinning process. For the setting-up we must add a file for giving the wires a sharp point, and a pair of compasses to measure the body.
Then place the bird on its back, and cut it open from the top of the breast bone to within a short distance of the vent. If, however, the specimen is one remarkable for the beauty of its breast plumage, the process must be reversed. Break both the wing bones under the wings, and place a clean piece of wool in the mouth. Remove the skin with the celt handle of the knife. Here it must be explained that the term celt handle is derived from the prehistoric flint implements dug up in ancient barrows, and which, being necessarily blunt, have given their names to the blunt bone handles of dissecting knives. As you work along sprinkle the skin with a powder of wood ash, plaster-of-paris, or flour. It is a great help to have a fish-hook run through the top of the breast bone, and held firmly by another person, or tied to a hook on the wall. The neck must be cut through when it is met with, likewise the wings where they are broken, and the top joints of the legs. Use great care in drawing the skin down the back, as that is very frequently the most delicate place.
The Head.—If the head is very much larger than the neck, cut the throat lengthways to remove the head. It is immaterial whether the eyes are taken out before the head is skinned down or after. The gouge should go well to the back of the eye and separate the ligament which holds it to the socket. Should the gouge go into the eye, it will let out the moisture, which often damages the skin. Some people crush the skull slightly to make it come out of the skin easily, but this I do not advise. Remove the brains by taking out a piece of the skull at the back as you cut off the neck. Pull the eyes out of their cavity and fill up their place with wool soaked in arsenical soap. Anoint the skin of the head and the neck well with arsenical soap, and place in the neck a piece of stick covered with wool, the end of which put into the hole made in the skull for extracting the brains.
The Wings.—Remove the meat from the wings on the inside as far as you can skin. When you have taken out the body, to finish the wings, cut them open from the outside under the large wing feathers, which be careful not to detach from the large bone. Remove all the meat most carefully, and anoint with arsenical soap.
The Legs.—Skin down as far as you can, remove the meat, anoint the skin with arsenical soap, and cover the leg bones with paper, to prevent them damaging the skin.
The Feet can be left alone, unless large, when they can be cut into and anointed.
The Tail and the Back, if that of a large bird and very fat, like that of a peacock, should be well covered with wood ash, and scraped till as much fat as can be removed comes away. Then anoint freely with arsenical soap, fill the body with wool or paper, not too full, and close it with a couple of stitches across the breast. Smooth all the feathers into their place, and leave in a dry place before packing, for a day or two. Then pack the paper round the whole, to prevent the skin from being damaged.
So far the skin has only been cured, an operation which, in the case of a small bird and practised hands, takes about seven minutes. Next for the setting up. Though the skin thus preserved may be laid by and keep good for years, and may at any time be set up by a professional, yet it is a great amusement for a boy to stuff his birds himself, and this is how it is done:—
Fig. 2.
The body and the neck which have been taken out of the bird serve as models. The former is copied in tow, wound round with cotton. Through this is run a sharp-pointed piece of wire, bent over and fastened at the tail end. It protrudes beyond the body, is wrapped round with tow or wool to imitate the neck, and run up the latter, from which the stick has been removed. The point is run through the skull, bent back and made fast (Fig. 2).
Then run a sharpened wire up each leg, inside, starting from beneath the foot, and sticking into the body, where it is doubled back. Be careful that these wires are exactly in the centre of the body, or the legs will appear too far back.
The body and neck of the bird are now stuffed, but form a straight line. Sew up the breast with a few stitches, and with the following manipulation give the right curve to the neck: Bend it back at a little more than a right angle to the body, pressing with the thumb where the neck joins the body. Then press with the thumb at the back of the neck, and with the other hand pull the neck forward again. This will give it the desired graceful curve.
In a small piece of board, drill two holes in the position in which you wish the feet to be. Run the wires of the feet through these, turn them back, and fix them. Push the body slightly back, and, at the same time, bend the legs at the joints. If the bird is flying, the legs should not be bent, but straight out parallel with the body.
The position of the wings must also depend on that of the bird. If it is flying, they must be kept stretched out by a wire run through underneath them horizontally, catching each individual feather. If the wings are closed, needle points are enough to pin them through to the body. The thickness of the wire must depend on the size of the bird. The tail must be likewise fixed with wire. The eyes may now be put in by opening the eyelids and forcing them down far enough into the head, and then carefully manipulating the eyelid to get the eye to sit right. When a bird is first shot the colour of the eye should be noticed, and be matched as nearly as possible when buying the glass eyes.
When thus completed, the specimen will often present a battered and ugly appearance, but it is wonderful how much it will improve with careful touching up, and arranging the feathers with a needle point or probe. Varnishing the beak and legs is a further improvement. An artistic effect is obtained by considering the nature and habits of the specimen, and studying its natural poses. For instance, a pheasant struts with a straight neck, a swan sits on the water with its neck gracefully arched.
The arsenical soap above mentioned can be procured at any chemist’s, or made as follows: camphor, five drachms; arsenic, four ounces; white soap, four ounces; flaked lime, four ounces; mix with a little water into a soft paste.
Before using the arsenical soap, be careful to remove every scrap of meat from the skin. Be most careful, also, to wash the hands after using it.
A group of birds can be arranged in a case on imitation rocks, in the following manner: Lay a piece of paper over the wood stand on which the birds are fixed, and arrange it in the shape of rock and stones. Pour over it a hot solution consisting of one part glue, one part whiting, and one part sand, which in a short time becomes very hard. Dried stick, ferns, and grasses, or shells, can be added.
Although the manner of setting-up animals is somewhat similar to that of birds, the mode of preserving the skins and furs is very different. Whereas a bird has a most delicate skin, and is eventually put into a glass case out of the dust, an animal’s hide, in nine cases out of ten, is either used as a carriage or hearth rug, or a footstool, or, as in the case of a head, hung unprotected against the wall.
As in all probability tiger and buffalo skins will not come in the way of the readers of these lines, it is rather such ‘small deer’ as the denizens of our English woods they will be anxious to preserve, to wit, foxes’ heads, cats, otters, stoats, weazels, moles, or water-rats. But the following hints apply equally to a tiger-skin or a squirrel’s:—
Let us begin by imagining the keeper has brought in a fine large poaching cat. Take the beast to an out-house, and in the shade lay it on its back, and with a butcher’s, or indeed any sharp knife, make a long, straight, but not too deep cut, from the centre of the lower jaw to the end of the tail. Then cut down the legs on the underneath side till the cut down the centre of the body is reached. Now separate the skin from the body. If the animal has been badly shot, wash the skin thoroughly in cold soap and water. Place it in water for twenty-four hours. Then take it out and scrape it well from any fat; skin the ears on the inside and plunge it into a hot solution of one part salt and two parts alum, and let it soak well in. The solution should not be hotter than the hand can bear, and the skin should be left in it twenty-four hours. Then stretch the skin, hair downwards, on a board, nailing it with tacks round the edge. Be careful to get it the proper shape, and that one side is not more stretched than the other. Next apply a paste made of one part finely powdered alum, two parts chalk. When this is dry beat it off with a stick, and apply some more where the skin seems still to contain grease. After this remove the skin from the board when quite dry, and the more it is rubbed with the hand, the softer it will become.
Another process is to wash the skin well, and to peg it out on the ground or on a board, to rub it well with wood ashes, and to sprinkle it with carbolic acid and water in proportion of one part to thirty. Next with a knife cleanse the skin most thoroughly of every particle of flesh and fat, and rub in more wood ash till there is no grease left. Then keep the skin perfectly dry till you have an opportunity of sending it to a tanner’s. But no skin or fur, whether tanned or not, should ever be put in the sun. A good shaking and hanging out in the air is the best thing for it.
It is obvious that if a skin is to be used as a rug, the use of arsenic or other poisons is out of the question, though where an animal is to be set up and put in a glass case, like a weazel or a stoat, this rule does not apply. In this latter case an incision is made between the forelegs and down the belly, large enough to allow of the animal’s body being extracted. The skin, when properly cleaned from fat and flesh, is plunged into cold carbolic acid and water, in the proportion of one part carbolic to forty of water. After lying in this for a week, it can be taken out and freely anointed with arsenical soap previous to setting up.
And now for the treatment of the head of a horned animal. Within six or eight hours of the death of the beast, cut off the head with a long neck. Cut the skin down the back of the neck as far as the two horns. Should the animal have no horns, this is unnecessary; should it have spiral horns, cut only up to one and round the other. Then remove the skin entirely from the skull, taking care that the skin round the eyes does not get injured, as it is a most delicate place, the skin there is so thin, and lies so close to the bone. Hang the head up in the outhouse and scrape and clean at leisure. Saw off a bit of the skull, and remove the brains. On no account lose the lower jawbones when they become detached.
Horns that will come off the bone, such as antelope’s, sheep’s, or goat’s, soak for a day or two in a tub of water a week or two after the animal has been killed.
Wash the skin well in soap and water, removing all the bits of meat. Split the lips and skin up the ears from the inside as far as you can, removing as much meat from them as can be filled in afterwards with cotton wool and not detected from the outside when the head is set up. Then place the skin in a jar of carbolic acid and water, enough to cover it, and let it remain there for six or eight weeks, until opportunity occurs to set up the head. It could even be packed up and sent away like this, as it were, in pickle. If the skin be much stained with extravasated blood, a few hours’ soaking in water will draw it out.
Next for the setting-up process. Take the skull, and fasten the upper and lower jaws in their places with wire. Set the skull on a wooden neck, the same length as the natural one, and set this neck on to a wooden shield to hang against the wall. Be careful to set the neck at a natural angle to the head. A deer holds his nose very high; a pig very low. If preferred, the shield can be dispensed with, and the staple by which to hang the head fixed in the wooden neck through the skin.
In many instances a solid wooden neck would be too heavy; but a small one filled out with tow, and fastened into the hole in the skull through which the brains were extracted, will answer the purpose just as well.
Fill the cavities in the skull for the eyes with putty, and put some wool under the jaws, some putty to form the nose, and enough to give a thickness to the nose. Then insert the glass eyes, which, in the case of a large animal, can be made from French wine bottles by breaking out the kick at the bottom. But manufactured eyes are much preferable. I have frequently bought cases of white glass eyes and painted them at the back the right colour. While on the subject of eyes, it may be mentioned that carnivorous animals have the light in the eye down the eye from top to bottom, while granivorous animals have it across.
Next take the skin out of the solution and smear the inside well with a paste of arsenical soap. Put some wool into the ears, and draw the skin over the skull like a glove. Sew up the cut at the back with a shoemaker’s awl. With a few tacks nail the skin on to the shield, and put a few stitches into the mouth to keep it properly closed.
A few pinches and touches will set the head, as it dries, into its natural form. When nearly dry, comb and brush the hair well.
A common mistake is to put wool or putty where there is no meat, which detracts from the wild look of the animal.
Only use white medicated carbolic acid crystal; it liquefies in a little warmth. Carbolic acid is a poison, and will burn the hands and clothes if not carefully handled. The antidote is oil. But when used in the proportion of one to forty parts of water it will do no harm.
The nose and lips of a head can be touched up with a little Brunswick black, and the horns oiled.
In conclusion, let me beg no boy to be discouraged with his first attempt, as often fine furred animals, like a fox, look very woebegone on first emerging from the solution, but improve vastly as they begin to dry and the hair to stand out naturally.