Wild Adventures in Wild Places — Edition Insights

There was something about Fred Freeman which is difficult to describe, but which caused everybody to like him. He had the manners of a high-bred English gentleman, but that did not, of course, constitute the something that made him a favourite, because _bon ton_, manners are happily not rare. However, there's no harm in my trying to describe him to you, because he is one of our three heroes. Fred wasn't much, if any, above the middle height; he had a short dark beard and moustache-- they were not black, however. He was very regular in features-- handsome, in fact, handsome when he was in his quiet moods, which he very frequently was, and even more so when merry, for then he was simply all sunshine, and it made you laugh to look at him. He was very unobtrusive. He was a capital shot, and a daring hunter and sportsman, but never boasted about his own doings. His constitution was as tough as india-rubber, and as hard as nails. If there be anything wanting in this description, the reader must supply it himself. Anyhow, Fred was a genuine good fellow. He had hitherto travelled a good deal, sport-intent, chiefly on the Continent; but he jumped at the proposal to go round the world on "a big shoot," as he called it.

Freeman was a bachelor, and said he would always remain so; Chisholm O'Grahame was also a bachelor. Perhaps he was seen to the best advantage when his foot was on his native heath, and a covey of grouse ahead of him. He was one of the so-called "lucky dogs" of this world. On the death of an uncle, he would come into a fine old Highland estate. Meanwhile he had nothing to do, and plenty of time to do it in. After his visit to Frank, he went back to see Frank's father, who was delighted at the success of his mission.

"Ah," said he, "I'm so pleased! And so you must take the young dog off, and show him the world. But look here, he's in your charge, mind you; and if you take my advice, you'll show him some shooting in England before you go abroad. He's only a hot-house plant as yet; he wants hardening off."

Chisholm laughed. "I'll harden him off," he said.

And so the hardening-off process commenced at once. Frank was not sorry, after all, to leave the gloom of Epping Forest, and commence a sportsman's life in earnest. The plan adopted by Chisholm and his friend, Fred, to "break young Frank in, and to harden him off," was, I think, a good one. They were to travel a good deal in England, be here to-day and away to-morrow, and visit any of the fens or moors or shores where there was the chance of a week or two of good shooting.

That was one part of the plan. The other was that they were, as Fred called it, "to forswear civilisation, and to live in tents;" in other words, to do a deal of camping out, instead of living in hotels or houses of any kind.

"How do you think you will like that kind of thing?" asked Chisholm.

"Oh, I think it will be perfectly delightful," said Frank, enthusiastically.

"But Frank _is_ a bit of a shot, isn't he?" asked Fred.

"Always during vacation times," said Frank, speaking for himself. "I used to potter around my father's property. I have done so ever since I was a boy."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Chisholm. "Why, you're only a boy yet."

"All stuff," said Frank stoutly. "I'll be twenty next birthday."

"Well, well," said Chisholm; "but tell Fred what you used to shoot."

"Oh, anything about the farms, you know, bar the song-birds; father thought it cruel to kill them. But there were rats, such lots of rats, and sometimes a hawk or a rabbit, or even a hare. Then there were the wild pigeons--wary beggars they are, too; I used to wait for them under the fir-trees."

"What, and kill them sitting?" asked Fred.

"Well," said Frank, "it isn't sportsman-like, I know; but I could hardly ever get near them else. Then the young rooks were great fun in spring; and mind you, there is many a worse dish to set before a hungry man than rook-pie."

"I believe you, lad," said Fred.

"Well, I've shot stoats and weasels by the score; and I once shot a polecat, and another day an otter, and another day an owl."

"Well, well, well," cried Fred. "What bags you must have made, to be sure! Never mind, you've got the makings of a good sportsman in you. Chisholm and I will bring you out, never fear. Did you often go owl-shooting?"