Big Game Shooting, volume 2 (of 2) — Reading Companion

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In Category - Birds
Whymper, Charles, 1853-1941 [Illustrator], Phillipps-Wolley, Clive, 1854-1918 Project Gutenberg 2015 Not confirmed
Hunting; Game and game-birds Readers of public-domain and historical texts
Project Gutenberg digital edition en

Edition facts

Words 144,823
Reading time 630 min
Text sections 21

For Big Game Shooting, volume 2 (of 2) — Reading Companion, the stored edition analysis reports 144,823 words, 10 hr 30 min estimated reading time, and 21 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 26.1 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Hunting,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

This volume of the Badminton Library compiles hunting narratives from the Arctic to the Himalayas, with a focus on the practicalities of stalking, shooting, and fieldcraft. The prose shifts between technical advice, personal anecdote, and statistical record, reflecting the varied voices of its multiple contributors.
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Editorial Edition Score 4.9/5

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Read the Text

hes from the foot of Black Point to the sea.

Few men are likely ever to forget the first occasion on which they found themselves amongst a herd of walrus in the water. Scores of fierce-looking heads--for the long tusks, small bloodshot eyes, and moustache on the upper lip (every bristle of which is as thick as a crow quill) give the walrus an expression of ferocity--gaze, perhaps in unbroken silence, from all sides upon the boat. See! the sun glints along a hundred wet backs, and they are gone. Away you row at racing speed to where experience tells you they will rise again. ‘Here they are! Take that old one with the long tusks first!’ A couple of quick thrusts, right and left, and away you go again, fast to two old bulls that will want a lot of attention before you can cut their tusks out. Indeed, unless one has served his apprenticeship, he had better not meddle with the harpoon at all. The old skippers and harpooners can spin many a yarn of lost crews and boats gone under the ice through a fatal moment’s delay in cutting free from the diving walrus.

II. THE POLAR BEAR (_Ursus maritimus_)

As a ‘sporting’ animal the polar bear is, to the writer’s mind, somewhat overrated; the walrus affording more exciting, and in every sense better, sport than does the bear.

Although the history of Arctic exploration and adventure contains accounts of many a death laid to its charge, yet the ‘polar’ makes but a poor fight against the accurately sighted breechloaders of to-day, and it is very rarely that one hears of the loss of a man in an actual encounter with a bear. And this for several reasons. Unlike the grizzly, the polar has generally to fight his man at a disadvantage. Seen first at a long distance, he commonly requires but little stalking. A boat full of men creeps along the ice edge until within shooting distance, and if when merely wounded the bear has the pluck to charge, he has not the opportunity, for his enemies are on the water, and once he leaves the ice he is completely at their mercy--no match for a man who can handle even a lance or an axe moderately well. Should a man happen to encounter a polar on land or ice, however, the brute’s great size and marvellous vitality naturally make him a somewhat formidable foe, especially as the soles of his feet are covered with close-set hairs, which enable him to go on slippery ice as securely as upon _terra firma_. This characteristic of having the sole of the foot covered with hair is peculiar to _Ursus maritimus_. But even when encountered on ice, nine bears out of ten will not fight, even when they have the chance, unless badly ‘cornered.’ As a rule, _Ursus maritimus_ is purely carnivorous, preying mostly on seals, which bask on the ice with their heads always very close to, if not actually over, the water, a habit of which the bear takes advantage in approaching to within striking distance, by dropping into the water some way to leeward and swimming noiselessly along the ice edge. Even if the seal perceives the white head, the only visible portion of the swimming bear, it probably takes it for a drifting splinter of ice, and pays no more attention to it, until a blow from the heavy forepaw of the bear ends sleep and life together. I am told that the bear manages to secure seals lying at their holes on large flat expanses of ‘fast’ or bay ice, but imagine that such cases are rare, as anyone who has tried to stalk a seal basking at its hole knows how extremely difficult, if not impossible, it is to approach within rifle-shot of it. I once, however, killed a large blue seal at the fast ice edge, along whose back, from ‘stem to stern,’ were five parallel gashes, freshly cut through hide and blubber, marking the passage of Bruin’s paw as the seal had slipped beneath it into the water. The walrus is also attacked, of course on the ice only; for in the water both walrus and seal can sport around their enemy with impunity; indeed, if the professional hunters are to be believed, the former sometimes turns the tables, and under these circumstances it is often the bear which comes off second best in the encounter.

The second volume of Big Game Shooting opens not with a single authorial voice but with a chorus of contributors, each bringing a distinct rhythm to the prose. Arnold Pike’s Arctic hunting chapter moves with the deliberate pace of a stalk across ice, while Clive Phillipps-Wolley’s Caucasus sections shift into a more breathless, immediate register during moments of action. The book’s structure—alternating between regional surveys and practical appendices on rifles, taxidermy, and camp transport—creates a deliberate change in tempo, from the narrative flow of a hunting story to the clipped, data-driven cadence of a reference table.

Voices of the Field: Multiple Contributors, Multiple Registers

The volume is a collaborative work, with chapters by Arnold Pike, St. G. Littledale, W. A. Baillie-Grohman, and others. Each writer’s voice is distinct: Pike’s Arctic narrative is measured and descriptive, while Littledale’s account of the Ovis Poli is terse and focused on practical details. Phillipps-Wolley, as editor, contributes a more reflective tone, especially in his chapters on camps and transport. The result is a polyphonic text where the reader must adjust to shifting styles—from the lyrical description of a chamois stalk to the blunt enumeration of tiger measurements. This variety mirrors the diversity of the hunting grounds themselves, from the frozen north to the Indian jungle.

The Rhythm of the Hunt: Narrative Pace and Technical Interruption

The prose often alternates between sustained narrative and abrupt technical data. A typical chapter might begin with a vivid scene—‘Waiting for the Dawn’—then break into a table of measurements or a list of rifles. This structural change in pace is not accidental; it reflects the dual purpose of the Badminton Library: to entertain and to instruct. The reader is pulled from the immediacy of a stalk into the cool analysis of ballistics or taxidermy. For instance, the chapter on Indian shooting includes a lengthy table of tiger weights and lengths, a statistical interlude that contrasts sharply with the preceding account of a charge. This oscillation between story and data is a defining feature of the volume’s narrative voice.

The Language of Precision: Measurement and Observation

Throughout the volume, language is marked by a concern for exactness. Contributors frequently cite measurements—‘12 ft. 2 in.’ for a tiger’s length, ‘530 lbs.’ for its weight—and qualify their sources (‘Sterndale’s Mammalia’, ‘Letter to The Asian’). This habit of precise observation extends to descriptions of terrain and animal behavior: a bear is ‘killed by a tiger in Chumba, on barasingh ground.’ The prose is dense with specific place names, species, and technical terms (e.g., ‘gutturosa’, ‘Ovis Poli’). Such language roots the narrative in a world of empirical detail, where a hunter’s credibility rests on the accuracy of his report. The reader is invited to trust not just the story but the numbers behind it.

Readers approaching this volume should be prepared for its hybrid nature: part travelogue, part manual, part statistical compendium. The shifts in pace and voice are not flaws but features of a work that aims to be both a record of adventure and a practical guide. Pay attention to the footnotes and asides—they often contain the most telling details about the conditions of the hunt and the character of the hunter. The book rewards a patient, attentive reading, one that moves with the same deliberate care as a stalker on the hillside.

I remember turning pages of this old volume on a grey afternoon, the damp smell of its cloth binding, and thinking how every stalk is finally a quiet arithmetic of patience and winds. It recalled something softer, though—the way Birds in London — A Closer Reading once made city sparrows feel as remote as Himalayan game, each sighting a small, held breath.

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