How to Make and Set Traps: Including Hints on How to Trap Moles, Weasels, Otter, Rats, Squirrels and Birds

In Short

This book is a quintessential specimen of late 19th-century self-improvement literature, designed to instruct the reader in the craft of trapping small animals and birds. It functions as both a tactical guide for gardeners and land-managers and a window into a time when rural self-reliance was a standard pursuit for young men. By detailing the habits of moles, weasels, rats, and various avian species, the author provides a roadmap for turning "vermin" into manageable resources, effectively blending advice on construction, hunting, and the curing of skins.

The Story

The progression of this manual begins with a philosophical framing of the natural world, defining the animal kingdom through the lens of human interest and property ownership. The author establishes a clear dichotomy: animals are either "graceful" and "beautiful" in their wild state, or they are "vermin" the moment they cross the threshold of a garden or farmstead. This sets the stage for a series of encounters where the reader is taught to observe, outsmart, and ultimately "sacrifice" creatures that threaten the productivity of the land.

The narrative arc moves from the earth-bound mole, whose fortress-like tunnels are to be systematically dismantled, to the predatory weasel and polecat, which are characterized as "unmitigated robbers." The author encourages a cold, calculated approach to these animals, emphasizing that even their natural agility and ferocity must be met with superior human ingenuity—usually in the form of a well-placed trap or a sturdy stick. The tone is consistently pragmatic; the author recounts personal anecdotes, such as a tense confrontation with a group of weasels, to illustrate that nature is not merely a sight to behold, but a force that must be actively managed by the proprietor of the soil.

As the scope expands to include water-rats and otters, the instruction becomes more granular, focusing on the specific environments—streams, riverbanks, and burrows—where these animals operate. The book eventually shifts its focus toward the sky, detailing the techniques of "clap-netting" birds. Here, the moral question of cruelty is addressed directly but dismissed as irrelevant when weighed against the practical necessity of protecting crops or the simple pleasure of the hunt. The climax of this instruction arrives in the detailed methodology of bird-catching, where the use of decoys and lime-covered bristles transforms a quiet meadow into a site of capture.

The final movement of the book transitions from the act of trapping to the labor of processing. The author provides exhaustive, step-by-step instructions for curing, tanning, and dressing skins, ensuring that the fruits of the trapper’s labor do not go to waste. From the "Indian mode" of using brains to ensure pliability to the precise chemistry of sulfuric acid baths, the reader is guided through the transformation of a raw pelt into a useful garment. The volume concludes by framing the trapper as a provider, suggesting that with the right knowledge, any family can furnish its own furs and robes, thereby bypassing the high prices of commercial dealers.

How It Unfolds

Defining the vermin The book opens by distinguishing between the natural beauty of wildlife and the nuisance of pests that encroach upon the garden. The author asserts that while all life is inherently valuable, the preservation of one’s property justifies the sacrifice of "Master Mole" and other disruptive animals.

Mapping the fortress Technical instruction begins with the mole, detailing how to identify the central position of their habitat. The author describes methods for cutting off the creature’s escape routes, often drawing on historical anecdotes to explain how to effectively navigate these hidden tunnels.

The predatory threat The focus shifts to the mustelid family, focusing on the weasel and the polecat. Readers are taught to respect the animal's capacity for violence while learning to set traps that turn the predator’s own habits against it.

The bird-catching trade The book moves to avian trapping, describing the construction and placement of clap-nets and springles. The author provides tips for hiding one's presence from wary birds, emphasizing that success comes from observing the habits of the target species.

The chemistry of preservation The final section provides a comprehensive guide to tanning and dressing skins. The author explains the use of chemical solutions and traditional techniques to turn hides into valuable commodities, providing a complete cycle from the initial trap-setting to the final product.

The People

The book is populated by archetypes rather than deep characters, serving the author's instructional purpose. The Trapper is the central figure, a person of practical intelligence who values efficiency and order. He is a man who studies the habits of the "little gentleman in black velvet" not out of affection, but to better secure his garden. He is pragmatic, occasionally ruthless, and deeply knowledgeable about the landscape he manages.

Beside him stands "Old Twiddle," a mentor figure who appears during the bird-catching lessons. Twiddle represents the accumulated, generational wisdom of the field; he speaks with the authority of someone who has spent a lifetime in the hedgerows. He is the one who directs the use of decoys and demonstrates the fine art of liming branches to capture finches.

Then there is "Monsieur le Court," a historical figure who sought refuge from the French Revolution in the study of moles. He represents the intellectual, almost scientific curiosity that can be applied to the natural world. Finally, there is "Tabby," the author’s cat. While an animal, she acts as a recurring antagonist to the water-rats, serving as an organic, albeit brutal, mechanism of control. Her presence in the garden illustrates the constant, silent war being waged between the domestic and the wild, a conflict that the trapper is expected to oversee.

In Its Own Voice

“The little gentleman in black velvet--the mole--is a lovely-coated little fellow, possessing many virtues, such as courage, industry, and parental affection, but when he once gets into your father’s garden, which has probably cost money and exceeding care to render it neat and productive, our little friend is transformed into one of the most troublesome of ‘vermin.’”

The author establishes the central conflict of the book by contrasting the inherent beauty of nature with the practical frustration of a ruined garden.

“The weasel, agile and lithe as he is, is ferocious to the degree which scorns fear, and there are many instances wherein he has attacked the absolute viceroy of creation--man.”

This line highlights the author's view of the animal as a direct, aggressive threat to human authority and safety, justifying lethal intervention.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is about the imposition of human order upon the natural world. It operates on the assumption that the earth is a resource to be managed and that animals are either "useful" or "vermin" depending on their proximity to human interests. It explores the question of how much an individual can shape their environment, arguing that the trapper’s knowledge is a tool for autonomy. It is fundamentally an argument for self-sufficiency, positing that understanding the habits of the creatures around us—and knowing how to trap and process them—is a necessary skill for maintaining one's homestead and preventing the waste of valuable natural materials.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of rural life, traditional field craft, or the evolution of attitudes toward wildlife will find this book a fascinating, if sometimes jarring, artifact. It provides a rare, unvarnished look at the Victorian mindset, where the boundary between "pet" and "pest" was often defined by the cost of the damage done.

The prose is warm and conversational, though it carries a stern, utilitarian gravity. Modern readers may find the casual description of animal suffering and the use of now-regulated substances like arsenic in skin preservation to be challenging. However, for those who can approach the text as an historical document, it offers a glimpse into a time when the gap between the average person and the mechanics of their survival was much narrower. It is an honest piece of writing that makes no apology for its methods, and it remains a compelling, if occasionally unsettling, guide to a way of life that has largely vanished from the modern, urban experience. You will likely walk away from it with a renewed, if complicated, respect for the ingenuity required to live off—or at least alongside—the land.