the covert with his hounds, and giving his peculiar “E-dhoick!
e-dhoick! kille-kid-hoick (probably for Eloo-in-hoick)!” It seems
that none of us felt very comfortable or much at home here, and all
must have left our kennel about the same time; for the hounds were
soon divided into several packs and running in full cry in different
directions. Fortunately, those that were following me were stopped;
at which I rejoiced not a little, having travelled twenty miles the
night before, besides my wanderings in and about the covert. These
travellings and wanderings are the cause why so many more of us
dog-foxes are killed by hounds in the month of February than in any
other three months of the year. Two dog-foxes which had come from a
great distance were killed by the hounds that day. I had had reason to
be jealous of them, as they had for the last week or two been tracing
and retracing the woods in pursuit of a female incessantly each night,
until daylight appeared, when they were obliged through fatigue to
retire to their kennels.
I recollect hearing, as I lay that day in a piece of thick gorse,
the following proof of the patience and good temper of Sawyer, the
whipper-in. The hounds had followed a fox into a wood close by, having
hunted him some time in close pursuit, when a jovial sort of person,
who constantly rode after these hounds, saw a fresh fox—being no other
than myself—and began hallooing to the full extent of his voice. Sawyer
immediately rode up to him, and addressed him thus: “Now, pray Mr. W——,
don’t ye halloo so, don’t ye halloo; ’tis a fresh fox!” But still the
person continued as loud as ever. The same entreaty was repeated again
and again, and still he would halloo. At last Sawyer gave it up as a
forlorn hope, and left him, just remarking, “Well, I never see’d such
an uneasy creature as you be in all my life.” He then followed the
pack, which had by that time left the cover in pursuit of the first
fox, which they had been running all the time. Yet we foxes have reason
to know that a more determined and ardent enemy to us in the shape of
a whipper-in than this man never lived. It fortunately happened for
me that the weather now became very dry; for I was not unfrequently
disturbed by these hounds, and though the scent was not very good in
this plough country, I was at times much more distressed after being
hunted than on former occasions, and was often nearly beaten; for it is
not in our nature to be moving in the heat of the day, and not being
so much inured to it as the hounds were, I expected to fall a prey to
their able huntsman, who, when his hounds would not hunt me, appeared
to know where I was gone to; and very often, when all was silent and I
thought myself safe, brought them on without hunting, and crossing the
line I had come; so that against him and his clever whipper-in, I had,
notwithstanding the dry weather, enough to do to save my life.
On one occasion I had a most severe day’s work, for the scent was
remarkably good. I was lying quiet in my kennel, very unwilling to
move, though I heard the hounds running a fox close to me, which they
very soon lost, as they could not, or would not, hunt it. I thought
this very strange, as by the use of my nose I knew it to be a good
scenting day. It turned out that the fox was a vixen, which had just
laid up her cubs; the effect of which generally is, that the scent
becomes so different that hounds, old ones particularly, appear to know
it, as if by intuition, and will not hunt it. As I had not had more
notice of their approach I thought my best chance of escape was to be
perfectly still,—a plan often adopted by me since on a good scenting
day; but it was of no use, for the huntsman almost rode upon me in
drawing the cover, and I was obliged to fly when the hounds were close
to me; however, after a long run, I most luckily escaped.
The breeding season for game now came on, and being still young I
frequently was near being tempted to seize an old bird as she sat on
her eggs, but the difference in the scent of the bird prevented me. At
length, when I had been prowling about near a farmyard in which poultry
were kept, one night that I had not met with other food, I pounced on
a hen which was sitting in a hedge, but the state she was in gave such
an unpleasant taste to her flesh, that after eating a little I left
it, and have never since touched a bird of any sort when sitting. She
has at that time, indeed, but little flesh on her bones, and I believe
that no old fox will take one for his own eating, although a female
may sometimes carry one off, when hard pressed for food for her young.
The same instinct which prevents hounds from hunting a fox with young,
thus prevents much destruction of birds when sitting. It seems like a
design of nature to save the race of birds that have their nests on the
ground from being entirely destroyed by ourselves, or by vermin, such
as stoats and weasels.
Rabbits are too often the perquisites of the gamekeeper, and the
iron traps which he sets with the pretence of catching them are the
destruction of hundreds of us. This might be prevented if the master
would only insist on these traps not being employed at all, and compel
the use of the wire snare, and of ferrets to get the rabbits out of
their burrows.
Having by this time learnt from my mother all that she could teach
me, I followed her example in many things. Amongst them I remarked,
that on a wet and windy night she almost always chose, for various
reasons, to lie in a gorse-covert. It is generally dry and without
droppings from trees; it is also more quiet and freer from the roaring
of the wind than when near to them. Besides this, we are not so liable
to be disturbed by the shooters, and though we should be so, are out
of sight. We are also there out of sight of some of our troublesome
feathered neighbours, the crows, magpies, and jays, who would betray
us when moving abroad during the daytime. They are always moving with
the first appearance of daylight, and we are glad to get out of their
sight as soon as we can and go into our kennel, lest they should betray
us to the keepers, who are also often abroad at that time. The worst
is, that at times, when we think we have got away from hounds which are
hunting us, these birds, by making a noise and darting down almost upon
us, as they continue to do where we run along, point out to the hunters
exactly where we are.
It has often happened that I have been betrayed by an old cock
pheasant. No bird has a quicker eye than he has, and directly he saw me
he would begin kuckupping, and continue to make this noise as long as
I remained near him, obliging me to move away.
My life during the summer months was one of almost uninterrupted
pleasure. Naturally fixing my headquarters near the part of the country
where I was bred, I would often ramble by night a great distance, and
frequently remarked with surprise, as I crossed any line that I had
taken when hunted, the wonderful straightness with which I had pursued
it, as it was often in a direction where there were no large woods or
earths; but I recollected that I had the wind for my only guide, and
went as if blown forward by it; so that I could hear whether the hounds
were following me at a greater distance than if I had gone against it;
and besides this, it was more difficult for them to smell the scent
which was lodged on the ground over which I had run, when blown away
from their noses, than when blown towards them.
One circumstance occurred to check my joy, namely, the loss of my other
brother, who had accompanied me in one of my midnight rambles into the
adjoining country near Hambledon; and (for though so long ago as 1828,
I well remember it) we had been induced to swim across some water to
an island situated in Rookesbury Park, belonging to Mr. Garnier, on
which it so happened there was a nest of young swans; and although we
did not venture to touch them, the old ones were so angry with us for
our intrusion, that when we attempted to quit the island they would
not allow us to do so, but continued swimming backwards and forwards to
show their anger. At length, as daylight was appearing, my poor brother
was rash enough to make a sally, and had nearly swum across to the
land, when, overtaking him, they commenced an attack, and by flapping
their wings against his head, and keeping him under water, speedily
drowned him, just as a man came up to see what they were about.
They seemed to exult in their prowess, and whilst they were proudly
throwing back their heads, and rowing in triumph round their victim, I
took an opportunity of crossing the water on another side and escaped,
resolving never in swimming to encounter the same risk again. Nothing
worth relating occurred until towards the beginning of the following
winter. It is true that I was often induced to move and to quit the
wood in which I lay, owing to my being disturbed by the hounds; but
as they never followed me far, and were stopped by the whipper-in
when I left the covert, it was evident they came on purpose to hunt
young cubs; I therefore took care to retire to a gorse-covert near
Sutton Common, where none were bred, much to the regret of the owner,
a Rev. Baronet, who is one of our greatest friends, as no keeper of
his would dare to destroy a fox without pain of losing his place. Here
I remained quiet for some months, till one morning I was waked by the
noise of Foster the huntsman; and shortly afterwards the whimpering of
a hound told me that he was on the scent left by my footsteps on my
way to my kennel, although it was where I had passed before day, and
several hours had gone by. I was led by the wind that day to take them
over a country seldom if ever gone over by them before, namely, Wolmer
Forest, crossing one or two rivers, from extreme dread of this huntsman
and his powerful pack. Whether it was the water or the fences that
stopped him, I cannot say, but I suspect it was the latter; although a
few years before nothing could have done it. The hounds were at times
running without him, and it was in consequence of that, I think, that I
eventually beat him and escaped. In the course of a few days I returned
to the same covert, and had not been there more than fourteen more when
this man’s awful voice startled me again.
I was soon prepared for another run with a north-east wind, which might
have led me to take the same line as before, but that I heard Sawyer
the whipper-in exclaim, “’Tis our old fox, and he went through the same
holes that he did the last time we found him.” He gave the view-halloo
directly afterwards. I felt certain that they came again thus soon
determined if possible to kill me; and though frightened a little, I
took care to keep on without stopping to listen, as I had done before;
so that I kept a good distance ahead of them, and continued my best
pace for many miles, crossing Wolmer Forest into Sussex. I no longer
heard the hounds following me, and being much distressed with fatigue,
ran forward to very short distances, and then turned either to the
right or to the left, in order to baffle my pursuers. At length I came
opposite to some buildings, and seeing a large pile of wood, crept in
amongst it and lay down. After listening for some time, I heard the
cry of a few hounds not far off; but the noise ceased just about the
spot where I turned down the road, and all was silent for some time. At
last I heard the voice of Sawyer the whipper-in, saying he must take
the hounds home to the kennel if his horse would enable him; but that
the huntsman’s and the other whipper-in’s horses were both done; and so
they were, for they never lived to reach their stable.
Having again escaped from that clever huntsman Foster and his pack, I
determined at first to remain in this part of Sussex. It was hunted by
Colonel Wyndham, whose hounds I soon had reason to know were not less
fatal than those by which I had lately been so severely hunted. They
seemed to me to be quicker in their work, and to keep closer to me when
it was a good scenting day; although when it happened to be otherwise
they could not hunt me so long or so far as the other pack had done.
Once or twice when I was nearly tired they left me, owing to the scent
being bad, and went to find another fox, when I believe that Foster and
his pack would have gone on longer, if not killed me. The pace they
obliged me to go, when hunting me over the hills, was terribly fast,
and very probably the cause of their not making so much cry when in
pursuit. Indeed they ran almost mute, and at times got very near to me
before I was aware of their approach.
This I found was too dangerous a country for me to remain in; and
so, when on another occasion they found me, I ran into the Hambledon
country, not far from Stanstead Forest, where I fortunately escaped,
and finding myself in a wild part near Highdown Wood, did not venture
to return, feeling sure that with the Colonel’s quick pack and
blood-like horses, if they found me on a good scenting day I must be
beaten by them. However, here was in store for me as great a trial of
my powers; for it seemed that Mr. Osbaldiston’s hounds were just come
for this part of the season to hunt the country. One morning I heard
Sebright’s voice cheering on his pack, which, with a burning scent,
were running a fox like lightning. Suddenly there was an awful silence;
then Dick Buxton’s screech, and the “Whoop!” soon followed. For a
minute or two only I heard a noise, as if hounds were quarrelling, and
that no sooner ended than Sebright saying, “Now, Mr. Smith, this is the
first real good scenting day we have had.” I could stop no longer, but
stole away, hoping not to be seen; but, my friends, fancy my horror
when, on stealing from the gorse on the open down, and thinking that
the rising ground would screen me, I saw this famed pack and first-rate
huntsman within two hundred yards of me. I stopped for an instant, but
scorned to return into the gorse, so took away across the hilly downs
near Hog’s Lodge, and crossed the Petersfield road to Portsmouth, over
the open down for two miles, with the pack viewing me the whole time,
except a moment or two when I was rounding the tops of the hills, then
again they saw, and swung after me down the steep sides of the hills. I
cleared the first fence adjoining the down, and had scarcely got fifty
yards when I saw the whole pack flying over it after me, and at the
next fence I turned short to the right as soon as I had cleared it.
They were driven a little beyond it before they turned, which gave me
a trifling advantage. I now continued to gain ground in advance of the
pack, and though they never once were at fault, or lost the scent for a
minute, and went on several miles across open downs into Sussex, still
I kept on, determined to save my life.
I had gone full nine miles as straight as I could go, and had just
turned for the first time to the right, and was ascending the top
of the highest point of the down, when, to my great joy, I saw the
hounds stopping and trying in vain to recover the scent, which was
destroyed by my having run through a large flock of sheep. They now
could not hunt the scent a step farther, though on the middle of an
open down; and such was the disappointment and chagrin occasioned by
it to Sebright, that he was heard by a friend of mine to say, that if
the squire would give him a thousand a year, he would not stop to hunt
a country, where the scent was so soon entirely lost; and that, until
this occurred, nothing in the world would have made him believe that
any fox could have run straight away from such a pack as his, under
such apparently favourable circumstances.
I remained till the following season in this part of the country, in
a covert belonging to Sir J. Jervoise, called the Markwells, when I
was first roused from my slumber by the voice of another huntsman,
Mr. Smith,[2] who at that time hunted his own hounds, known as the
Hambeldon pack. It was about one o’clock in the afternoon, in the month
of December, and fortunately I prepared myself for a day’s work, for
sure enough I had it. When I first broke covert I took the open, and
in running had the wind in my face for about two miles, then finding
the new pack pressing close to my heels, I turned short back with the
wind, which, most fortunately, as it appeared to me, was now blowing in
a direction straight to a large earth that I had formerly discovered
at Grafham Hill in Sussex. The pace had blown the hounds, and the
great change, by turning back and down the wind, caused them to stop
for a minute or two; and although I soon heard them again hunting me,
at a pace not quite so fast, their perseverance induced me to keep on
straight forward. I had already gone for about ten or twelve miles,
when, crossing a grass field near some buildings, I was startled at
hearing the noise of other hounds close by. It was the pack in Colonel
Wyndham’s kennel. A view-halloo, which came from one of his men, made
me continue to get on as fast as I could, and by the time it was nearly
dark I fortunately reached the large earth at Grafham Hill. I had not
been there for more than a few minutes when, lying with my head near
the entrance of the earth in order to breathe more freely, I heard the
hounds come up to the spot and try to get in, on which I retreated,
but no farther than I was obliged to do, according to the plan I always
adopted when distressed or nearly run down.
The distance I had run, straight ahead from where I started, was found
to be twenty-seven miles. One of the four or five men who came in said
that they must have changed their fox when the hounds ran through these
large coverts. The reply was that it was scarcely possible, as they
never once broke out of the road and rides, within which the fox had
kept during the whole time.
It was now dark, and the hounds had full forty miles to return to their
own kennel. I had reason, however, to know that they stopped that night
half way, at the Drove Kennel; for during the night I had returned back
as far as I could to the place whence I came, and intended to remain
there; but all the middle of the next day I heard the sound of the
horn which I had so often heard during the severe run I had had the day
before, and which it appears was blown with the hope of its being heard
by two hounds that were missed the night before, having come to the
earth and remained some time after the pack had gone away. On hearing
the horn I soon left my kennel, and, though very stiff, was obliged to
make the best use of my legs that I could; for the pack, on their way
home, crossed the line I had taken in the night, and were soon heard
running in full cry after me. Glad was I to hear Mr. Smith order his
men to stop them; for I must speedily have fallen to them had they only
been aware of my weakness. One curious fact remains to be told, namely,
that the two hounds remained for three days in the part near where
they were left at the earth, and found their way back to the kennel on
the fourth day afterwards. Now it is true that we foxes easily retrace
our way on all occasions, but it must be recollected that we are often
led straight by having in view some point, a main earth, for instance;
when that is not the case, on being pursued by the hounds and guided by
the wind, we notice the different points as we pass, and choose that
line in which it appears least likely for us to be viewed; we thereby
without difficulty retrace our line the same night, at least for some
distance, unless too exhausted to travel more than necessary to procure
food, when we remain near where the hounds have left us. I have done
this for a short time, when the coverts and country to which I belonged
have been much disturbed by the hounds; but invariably returned the
same night. Now the hound has enough to do when hunting us without
taking notice of the country which he passes over; and we must not
assume to ourselves greater sagacity than belongs to him, for I believe
that we are but varieties of the same kind. I observe amongst our party
one who may have something to say upon that subject presently.
I underwent another severe day’s work in the same country with another
pack of hounds. In consequence of finding plenty of rabbits in a covert
near the Waterloo Inn, I remained there for some time, and my peace
was undisturbed, until I was roused one morning by the strange but
fine voice of Mr. King’s huntsman, Squire. After running round the
covert a few times, I found that his quick pack were not to be trifled
with; I therefore went straight away in the direction of Sussex. They
still pressed me on through the large coverts there, and I left them
in a wood, their huntsman and his master, Mr. King, imagining that I
had gone to ground in a wood in Colonel Wyndham’s country—a mistake
which happened in consequence of my having crept into an earth that
I remembered to have seen there, but which, when I found that it was
merely a rabbit earth, I left, and went on. The hounds stopped there,
but it was soon discovered that they would not lie, and the delay
caused my escape, for I must otherwise have been killed. It was a
terribly severe day, for I had been hunted by them more than twenty
miles from the place where they found me. A great part of the country I
ran across was the same that I had gone over in the previous year when
hunted by Mr. Smith’s pack, though the distance was not so far by some
miles. The great difference I observed in these two packs was that the
present one were rather faster, and could not be heard so plainly when
running: this was in some measure made up for by Squire’s voice, which
I so often heard to cry “Whoop!”
[Illustration: FULL CRY. BY S. ALKEN.
_Lent by Basil Dighton._]
I was afraid to remain in these parts, so travelled westward, until
I reached a wood by the sea-side near Southampton, and there, owing
to the scarcity of rabbits, was obliged to seek other food, often
consisting of dead fish, which I found on the shore. I had more than
once a narrow escape from being shot by sailors, as they passed by in a
boat at moonlight, and was induced to leave this part also. Following
the sea-shore I crossed the Itchen Bridge, for I had not forgotten my
escape from the swans, and would never trust myself again in water when
it could be avoided, and by degrees, as the spring came on, I got into
the New Forest. Fortunately for me the system of hunting in that part
until near the middle of May was discontinued by Mr. Codrington, who
then hunted it. He was an excellent sportsman; and would never take an
unfair advantage of us, but left all to his hounds.
Although I had escaped during the winter months from other good packs,
it was doubtful that I could have escaped at this season, when the
weather is sometimes very hot; for although, as I have observed before,
the heat affects the hounds, it is more usual for them to be moving
about in it than it is for us, and they therefore suffer from it less.
I passed this summer most agreeably, living much on beetles, with
which the forest abounds, occasionally visiting the sea-shore to seek
for dead fish, and getting a fair supply of rabbits. The old rabbits
frequently laid up their young in the open parts of a country, in the
middle of fields, or any where far from hedges, probably to be more
out of the way of stoats and weasels. The number of nests of young
rabbits that a single one of us destroys is so enormous that it would
seem to many quite incredible. I got well acquainted with the purlieus
of the forest in my frequent travels; in spite of which my feet were
never tired by treading on hard flints, as they used to be in upper
Hampshire; and, strange as it may appear, in that flinty country I do
not recollect ever having had them cut or made sore by them, even when
I was pursued by the hounds; probably in some measure owing to our
quickness of sight, and to our not having to hunt a scent, so that our
attention is not diverted. I believe I owed to these very flints the
salvation of my life, as they obliged the hounds to go more slowly over
them, and thus afforded me more time.