flattered myself that I was safe; but my dream soon vanished; for
it appeared that the only reason why they had not disturbed me was,
that they are not allowed to hunt in the forest so early as is done
in other countries. I was soon alarmed by hearing at intervals Mr.
Codrington’s deep voice, so unlike the style of the huntsmen by whom
I had been hunted in other parts. The hounds appeared to understand
it well enough, and as they soon spread through the covert adjoining
that where I lay, I stole away to some distance, where I remained
within hearing of them. It was a long time before they left the first
covert, as it happened to be one in which I had been moving about when
searching for food, and consequently these well-nosed hounds got on my
scent, there called “the drag.” This fine old huntsman believing that
a fox was near, persevered for an unusual length of time in trying to
find one, and owing to one or two hounds occasionally throwing their
tongues, waited in an agony of expectation. At length being led to
the covert which I had just left, they soon got on the line which I
had taken when I came from my kennel two hours before, and which they
had great difficulty in hunting. By this time I thought it right to
leave the wood where I had stopped. A man saw me go away, and hallooed
loudly, but still the hounds were not allowed to be brought on; and
they continued a walking pace until they got to the spot where I
had waited, at the extremity of the wood, and where, though at some
distance, I heard the cry of the hounds following me too closely to be
despised by me as they had hitherto been. It seemed that they were left
entirely to themselves, for I heard no men’s voices cheering them on,
as in other countries when running in the same way. As they continued
without any stopping, I resorted to the only means then in my power,
and ran through a herd of deer, with which the forest abounds. This
plan succeeded, and probably saved my life; for when the deer heard the
hounds coming towards them in full cry, they came straight after me in
the line I had run, and so spoilt the scent which I had left.
I well recollect, a short time after this, overhearing, as I lay in
my kennel, the following conversation between two men as they rode by:
“What a pity it is that Mr. Codrington is so silent when his hounds are
hunting their fox.” “Well, I don’t know that; for suppose now you saw
some weasels hunting a rabbit, do you think they would hunt it better
if some fellow was to keep on hallooing to them?” No reply followed
the question, although I anxiously waited to hear one. As far as I was
concerned, I regretted that more noise was not made, as it would have
assisted me, and not the hounds. The silent system is, at all events,
a most dangerous one for the fox before he is found. I have had some
narrow escapes from these very hounds being brought to a small covert
or bog in this forest so silently that they surrounded me before I
was aware, and I have with difficulty got away from them. Indeed, many
female foxes have thus been killed heavy with cub, and in that state
incapable of great exertion. Had these females heard the huntsman’s
voice in time they might have moved and run to earth, or shown in what
state they were, so that the hounds might have been stopped in time
to save their lives. As to the system of not assisting the hounds,
I am sure that every fox will agree with me in approving it. Give me
plenty of roads and dry fallows, or a few deer or sheep, and even when
the scent is good I shall not fear to be killed by an unassisted pack.
Without such impediments a pack so educated would be the most dangerous
of all, and even with them, if in the hands of a judicious huntsman.
This pack was (alas! that I should say was, for he is no more,) hunted
by a kind-hearted and excellent man, who has been heard to say,
at a moment when his hounds were running very hard, and going like
Leicestershire—he being nearly twenty stone—“I hope I shall not see
them any more till they have killed.” Notwithstanding the system just
described, as many of my friends have fallen victims to this pack as to
any in this part of the country. Nevertheless here I shall remain for
the present, and not go away until I am fairly driven.
I now, my friends, conclude for the present the history of my life,
only omitting such important events as may happen to come out in the
course of your own stories; for I must now call upon you to tell us
what you have to say of yourselves.
But hold hard there. Who or what art thou, half-bred thing, that durst
be showing thy ill-breeding with feigning to sleep, or with eating
rabbit, when thou shouldst have listened to the words of thy betters?
Cock-tail, speak.
“Call me Cock-tail, half-bred, ill-bred, mongrel cur; but know that I
claim kindred with your noble selves.”
_All._ “Audacious dog-face!”
“Honour ye the Cock-tail! Cock-tail had a grandfather!”
_All._ “Impossible! Never!”
“Listen, then, to facts; facts are stubborn things, and if my story do
not please, it may at least surprise you.”
COCK-TAIL’S STORY
It is known, I believe, that half-bred animals do not reproduce their
kind, and if it were otherwise innumerable would be such kinds. My
mother’s father was a fox. Her mother was a well-bred terrier in colour
much like your own. She belonged to a man who lived near Harborough,
in Leicestershire, and was valuable to him for her extraordinary talent
in killing rats and mice, as well as for the use which he occasionally
made of her in poaching at night. Wishing to procure a mixed breed
between her and a fox, he took her one night, at a particular period
of the spring, to a certain spot in a wood which he knew to be much
frequented by foxes, and having fastened her against a tree, left her
there till morning. On the following night he removed her to a short
distance from the spot where she was left the night before. After doing
the same for several nights he took her home, and in nine weeks after
that she produced four young ones, all of which are now living, and
much like a fox. My father was a brown terrier, and my mother may be
seen at any time, as she is fastened up by a chain in the inn-yard at
Market Harborough. The hair on her back and sides is thick, and stands
nearly upright like that of a fox. The hairs upon the upper side of
the tail are not so long and full as those of a fox, but the under
part and the sides are the same; the tips of them are black. Her legs
and feet are black, and the latter are round like yours, with a little
tan-colour behind the knee-joint. Her ears are pointed, and when she
is at rest laid back, but when she is roused pricked up like your own.
All these properties you may behold in me, but not exactly in an equal
degree. The most remarkable difference between ourselves and you is
this, that neither my mother nor myself are endued with the strong
odour peculiar to the fox. My mother has never been let loose by the
consent of her keepers, even in the inn-yard; but having once got loose
by accident, when about two years old, she ran away a long distance,
and being followed into a yard was there secured again. It was observed
when running that she carried her tail level as I do, like a fox;
sometimes it was crooked, but never upright. It was not so much curled
as mine is.
I lived with my mother, and when I was two years old, a master of
fox-hounds happening to hear of us, came to see us; and after making
many inquiries, persuaded my owner to let him take me away with him.
I was then placed under the care of the old feeder of hounds, with
orders that I should be allowed to run about in the house, with his
children for companions. I was shown to every one as a curious animal,
and became a great favourite, but all attempts to tame me failed, and
I never would let a stranger touch me. My master took me out with his
dogs when he went to shoot rabbits, but found me wholly useless. The
sound of the gun and the barking of the dogs frightened me so much
that I always ran away into the nearest hedge or wood to hide myself;
and I felt that my fate was sealed when I heard the old feeder say to
my master one day, “Now, sir, I am sure that this here ‘vulp’” (for
so I was called) “will never be no use at all; for he is as wild and
timorous now he is two years old as ever he was. We can’t get un to
do anything like the terriers; he frisks about like an eel, so as we
can’t touch un at times.” Finding that I had no friend to say a good
word for me I absconded, and when seen at a distance have often been
mistaken for a fox, and scared by the cry of “Tally-ho! tally-ho!” and
the hounds following me. That they never caught me I suppose may be
attributed to my not having the fox’s strong scent.
“Thy story is marvellous; but I must doubt its truth until I see thy
mother. I fear that thou art like other vain creatures, who, knowing
their own unworthiness, would fain connect themselves with those who
are in any way excellent, but beware of betraying us.”
“Ha! is it so? I am off.”
“He is gone, and grins defiance! This mongrel will think nothing of
destroying us by the dozen; but he may suffer for it yet.
“And now, my friends, as we have heard the mongrel’s account of
himself, let us hear Craven’s story. Open thy lips and throw thy tongue
freely; tell us how many times thou hast beaten these vexatious hounds,
and be not chary of thy experience.”
CRAVEN’S STORY
It is unnecessary to enter into the ordinary details of my life after
having heard our friend who invited us here. Consequently my story
will be a short one. I was born and bred in Savernake Forest, in the
Craven Hunt, where my father and mother had been considered to be of
some importance, having often beaten a famous pack of hounds in that
country. To the best of my recollection, the first pack of hounds
by which I was hunted belonged to Mr. I. Ward; from them I had many
narrow escapes, which I now, having since been hunted by other hounds,
set down to their immense size, for although they could and did hunt
me in an extraordinary manner, and pursued me closely in the flat
country and in the forest, yet I found that I left them far behind
when running over the flinty hills which separate that country from
Mr. Ashton Smith’s. Their steady style of hunting made it difficult
to shake them off elsewhere. I once overheard a man remark to their
master that they were larger than any that he had ever seen, especially
as to their heads. The reply at first surprised me. “Yes, I like them
large, for when once they get them down in hunting they are so heavy
that they cannot get them up again.” After being hunted by them under
his direction, I was hunted by them when they belonged to Mr. Horlock,
from whom also I have had some narrow escapes, principally by running
through large woods, where they soon changed me for another fox. I
recollect once, when lying in a small covert near Benham Park, I was
startled by hearing the cry of another but smaller pack of hounds, as
I could distinguish them to be by the sound of their tongues. Shortly
afterwards I saw a fox pass near me much distressed, and very soon the
fatal “whoop” was heard. It afterwards appeared that this gentleman’s
brother had permission to try whether he could kill with his small
pack a fox which had more than once beaten the large one. The following
season I was surprised one morning by hearing voices of some different
men with hounds, drawing the wood in which I lay. I soon moved and went
away from the wood, but was seen by men, who commenced hallooing, “Gone
away!” The hounds were then hunting another fox in the wood, where they
continued all day without killing him. At length I was found by them
where there was no other fox. They pursued me for many miles in a most
extraordinary way, and such good hunting hounds they were, that had
I not gone down a road where a flock of sheep had just gone before,
unknown to the huntsmen, I must have been killed. They there came to
a check, and as it was contrary to Mr. Wyndham’s system to assist his
hounds by holding them forward, they never got near me again that day.
It was very like the system described by our friend in the New Forest.
The following year I was again surprised by hearing the voice of
another strange huntsman, before I knew that hounds were just coming
into the wood. However, this notice was sufficient to prepare me for a
start. Soon after I had moved from my kennel, a single hound threw his
tongue. Mr. Smith gave a very loud cheer, and every hound appeared at
once to be running on the scent. This so frightened me that I lost no
time in leaving the covert and taking my way straight to the forest,
where other foxes were soon moved by hearing the hounds; I escaped this
time also. Not feeling however quite safe, I resorted to a plan which
had been adopted by other foxes before. I contrived to crawl up the
side of a large oak tree, by means of some small branches which grew
out of its trunk near the bottom, and the stems of ivy which covered
it farther up. At a considerable distance from the ground I found a
desirable spot to rest upon, where the large branches, about which
was a thick patch of the ivy, divided. To this place I resorted every
morning for a long time, and thence could frequently see the horrible
hounds, myself lying, as I fancied, in certain safety. One day,
however, as I turned my head towards where they were hunting a fox in
the wood close by, my attention was so riveted that I did not observe
a keeper, who in passing the tree on the other side had seen me and was
proceeding towards the hounds just at the moment the fatal “whoop!” was
heard,—the hounds having killed the unfortunate fox which they had been
hunting.
Soon afterwards the keeper told Lady Elizabeth Bruce where I was;
it was also communicated to Mr. Smith, who said, that although the
hounds had had a hard day’s work, the fox should be dislodged from
his extraordinary situation if her ladyship wished to see it done.
To my horror, the keeper brought the hounds straight to my tree and
pointed to the spot where I lay as close as I could. As soon as they
were taken away to a considerable distance and out of sight, the
keeper was desired to climb up the tree and bring me down. The horror
of my situation may be easily conceived as I heard him ascending. I
did not move until I saw his hand close to me; but as he was on the
point of taking hold of me I sprang from my lofty nest. Fortunately
dropping on some branches which projected about half way down, I broke
the fall, which would have broken my neck, and fell to the ground,
from which I rebounded, I think, some feet. Much shaken by the fall,
but fortunately nothing worse, I soon was on my legs and away across
the forest straight to the west woods, which were about three miles
distant. When the hounds were only the distance of half a field they
saw me enter this immense covert; but, as several foxes were soon
moving, I escaped; and the hounds were kept running till it was nearly
dark. I have since heard that the height from which I sprang to the
ground was afterwards measured to decide a bet, and that it was proved
to be exactly twenty-seven feet. It was a strange adventure, but can be
attested by many who saw it; and with this I conclude my story.
[Illustration: THE CRAVEN HOUNDS IN SAVERNAKE FOREST.
_T. Smith, Esq., del._
_Facing page 58._]
Now for Northampton Pytchly. Thou art familiar with these things; thou
hast, no doubt, thy story by heart, and canst go a slapping pace.
PYTCHLY’S STORY
Recollect that when the pace is good it cannot last long, and so with
my story, for I remember but little of my very early days. I have had
the good luck to escape from several packs of hounds which have hunted
my country, and am now arrived at a venerable age; indeed, so far
advanced in my teens that I began to believe myself to be the oldest
fox in the country, until I saw one who is fastened up by a chain in
the back-yard of the Peacock Inn, at Kettering. Having been there ever
since he was a cub, he is known to be eighteen years old, and he is
now full one-fourth shorter than when in his prime of life. It is not
likely that foxes often attain to such an age, as before that they
become infirm; and in countries where there are hounds become an easy
prey to them, and where there are no hounds they are killed by the
gamekeepers.
The first pack of hounds by which I was hunted belonged to Mr.
Osbaldiston, and a most trimming pack they were; but luckily for me,
when they were going their best pace in pursuit of me, they sometimes
overran the scent, owing to their great courage, which, in the breeding
of them, seemed to have been more attended to than the nose. They
sometimes ran away for a little while even from all the fast riders.
These, however, generally contrived to get up again to them, especially
when at a check; but every moment’s delay made more clear to all the
necessity of having best noses.
It may appear strange that I should have escaped from the different
packs, since the Squire’s[3] left, in so fine a country as this to
which I belong, especially when such expense has been incurred to
procure a strong pack on purpose to destroy us; but, luckily for us,
the hunters fell into the mistake of trying to make what they called a
flying pack, and to this end getting rid of all those which they called
slow hounds, many of which were such as would not go the pace without
a good scent, as they would have them do. Such hounds were always
drafted, although, when there was a good scent, this sort could puzzle
even the fast riders to keep with them. Partly to this cause, then, I
attribute my having lived to my great age. There are other reasons why
fewer foxes are killed than formerly. In the first place, the country
is overrun with drains, of which there are thousands unknown to the
hunters, but known to us. When severely pressed by the hounds, I have
often got into one of them, and it frequently happened to be in the
middle of an open field, when hounds in chase of me have run over it,
and owing to their mettle and to their being pressed by hard riders,
they have been urged on beyond it, then held on forward in every way
by the huntsman; and if, after this, the drain has been discovered,
the scent, owing to the time lost, has been nearly gone. The entrance
to drains is generally in a low part of the land, which is chilled by
water upon it, and therefore may not hold a scent to discover that we
have gone into one.
During the time that that fine old sportsman, Lord Spencer, hunted this
country, there were nothing like so many of these drains as there are
now, which may in some measure account for fewer foxes being killed at
the present time than when Charles King hunted the hounds. I have heard
my old granny say that the first thing his lordship thought of and
wished to do, was to improve and strengthen his pack in every possible
way. Of late, the pack has been thought to be of least consideration;
and it would seem by the system adopted, that a fox is to be run down
by men who can ride fast, and that whippers-in are nearly all that is
wanted. For instance, when I have been pursued by the hounds, if I have
run towards or through any covert, I have frequently been astonished,
after passing through it, and almost before the hounds had arrived at
it, to see one of the whippers-in riding beyond it, in order to see me
go away, which he rarely or never could do; and if he did by accident
get in time to see me at all, the consequence was, that when I saw him
I went back again into the covert, and then, if there was any fresh fox
or foxes in it, they were pretty sure to be changed and hunted, and I
escaped. It generally happened that I had gone on through the covert
before the whipper-in got round, in time to see, not me, but a fresh
fox go away, to which he would probably halloo on the hounds, and, not
knowing the difference, declare it was the hunted one.
I suppose you will now not wonder that I have lived to so great an
age in this country. It is true I have had some narrow escapes within
the last few seasons, particularly one in the year 1840, when I was
found by the hounds then belonging to Mr. Smith, and in consequence
of beating them, called the Hero of Waterloo. I attributed my escape
to the system above described and adopted by the men on that occasion,
when the hounds were hallooed on to a fresh fox, which the whipper-in
Jones had viewed away on the farther side of Loalland Wood, at a time
when the hounds were hunting my scent through it, I having gone through
and away from it long before he got there. On looking back I witnessed,
to my regret, Mr. Smith’s displeasure at the system, which from that
time he insisted should not be continued. However, I was, four days
afterwards, lying in a small wood at Kelmarsh, when the hounds pursued
a fox in full cry, and came straight towards where I lay. Just before
they arrived I heard the following words addressed by Mr. Smith to his
whipper-in: “Where are you riding to before the hounds, when they are
running hard? Keep behind them in your place. If we cannot kill our fox
without your acting thus, we had better have a pack of whippers-in, and
no hounds at all.” I never heard of or saw the same system again.
Many other changes took place, which, as being unlike what we had been
used to, were by no means agreeable to us. One of them was the former
way of giving up hunting a fox and going to find another. On some
occasions, when I have been found and hunted by the hounds, and fancied
that I was safe, as I had done on previous occasions whenever I could
not hear them, I was surprised to hear them, after a short time, again
hunting on the line I had come. I was once found by the hounds in a
covert close to Fox Hall, and after they had pursued me closely for a
few miles, I, in consequence of there being a line of dry fallows, left
them far behind; so that I had given up all idea of being disturbed
again by them that day, and stopped in Mr. Hope’s plantation; I had
been but a short time there when they again approached, but slowly, and
I heard the following words addressed to Mr. Smith, who was hunting his
hounds: “How much longer shall you go on with this cold scent? Don’t
you think you can find another fox?” The reply was, “I shall hunt this
as long as a hound will own the scent. We shall get up to him by and
by, and kill him too.”
On hearing this it was time to be off. I was shortly after seen in the
plantation, and hunted closely by the hounds, which, after another long
check, again got on my scent in the wood where I was _first found_.
They hunted me very fast across some of the finest grass country,
and I was obliged to take refuge in a drain under a road leading to a
field, where fortunately I found another fox, and succeeded in getting
beyond him in his retreat. It often occurs that the fox which is hunted
and frightened forces his way beyond the fresh one, and there remains
during the operation of digging, and when the huntsmen come by, the
fresh fox is drawn out and given to the hounds. Such was the case
now, and so I escaped, for luckily it was getting late, and the hounds
were taken away immediately without their discovering that I was left
behind. I had time to remark that only one man, who was addressed as
his Grace, was with the hounds at the finish, or indeed for a long time
during the run, nearly all having left at the time of slow-hunting.
And now, my friends, I have done.
“Done! Tell us first what has become of our friend old King Stumpy.
There is a rumour that he is dead, and I do not perceive any one here
without a brush.”
Alas! he is no more. He was captured, and massacred, and died an
ignominious death. It happened last autumn that he was found as usual
in Grafton Park one morning, as soon as it was light, by this new pack,
when he had imprudently glutted himself, and was thinking again to save
his life by immediately running into a drain, in which he had so often
saved himself before after a severe day’s hunting. He who had been king
of the forest, and had for so many years fairly beaten his enemies, was
now dug out and devoured by the hounds on the spot. Oh! the ruthless
and unfeeling beasts! Yet, be it confessed, that we ourselves do
sometimes dig out a mouse or so, but it is to eat him kindly, you know.