hunting, an honest farmer, whose land surrounded the covert, came up
and stated that a short time before he had found in a field close
by a large trap exactly of the same sort, which had in it two of a
fox’s toes. They belonged to the foot which I parted with myself. It
is impossible to describe the sensation created by this additional
circumstance; but it caused amongst other remarks the following, which
reached my ears:—“These acts of shocking cruelty were scarcely ever
heard of in this part, till game became an article of traffic to the
landlord, and shooting on his land began to be let to strangers who
have no interest whatever in the welfare of the country where it lies.
Nothing conduces to that welfare more than brilliant sport afforded by
a pack of hounds; as it leads others, as well as those who own estates,
to become residents in the country. Noblemen and gentlemen have now
lost their good old English feelings, and instead of inviting their
friends for the sport, they let their shooting, or sell their game in
the market. It frequently happens that the persons to whom the shooting
is let are men who are engaged in business and reside in large towns.
They are consequently ignorant of the tricks and cruelties of their
keepers during their absence, and unaware of the disappointment these
keepers create to hundreds of gentlemen who reside in the country, who
keep large establishments of horses for the express purpose of hunting,
and whose money might otherwise be spent in more questionable ways in
town or elsewhere.”
I have heard the following lines recited by one who said that they
ought to be put up over the mantelpiece of every farmer in the
kingdom:—
Attend, ye farmers, to this tale,
And when ye mend the broken rail,
Reflect with pleasure on a sport
That lures your landlord from the court,
To dwell and spend his rents among
The country folk from whom they sprung;
And should his steed with trampling feet
Be urged across your tender wheat,
_That steed_, perchance, _by you_ was bred,
And _yours the corn_ by which he’s fed,
Ah! then restrain your rising ire,
Nor rashly curse the hunting squire.—WARBURTON.
“So, Devonian, tell us thy history, for methinks ’twill be something
strange.”
DEVONIAN’S STORY
My story must needs be a short one. In my own country I am called
“The Bold Dragoon,” and as every name either has or ought to have
a particular meaning, I am so called in consequence of having once
been in the possession of a certain captain of dragoons who lived
in the far West. These are my facts. I was born and bred in a wild
part of Devonshire, and when a year old fell into the possession of a
keeper. To state exactly how such a thing happened might sometimes be
inconvenient, as in hunting countries a man scarcely dares to confess
the crime of capturing a fox, for lucre at least. But here the keeper,
thinking me remarkable for size and strength, carried me to Captain
T——,[5] who sent me off immediately as a present to Mr. G. Templar,
the master of a pack of small foxhounds at Stover in Devonshire, and
I was carried into a dark and gloomy place, which had been at first
intended for a large stable, and was above seventy feet in length, and
nearly the same in breadth. Here I was let loose, and looking about me
in my fright, what should I see but at least twenty other foxes, all
coiled up in the snug holes which they had made for themselves. Besides
these there were others out of sight. They all took much care to hide
themselves when any man came in. As soon as he who had brought me there
had left the place, they all came round me. I soon learnt for what
purpose I was brought hither, for it appeared that each of them had
been separately hunted by this gentleman’s hounds, which he had brought
under such command, that they scarcely ever killed the fox they hunted;
for when hunting up to him, if a rider was near enough to make his
voice heard, and he rated or spoke to them, they would only bay at him
till he was again captured, placed in a bag, and carried home again.
It rarely happened that not the master nor huntsman, nor the reverend
friend who called himself first whipper-in, were up at the time, as
they were generally mounted on thorough-bred horses, which they well
knew how to ride. For myself, it is a well-known fact that I have been
turned out and hunted by these hounds eighteen times, though I have
striven hard to get away. On no occasion was I injured by the hounds,
and I must do my possessor justice by stating that he thoroughly
understands the nature of all the animals that he had to manage.
The extraordinary distance which we ran, when hunted by these hounds,
may be attributed to our perfect ignorance of the country where we were
turned out, which also accounts for our not oftener running at once
to the impracticable parts which abound here, and in which no horses
could have followed the hounds. In consequence of our knowing none of
the coverts, we often ran straight across Dartmoor, where the scent
was so good that the pace at which we were followed by the hounds made
it often most severe work for us; and it became almost a relief to be
taken up and replaced in the bag, which was carried for that purpose,
and reconveyed to our gloomy prison, where we were well supplied with
rabbits and other food.
The various habits of our race were most apparent. Some would keep
quiet in their kennels, which were holes made by them in the ground, or
where loose stones had been removed from the bottom of the wall which
surrounded our prison, watching what was going on; whilst others were
constantly moving about, as if in search of some outlet for escape.
One, whose activity was extraordinary, had chosen for his place of rest
a hole in the wall, being the opening intended for a window, which
had been stopped up on the outside. It was full eight feet from the
ground, and it was surprising, even to us, to see him run, with the
greatest ease, up the perpendicular wall, as he daily did, aided by the
roughness of the surface alone.
It now remains for me to explain how I am here and at liberty. We were
one day surprised by the entrance of our feeder, who brought in several
hampers, in which we were all taken to be turned out in the adjoining
woods, there to shift for ourselves.
So you see that although I cannot boast of having beaten a pack of
hounds, according to the tenor of the invitation, I have run away from
them altogether, and am here to do you service by proving the error
of the arch enemy, in thinking it absolutely necessary for his hounds
to devour the animal they have been hunting, that their ardour in the
chase may be increased. I have been sorely hunted by them, my friends,
and not until they had won the day, and run up to their object, did
they relax—not till then were they satisfied.
Again I would ask, why should our enemy wish to slaughter us when
seeking refuge in an earth, up to which his hounds have hunted?
seeing that those hounds so plainly show their contentment with having
succeeded, and done all that was required of them.
_All._ “Bravo! bravo! well said, thou bold Dragoon!”
“Now, Berkshire, we pray thee tell us whether thou dost like a royal
neighbourhood; whether thou art safer, and whether thy treatment there
is preferable to our own. Tell us all that thou canst, as thou livest
nearer to those parts than most of us do.”
BERKSHIRE’S STORY
On that score, my friends, I have not much to boast of; but having
heard that the fair Queen had taken to herself a consort who rejoiced
in the chase, I resolved to visit the royal forest. Soon I found that
foxes here existed only in name. Some day in December I was lying
in Windsor Forest about three o’clock in the afternoon, when I was
disturbed by the voice of Sir J. Cope’s huntsman, Shirley, who was
taking the hounds through the forest to find a fox. Though so late,
he was most persevering, and appeared determined to learn whether or
not within the purlieus of the forest there was a fox left alive by
the keepers. Seeing this, I lost no time; but when stealing away was
viewed by some of the hunters. The hounds soon followed me, and though
it was a bad scenting day, I narrowly escaped. I saw enough of them to
convince me that they were not to be trifled with, and that a tolerable
scent would tax all my powers to beat them.
It was some years ago that I was lying in a covert at Billingbeare,
when I was startled by Shirley’s voice. I soon got away from the
covert, thinking that I was not seen, but I was mistaken. A view-halloo
was given, and the hounds were soon on my scent. I went the best pace
I could straight towards and through the large woods at Shottesbrook,
and onwards in the direction of Maidenhead thicket, where I passed
through the middle of a small village. As the hounds had not been
seen or heard, no one was looking out, and consequently no one saw
me, although I passed through a cottage garden; and it behoves me to
state that I probably owed my safety to nothing more dignified than a
pig-sty attached to that garden, and which neutralised the scent; for
the hounds soon afterwards hunting so far, were unable to hunt farther.
It was supposed by the huntsman that I had taken refuge in some of
the buildings, and a search was made; when a sportsman who was present
expressed his surprise to a gentleman well-known in the hunt that they
did not first hold on the hounds beyond the village, and make that
good first; they would then have seen whether I had gone on or not, and
if not it would have been time to come back and try all those places.
This hint was taken, but too late to gain by it, for the scent, which
the hounds had got on again, was now so cold that they could hunt me
but slowly, instead of going at the pace they had hitherto gone, and
which must have been the death of me had it been continued but a short
time longer. I went straight on for several miles, until I reached the
Thames near Cookham. I did not like to cross it, and returned to Bisham
Wood; by which time, owing to my stopping about in a part of the wood,
the hounds had got very near to me, when it luckily grew nearly dark;
and though I was seen by them at not more than five hundred yards’
distance, they were stopped and taken home, and I narrowly escaped
from one of the most dashing packs in the kingdom. It is to be hoped
by us in this part that his Royal Highness Prince Albert will have his
commands obeyed by the keepers in Windsor Forest, and that this pack of
hounds will not be driven elsewhere to find a fox. I now remained for a
short time in a very thick covert, called Pigeon-House Coppice, through
which I passed when hunted by the hounds.
There is a tragical story connected with this covert. The hounds
many years since had met, and the gentlemen were all assembled, when
the keeper who had the care of the coverts made his appearance, and
producing a sack in which there was a fox, told them that unless they
gave him a certain sum of money for it to turn out and hunt, he would
shoot him before their eyes. This atrocious threat made them all quite
furious, and they refused to give him anything; on which this monster
in the shape of man immediately laid the sack which contained the fox
on the ground, and according to his threat shot him dead. The rage
which was felt by all present it is impossible to describe. They did
not put him in his own sack and throw him into a pond close by; but he
was soundly horsewhipped and instantly discharged from his place.
A much better feeling towards us now exists in this part of the
country, and I have no longer a dread of being shot. But it is
my intention to return to my old country, near Billingbeare and
Shottesbrook, as I hear that the keepers there receive strict orders
never to destroy one of us. This is the more handsome on the part of
the occupier of the latter place, as he is not a fox-hunter himself. No
doubt I shall be suffered to lie in the coverts of the former, though
I find much of my food at Shottesbrook, where the coverts are so thin
and hollow that I could not remain there during the day without many
chances of being disturbed by the keeper’s dogs. I hope at some future
time to be able to tell you that the breed of foxes in those parts, and
in the royal purlieus, has so increased that it has been unnecessary
for me to risk my life very often with Sir J. Cope’s fine pack of
hounds. It is reported that he intends to pay more frequent visits to
these parts in future, in consequence of having given up the distant
part of the country.
“And now, Sandy, tell us what is going on north of Tweed. Be there
any hounds there? It is reported that foxes there are shot like
rabbits. The mountains, it seems, are not to be rode over, and so no
fox-hunting; is it so?”
SANDY’S STORY
Let me at once undeceive you upon one point. It is not the mountains
there, but the hounds, that are hard to be rode over, and that on
account of the scent. We have, however, noble lords and others who
can and do keep with the hounds, except on the steepest parts of the
Cheviots. In the next place, let me pray of you not to believe the
slanderers who say that we are so unmercifully slaughtered. No, my
friends, it is not so. We have patrons as good as, if not better,
than you have in the South. One gentleman alone has lately raised,
at his own expense, for our sole use, a series of coverts, which
was the only thing required, as both sides of Tweed, Berwickshire,
and Northumberland are as fine country as can be desired, and,
unfortunately for us, as good scenting as any in the kingdom.
It is supposed that when people can fly thither by steam, it will
become the Melton of the North; but I hope the idea will end, as it
began, in smoke. You, my southern friends, appear to think that we do
not go the very fast pace that you do, and that the hounds by which
we are hunted are not equally as good as those in your country; but in
this, too, you are much mistaken. So good is the scent there that, if
it were not for the drains, which are now so general in the cultivated
parts, the hounds, at the awful pace they go, would in a very short
time kill nearly every one of us. Then the huntsmen are not to be
despised; on the contrary, we have to contend with one who, with the
following qualifications, is near perfection,—the eye of an eagle, fine
temper, boldness, enterprise, coolness, perseverance, intelligence,
and, above all, decision. This is the rare man with whom, and with
whose pack, we have to contend. I am proud to say that I have been
hunted by, and escaped from him, on a good scenting day too, by taking
refuge in the crevice of a rock, after one of the fastest runs possible
for five miles. It began thus:—One morning early last season, when
lying in a covert called Bushen Glen, I was startled by hearing a man
riding quickly by. He then suddenly stopped and addressed these few
words to the whipper-in, who brought the hounds.
“How long have you been here?”
“Just come, my lord.”
“Is Mr. Smith here?”
“Not yet, my lord.”
“Well, I never was so thoroughly drenched; never rode twenty-four miles
in such a deluge; so, by Jove, I can’t wait. Give me my horse.”
No sooner done, than “Cover hoick!” reached my astonished ears, and I
instantly left my kennel prepared for a start. In a few minutes I was
stealing away, and after clearing the wall and running in the open
moor, I passed near the gentleman, I suppose, who was expected, and
who, on seeing me, said not a word. I therefore, thinking I was unseen,
did not turn back to the covert, but, laying my ears well back on my
poll, took straight away across the moor, and just had a glimpse of
the hounds and their noble huntsman, Lord Elcho,[6] topping the wall at
the same time. My flight, however, was too rapid to allow time for much
curiosity. This was enough to make me go my best pace straight across
the moor for four miles, and then a mile or two beyond, over fields,
till I reached a hanging covert on a steep by the side of the Whitadder
River, at which time the hounds were not more than four hundred yards
from me. Although they did not see me, they ran the whole way as if
they really did.
Here, although there was soon another fox or two moving, they still
went on with my scent; for with the most unerring judgment this
huntsman kept the pack from changing, till at length I crossed the
river and over the moor on the other side to a place of refuge, a
crevice in a rock, for I could not go farther. The gentlemen rode up,
and I heard these words: “Well, I never saw a finer run. During the
first four miles the tail hounds never got to the head at all, though
not one hundred yards behind those that were leading when they first
started.”
On other occasions I have saved my life in a similar way, but a
circumstance occurred which almost made me resolve never again to
resort to a drain. I was one night crossing a farm, not many miles
from Dunse, when I heard cries as of a fox in distress, and on going
to the spot whence the noise proceeded I discovered that two of my
brethren were confined in a stone drain, where they had been several
days without food, and were nearly starved. I used every exertion in
my power to scratch away the stones which had been placed to stop up
the entrance, in order to prevent a fox going into it, as Lord Elcho’s
hounds were to meet near it next day. Fortunately Mr. Wilson, the
owner of the land, passed that way and saw that the ground and stones
had been lately disturbed by me, when he removed them, and saw the two
foxes, one of which was found dead shortly after. He ascertained that
his man had stopped them in nine days before, and that he forgot to
open the drain again.
I once crossed the Tweed at a dangerous part, thinking that I should,
by so doing, leave the hounds and all behind. Not so; for the huntsman
was not to be stopped, but swam his horse, as two or three others
did, across the river, Treadwell, Mr. Robertson’s[7] huntsman, taking
the lead. Having thus crossed the river without gaining my point, and
running in a ring of several miles, I recrossed the river at a spot
where it was impossible for horses to cross; so that, being a long way
round, the hounds were stopped, and it was agreed that I was drowned in
the Tweed.
Having seen some part of the country on the English side of the Tweed,
I determined to cross back to it; and after being there a short time
only, and lying in a field of large turnips, not uncommon in this
part, I was awakened by hearing a loud voice: “Treadwell, I wish you
would draw the hounds through this turnip field. It is a very likely
place to find a fox.” This order was obeyed with the utmost silence;
but fortunately, having had the previous notice, I was off and away as
fast as my legs could carry me, and was not seen, owing to the height
of the turnips, until I reached the next field. The hounds soon got
on my scent, and pursued me closely for about twenty-five minutes, so
extremely fast, that I began to think I had changed my country for the
worse.
Independently of their great speed, I could not hear them, as I did
those by which I had been hunted on the other side of Tweed. I reached
in safety a small covert, in passing through which it appeared that the
hounds got on the scent of another fox, which turned out to be a cub,
and so I escaped; for although an old sportsman saw me after I left the
covert going apparently much distressed, and evidently the hunted fox,
yet the hounds were not allowed to be taken from that which they were
running, which it appeared they some time afterwards killed, scarcely
having left the covert.
I had one or two more escapes from this determined huntsman and his
killing pack, which escapes I attributed to my good luck in having
been hunted by them on bad scenting days, and also in taking refuge
in drains. Learning that many of my friends had been killed by them, I
was induced to move into Roxburghshire, the country hunted by the Duke
of Buccleuch’s hounds, and adjoining the two hunts before described
to you. There I had not been long before I was found in a small covert
by the Duke’s pack, as Williamson the huntsman[8] calls it, though he
seems to do just what he likes with it. Be that as it may, he knew
pretty well where to find me, and it was done in a few minutes. The
hills form a part of the country that he surpasses most men in riding
across; and after running over them for some time towards the Cheviots,
the blue tops of which seemed at the time to be higher than the clouds,
the hounds came to a check, owing as it was thought, to my having
overtaken some cattle, and to too much delay in holding on the hounds;
and I escaped.
[Illustration: THE DEATH OF THE FOX. BY R. B. DAVIS, ENGRAVED BY T.
SUTHERLAND.
_Lent by Basil Dighton._]
It appeared to me that these hounds had at the time rather too much
flesh, though shortly afterwards the fault was mended; for I never was
pressed more by any pack in my life. Every hound seemed to go as if
he had the leading scent. All came nearly abreast for several fields,
and they were close to me when I again took refuge in a drain. The
extraordinary scent just described induces me to relate the events of
that day from the beginning. A remark was made before the hounds had
thrown off, by an old sportsman, as follows. It happened that several
coverts were drawn by the hounds without their finding a fox, although
it was notorious that foxes had been on every former day most abundant
there; on hearing this the gentleman said, “I have often observed that
on good scenting days foxes are not to be found, even where they are
known to abound as they do here.”
“How do you account for that?” was asked.
“Probably on these good scenting days foxes lie under ground, or in
places not disturbed by hounds, for as they live by the use of their
noses, they cannot but know their danger of being hunted on such days.”
The hounds were taken on some distance towards another covert, but on
passing by a small piece of gorse, not half an acre across, they were
taken quietly to it, and in a short time killed a fox which had not
moved from his kennel. This created some amusement at the expense of
the gentleman who had stated his belief that it was a good scenting
day, and some one said—
“Now, what do you think?”
“Why, that I am now more sure of it: for if this fox had moved under
the circumstances when the hounds were so close to him, the scent being
a good one, would have made it almost certain death; and so his best
chance of escape was to lie still; but he has been too cunning.”
Rather more than the hallooing usual when a dead fox is given to hounds
took place; and the three men appeared to be trying who could oftenest
repeat, “Tally-ho!” The hounds were again taken on towards the next
large covert, and no sooner were they in it than they all threw their
tongues and ran as if close to a fox, which was not the case, for it
happened to be my own scent, and I having heard the dreadful hallooing
before described, and knowing it to be a good scenting day, had moved
away some time before the hounds had reached the covert, although the
crash they made there seemed as if close to me. I then ran as described
before, straight to a drain about three or four miles off; but although
I had so good a start they nearly overtook me before I reached it.
Waiting near the entrance I overheard the following remarks:—
“How very unlucky, just as the hounds were running into him. Such a
swift pace they came, he could not have stood it five minutes longer.”
I then distinctly heard the gentleman alluded to before exclaim, “Well!
I shall not be surprised if there are half a dozen foxes in this drain;
somewhere they must be.”
Then another voice, “Well, Will, what do you think now of Mr. Smith’s
foresay as to its being a good scenting day?”
“My lord, he was right; I never in all my life saw the hounds run so
fast—faster they could not go.” He suddenly turned towards the man who
ought to have stopped the drain. “Hoot, mon, how is this? The earth’s
open at yer vary ain door?”
“Will, where’s the terrier?”
“Got none, my lord.”
“Was ever the like? Seventeen years I have hunted with these hounds,
and though every field in this country is full of drains, they have
never had a terrier that was worth hanging. Jack, go and fetch the
farmer’s terrier; be off like a shot! How can they expect to save their
poultry if they do not put gratings to their drains? Without them it is
impossible for hounds to kill their foxes.”
Having by this time recovered my breath, I began to move away from
the entrance, when to my surprise I found that there were no less than
three foxes in the drain beside myself. Having with great difficulty
forced myself past the first I came against, and whilst waiting
anxiously the result, we were all much frightened by suddenly seeing
a glimpse of light some distance up the drain beyond us. The men had
dug a hole through the top of the drain at that spot; and shortly
after this we heard them trying to force a rough terrier of the real
Makerston breed to enter; they at length succeeded, when he immediately
came down straight towards us. Not a little alarmed, and each of us
struggling and striving to get away first, out we all bolted, with
the terrier close at our heels. The scene which followed it is almost
impossible to describe. The first fox was pursued by the greatest
number of hounds, and, as I came second, the next greatest number
followed me; and so after us they came; but our sally was so sudden
that we fortunately had gained the start of them by some ten or twenty
yards.
[Illustration: “EVERY HOUND HAS GOT A FOX.”
_T. Smith, Esq., del._
_page 113._]