got a fox!” As I jumped over the fence, he was still holding his whip
in the air, undecided which of the four lots (into which the hounds
had divided) he should follow. So good was the scent on that day,
that although only about four couples of hounds followed me, I went
straight to another drain; and, strange to say, there found another
of the same party as before, which accounted for the two first lots
of hounds leaving a short time before they ran up to the earth. Here
our lives were again in danger; and, hearing the men again digging at
some distance, I profited by what had passed, and pushed beyond it. My
unfortunate fellow was again forced out by the same terrier, and fell
a victim to our foes; who, not suspecting that another fox was in the
earth, again left me.
“Well, Will, do you recollect the foresay about there being half a
dozen foxes in the last drain?”
“I do, my lord; and now the gentleman’s foresays have all been
fulfilled from beginning to end.”
During the time they were waiting for the terrier at the last drain,
and doubting whether he could be found, a farmer was filling in the
stones at the entrance of the drain, and being asked what he was about,
he answered,—“Why, if the terrier don’t come, we will starve the fox to
death, which is easy to do in this drain. He has had mony fowls; about
forty I ken.”
“What’s that?” said the Southron. “Pretty sort of encouragement for
a gentleman to spend so much money in the country in keeping hounds.
Why, the Duke pays more money to the farmers in one week than all the
poultry in the hunt would sell for in a twelvemonth; to say nothing
of all that is spent in it by the gentlemen who hunt. If there were no
foxes there would be no hounds.”
“Vary true, vary true,” was the reply; “but Mr. Williamson is raather
too closefisted when he pays a bittie o’ the Duke’s siller.”
The worst part of the story, as relates to ourselves, remains to be
told, namely, that when they left a hard bargain was going on for the
purchase of the terrier which had driven us out of our retreat, and he
was to be taken to the kennel for the same employment when required,
which, sure enough, was often the case. Luckily for me he was not with
the hounds a short time after, when I was again found by this pack,
as I lay in a wood near Floors, belonging to the Duke of Roxburgh,
who, though no fox-hunter, is one of our best friends, and gives his
keepers strict orders never to destroy us. But for the absence of this
terrier I must have been in jeopardy that day; for having heard the
hounds running after another fox, I was just stepping away to a drain
close to the Tweed, in a contrary direction, not before I was seen, and
a few hounds got on my scent, which they followed until they reached
the drain where I was. On being told of which, old Will, the huntsman,
brought the rest of the hounds to the spot, determined to get me out.
Tools were procured, and several attempts were made, but in vain. Some
half-bred terriers were then sent for, but they would not venture near
me, nor could they a second time be urged to go in. Other fruitless
attempts were made, and a great part of the morning was lost in this
way by a throng of hunters, and amongst them the noble master of the
pack. Whilst this was going on, and they were looking at and admiring
the beauties of the stately river, a large salmon leaped clean out of
the water, as if on purpose to amuse or to tantalise them. Whereupon
a gentleman present asked his Grace if it would give him pleasure to
have a throw with a fly for such a fish. His fit reply might well be a
source of satisfaction and pleasure to all who hunt in countries where
his Grace has property.
“To tell the truth I care little for that kind of sport; but, as to the
other, I am never perfectly happy unless I have on a red coat.”
All at length left the place exceedingly annoyed that the terrier, the
hero of the former day, had not been with them. Probably the bargain
for him was not completed, and consequently I escaped.
Wishing to return to my old haunts, I had got as far as a covert called
the Hirsel, belonging to Lord Home, where I had not been long when one
day I heard two reports, which turned out to be from the keeper’s gun,
discharged at two innocent young fox-hound puppies, thus deliberately
butchered for having strayed by chance from the hospitable home of the
kind mistress whose pets they were, and whose gentle care and caresses
they had so often enjoyed. You will not be surprised when I tell you
that our race appears to be almost extinct about these woods.
After this tragical event I lost no time, but went to the farthest
covert belonging to this estate, and nearly surrounded by Lord
Elcho’s country. I hoped to be there as far as possible from danger,
and thought myself secure, as the outside covert was kept quiet, and
scarcely disturbed even by the hounds of the Duke in whose hunt it is
retained. It is suspected that the keeper kills all of us foxes that
he can in that part, because no hounds hunt it enough. He says that all
the foxes in Lord Elcho’s country come there to be quiet. Be that as it
may, the last time the hounds found me there they had before drawn all
the other woods, and only found one fox, and that a mangy one. I was
disturbed first by hearing Old Will cheering his hounds, as if he had
just seen a fox, giving his cheer thus, “Hooi-here, here, here!” which,
in any other country, would pass for a view-halloo.
After listening and expecting to hear the hounds in full cry, I found
it was only his customary cry in drawing a whin covert, particularly
when he wished his hounds to get into it. I noticed that they did
not attend to the halloo so readily when a fox was really seen.
Notwithstanding this, they understood their huntsman’s system well
enough to make it no safe thing to be hunted by them. I soon left the
covert, and when they had pursued me for some miles, and were getting
nearer to me, they suddenly came to a check; on looking back, I saw the
huntsman almost immediately take them away beyond the next large field,
rather to the left of where my line was hitherto pointing; I suppose
either because there was a flock of sheep in that field, or because
he thought I had gone to a covert in that direction. If the hounds had
had their time, they would have hit off the scent to the right of the
field. The upshot was, that I, thinking that they had given me up, took
the first opportunity of getting out of sight, not because I was tired
and beaten, as some suppose must always be the case when we seek such
places of refuge; which they soon ascertained was the case, for nearly
as soon as the hounds had hunted up to the drain on one side of the
road, I started off on the other, and though they had as good a start
with me as they could wish for, I contrived to run away from them,
owing to the scent not being good enough for hounds to kill a stout fox
without assistance; and probably to the huntsman repeating his former
mistake in making an injudicious forward cast when not wanted. He did
not now venture to hold the hounds forward and across the line I came,
or else they would have got on the scent, as I returned nearly the same
way, which was ascertained by a hunter on his return home, a man having
seen me.
Having escaped from this lively pack of hounds, I did not venture to
remain in this part, but at once took up my abode near Foulden, where
I was again found by Lord Elcho and his pack, though I fancied I had
selected an out-of-the-way spot near the river Whitadder, with which
part I was well acquainted, as his lordship has reason to know and to
regret. After they had hunted me some time, finding myself distressed,
I was induced to return to my old haunts, creeping along a narrow track
by the side of the steep and rocky bank which overhung the river, the
height of which, where I passed, was nearly a hundred feet. Several
of these high-couraged hounds in attempting to follow me lost their
footing, fell to the bottom, and were killed. It was only strange
that a single hound escaped; and though I certainly did not intend to
assist in preventing their destruction, yet such happened to be the
case; for having waited, when in my narrow track, for some time, and
thinking myself safe, I heard the piercing cry of a hound, which I
then believed was following me. I ran straight along the top of the
precipice, and was seen by the whipper-in and some of the hounds, and
the noise they instantly made by hallooing a view with all their might,
assisted by his lordship blowing his horn, attracted the notice of
the other hounds, or they would otherwise have followed on the line to
certain destruction. I attribute my escape to the powerful effect this
event had on the feelings of the owner of the pack. Lest I should again
lead them back to the same spot, he immediately took them off my scent
and sent them home, and I flattered myself that we should never again
see these hounds run to find a fox in this part of the country; for
the anguish created in his lordship’s mind it is impossible for me to
describe, although it may be easily imagined.
However, all my hopes of living a quiet life here were destroyed. A
great friend of his Lordship’s, and of ours, Mr. Wilkie of Foulden,
near where this occurred, and on whose rabbits I sometimes subsisted,
immediately took measures to prevent the same calamity from happening
again; and although it was hitherto pronounced an impossibility,
he has, as far as I at present can judge of it, succeeded. It was
managed by cutting away my narrow track at the edge of the rock which
overhung the river. To do this required much labour and risk; but it
was effected by suspending a ladder, which was fastened by strong ropes
to stakes driven in the ground some distance above. I need not say
that I watched the work with no great satisfaction; and as I saw the
foundation of my once favourite track fall into the river below, when
they gradually broke it away, it made my heart ache, I felt that I must
now either stay and be killed, or move into another country. I decided
on the latter.
Although I vowed in an hour of distress, when first hunted by the
hounds there, never to run the risk of them again if I escaped, I
recrossed the Tweed into England, and have taken up my quarters on
one of the highest parts of the Cheviot Hills, hoping to find a safe
retreat from them. There are, however, dangers to be dreaded there,
as well as in every country where hounds are not kept to hunt us; but
the system of destruction to be dreaded by me is one that is adopted
on mountainous parts alone. The shepherds of the mountains on certain
days gather together against us, armed with guns, and aided by dogs of
all sorts, from the greyhound to the collie. The sagacity and docility
of the latter are very astonishing; but the sagacity of an old dog
of the fox-hound sort is superior to that of every other. The collie
dog is taught by man what to do, whilst the old fox-hound teaches his
master. Had it not been for the sagacity of the hound, I should have
been spared many a perilous run. The shepherds pretend that the breed
of the mountain fox is of a different kind from our own, and that the
head of the male is larger. For my own part, I believe the animals to
be of the same kind as ourselves, and to be merely larger altogether;
for I have sometimes met one in my rambles. Their superior size may be
accounted for as follows: having been born or bred in the wholesome air
upon the mountains, where food, such as rabbits, is probably scarce,
they find and fatten upon sheep which from various accidents die there.
Having once got a taste for such food, it is not surprising that they
will take a lamb, or attack an old one which has fallen through illness
or neglect. Anxious as I am to protect my own race, I cannot blame the
shepherds for waging war against the transgressors; as it is known that
when once a fox has taken to such a habit, he seldom gives it up but
with his life. Felons are to be found everywhere; but, as to ourselves,
the following facts will prove that the generality of us are not
guilty of charges frequently laid upon us. On the first day of February
last, being the last day of pheasant shooting, I was lying in a thick
plantation, in the middle of a park at Ladykirk, on the other side of
the Tweed, which covered a space of ground not more than a quarter of
an acre, when a party were shooting not far off, and I suddenly heard
one of them exclaim, “Look out, there goes a fox! he jumped up close by
me. There he goes, straight away. I wish the hounds were here.”
In the course of an hour after this, I was again startled by hearing,
“Tally-ho! tally-ho! there goes another fox! Don’t mistake him for a
hare, and shoot him; he’s close to you, in the clump between!” And then
again the same loud voice,—“There he goes, right across the park; what
a fine fellow he is!”
It shortly afterwards became my turn to exhibit. They came to the clump
where I was, and a man who went in beyond directly called out, “There
goes a hen pheasant, there go two, three!” and so on. He had just cried
out, “That makes thirteen hen pheasants!” when a spaniel rushed into
the thick bushes, and obliged me to face the whole party. A glorious
cheering they gave me; and when they had expressed their surprise and
satisfaction, the keeper assured them of his belief, that there were as
many pheasants left as had been there at the beginning of the season,
excepting those that had been shot by sportsmen. Now if I, or any of
us, were so much given to destroy game as we are reported to be, there
would not have been a pheasant left alive in a week’s time from the
beginning of the season, whereas it was now nearly the end of it. This
fortunately occurred in the presence of several persons, who saw all
three of us. No less than five other foxes from the same park have been
killed by Lord Elcho and his pack this season.
Hoping that I have given you all sufficient encouragement to induce you
to make us a visit in the north, I conclude my story.
CONCLUSION
One more friend was about to begin his story. Whether he was from York,
Lincoln, Nottingham, or Bedfordshire, was not ascertained, for on a
sudden we were startled by the cawing of an old crow and the screams
of a jay, which, added to the chatterings of a couple of magpies,
warned us that daylight was appearing; and I was reluctantly obliged to
request that his story might be deferred to some future time, should we
ever meet again, when we might all have more to relate concerning the
inexhaustible subject of our lives. Chanticleer now clapped admiring
wings, and sang out a loud applause. This excited the particular notice
of one of our party, who exclaimed, “I’ll go round and have a sly bite
at his tail, for ’tis a quiet retired place, and no one yet about.”
“Take heed,” said I, “that thou bring us not into trouble.”
Soon afterwards we were again interrupted by the clamour of those
tell-tale birds; for it seems that our friend was returning without his
intended booty, having been seen by the keeper, who fast approached
towards us. Therefore, hastily bidding adieu until we should meet
again, we all returned to our favourite coverts.
_Printed in Great Britain by_
UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED
WOKING AND LONDON
FOOTNOTES
[1] If this were attended to in making artificial
earths, it would be an advantage to the fox, who might
then defend himself better from dogs of every sort;
the great point is to have the entrance _only just
sufficiently high_ for him to get in.
They should be so arranged that the breeding places are
situated higher than the entrances, so that water may
run away; and when it is necessary to make the earth
on level ground, the breeding places should be on the
surface, and covered over with earth, so as to form a
mound.
The places for breeding should be formed in a circle, in
order that they may be more easily arched, like an oven,
without having wood supports.
The passages should be floored with bricks or flints, to
prevent rabbits from digging.
It is desirable to have the low passages not more than
seven inches high, to exclude dogs. Four-inch work at
the sides is sufficient, except for a foot or two at the
entrance.
[2] The Author.—ED.
[3] To Mr. Osbaldiston belonged, _par excellence_, the
title of “the Squire.”—ED.
[4] Stephens was huntsman of the Warwickshire, not the
Atherstone, pack.—ED.
[5] Captain Trelawney.—ED.
[6] Father of the present Earl of Wemyss. He continued
to hunt this country till about 1868.
[7] The late Mr. Robertson of Ladykirk.—ED.
[8] Williamson was pensioned off in 1865 and died a year
or two later. Shore, who succeeded him, still carries
the horn.—ED.