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HUNTING REMINISCENCES
BY
ALFRED E. PEASE, M.P.
Two Hundred Copies only of this _Edition de Luxe_ have
been printed, and the Type distributed.
No. 5
[Illustration: FROZEN OUT. From a coloured sketch by the late SIR FRANK
LOCKWOOD.]
HUNTING REMINISCENCES
BY
ALFRED E. PEASE, M.P.
AUTHOR OF “THE CLEVELAND
HOUNDS AS A TRENCHER-FED PACK”
“HORSE-BREEDING FOR FARMERS” &c.
[Illustration]
LONDON: W. THACKER & CO.
2 CREED LANE, E.C. 1898
CALCUTTA: THACKER, SPINK & CO.
[_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED._]
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. REMINISCENCES OF THE CAMBRIDGE DRAG AND
THE HOUSE OF COMMONS STEEPLECHASES 7
II. THE LIFE OF A HUNTER 43
III. HOUNDS 77
IV. HARE-HUNTING 103
V. FOX-HUNTING 125
VI. FOX-HUNTING--_continued_ 155
VII. CUB-HUNTING 183
VIII. THE GREATEST RUN I EVER SAW 205
IX. BADGER-HUNTING 233
INDEX 255
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
FROZEN OUT _Frontispiece_
(_From a Coloured Sketch by the late_ SIR FRANK
LOCKWOOD)
MR. A. E. PEASE, M.P., ON “NORA CREINA,” WINNER
OF HOUSE OF COMMONS POINT-TO-POINT RACE, 1891 9
(_From a Photograph_)
HOUSE OF COMMONS POINT-TO-POINT RACE 27
(_From a Drawing by_ CUTHBERT BRADLEY)
QUEEN MAB 45
(_From a Painting_)
YORK GIMCRACKS 79
(_From a Sketch by the late_ SIR FRANK LOCKWOOD)
MR. TOM HILL AND UNDERGRADUATE 105
(_Scene in a Cambridge Stable-yard, from a
Sketch by_ C. M. NEWTON)
MISS LAVENDER PEASE ON “ZACCHEUS” 115
(_From a Painting by_ MR. HEYWOOD HARDY)
DRAG-HUNTING, CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY, 1879 127
(_From a Sketch by_ C. M. NEWTON)
A MEMBER OF THE GIMCRACK CLUB 185
(_From a Sketch by the late_ SIR FRANK
LOCKWOOD)
INCIDENTS WITH THE CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY
DRAG 207
(_From a Sketch by_ C. M. NEWTON)
THE CLEVELAND FOX-HOUNDS AT EXERCISE 239
(_From a Photograph of_ MR. HEYWOOD HARDY’S
_Picture, A Summer’s Day in Cleveland_)
I
REMINISCENCES OF
THE CAMBRIDGE DRAG
AND THE
HOUSE OF COMMONS
STEEPLECHASES
[Illustration: MR. A. E. PEASE, M.P., ON “NORA CREINA.” Winner of
House of Commons Point-to-Point Race, 1891.]
I
I AM asked to begin with some reminiscences of the Cambridge University
Drag and of the House of Commons Steeplechases. The former is not quite
an easy task, for, after a lapse of sixteen or seventeen years, memory
has to be plied with whip and spur before she will come up to the
starting-post.
It is many years since I first started from my rooms in 19, Trinity
Street, and mounted Election, starting at the door to ride my first
drag on that beautiful, roaring, arch-kneed, and queer-tempered
bloody son of Ballot. And yet, after all the excellent sport I have
seen since, I very much doubt if any hours were ever more enjoyed
than those spent in tearing over the picked patches of Cambridgeshire
after aniseed, behind or in front of the wild brutes we dignified
with the name of hounds. I remember that first day better than many
a more glorious gallop after. Four of us jogged to the meet at Lords
Bridge in the rain: the present Vicar of Bethnal Green (Hon. A. G.
Lawley) carried the horn on old Gingertail; Lord Binning (Colonel in
the Blues), on that king of drag-horses, Mosquito; Mr. Percy Aylmer of
Walworth; and Mr. Mitchell of Forcett. As far as I can remember, when
the hounds were laid on, we composed the whole field. I knew that a
new-comer was, if kindly welcomed, critically watched, and I confess
that I was nervous; I had no confidence in my horse, who would at times
refuse to face anything. How I hoped it would be one of his jumping
days! As for his galloping, it was worth all the two hundred guineas
that my father had given for him two years previously, when he was
sound in wind and fresh on his legs.
Away we went! I can see now Lawley’s black and white trousers, with a
strap under the knee, on each side of old Gingertail, popping over the
fences three lengths ahead of me as we covered the first two miles.
Soon after Lawley, Aylmer, Binning, and I got level--a fence, a rail,
another fence, then two gates in and out of the road, all abreast.
Lawley is elbowed off the gates, and Gingertail jumps the gate-posts;
the other three of us rattle the top bars with our horses’ knees. The
pace is terrific; three silent hounds racing over the grass and flying
the fences ahead, the rest no one cares where;--Leete, the dragsman,
in view, sitting on his horse two fields ahead under a high fence. Two
fields of grass, two more great fences,--over the last of which we land
like shot rubbish,--a touch with the spur to Election, and he draws
out, finishing first, just as old Norman, the leading hound, reaches
Leete.
No more trailing about the ploughs after the Cambridgeshire Fox-hounds
for me! This is settled between Election and myself as we all trot
back to Cambridge, and lark, while our blood is still warm, over the
hand-gates and stiles along the footpath to the town. The authorities,
I have understood, never smiled on the Drag. In my heart I believe that
most of them had not an idea of what it was. It only meant to them
something to do with horses and “dogs,” or, perhaps, a coach on wheels;
something associated with a rather troublesome class of undergraduates
who paid little respect to them, except when invited to do so by a
slip, suggesting that a call should be made on the senior Proctor or
“the Dean.” Then, when a quiet young man appeared in his gown, with
his cap in his hand, they, no doubt, were more puzzled than ever at
the various kinds of relaxation that we indulged in. The notions we
had of their pursuits were probably as stupid as theirs of ours; but
if any of the old scowlers ever watch the subsequent careers of some
of those they looked on as “impossible,” they must find among those
they regarded as harum-scarum, devil-may-care followers of the Drag,
the names of men who have led devoted lives as clergymen in East-end
slums, who have filled high office under the Queen, who have made brave
soldiers and good citizens.
Not long ago I went to shake hands with two old friends of Cambridge
days before they were removed to Holloway Gaol, with the rest of Dr.
Jameson’s raiders. Whatever their faults, and however lamentable the
results of the raid, there can be no doubt of the good stuff they
are made of. How well I remember “Sir J.”, as we called Sir John
Willoughby, riding against Mr. George Lambton in the Barton Drag, and
both coming down, and Sir J.’s horse getting up and putting his foot
on his master’s face, much to the detriment of his features. Many a
good rider in the silk has learned his first lesson with the Drag,
and George Lambton was one. He used to ride a young bay thoroughbred,
Julian, which had been scratched for the Derby, and, with all the
glorious pride and confidence of youth, used to send him along at five
furlongs pace over, or rather through, the Cambridgeshire gates, not
one of which I ever saw him clear! Not one whit discouraged, Julian
used to start, but never, to my knowledge, “finished.” It is curious
how much pleasure undergraduates seem to find in lying on their backs
and standing on their heads in Cambridgeshire ploughs. Talking of the
raiders reminds me that I once rode from Cambridge with one of them
(the Hon. R. White) to Stowe Fox. I was riding a three-year-old mare,
and rode her the whole way to the meet without touching the bridle.
Coming home, my companion bettered my performance by riding his horse
over every gate we met on a bridle-road, which, considering that he,
like the rest of us, had taken a toss at the Stowe Fox brook, shows
that he then had nerve that ought to stand a life’s wear and tear.
My brother (Mr. J. A. Pease, now M.P.), and Capt. B. H. Philips
(of the 23rd R. W. F.), with myself, together occupied a house in
Trinity Street. Some days we used to sally out together to inspect
the Fitzwilliam, at Gidding Windmill, or some other favourite spot,
and take the Drag three afternoons a week to fill up the time between
hunting days.
Of all animals under the sun an undergraduate’s horse is the most
wonderful. I have known Philips ride with the Drag on Friday, hunt with
the Fitzwilliam on Saturday, again on Monday, and go to the Pytchley
(Woodland) on Tuesday, Lucifer (appropriate name) his mount each day,
but truth compels me to add, not for another three weeks afterwards.
The days with the Fitzwilliam were often very hard days for horses.
It meant leaving before seven in the morning, boxing to Huntingdon,
and after a good breakfast at the “George,” hacking any distance from
six to twelve miles to cover--and the same way home again. One such
day is fixed in my mind, for it was the one on which I first donned a
pink coat, and I have found the following account in a letter I wrote:
“Yesterday nine of us went by the 7.0 train to Huntingdon, where we
had breakfast. We then hacked on eleven miles to the meet. We had
a wonderful fast hunting-run, hounds going all the time, from five
minutes to one till ten minutes past three. Bertie Philips’ and Devas’
(Mr. E. Devas) horses were ridden to a standstill half an hour before
we finished, and all our horses were pretty well cooked. We had then
thirteen miles to Huntingdon on “done” horses. Philips dragged his
about four miles to a village, then put up. We struggled on to the
next, sat in the inn an hour, and started again, eventually reaching
Huntingdon, where we left the horses and caught a train to Cambridge.
The country was very deep, and it was a tremendous run.”
Among the men whose names I remember, who distinguished themselves
with the Drag in my time were the following:--Mr. Hoole (killed whilst
riding for the ’Varsity Whip, at St. Ives, 1876); Mr. Herbert Magniac
(master of the Drag, 1877-78); Earl of Yarborough, Lord Binning, Sir
John Willoughby, Sir H. Meux, Hon. A. G. Lawley, Hon. A. Lawley, Hon.
R. White, Hons. R. and H. Fitzwilliam, Messrs. J. M. Paulton, J.
A. Pease, Graham, Barnard, P. Aylmer, E. Aylmer, H. Russell, F. R.
Meuricoffre, B. H. Philips, H. C. Bentley, W. C. Ellis, R. L. Pike,
C. Antrobus, C. A. Fellowes, and E. Devas. There are, doubtless, many
other names which should occur to me.
I had several good horses during my time at Cambridge,--I mean good
for the purpose to which an undergraduate devotes a horse. There was
Election, fast, but a queer screw, and very musical. Saucebox, a most
accomplished timber jumper and whistler, never gave me falls, except
over water and doubles; he jumped twenty-one gates in the White Horse
Barton Drag on one occasion. This day a man fell, at a gate I had
jumped, into the road, and his hat flew past me, but I caught it in
the air as my horse rose at the gate out; my brother, who was my whip
then, took it from me and carried it to the finish. Shamrock was a
clever horse, and only gave me one fall in one term; he came from the
Hon. Mark Rolles. Osman was my brother’s horse. He was a wonderful
stayer and fencer, but gave us both many a roll. I have seen him fall
down three times going to the meet with my brother, who counted this
as a little failing of no account whatever. Osman carried me through
perhaps the best run the Pytchley (Woodland) had during Lord Spencer’s
Mastership--fifty minutes from Finedon Poplars to Thrapstone. Philips
and I had boxed through to Kettering, and it is not every M.F.H. that
would give a party of undergraduates such a warm reception as Lord
Spencer gave us. The survivors of this run were Lord Spencer, Captain
B. Beecher, Lord Yarborough, Hon. C. R. Spencer, B. H. Philips, and
myself. I have seen few finer runs than this in my life, and old
Osman never made a mistake. The last hunter I had at Cambridge was a
four-year-old mare, Queen Mab, a charming and precocious young thing,
of whom more anon.
To return to the Drag for a moment.
The Over Drag and the Downing Arms were considered the severest in
my day. The former was a course of some three miles, but a fence for
every hundred yards, and a big fence too. I rode this Drag six times,
and only once got to the end of it on one of my own horses. Thrice I
never finished, and of the other times I won it once on a thoroughbred
belonging to that excellent sportsman, Mr. W. H. Garforth, of Gilling,
and once on a black hireling, appropriately named Satan.
The first time I got through this Drag it was won by Lord Binning. It
was a ludicrous finish. Lawley broke his girth over a stile into the
last field but one; the next fence was a bullfinch with a great black
fen ditch beyond, a regular death-trap. Lawley and Binning were neck
and neck across the field, and I was just behind. Girths or no girths,
Gingertail had to do it, but the peck on landing left him a clean back.
Binning’s horse fell on landing, and the two raced in on foot; my horse
fell, and I only made a moderate third behind the men on foot. Binning
had a thorn in his eye, and had to get off to Cambridge, and then
to London, to get it cut out. We all expected to see him back minus
the eye, but it was sound again within a week or two. In this Drag,
Mosquito jumped the biggest place I have ever seen leaped. I often wish
I had gone to measure it, and I fear to state my impressions of what
its dimensions are. It consisted of a high four-rail timber fence on
the top of a high bank, with about twelve or fourteen feet of water
on the takeoff side. As Binning was going to have it, I pulled back a
length, hoping he would bring the rail down when he fell, as fall he
must. To my astonishment, up flew Mosquito over the water; I saw for
a second the whole four feet of bank under the horse, and in another
moment he was over the rails, just carrying the top-rail away with his
hind-legs. I got over with a smash through the next rail. It is my
honest opinion that Mosquito jumped seven feet in the air and covered
some twenty-five feet in this marvellous jump.
Once during my Mastership I organised a Drag that was to be on the
pattern of a long hunting-run, by making the course some fourteen
miles, instead of the usual five or six. I arranged with old Leete that
we could run two Drags into one, leaving half a mile twice without
scent being laid, to give us “checks” and time to breathe our horses
and get hounds together. But the hounds were too cunning. They carried
such a head that when we reached the first check at the end of the Two
Pot House Drag, they flashed straight on up wind and made for the place
where they were usually started for the other drag. It was too severe
for the numerous field, and I never tried it again. There were some
nine that finished, and it was won by Mr. F. R. Meuricoffre, of Naples,
who has since proved himself a good rider over many a steeplechase
course in his native Italy. Here are the last entries I made, at the
close of my undergraduate career, in 1879.
Nov. 22. Fulbourn Drag--Queen Mab went beautifully.
" 25. Barton White Horses. 23 started. 9 at finish. 18 falls.
" 28. Five Bells, Oakington. 23 at the meet. 3 in with hounds.
" 30. Moyes Farm. Capital day. 27 out. 4 finished.
[Illustration: HOUSE OF COMMONS POINT-TO-POINT RACE. From a drawing by
Cuthbert Bradley]
Dec. 1. Fox’s Bridge. 6½ miles. 23 minutes.
" 4. Stowe Fox. Finished my Mastership, getting my last fall
at the brook, and the only one Saucebox gave me with the
Drag. I handed over the horn to my brother.
Since then the Drag has flourished, and I understand things are done
in a style we never dreamed of. Amongst the Masters that carried the
horn after my time were my brother, Mr. J. A. Pease, the present Duke
of Leeds, Mr. Le Fleming, Mr. Ivor Guest, the Duke of Marlborough,
Mr. Beddington, Mr. Wiloughby, Mr. Macreary, Mr. F. M. Freake, Lord
Ronaldshay, and several others whose names do not occur to me at the
moment.
I heard of the followers of the red herring having two Drags in one day
in 1895, Stowe Fox in the morning, and Downing Arms after lunch. The
usual field was augmented by several jockeys from Newmarket (including
T. Loates, Woodburn, Barker and Rickaby). I heard that several fine
tosses were scored by Mr. T. Loates, and that Barker finally won the
drag after a punishing finish, in which he beat Rickaby by a neck.
* * * * *
The first year in which a House of Commons Steeplechase took place was
in 1889, and this pleasant and sporting meeting, which then promised to
become an annual one, was abandoned about 1893 in consequence of the
sad end of Captain “Bay” Middleton the year before. In 1889, I entered
an Irish mare, Peggy Dillon, but scratched her, and took no part in
the race. This took place in the Bicester country, from the village of
Hillesden to that of Chetwade, over a stiff course, but chiefly grass.
I remember that the ground was soft and going heavy. The distance was
three and three-quarter miles, and the conditions briefly--catchweight
over 13 stone, all horses to be the property of, and ridden by, an
M.P., and no horse to have previously won a steeplechase. Lord Chesham
started a field of ten senators, and the result of the race was as
follows:--
Mr. Cyril Flower’s Home Rule, 13 st. 8½ lb. 1 (afterwards
disqualified).
Mr. Elliot Lees’ Damon, 13 st. 2
Mr. J. Fitzwilliam’s Marcellus, 13 st. 11 lb. 3
Mr. F. B. Mildmay’s horse, 13 st. 0
Mr. W. Long’s horse, 13 st. 8¼ lb. 0
Mr. Bromley-Davenport’s Berkshire, 13 st. 0
Mr. P. A. Muntz’s Dauntless, 15 st. 4¼ lb. 0
Lord Henry Bentinck’s Border Chief, 13 st. 10½ lb. 0
Mr. J. B. White’s horse, 13 st. 6¾ lb. 0
Mr. W. Jarvis’s Conjuror, 13 st. 0
Lord Newark’s horse, 13 st. 0
Colonel Heath’s horse, 13 st. 0
Mr. Muntz, in spite of his great weight, cut out the work to begin
with in company with Mr. Bromley-Davenport. The latter fell early
on, and Mr. Muntz was put back by the heavy going. Any chance of Mr.
Jarvis’s winning was extinguished by his horse breaking a leg. Near
home, Mr. Lees and Mr. Mildmay were leading, with Home Rule close
behind. Lord Henry Bentinck, Colonel Heath, and others fell, as did
Mr. Mildmay and Mr. Lees at the last brook, where Mr. Flower, passing
them, pulled off the race; but his horse was afterwards disqualified,
as it was discovered that many years previously he had won a race in
Lincolnshire, before he had been purchased by Mr. Flower. It can be
imagined that this success in disqualifying Home Rule was the subject
of much chaff among the politicians interested in the race, and I hear
party feeling rather got the better of the judgment of some two or
three M.P.’s, as some nasty things were said about Mr. Flower, who is
the last man living to do a “sharp” thing. He had acted in good faith,
and made no secret that he had re-christened his old hunter, Sultan,
Home Rule for the occasion. For a man of his weight and years, on an
old hunter, to cut down a lot of young bloods over the Bicester country
was a performance that is not often equalled.
The following year, 1890, we went down from Euston to Rugby, where I
remember many of us changed, and were most hospitably entertained by
Captain David Beatty before weighing out. The course was a beautiful
one, on a horseshoe of grass, unbroken, save by the fences, which were
a goodly size, but not more than a fair sample of the Warwickshire
and Leicestershire countries. We were divided into two classes, a
twelve-stone and a fourteen-stone class, and we who rode in the former
were rather amused and surprised to find that Mr. Muntz’s great, yet
beautiful mare, with about sixteen stone on her back, was entered in
our lot. We all were to start together, and Mr. Ashton, M.F.H., sent on
the way a field of thirteen. From this point I will attempt to describe
what I was able to see of the race. Except that my grey mare was a good
hunter, and had beaten another in a trial, I had no idea of what she
could do in a race. She was, I believe, originally bought in Ireland
for £17, and I purchased her for £85, with the simple character that
she required riding, would face fire, wire, or water, and would not
pass a Vet., as her eye was marked by a thorn-prick. I never dreamed of
being in the running at all, but thought I would make it hot for the
first mile or two, trusting that, at the pace I knew she could fence,
I might cut out some of the competitors. I started off with a lead,
closely followed by Mr. Mildmay, on the favourite, Discretion, who
seemed determined to frustrate my intention to distance my field. By
the time we reached the first brook, Sir Savile Crossley, as well as
Mr. Mildmay, were close on my quarters. Discretion fell, and I kept an
easy lead till about five fences from home. Here we were confronted by
a very stiff bullfinch, with what appeared to be a gate in the middle
of it. There is not much time for inspection on these occasions, and,
seeing no daylight through the black fence, I kept on my course for
the gate. As I approached it, I realised it was not a gate, but a high
barrier beyond a drinking-place. It was too late to change my mind,
and I held on, Nora Creina, my mare, carrying the rails into the next
field and letting several others through the gap we made. I saw several
falling at the bullfinch, and among them Mr. Jarvis, who got a nasty
kick in the face, and displayed a thing like a concertina afterwards,
which he alleged he had worn on his head. Two fences from home Mr.
Elliott Lees caught me, and ere we got into the straight had me
settled, as Nora could not get up the hill. This was the first and last
time I ever resorted to the spur with her, and when I found she could
not answer to it, we accepted our fate. The result of the race was--
TWELVE-STONE CLASS.
Mr. Elliott Lees’ b g Damon by Wild Charlie, owner 1
Mr. A. E. Pease’s gr m Nora Creina by Lord Gough, owner 2
Mr. Hermon Hodges’ b m Lady Evelyn, Lord E. Hamilton 3
Sir Savile Crossley’s ch g Chaff, owner 0
Mr. Hermon Hodges’ Hartlebury, owner 0
Mr. Muntz’s Duchess, owner 0
Mr. Mildmay’s Discretion, owner 0
Mr. Yerburgh’s Schoolboy, owner 0
FOURTEEN-STONE CLASS.
Mr. W. H. Long’s b g Crusader, owner 1
Hon. G. Wyndham’s ch m Daffodil, owner 2
Mr. Hermon Hodges’ ch g The Don, Mr. Jarvis 3
Mr. Cyril Flower’s b g No Name, owner 0
Mr. H. L. Lawson’s b g Hedgehog, owner 0
Mr. Long, Mr. Mildmay, Mr. Jarvis, Mr. Lawson, and Mr. Cyril
Flower, fell.
I rode a very bad race, due to want of knowledge of my mare’s powers
and the distance of the course, but these disadvantages I shared
in common with my colleagues. I felt the justice of Captain “Bay”
Middleton’s opinion, which I overheard, and these were the last
words I ever heard him speak. Some one remarked that my mare went
magnificently. “Yes,” said Bay; “but she was damned badly ridden,” and
he knew something of what he was talking about. The following year,
however, we did something to retrieve our character, as, with a turn of
luck, we won over a bigger country, and defeated the winner of 1889 and
1890--coming in first with great ease.
I have found the following lines, written after the race, by Mr. W.
Philpotts Williams:--
THE SENATORS’ RACE, 1891.
The Mace and the Speaker are left for to-day,
Both Tories and Rads. come to witness the play.
The laws of debate, and the questions and bills
Are cast to the winds on the Staverton Hills,
And Commons and Lords, with the men of the Chase,
All join in the fun of the Senators’ Race.
In the place of the Speaker the man with the flag
Gives the office to go with his piece of red rag;
The gallery of ladies, no longer in trouble,
Have freedom to talk, which they do at the double;
And everyone comes with a smile on his face,
To see senators ride in the Senators’ Race.
The “Heavies” in numbers are not very strong,
But good in the choice of Muntz, Bentinck, and Long;
The “Lights” have a favourite in Lees, who can show
His Dorsetshire horse is a nailer to go.
Two years in succession they fought for a place,
And pulled off the Stakes in the Senators’ Race.
They’re off! is the cry; the shouting is loud;
And Pease’s good grey leads the galloping crowd,
A head like a lady’s, an eye like a deer--
A sweet combination of courage and fear,
From the start to the finish it looks like “a case”
For the man on the grey in the Senators’ Race.
Away for the brook, and away for the hill,
The Lights and the Heavies are galloping still,
And still we can see in the acres of grass,
Each trying his best his companions to pass.
The hill in the distance, the flag at the base,
Is the course they have marked for the Senators’ Race.
Back over the valley comes Pease and his mare,
And wins a good race with plenty to spare;
And Long and Lord Henry fight for the lead,
The former comes up at the best of his speed,
But the latter pulls off at a galloping pace
The Heavyweight Prize in the Senators’ Race.
A man who can follow the horn and the hounds,
And ride to the chase with its musical sounds,
Is made of the stuff that the country requires,
And always has points that the country admires.
With other great nations we’ll ride for a place,
Still led by the men of the Senators’ Race.
The result of the race was--
1. Mr. A. E. Pease’s gr m Nora Creina by Lord Gough
(light weight), owner 1
2. Lord Henry Bentinck’s br g Bugler by Berserker
(heavy weight), owner 1
3. M. W. H. Long’s Crusader (heavy weight), owner 2
4. Mr. Hermon Hodge’s Lady Evelyn by Vengeance
(heavy weight), owner 3
Others unplaced: Mr. Elliot Lees’ Damon (owner), fell; Mr.
Bromley-Davenport’s Dawtrey (owner); Mr. Bromley-Davenport’s Delilah
(Lord Carmarthen); Lord E. Hamilton’s Bridget (owner), refused first
fence; Sir S. Crossley’s Borderer (owner), fell; Mr. Yerburgh’s Dawson;
Mr. Yerburgh’s Haphazard; Mr. G. Wyndham’s Daffodil (owner).
Distance, 3½ miles. Time, 10 minutes, 18 seconds.
Fortune favoured me, as two of the horses I thought most dangerous,
Damon and Borderer, fell, the former at the last brook; whilst Lord
Henry Bentinck with one or two others made a bad turn, and practically
lost a field at the half-way flag. This was an awkward moment for
all of us, as it was impossible to see the home flag from the field
in which we were, which was walled round with an enormous high black
bullfinch, so dense that though several of us had it, Sir Savile
Crossley’s horse came down with a heavy fall into the next field,
and Nora Creina literally hung in the top before she dropped out on
to the grass ten feet below. Among the congratulations I received on
my victory were those telegraphed to me by my political chief, Mr.
Gladstone; but the ones I think I prized most were from my Cleveland
hunting companions, with whom my good grey mare and I had spent many a
happy day in our wild rough country.
II
THE LIFE OF A HUNTER
[Illustration: “QUEEN MAB.”]
II
MY name is Queen Mab. I am little more than twenty years old, not a
great age, counted by years, as the life of a horse goes; but it is
the pace that kills, and I have been made to go the pace in my younger
days, and have done my duty as far as in me lay, since I have withdrawn
from the more active scenes of the world. I have brought up five of my
offspring and never lost a foal, and I have gained the admiration and
affection of those with whom I have been associated. It is with some
hesitation that I undertake the task of recording my own career, for
I feel that I must give some account of my personality and qualities,
and after the lapse of so many years I know my memory is defective as
to the earlier days; but, standing as I do, with the last big fence
which we all have to take in front of me, I am only desirous of giving
a fair portrait of myself, and am careless of criticism. My days are
numbered, but I, who never knew what fear was, feel no dread of the
end, and I know I shall soon rest under the green grass of the paddock
where I have lived out in comfort the last years of my life. I have
seen many of my contemporaries pass away, and I shall lie beside brave
comrades. At one time the idea that I might possibly at the last be
sent to the kennels was a disagreeable one, but, in a meditative old
age, I have derived comfort from the thought that, even if this was my
ultimate fate, my poor old body would enter into the young blood of the
hounds with whom I spent the best time of my life, and that I ought to
consider it a privilege to be incorporated with the flying pack, and so
in a sense live for evermore.
Well, then, I was born in the year 1876 on an Irish farm, and here I
spent my infant years by the side of my mother when she was not at
work. She had been a hunter herself, had been driven in an Irish car,
had won a farmer’s race, and been a general slave to the sporting
family she worked for. She was a big mare with plenty of bone, and, I
believe, if not of the best family, at any rate well connected, and, so
far as I could learn, there was no record in her family history of any
of those mésalliances with hairy-heeled families which are such a curse
to hunters. My sire was a thoroughbred, with the blood of Sir Hercules
and Blair Athol in his veins, but, alas! I have forgotten his name;
and, indeed, it is a wonder that I know anything of my pedigree at
all, for, till I passed into my present owner’s hands, I heard so many
different accounts of my descent that I was quite bewildered. But I
have long seen enough of the world to know that the great proportion of
the pedigrees given to hunters are fictitious, and quite understand why
I am always described as “pedigree unknown.” Anyhow, I know that my
sire, like my dam, had been a slave, and been run in almost a hundred
races and steeplechases. I have always felt that I owed most of my own
qualities of endurance and sound constitution to being the offspring of
parents whose soundness was due to their hard life, as well as to their
freedom from hereditary complaints.
In colour, I was a full, rich chestnut, with a white blaze, and was
certainly pretty when young. I was not an ideal hunter-made mare, for
when I was foaled I stood over at the knees, and always had a tendency
to do this: I have heard connoisseurs say that this is a fault on the
right side, and certainly I had it in common with many of the best
cross-country horses I have known.
I had fairly good shoulders and a nicely-placed neck, well-sprung ribs,
a strong, muscular loin and good arms and thighs, while the quality
of my coat, my clean, sinewy limbs, and quick ears and eyes proved my
good descent better than any paper pedigree. Throughout my life I have
been blessed with robust health and a great appetite. I have often
been leg-weary, but I never felt depressed in spirits, and at the end
of the longest day I was always impatient to get to my manger. I have
still the soundest of wind, and have escaped all the most serious kinds
of accidents, and I never had the iron on me. I have had my share of
over-reaches, cuts, bruises, and have now an enormous knee, caused by
some osseous growth, resulting from the non-removal of a thorn.
My young days spent in Ireland left but little impression on me, beyond
the fact that the grass was sweeter and better than any I have tasted
since; and though I was less cared for than the youngsters I have
seen growing up in England, both the pasture and climate seemed to do
all that was necessary in stimulating growth and fitting me for the
battle of life. I must pass over the months during which I was broken
in by a young Irishman, who used to terrify me by his noise and wild
ways, but who knew what he was about, and broke my will to his own in
a devil-may-care sort of way, but with always a tender hand on the
bit. Whether this was natural to him, or because his tackle was always
as rotten as pash, I never found out. I remember that when a rising
three-year-old I was shipped to Liverpool, and this voyage left me with
the worst illness I ever had in my life, which they called a steamboat
cold, and I felt wretched for weeks after. I have noticed it takes
more than a year to get a young Irish horse into condition, often two
years; for in Ireland they will take up a raw young horse, give him a
slight education before he has got hard meat into him, and then shut
him up in a box and feed him, as if he were a pig, on boiled potatoes,
boiled corn and turnips, and anything that comes handy. He is then
sold, and goes to England, and often arrives running at the nose, and
coughing. This illness has to be got rid of, and all the rotten-potato
flesh as well. He is all the time a weak young horse, requiring a year
of gentle conditioning, good food and exercise, before he is fit to
ride to hounds. I make this digression to expose another injustice to
Ireland, and in the hope of saving some Irish horses from the abuse
and misery that they endure because their English masters think they
have got a made and matured hunter in their hands instead of a weak,
inexperienced, and badly-nourished youngster.
From Liverpool I was sent to London, went into a very small stable, and
saw something during the summer of life in town. I got accustomed to
the noise and traffic of the streets, and to threading my way amongst
crowds and carriages. I was high-spirited, and, perhaps with the idea
of checking my exuberant spirits, or just because I moved nicely and
carried myself prettily, I was put into harness, and then went leader
to my only stable companion in a tandem. I have always felt rather
ashamed of alluding to this part of my life, as most of the hunters
I was associated with afterwards would have counted such a thing an
indignity to their profession. Still, in looking back, I do not know
that I suffered any harm by the few weeks’ experience of harness, and,
indeed, am not sure that my good temper and willingness to do all that
was asked of me does not owe something to this early training. I was
only three years old, and it was easier for me to go leader in a tandem
than to carry a man to hounds. But my master occasionally took me and
gave me a day or half a day with hounds. He was never hard, being proud
of me, and though he would ride me straight in a short gallop, he never
tried me too high. In this way I learned a good deal, and, being very
fond of galloping and jumping, was a tractable pupil, and was soon
what they called “handy.” By this time I could walk in and out of a
horse-box like a Christian, and cared not a dump for engines and steam
whistles.
It was one of the early days in October 1879, that, full of beans, I
entered Tattersall’s yard for the first and last time--from that day
to this I never changed masters. I was pulled out a great many times
on Saturday, and by evening was heartily sick of having my clothes
pulled off, being punched in the ribs, my windpipe squeezed, my feet
lifted, and run up and down the yard. Till Sunday afternoon I was left
in peace, but then, again, I was constantly having my mouth looked at,
and I slept that night with a taste of dirty fingers, dogskin, and
cigar-ends in my mouth. Monday morning was a repetition of Saturday,
but I noticed that nearly everyone who inspected my mouth paid little
further attention to me, as I had only a three-year-old mouth. About
eleven o’clock I got wild with a Vet., who made rushes at me, and
stuck his top-hat over my eyes, and nipped me on my loins. I began to
plunge and let out freely with my heels, and very nearly brained my
future master, who was standing against the wall hard by. As it was,
I knocked his hat off and hit the end of his nose. I was surprised to
find that he was my owner, about three o’clock the same afternoon. I
had made such an exhibition of my heels that with that, and my extreme
youth, I was knocked down to him at sixty guineas. A new career now
opened to me, and I was sent down to Cambridge, where my new master
then was, and so I commenced life at the University. My owner was in
Newman’s stable-yard talking to Tom Hill, a very stout, short, horsey
little man, who generally stood in the yard, scolding the lads, giving
orders in highly persuasive language, or addressing his clients as if
they had given him mortal offence. As I was led in, he turned to my
new owner and said, “Wot’s this?” and after looking at me from where
he stood, he stepped up and took a peep into my mouth. “Well, what do
you think of her, Tom?” said my master. “What do I think of ’er? That
depends on what yer think you’re goin’ to make of ’er.” “Oh, I am going
to hunt the Drag on her. I wanted another, and picked her up cheap.”
“Ye’re goin’ to ’unt ’er, are yer; she’s more like ’untin’ you. You
gintlemen thinks you can ’unt hanything--not but what she’s a nice
mare, but, lor’ bless yer, sir, she knows no more about ’unting than
my ’at.” (To the groom) “Number thirty-five ready for ’er; put ’er in,
Fred.”
At the age of twenty, the inexperienced undergraduate, I often
observed while at Cambridge, performed feats and treated horses in a
manner that makes my now unkempt mane and tail stand on end at the
bare recollection. What a life it was, to be sure! One day boxed to
Huntingdon and ridden twelve miles to a meet; pounded about all day,
no matter whether hounds were running or not; larked all the way home;
hurried to the train, and not back in one’s box till ten or eleven at
night. Pulled out the next afternoon, and raced for twenty minutes
with the Drag, and, after a punishing finish, accompanying the hounds
back to the kennels; and then, for a last flutter, taken over all
the grates and stiles along the footpath leading to the town. If my
stable companions were lame, I was perhaps the next day hacked over to
Newmarket, and kept on the course till the last race was over, and then
taken home as fast as my legs could carry me, in order that my master
might be marked “in” for Hall--a thing insisted upon by the College
authorities during Newmarket meetings. Happily for me, I had stable
companions to share my work with me, and I must admit that my master,
considering his age, showed me consideration, and selected one of the
two other horses when he anticipated the Drag would be a particularly
rough one; for you must know that in my time there were some Drags
where it was on record that hardly anyone had ever got to the end
without a fall. The first time I went out with the University Drag, I
was sent at a black gate in the second fence. I had not been accustomed
to this sort of thing, and hit it hard with my knees; but I always had
a leg to spare, so did not come down, and to my owner’s delight won
the Drag.
I never felt any charm at the gates in Cambridgeshire; they are quite
insignificant compared with those in Yorkshire. Big timber was never
my forte, but it would have been a very curious place that stopped
me. I always found some way of negotiating an obstacle. I could go in
and out, off and on, top a fence, kick back, bore through, and climb
like a cat. I have trotted across a single plank over a stream, and
jumped a stile at the end of it. I have followed my master on a single
foot-bridge over a ravine, wriggling through a V-stile at each end,
and could hold my own among the wild hills and moors of Cleveland, or
in the most cramped of countries. I remember once in a run charging a
bullfinch, which had on the far side a strong high post and rails, some
nine feet from the fence. I knew I should have to make some sort of a
try. It was too high to jump, there was no room, and I was not heavy
enough to break it, so I just reared up, got my fore-end well over,
and trailed my hind-legs after me, only leaving a few hairs on the top
rail. After that, my owner always said that I could go anywhere where a
man could get.
In 1880, both my master and I considered our education complete, and
with all the confidence of youth believed that no one could teach us
anything. After twenty years, however, I expect we are both inclined to
think that at the end of the longest life we can only hope to know a
little of the world we live in. I have always regretted never having
seen one of the big grass countries. I am sure I was fast enough
and could “go on,” but I daresay my master was right in thinking me
undersized (being only 15.3) for facing big fences continuously; and
though I was able to jump big and wide, when it was necessary, I do not
know that I could have kept it up, and have never considered myself as
likely to be able to compete with real Leicestershire hunters. As soon
as we went down from Cambridge, my master got married, and, towards
the end of the following season, I was advanced to carrying his wife.
This I did for four years, during the time as often carrying my master;
and I can say that throughout those years I never once made a mistake
or gave either of them a fall. I can boast that I am the only hunter
my master ever possessed of which he could say this. At the end of my
fourth season with the Cleveland, my fore-legs were beginning to show
work. At last I fell on landing over a gate, and the week following on
landing over an ordinary fence, so I was withdrawn from active service
and had a year’s repose. I was then taken up again and did a month’s
cub-hunting, and three days after the opening meet. But this was the
end of my hunting career, for after a fifty minutes’ hard run, in which
I was kept to the front, I was so lame that there was no choice but to
superannuate me, as far as hunting was concerned.
During my hunting career I was often shown in the summer months at the
local shows, sometimes as a hunter, and sometimes as a lady’s hack,
and I won a number of prizes in both classes. The hunters that then
appeared in the show-ring were inferior to those of to-day, or else
I should never have made the mark I did. But what amused me most was
winning prizes as a lady’s hack. My manners were perfect, my paces
anything but the correct thing, and my canter far too “short”; and then
my poor fore-legs! I stood over frightfully at the knees, and avoided
detection by spreading myself out and placing my fore-feet well in
front of me. The judges might move me about as much as they pleased,
but, as long as I was in the ring, nothing would shake my determination
to abandon this very unnatural pose. Having owed my success in the
prize-ring to the custom of judges not to get up and ride ladies’
hacks, it would ill become me to decry the system.
Some people would say that instead of being kept up all the summer, it
would have been better for me to have been turned out at grass. I have
my own decided opinions on this question, having had experience of both
systems. I certainly do not think it right to keep a hunter in hard
work from the end of one season to the beginning of another. At the
close of the season, shoes should be taken off, and the horse be turned
into a loose-box with a yard, and bedded down with tan and sawdust, if
not with straw. There he should have six weeks’ repose. After that,
there is no harm in taking him up, if he has not weakness or accident
needing a long rest. To be in a good stable on the best of diet, and
to be gently hacked a few times a week, will keep him fit and healthy,
and not prevent him putting on plenty of beef to start him well for the
next season. I have gone to hounds with greater ease after summers so
spent, and been ready in a week or two to do the longest days without
distress; whereas, when I have been turned off for the whole summer, I
have come up fat and thick in the wind, and it has taken several months
before I could do my work with comfort to myself and satisfaction to
my rider. But the worst experience I ever had was being turned out. I
ate tons of grass, and laid on any amount of flabby flesh, till my legs
ached under my carcase and sagging belly. My legs, instead of fining
down, became bigger as I stamped about, plagued all day long by the
flies, and waiting for the end of the long summer days when I could
feed in peace. Then it was Christmas before I really exchanged my soft
for real hard flesh, and felt equal to a long day. If hunters are to
be turned out to grass, they should be kept in during the hot days and
turned out in the evenings.
I had, also, considerable experience of charges and blisterings,
but never felt my legs any better for them, nor did I notice much
improvement in their appearance. Talking of legs, I never found that
leaving the hair on them during the hunting-season saved them from
thorns, and it seems to me that, putting aside the question of
appearance (on which there can be no general divergence of opinion),
leaving the hair on tends to the collection of dirt, and to the
hiding of thorns and abrasions; I have seen just as much mud-fever,
if not more, when hair has been left on them, as when legs have been
clipped. However, I think this is not an important question one way
or the other. I believe myself, mud-fever is a sort of chill, perhaps
infectious, as it often goes through a stable, and frequently is absent
from a stud for several consecutive seasons. There is no harm in
leaving the hair on under the saddle, as it is some slight protection
to the skin from friction. However, I was never troubled with a
sore back, as my saddle always fitted me. I have heard many people
recommend the practice of only dry brushing and rubbing a horse over
instead of washing after a day’s hunting, and am inclined to believe
it is the safest plan, though I always felt much more comfortable and
refreshed after a good wash. But then I was always thoroughly dried,
and after standing for a while in my clothing, I had it removed and
exchanged for warm sheets from the fire. To be really ready for hard
work, the hunter should have the best of oats and hay, and should be
kept in a dry, well-ventilated box. A good linseed gruel should be
ready for him at the end of a day’s hunting, and it should never be
counted waste of time to put in and gruel the hunter before a long
ride home. I never could bear the long walk home that I noticed many
of my associates in the field were made to undergo; nothing to me was
such a weary and dispiriting job as to trail slowly homewards in the
cold frosty air of a winter evening, on an empty belly, with stiffening
limbs. I was always ready to second my master’s inclination to bring
me home sharp. Instead of coming in with a dejected, staring coat, I
arrived with a warm glow upon me, and impatient to get at my feed. As
to the exercise a hunter requires in the season, if his turn comes as
often as mine used to do, generally twice a week, he will not need more
than a walk for half an hour the day after hunting, and on the other
two weekdays two hours’ trotting exercise.
When I went to the stud I was first mated with Lord Zetland’s Morocco,
to whom I bred a fine weight-carrying hunter named Manacles, who
distinguished himself during a good many seasons with Lord Zetland’s
hounds in carrying a cousin of my master’s, whose riding weight was
nearly sixteen stone and who is a hard rider. Manacles won one year,
with this weight, the Zetland Point-to-Point, and, with his owner’s
brother up, the Cleveland Point-to-Point in 1894. Although I have been
mated with better-bred and much better-looking sires, I do not think
I have bred another quite as good in the field. It is curious how
uneven as a rule are the foals of hunter mares. Manacles was about 17
hands, and a great, striding, fast, staying horse; but the next foal
I dropped was never more than a pony, about 14.3 hands, by Laureate
(by Rosicrucian). I then had a very fine daughter, Carina, by Syrian,
who went to Mr. Cecil Boyle’s stud, after winning many prizes; but my
next foal, by Pursebearer, was another weedy one. My last and youngest,
Saffron, is a fine mare and a good hunter, and is in many ways very
like what I was in my prime. I am not what is called a certain breeder,
and I have during the years when I was not engaged in my family duties
done some light work on the farm. I never objected to this, and indeed
was all the better for it, nor did I ever feel that there was any
indignity in useful service.
And now I think I have fairly earned, and can enjoy, the retrospect
of a well-spent life. I may not have had a very distinguished
career, but blest with an equable temperament and more than ordinary
intelligence, loving the chase, and supported by a robust constitution
and a courageous heart, I can, without boasting, say that, even with
a somewhat exacting master, I never failed to do anything that was
asked of me. And I know, when I go hence, as I trust, to even happier
hunting-grounds, that those with whom I have spent my life, and who
have shared with me the pleasures of the chase, will feel that one
has gone with whom are associated the happiest hours and pleasantest
memories of the irrevocable past. I have said nothing about the
companions of my old age, and it may be thought that I am lonely; but
other brood mares, whose best years have been spent in hunting, share
the fields with me, and when by chance the hounds come our way, we
still take a keen interest in watching the proceedings, and leave off
feeding while we discuss the performance of horses and hounds, and our
own share in the past, long after the echo of the horn and the distant
cry has died away over fence and field. And so I take my leave, asking
for my epitaph, if I am considered worthy of it:
HERE LIES
QUEEN MAB
LIFE WELL RUN,
REST WELL WON.
III
HOUNDS