Bob Brunton’s worth recording. He had hunted all day, being at the
meet at Ayton some miles from his home, and I found him at Ingleby
at night. He remounted after he had attended to the hounds, and
rode to Guisborough, say 8 miles, where he looked in at a political
meeting which was being held; he rode on the same night to the
Kennels at Warrenby, 8 miles more, and found the huntsman sitting up
disconsolate and refusing to go to bed without his hounds. He started
before daybreak (3 a.m.), and, riding the same horse, accompanied
the huntsman, Will Nicoll, to Ingleby (12 miles); hence he helped to
collect the lost hounds on the moor and in Bilsdale; and the following
afternoon I met him, still on the same horse, now more like a gigantic
grey-hound than anything else, escorting the hounds back to Warrenby
from Ingleby (16 miles); and when this was accomplished, he rode home
to Marton (7 miles); so that if we put down 40 miles for the long hard
day’s hunting, we have
To the meet and two long runs, and to Ingleby 40
Ingleby to Guisborough 8
Guisborough to Warrenby 8
Warrenby to Ingleby 16
Collecting hounds 10
Ingleby to Warrenby 16
Warrenby to Marton 7
―――
105
―――
a total of 105 miles, 65 of which were undoubtedly ridden after the
day’s hunting by Mr. Brunton on the same horse that he had ridden hard
(for he was among the hardest riders ever seen in Cleveland) during the
longest and severest day the Cleveland hounds have had in my lifetime.
As for the horses, Faraway was at covert side again within three weeks.
Sligo, with whom it appeared to be a case for an anxious hour or so,
came up to time as well.
Finally, a few words about the hounds that led the van. Two couple were
to the front the whole time, and Wrangle led throughout.
1. Wrangle was a powerful bitch that Mr. Wharton, now master
of the Cleveland, brought from the Oakley. She was by the
Milton Wrangler, out of Oakley Flora. She was 5 years
old at the time of this run, and was on the list of the
running hounds till 1885, and at the great age of 9, for a
hunting-hound, could still hold her place. From this bitch
are descended many of the best hounds in the Cleveland kennel.
2. Ringwood, by Lord Fitzwilliam’s Champion, out of his
Roguish, was 7 years old.
3. Bajazet, by Milton Bajazet, out of their Scornful, was 6
years old.
4. Rascal, by the Milton Ransack, out of Lord Zetland’s
Careless, was 5 years old.
5. Statesman, by the Belvoir Saffron, out of their Redcap,
was 6 years old.
The following were the remainder of the leading bunch as they ran into
the darkness:--
6. General, by Major Brown’s Chorister, out of his Gracious,
7 years old.
7. Songstress, by Cleveland Jovial, out of Cleveland
Symmetry, 7 years old.
8. Arthur, by Lord Yarborough’s Ranger, out of his South
Durham Actress, 5 years old.
9. Gertrude, by Cleveland General, out of Cleveland Careless,
5 years old.
10. Novelty, by Cleveland Nelson, out of Cleveland Friendly,
3 years old.
11. Merryman, by Cleveland Senator, out of Cleveland Maypole,
3 years old.
The surviving hounds were thus--
Hounds 7 years old 3
" 6 " " 2
" 5 " " 4
" 3 " " 2
――
5½ couple.
――
It is a little painful to confess that other blood than Cleveland
made this run the memorable one it is. But so it was that in a chase
that tested the pace, stamina, and endurance of hounds to their
utmost limit, the Milton blood showed best in front. I have placed
the ages of these hounds on record as being evidence of the value of
mature-seasoned hounds, and in the hope that it may discourage the
tendency of many M.F.H.’s, in these days, when stoutness is so often
sacrificed for appearance, to yield to the temptation of replacing
hounds in their prime by a big entry of promising and shapely puppies.
I shall ever maintain that the proved hounds of from 4 to 6, or
even 7 years old, should form the main body of a pack, and I firmly
believe that there would be more straight-necked foxes and good
runs satisfactorily finished were this the rule. As it is, there are
generally twice, or even three times, the number of hounds 1, 2, or 3
years, than of older ones.[5]
Since this day I have seen many a good run, over every variety of
country, and each hunting morning that I ride out I start hoping for
such another; but as the seasons slip away and years roll on, the hope
grows fainter and fainter, and I begin to think that as long as life
lasts I shall never again see anything like it. Like others, as they
begin to get grey, I become _laudator temporis acti_, and ask, Where
are now the hounds that could do this? Where is there another fox like
old Cæsar? And, worst of all, I doubt if I or any horse of mine could
struggle to the end if such an opportunity should ever return.
There have, of course, been many more remarkable runs than this one
recorded. One of my father’s tenants, who recently died, told me he
remembered, when a boy, Ralph Lambton coming into Bishop Auckland on
foot, with one and a half couple of hounds and a fox dead beat a few
yards in front, calling through the streets, “Hoick to Jingler!” The
fox lay down in the main street, and the hounds, quite done and unable
to tackle him, lay down beside him. The master gave them a few minutes
to kill him, but as they could not, he had the fox attended to, and
turned down again in his native covert in the Sedgefield country.
[Footnote 4: Mr. John Jorrocks’s Latin.]
[Footnote 5: On Thursday, 19th November 1776, the
Duke of Beaufort’s hounds had an extraordinary
day, from Lyde Green head, Bristol, two rings in
the Vale (15 miles), then to the hills, first to
Sir William Codrington’s woods at Doddington,
then to the Duke’s wood at Didmarston, Hanbury,
Upton, Killcott, and killed between Killcott and
Forcester--found at 7.30 and killed at 4. All the
field thrown out, and six couple out of seventeen
in at the death. They were found lying on their
bellies, with Reynard in their midst. “Estimated
distance, 50 miles,” and “the largest fox seen in
these parts.”]
IX
BADGER-HUNTING
IX
THE badger is of such a shy and self-effacing disposition that
he seems likely to retire altogether from amongst us, unless the
sportsman’s interest in him can be revived. The badger’s love of
seclusion and natural instinct to avoid observation will become more
and more difficult for him to gratify, unless his kind receive special
protection in most parts of England. The humane Act that rendered the
brutal pastime of badger-baiting illegal no doubt has encouraged his
destruction and extinction in many districts. The demand for badgers
ceased; the supply diminished. We would gladly believe, in a more
merciful age, that, apart from legality or illegality, men nowadays do
not generally regard badger-drawing out of boxes or tubs as a reputable
sport. All genuine sportsmen have something of the naturalist in their
composition, but where this instinct is not developed, the average
sportsman is unlikely to trouble himself about an animal that is seldom
_en evidence_, who selects the night for his appearance, and whose
invasions into man’s sphere are of so unobtrusive a character. The fox,
the otter, and other beasts of chase keep themselves before the public
by their crimes, but the self-renouncing modesty of the badger has led
him to be neglected or despised. Yet, apart from shaving brushes, a
badger has his uses. He is a destroyer of wasps and small vermin, and
an excellent maker of fox-earths. In countries where mange in foxes
has become a scourge, the preservation of badgers would do much to
rid fox-hunters of this plague--for they are wonderful cleansers of
earths, cleaning those they frequent in the most thorough manner; and,
unless very numerous, they encourage foxes, as their “sets” are the
fox’s favourite resort. The badger may live in our midst, almost at
the threshold of our doors, and yet leave us ignorant of his presence.
I once asked a Cornish farmer if there were badgers about his place;
he not only answered there were none, but that he had never heard of
or seen any during the many years he had lived on the farm. Within
ten minutes from receiving this information, one of my terriers had
“found” in a culvert that ran at the back of his barn, causing intense
astonishment. His scepticism, however, did not finally give way to
conviction till two badgers were unearthed, after a night of toil, at
five o’clock in the morning. Once, when travelling on the Great Western
Railway, I overheard the following conversation between two gentlemen:--
First well-informed gent: “Seen this in the papers about badgers being
caught in Essex?”
Second: “No. How interesting!”
First: “Yes. Very curious, isn’t it?”
Second: “By the way, what is a badger like?”
[Illustration: THE CLEVELAND FOX-HOUNDS AT EXERCISE. From a photograph
of Mr. Heywood Hardy’s picture, “A Summer’s Day in Cleveland.”]
First: “Oh--er--a badger is an animal that lives in the water,
something like a seal.”
Second: “No, no! That’s an otter. I know what an otter is. A badger is
more like a ferret or weasel.”
First: “Yes, I believe you’re right, but I fancy it’s larger than that.”
Second: “How big would you say?”
First: “Oh, I don’t know exactly, but nearly as big as a hare.”
Second: “Oh, of course! They used to bait badgers with dogs; they must
be larger than a ferret.”
And so they went on, much to my amusement; and when they had set
up their badger, I rather cruelly knocked it over, and gave them a
little elementary education on the badger and his ways. Now, these
two persons had both of them a natural disposition to be interested
in badgers, and, astounding as is the ignorance of thousands who are
fond of animal life, it requires but a very few words to arouse their
interest in the rarer species of wild animals that we can still boast
of as British.
The fact is, since the cruel and brutalising sport of badger-baiting
has been stamped out, the badger has been forgotten except by a few
naturalists, sportsmen, and by the gamekeeper. Being neither furred
nor feathered game, the keeper, of course (where his master’s wishes
to the contrary are not expressed), treats him as vermin and wages war
on all his tribe. With all their good qualities, keepers are too apt
to consider that nothing but game has any right to live in an English
covert.
The mousing owl he spares not, flitting through the twilight dim,
The beak it wears, it is, he swears, too hook’d a one for him.
In every woodland songster he suspects a secret foe,
His ear no music toucheth, save the roosting pheasant’s crow.
Down go the falcons, the buzzards, the hawks, the jays, the magpies,
the owls, the woodpeckers, the kingfishers, and any other bird that
“wears a beak too hook’d,” or a dress gaudy enough to attract his
attention. Badgers and squirrels are put into the same category as
polecats, stoats, and weasels, and with almost as little compunction.
Yet a badger is practically harmless to game, though I will not
pretend to acquit him of the charge of taking a rabbit out of a snare,
or of digging out a nest of young rabbits on occasion. He is, however,
death on small vermin and such pests as wasps, though his main food
consists of roots, fruits, wild honey, beetles, and insects. I believe
that badgers eat slugs, but I have placed dishes of assorted kinds,
from big black to small white, before my tame ones, and never could
induce them to partake of them.
I see no other method by which the badger’s continued existence can
be assured than that of hunting him. Personally, I should be content
if I could believe that the desire to keep an English species from
extinction would perpetuate his existence; but I fear that, like
the red deer, fox, and otter, he will have to make his exit if he be
not hunted. Some object to badger-hunting underground because of the
punishment often inflicted on the terriers, and of the tendency that
the sport may degenerate into a sort of drawing match. If, however,
we are to compare one sport with another, there is nothing in a
properly managed badger-digging that can disgust the spectator as he
must be disgusted towards the finish of the otter hunt.
One of the most cruel amusements, if we look closely into it, is
ferreting rabbits. And yet who will say that ferreting rabbits is
anything but a fair and reputable sport? But the man who is constantly
rabbiting will announce, with airs of superior humanity, that
digging out a badger is too brutal a sport for him. Why, there is no
comparison! In a properly managed badger-digging there is no cruelty
whatever. The badger is taken without so much as a scratch, and the
terriers consider their pleasure cheaply purchased when they have the
misfortune to get a kiss on the face from a badger. No man wishes to
have a good terrier mauled, and such men as enjoy taking the badger are
always ready to bear their own share of risk of punishment and exertion
in securing the prize. To dig out a badger in a strong “set,” requires
great and continuous exertion, considerable knowledge and skill in the
pursuit, and a well-trained and trustworthy team of terriers. The
terriers must, to be successful, combine discretion with valour and
pertinacity. A dog that goes to ground, and immediately tries a “set
to” with a badger, either gets badly punished or such a frightening
that he becomes a funker. All that a good terrier should do, when
despatched underground, is to follow the badger, giving tongue till he
corners him, and then lie up to him baying, keeping him there through
long hours, if necessary, while the digging proceeds; never heeding the
noise of spade, pick, and shovel overhead, and never fighting unless
the badger attempts to charge or leave his place. One reliable terrier
with a good voice is worth all the worrying, excitable terriers in the
countryside. I have seen a dog keep a dozen men digging for hours; and
when at last they got to him, they found he was only barking out of
the fulness of his heart, or scratching and chewing roots to get up a
rabbit-hole.
The scarcity of badgers, and the consequent restriction of
hunting-grounds, has deprived the terrier in a great degree of his
vocation. As the name terrier implies a dog adapted for “going to
earth,” no dog that cannot go to ground is properly a terrier; and
no terrier that will not go to ground is worthy of his name. It has
always seemed to me a reproach to my native county that the beastly
little lap-dog called a Yorkshire terrier should be so described, for
though no doubt a whole pack of these ridiculous creatures could go
down a rabbit-hole, yet if, by some inconceivable process, they were
induced to venture down a badger-earth, they would hardly afford a meal
for a brock. For a totally opposite reason another Yorkshire breed is
unfitted for the name of terrier--this is the Airedale. He is, as a
rule, a game sort of dog, and I have seen one look very much distressed
when he could only get his head into a large earth. The preposterous
size of this so-called terrier is such that he cannot go to ground;
this is also the case with the general run of Bedlingtons, Dandie
Dinmonts, black and tan, and even Irish terriers; though when a Dandy
or Irish terrier is small enough, he is excellent, and can claim the
title. The fox-terrier, whether wire-haired or smooth, is often an
excellent badger dog. The bull-terrier, as seen in the showyard, is too
big, and, when diminutive, is generally too pugnacious for the purpose,
and has too much of the obstinate and unreasoning ferocity of the
bull-dog to make a good badger dog. Yet it is sometimes useful to have
a strain of his blood in the fox-terrier, if it can be obtained in such
small quantity as neither to destroy the reliability and voice, nor the
less excitable disposition of the fox-terrier.
When pursuing a badger underground, the dog that does the most
satisfactory work is hard, strong, short-legged, sharp-tongued, and
discreet; one that is a sure marker, that will not go if there is
nothing to go for, that will not quit the pursuit as long as there is
game ahead—who, regardless of noise above and the onslaught of the
enemy underground, in spite of twisting passages and the interposition
of barricades, continues the attack, and never ceases from giving
tongue when in proximity to the foe. Such a terrier should not close
unless he is charged, and he must not be of so excitable a temperament
that he will bay an imaginary foe, or attack another dog despatched
underground to his relief. I am not sure whether a good Dachshund
(_Dachs_--German for badger) is not as useful as any other. The
properly trained sort is only “made in Germany,” and on the Continent
he is most intelligent and companionable, enormously strong, very
pertinacious, has a splendid voice, and beautiful teeth.
In our own island, the Scotch terrier is hard to beat. The right breed
are wonders of pluck, endurance, perseverance, and intelligence; their
voices are sharp and penetrating, and their long, lithe bodies are
carried on short, active legs; they are, moreover, charming companions,
and fasten on to their owner’s affections as firmly as to a badger’s
neck. The Irish terrier, when small enough, is a good one, and so is
the rarer old-fashioned English broken-haired black and tan.
Digging the badger is, perhaps, the most entertaining manner of taking
him. It is pleasant on a summer’s morning to start after daybreak with
an eager team of terriers, and all the appliances for laying siege
to the badger’s stronghold, in the hope that, after the sorties and
assaults of the day, you may return with something worth looking at in
the sacks. And there are many worse ways of spending a holiday than
in watching your terriers at their lawful and natural avocation, and
handling pick, spade, and shovel yourself. Some, however, shrink from
the labour and sweat of the digging, and prefer hunting the badger at
night above ground. For this sport any bobbery pack will do if the
members of it are a sporting lot, are fond of a scent, and can make a
good tow-row. Many sorts and conditions of dogs will do for the hunt
on a moonlight night, but the best run and the best music will be with
harriers.
A game fox-hound, a bob-tailed sheep-dog, or a retriever will come
in useful. The course of procedure is simple. About 10 p.m. the
badger-earths in the neighbourhood are stopped, with the exception of
two or three well-used entrances. In these are placed sacks with a
running cord through the neck of the bag, the ends of which are firmly
pegged and secured, so that when in his flight he charges into his
earth, he fastens himself neatly into the sack. A man should be posted
near (taking the wind into account) to make all quite safe--if the
badger falls into the trap laid for him. The pack is then taken out,
and coverts and hedgerows drawn, and when the scent is struck, a run of
a few miles may, at least, be hoped for. This kind of hunting yields
its full crop of disappointments.
I knew of one undergraduate at Oxford, whose sporting establishment
consisted of a tame badger, a beagle, and a bull-terrier. Whenever
he required a little exercise and a hunting-run, the badger was
turned out, the beagle laid on after a certain amount of law, and the
bull-terrier kept in reserve to recover the badger, should he go to
ground. This sporting quartette thoroughly understood each other, and,
as a rule, each kept to his own special department. The badger was
expected, at least, to give a two or three miles’ run over a country,
the beagle to speak to him all the way, and to account for him, the
man to keep the beagle in view, and the terrier to facilitate the
operation of bagging the badger at the finish. Thus all four obtained
in an original manner exercise and diversion. This form of amusement,
however, does not appear to reach a much higher level than hunting
carted deer.
In conclusion, I would appeal to all lovers of nature, among the best
of whom are numbered the true sportsmen, to use their influence in
securing a reasonable protection for the badger. And if they will take
the trouble of observing his habits and mode of life, I can predict
with confidence they will come to the same conclusion as the writer,
that he is an animal well worth preserving from extinction, both as
a beast of chase and on account of his many interesting and useful
qualities.
INDEX
INDEX
AIREDALES, 247.
Amcott, Captain, sent Faraway to Tattersall’s, 211.
Antrobus, C., hunting with Drag, 20.
Ashton, M.F.H., 32.
Astley’s harriers in 1810, 118.
Author (Alfred E. Pease)--
Account of run with Cleveland, January 9, 1882, 209.
Best run, 207.
Entries of drags, 26.
Experience of hare-hunting, 120.
Extract from diary on footmen, 137.
Master of Drag, 25, 27.
Organises drag, 25.
Rides in House of Commons Steeplechase, 33.
Rode Queen Mab on January 9, 1882, 209.
Run with Pytchley, 21.
Runs with harriers, 106.
Struggle with George Codling for brush, 150.
Wins House of Commons Steeplechase 1891, 39.
Aylmer, E., hunting with Drag, 20.
Aylmer, Percy, at meet at Lords Bridge, 10.
Aylmer, P., hunting with Drag, 20.
B.
BACHELOR described by Whyte-Melville, 82.
Badger--
Baiting illegal, 235.
Digging, 250;
not cruel, 244.
Disposition of, 235.
Habits and uses, 237.
Hunting, at night, 251.
Hunting, objections to, 243.
Protection desirable for, 254.
Qualities, 254.
Scarcity of, 246.
Threatened with extinction, 242.
Badger dog, qualities necessary for, 248.
Bajazet, 219;
pedigree, 227.
Ballad, “Lord Lonsdale’s Hounds,” 146.
Barker winning drag, 28.
Barnard, hunting with Drag, 20.
Barton Drag, 15.
Barton White Horses, 26.
Baysdale Abbey, run by, 217.
Beagles for hare-hunting, 121.
Beagles, Honeywood’s pack, 123.
“Beasts of venery,” list of, 113.
Beatty, Captain David, entertains House of Commons riders, 31.
Beaufort, Duke of, hounds, run from Lyde Green, 230.
Beckford, Peter--
Breeding hounds, 116.
Huntsman on hounds’ names, 96.
On hare-hunting (quotation), 105.
On sporting hounds, 115.
Paying “hare-finders,” 114.
Beddington, Master of Drag, 27.
Bedlingtons, 247.
Beecher, Captain B., run to Thrapstone with Pytchley, 22.
Bentinck, Lord Henry, in House of Commons Steeplechase, 30.
Bentinck, Lord Henry, rides in House of Commons Steeplechase
1891, 39, 40.
Bentley, H. C., hunting with Drag, 20.
Bilsdale, Author on pass into, 221.
Binning, Lord--
At meet at Lords Bridge, 10.
Gets thorn in eye on Over Drag, 24.
Hunting with Drag, 19.
Wins Over Drag, 23.
Boulby, fox procured from sea-cliffs of, 149.
Bromley-Davenport in House of Commons Steeplechase, 30.
Brunton, Bob--
At Ingleby village, 222.
Performance on January 9, 1882, 224.
Takes fox from hounds in Hell Gill, 209.
Bull-terrier not good badger dog, 248.
C.
CÆSAR, grey-hound fox, 213, 231.
Cambridge, ride back to, 13.
Cambridge University Drag--
Author’s reminiscences of, 9.
Masters of, 27.
Members, 19.
Carina, Queen Mab’s foal, 73.
Chesham, Lord, and House of Commons Steeplechase, 29.
Cleveland Hunt--
Author hunting with, 133.
Club rules, 108.
Congratulates Author on winning House of Commons Steeplechase, 41.
Hounds leading, January 9, 1882, surviving, 228.
Hounds, Milton blood, 229.
Proceedings in outlying districts, 130.
Run on January 9, 1882, 207, 213;
length of, 223.
Cleveland hunting farmer, specimen of, 150.
Cleveland, price set on fox’s head, 131.
Cleveland, statute of Elizabeth in force till 1847, 129.
Coachman’s retort when reproved for bad language to team, 179.
Codling, George, struggle with Author for brush, 150.
Codrington, Sir William, Woods at Doddington, 230.
Conversation overheard by Author on badger, 238.
Cornwall, hunting in, 173.
Crossley, Sir Savile, at House of Commons Steeplechase, 33.
Borderer fell in, 40.
Cub-hunting, 190.
Character varies in different districts, 201.
Hour of meeting, 196.
Runs in October, 199.
D.
DACHSHUND as badger dog, 249.
Danby Beacon, fox making for, 149.
Dandie Dinmonts, 247.
Darrell, James, buys Faraway, 213.
Devas, E., hunting with Drag, 20.
Devas, E., hunting with the Fitzwilliam, 18.
Devonshire, hunting in, 173.
Discretion, favourite, at House of Commons Steeplechase, 33.
Dons’ view of undergraduates’ amusements, 14.
Downing Arms, 22.
Drag, Authorities not liking the, 13.
Drags, two in one day, 27.
E.