do not mind having absolutely nothing to do on the off days, or have
enough horses to go out with the foxhounds or harriers. Some people
like Minehead, others prefer Dulverton. Personally I prefer Porlock, as
it is quite close to the Moor meets, and is far and away the prettiest
place to stop in. Accommodation is good and moderate, hirelings are to
be obtained there and at Minehead, and are generally very good animals,
though I would advise anyone with a couple or more well-bred horses in
condition, to bring them down. The difference in comfort, especially in
the long distances hacking home, is great.
Special care should be taken of saddles for this work, for there
is no country where horses suffer so terribly from sore backs as
Exmoor. The steep climbs up and down hill, the great heat, followed by
standing still till a horse is chilled, then another gallop perhaps,
and lastly a long ride home, horse and man, or oftener woman, dead
beat, work absolute havoc in a stable full of otherwise sound horses.
I would advise anyone hunting with the staghounds to have all saddles
thoroughly fitted, if possible one for each horse, the horses' backs
hardened a little, and above all to see that the saddle is left on
the horse for some time after he is cool, whenever he comes in from
hunting. Very few persons will take the trouble to do this, especially
when a horse comes home about eleven o'clock at night, but it should
always be insisted on.
Towards the end of September is to my mind the pleasantest time on
Exmoor, and from the middle of the month to the time stag-hunting
ends, about the tenth of October, sport is generally far better than
earlier in the season. The deer break covert quicker, and run better,
the weather is cooler, and Cloutsham which has in the earlier part
of the season, been the happy picnic ground, to crowds of delighted
strangers, now affords a sure find of a good Stag. This is, thanks to
its kind owner and his son, who though not hunting-men themselves, are
most desirous of showing sport to others. So much has been said about
this opening function at Cloutsham and the beauty of the surrounding
scenery, which in fact cannot be over-rated, that I will not allude to
the "vast leafy combes," the "hazy outline of the Welsh coast," and
the "stately purple-clad hill of Dunkerry," except to warn those who
have never tried to gallop over the said Dunkerry that it is the most
deceptive bit of going to my mind in the whole of the stag-hunting
country. It is covered with rocks and stones, alternating with bogs,
and is generally productive of a lame horse. I never saw it look so
lovely as one day during hind-hunting.
It was a soft muggy day in November, and I was standing in a field
behind Cloutsham farm, when a hind went away over Dunkerry. As I was
riding a pony, I stood still and watched the proceedings. Anthony laid
on, and the whole hunt swept away up the hill, and as they did so down
came the fog like a curtain, but only covering half the hill. By and
bye, back came the hind, and ran into Sweet Tree, as the extension of
Cloutsham Wood on the Exford Road is called, and the hounds, huntsman
and field all came one by one out of the mist. It was like a ghost
hunt. Twice did that hind do the same thing, and then sent a young
sister to take her place, but hounds were luckily stopped and the wily
lady was captured, after a great deal of twisting and doubling up and
down the water.
Very few people have any idea of the different aspect the country wears
in the hind hunting season to what it does in stag-hunting time. In
August on your way to the meet, you pass dozens of people, walking,
riding, or driving, the latter with huge luncheon hampers, which are
most welcome later on. The meet may be at Culbone Stables, in which
case the Lynton road outside Lord Lovelace's plantation will be packed
with carriages, etc., and people will idle about and stand in groups
among the stunted fir trees, looking out on a calm blue sea. The stag
may after some time "go to moor," and then away go the field after
him, but for hours there will be carriages on the Lynton Road on the
chance he may turn back and go to sea, which he may very likely do.
In this case, those of the riders who have had enough, will turn
round at the top of the hill and go home, but the majority will ride
down through the Ashley Combe woods to the sea, and wait in the warm
August afternoon till the stag is brought to land. The fishermen from
Porlock Weir are always on the look out on a hunting day for a possible
windfall in the shape of a deer going to sea, which means a sovereign
in their pockets. The field meanwhile refresh themselves and their
horses at the picturesque little hotel, the Anchor, and after the last
rites of the chase have been gone through, ride home in the cool of the
evening.
In hind hunting on a bitter December day, we have a very different
picture. About four shivering women, or perhaps fewer, half a dozen
sporting farmers, the Master and the hunt servants form the field. The
women generally make a bolt for the little cottage at Culbone Stables,
and sit round the fire there till Anthony comes for the pack. The wind
is blowing half a gale, and sleet is falling, but once we are started
no one cares for the weather. Deer, unlike foxes, will run in the
teeth of the fiercest gale, and sometimes one is literally nearly blown
out of the saddle. The hind which has probably left her calf lying in
her bed, will run a big ring out to the Deer Park and back. With the
ground at its heaviest, the small field has to gallop its fastest to
keep the flying pack in sight. Back into Culbone the hind comes, and
we stop and listen, and wonder if she will go to sea, trying in the
meantime to get a little shelter from the icy wind under the larch
trees. But our friend has not had half enough yet, and may take us over
the same ground again, if she fails to induce another deer to take her
place, or possibly we may go away after a fresh hind without knowing
it; heart-rending work this for horses and hounds. Ultimately she will
go to sea, either down the steep cliffs of Glenthorne, or from Porlock
Weir, and the boatmen have to follow her, supposing it is not too
rough for their safety, while the field, by this time of still smaller
dimensions, wait patiently for the end. Then home we go. Porlock Weir
was comparatively sheltered, but once on top of the hill again, the
gale seems to have increased, and the sleet to be thicker, and by the
time we get home we are nearly frozen, and it is pitch dark. Yet to
my mind notwithstanding the horrible weather, hind hunting is a finer,
wilder sport than stag-hunting, and a run after a straight-going hind
in the spring when the weather is better, is hard to beat. Fog is the
great enemy to hunting in the winter. Often the hounds have to go home
from the meet, after waiting a couple of hours and more for it to lift.
[Illustration: _F. Downer._ _Watford._
_HEADS AT WATERMOUTH CASTLE._]
I do not think casual visitors have any idea of the immense strain on
hounds, horses and men that hunting from July to April entails, or they
would not grumble as much as they do when they get a poor day's sport.
Rather let them follow the example of one most genial tripper, who when
a friend of mine remarked we had had a shocking bad day, nothing but
wood work, said: "Well, I 'ear folks say they 'aven't 'ad a gallop,
but I always 'as a gallop, and what I do is this. I watch one of them
'scarlet bounders' (presumably the huntsman), and when he lays on to
the stag, I don't care where 'e is, I lays on to 'im. It takes a bit of
doing too, and I _always_ 'as a gallop!" Whether the "scarlet bounder"
was equally pleased with a noisy follower, when he wanted to catch the
slightest sound in covert, is another matter, but a jovial sportsman
of this sort is far more welcome to the West Country than those people
who go down and grumble at everything, and generally depart with the
donation of a few shillings to the deer damage fund.
It is out of this fund the farmers are paid for the harm done to their
crops by the deer, and richly they deserve some compensation, for
without their help stag-hunting on Exmoor would soon be a thing of the
past.
Edith Curzon.
THE TIVERTON STAGHOUNDS.
[Illustration: _SIR JOHN AMORY'S STAGHOUNDS._]
Though when Mr. Fenwick Bisset undertook to revive Stag-hunting on
Exmoor in 1855, the attempt was regarded almost as a forlorn hope. It
has now been found necessary to start a second pack in Devon, in order
to keep down the herds of red deer. The last established pack is a
private one belonging to Sir John Heathcoat Amory, and its popularity
with all classes of the sport-loving West country is very great. Mr.
Ian Amory hunts the hounds himself, and he is assisted by the Messrs.
Las Casas, who act as his whippers-in, the important duties of
the harbourer being also performed by an amateur. Everything in this
establishment is carried out in the most sportsmanlike manner, and the
time-honoured traditions of the hunt of the wild red deer are strictly
adhered to. The sport shown by this pack, since its institution in
1897, has been excellent, and to the sportswoman who dares not brave
the storm-swept expanse of Exmoor during the winter months, and yet
loves to share in the grand sport of hind-hunting, the less exposed
country hunted over by Sir John Amory's staghounds offers very great
advantages. The picturesque little town on the Exe, indeed, is likely
to take a high place among Western sporting centres, for it offers the
triple attraction of the pursuit of the stag, the fox and the hare in
its immediate neighbourhood.
[Illustration: _J. Weston and Son_ _Folkestone._
_MRS. CULPEPER CLARKE._]
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Near Ilfracombe.--Ed.
[3] Mr. C. H. Basset, then Master of the Devon and Somerset
Staghounds.--Ed.
THE CHASE OF THE CARTED DEER.
NOTE.--This article has been kindly read and approved by
Mrs. Culpeper Clarke, who was unfortunately prevented from
undertaking the task of writing it herself. In several cases
the valuable suggestions she has made will be found embodied
in the paper, marked by the initials C.F.C.C. At the special
request of the writer of the paper, Mrs. Culpeper Clarke has
consented to allow her photograph to appear.
Of all forms of the chase, that of the carted deer, has the unenviable
distinction of having been followed, discussed and written about, by a
greater number of people ignorant of the first elements of sport, than
any other. It has too the disadvantage of being scorned by some of the
boldest followers of the fox and the red deer, and thus while "crabbed"
by those incompetent to judge, it is a "thing of naught" in the hunting
calendar of some of the best sportsmen and women of the day. In spite
of this, however, the hunt of the carted deer is the source of pleasure
and health to many who otherwise would seldom or never be seen in the
hunting-field, and as such it deserves to be chronicled.
That certain objections have always been urged with more or less
weight against this particular form of sport, I am well aware, but I
will leave its defence to abler hands than mine, and while ready to
give help, if it may be, to any sister-sportswoman who would take it
up, I must say boldly that a day with fox or hare is in my opinion,
worth more than a dozen brilliant gallops after an enlarged deer. On
the score of humanity, however, there is undoubtedly nothing to be
said in its disfavour. The deer is well fed and cared for, and rarely
comes to harm when before the hounds, and though there are nervous deer
as nervous people, who will in the one case "funk" a possible fence,
and in the other show signs of extreme fear at the pursuit of hounds,
I do not believe in the agonies of terror of which the so-called
humanitarians are pleased to make so much. On this point, however, let
those who like Lord Ribblesdale, can wield the pen with as skilful a
hand as they can steer a horse across country, speak with the authority
which is theirs by right of profound knowledge, and long and unusual
experience. And if we should find that other forms of sport are for
whatever reason out of our reach, we may well be content to ride after
the carted deer with such sisters of the chase as Lady Julia Follett,
Lady Georgiana Curzon, Lady Downshire, and the brilliant horsewomen who
week after week are among the followers of the Wards over the stiffest
part of the Meath country. Can we go far wrong either in following such
sportsmen as Lord Coventry and Lord Ribblesdale, with the spirit of
Whyte-Melville inspiring us?
Let us then turn for a few words about the quarry of the Stag-hunt. The
animal pursued, whether it be Stag, Havier, or Hind, has been carefully
selected and most heedfully cared for, so that when it comes out for
a gallop it is in the very height of condition. It is not often that
it is asked to exert itself, for it comes out only in its proper turn,
and this in the larger hunting establishments would not be more than
three or four times in the course of the season. A Stag, fed on the
choicest oats and the best old hay is not easily fatigued, and probably
at the close of the day's proceedings, will not be nearly so "done" as
the horses that have ridden in its pursuit, or the men and women to
whom it has been giving pleasure. We all know the old history of Mr.
Henry Nevill's deer, which lived on terms of perfect amity with the
hounds kept for their chase, and I have myself seen a stag deliberately
trot down a road and look over the hedge at the pack, which had
considerately been stopped till his Lordship should get his second
wind. The exploits of a celebrated old hind too, which was on the best
of terms with all connected with her hunt, are still remembered in the
country in which she afforded sport. As soon as she was released she
would speed away, often for twenty miles or so, and when weary would
take refuge in a wood. Recognising the sign that the hunt was at an
end, the huntsman then stopped his hounds, leaving the hind in peace
till the deer-cart came up. When this had been backed to the boundary
fence of the covert where the deer was waiting, and the old driver had
given a low peculiar whistle, the keen ears and soft eyes of the hind
would appear through the bushes. If no enemy was in sight, she would
then jump lightly in the cart and be driven home. Let us hope she would
have a more comfortable journey than many a sportswoman, with weary
limbs and a weary horse to carry her, and many long miles stretching
between her and her abode.
[Illustration: _IN THE AIR. NO. 1._]
There are certain women who ride hard, for whom this form of the
chase has special advantages. For example there is the woman who from
whatever cause, whether from the care of a large household, or the
pressure of the duties that her literary or artistic, or it may be her
political tastes, have involved her in, finds it extremely difficult to
take a whole long day for her pleasure in the field, and to such an one
the short day with staghounds will be an inestimable boon. Again there
are women, whose social or domestic duties keep them in town during
the winter months, and to them a run with the staghounds will be a
much-prized form of recreation.
On the other hand it should be remembered that to some women who are
more or less of invalids, and who would yet rather not go out at all
than leave off before the run is over, the possible long day, and the
almost certain fast pace with staghounds, will be against this form
of sport. This, like most other matters connected with sport, will
depend very much whether the chase of the deer is _the_ sport of the
neighbourhood, when hounds will often make long days, or whether, as in
some good foxhunting countries, it is more or less subservient to the
chase of the fox.
There are others again whose lot is cast in a good stag-hunting
country, who honestly find a satisfying enjoyment in riding after the
hounds. These will like to make long days, and if they follow the chase
to the end, will be not less weary than their foxhunting sisters, by
the time they turn their steps homewards.
Let us see how such will fare.
Suppose that a run with Lord Rothschild's splendid pack is in prospect,
and that the meet is fixed for twelve o'clock. If time is of moment
to you, you may reckon that if you arrive at the rendezvous three
quarters of an hour later, you will find you still have a margin before
hounds are laid on. This will give you a comfortable morning's work,
before the cart is at the door. For remember, that a pony cart or dog
cart, or the more luxurious brougham, is very necessary to the comfort
of the hunter of the carted deer. In the first place the long distances
covered and the fast pace, make large demands on a woman's powers and
those of her horse, and she should, therefore, husband both till the
moment of the chase arrives. Equally for both horse and rider too, she
should, if possible, make the return journey also in the cart.
That this often will not be practicable, and for the same reason that
it is generally useless to have a second horse out stagging, does not
in any way detract from the comfort of having the cart at hand if it
can be managed. If, however, the deer should run too fast and too
far, for his cart to come up to him for many hours after the "take,"
then--and this will be the most frequent experience of the followers
of the chase--the rail may prove the best hack home for both woman and
horse.
The former will thus be saved a weary jog home, and her horse will
also be spared what, even if he is a good hack, will be the most
difficult part of the day's work to him. And though, of course, an
ideal woman's hunter should also be a perfect hack, how few even good
horses answer the description. What hunting woman cannot recall some
animal, and many it may be, which have served their turn, for which she
would not have taken centuries, if offered when he was sailing with
magnificent action over a grass country, but which on the journey home
at night, she would have been almost inclined to give away to the first
comer? But even with a good hack, it is a doubtful pleasure to ride him
after he has tired himself in the chase, and you will find it a relief
unspeakable to exchange the saddle for the cushions, and to drive or
train home, instead of striving to keep your weary hunter on his legs.
[Illustration: _T. Bennett and Sons._ _Worcester and Malvern_
_LADY DOROTHY COVENTRY ON SIXPENNY._]
But to return to the meet. When you get to the place of meeting
there will be three courses open to you as a rule. You can either
see the stag un-carted and the hounds laid on, or you can omit the
first ceremony and come on the scene with the hounds, which in well
regulated establishments will not have been allowed to catch a view
of the cart, or you can adopt another course, and wait till the stag
has completed his first circle, which he is almost sure to run before
leaving. If you incline to the last, and there is much to be said in
its favour, you will look out for some point, such as the crossing of
a road by the stag, and trotting quietly down to it, you will wait for
the hounds to come up. By the time they reach you, they will have got
over the first flurry with which staghounds always make for the line,
and will come chiming down as prettily as a pack of harriers.
[I think the best plan is to come into the field with the hounds, if
possible, pick your own place at the first fence--of course riding
wide of the hounds--and do your level best to get a good start. If
staghounds really run, a good start is every bit as important with them
as in the Shires, and that is one reason I think they are such good
training for judgment, decision and nerve. She who hesitates is sure to
be lost sooner or later, and when you have been out of a good thing two
or three times, because you did not push along at first, it does make
you keen.--C.F.C.C.]
Then you should ride to the hounds and watch them working. You will
observe that they string more than foxhounds--though they are foxhounds
in everything but the use to which they are put--but such packs as Lord
Rothschild's or the Queen's, will drive forward on a hot scent and work
out a cold one, in a way that will delight any lover of hound work. Now
you may, nay you _must_, ride somewhat closer to the pack than would be
quite orthodox with foxhounds, and if there should be anything like a
scent you will find that in spite of being a light weight, it may be,
and riding one of the best, it will take you all your time to live with
them. Nor will you be in any danger of overriding hounds. With a good
deer you will find you need all your judgment, horsemanship, coolness
and pluck to live to the end.
After you have been going some twenty or twenty-five minutes, perhaps,
hounds will run up to their deer. But the sport will not be over. If
possible at this point you should notice whether the deer has his mouth
open or shut, for this will tell you whether you may still look for a
long gallop or not. A deer, be it remembered, closes his mouth when
he is beaten, but as long as he has it open, you may be sure he has
not the smallest intention of being captured. You will find that with
the consideration for the feelings of the quarry which marks all the
proceedings, hounds will not be allowed to go on till ample time has
been given for the deer to get a good start. He may not unlikely be
encouraged by the friendly crack of a hunting crop by one of the field,
but otherwise his Lordship will be left to himself, and the hounds
meanwhile will stand with their sterns waving in eager impatience to
be off, and their eyes fixed on the face of the huntsman. It was a
grand sight to see poor Mark Howcutt at such a moment, in the vale
of Aylesbury. The loose thong of his whip, as he sat motionless in
front of hounds was enough to keep them in check, and when he quietly
gathered the thong up, they knew the moment had come, and casting
themselves on the line, they would break into a chorus of rejoicing,
and race eagerly away.
It is not till you see the stag soil, that you may begin to take things
easily, for this is generally a sign of the beginning of the end. It
is, however (and here I recall the words of Whyte Melville), an act of
courtesy to those who supply our sport, to stay and see the deer taken
before we leave. If you are up at the end of a good gallop over the
Vale, you may be pretty sure you will be able to hold your own wherever
fortune may lead you, even if the Quorn hounds should be running their
best from the Ashby Pastures, over the Twyford Vale to Burrough Hill,
or the Cottesmore lady-pack be racing in front of you from Ranksboro'
Gorse to Woodwell Head.
As stag-hunting begins later in the day than the pursuit of the fox,
so does it leave off earlier, and the sportswoman who shares in it
will generally find herself at home in time to get into a comfortable
tea-gown, and give what our neighbours call "five o'clock" to her
friends. There will then be the chance of a rest before dinner, and to
those who are not over-strong, or who have heavy social duties before
them, I would recommend the plan of a well-known rider to hounds in
Leicestershire, who goes quietly to bed and gets perhaps a couple of
hours sleep before her maid rouses her to dress for dinner. As many
women undoubtedly suffer from the strain entailed by the great demands
on their strength during the hunting season, the plan may help them
to keep both good looks and health, and will thus give them a keener
enjoyment in their favourite sport.
And now a word as to equipment, though this will be brief indeed,
as what applies to the follower of the fox applies in almost every
particular to her who rides after the stag. I would only suggest in
the latter case that the habit worn should be plain, and that the
distinctive collar of any Foxhunt of which you may be a member, is not
quite in place when you are following another form of sport. As to the
vexed question of the tall and the round hat, in the hunting-field,
some will declare in favour of comfort as represented by the latter,
while others will prefer the undeniable smartness of the ugliest
product of modern civilization.
[My advice to everyone is to take a change in a Gladstone, and leave it
either at the Inn where the meet is, or better still with the clothing
and horse-box, for it is a serious matter to get ducked in a brook and
then perhaps have a long train journey home, without the possibility of
dry clothes. I say this feelingly, as this year after the Stag in Kent,
I fell at a brook about 2.15--my watch stopped, so I know the hour--and
after finishing the run, I had to ride seven miles to Paddock Wood,
before training home. Of course I ought to have died of pneumonia after
this, but happily was none the worse.--C.F.C.C.]