THE COLLEGE HUNT.
The College Hunt was founded in 1857 by R. H. Carter with J. A. Willis as
his whip. It is a great misfortune that from this year until 1863, when
the Journal Book was started, we know very little about it. Carter hunted
them for no less than three years, which proves at least that he was an
enthusiast. His pack consisted of all kinds of nondescript “dogs”; there
was no standard of size, and report has it that it included a retriever.
[Illustration: AN OLD-TIME BEAGLER.]
The pack was kennelled by one Ward in the Playing Fields, and hunted
drags chiefly, but also wild hares when they were found. Sometimes they
turned out bagged rabbits. One thing however we do know. They made
an agreement with the Oppidan pack somewhere about 1859 by which the
Oppidans took the country west and the Collegers the country east of the
Slough Road.
The Hunt soon adopted a button with E.C.H. on it. There is a story of
Provost Hawtrey arresting one of the whips in the Cloisters and demanding
what the lettering on the button was intended to mean. The boy, aghast
(for beagling was not allowed in those days), mentioned the letters
E.C.H., whereupon the old man, who was not averse to personal flattery,
took it to be a compliment to himself as they were his own initials.
One of the runs of 1859 was actually recorded in _Bell’s Life_. As I have
already noted in the previous chapter the Oppidans joined forces with the
Collegers on three occasions, this being one of them.
Carter was succeeded by T. J. Huddleston, and Huddleston by E. E. Witt,
who held the hounds for two seasons. Of neither of these do we know
anything. But Thackeray, who succeeded Witt, first instituted the Journal
Book, which was kept right up to the time of the amalgamation in 1867.
I have also been greatly helped by the only two College whips of this
period who are still alive, R. V. Somers-Smith and A. A. Wace. Here is a
letter from the former which covers this whole period from the season of
1863 to the amalgamation:
“I went to Eton as a Colleger in the autumn of 1862, and first ran with
the Beagles in the following spring. Thackeray was then the Master, for
which position his chief qualification was a copious vocabulary. We then
chiefly hunted drags; only occasionally trying for a hare, never with any
success.
“The pack had then been in existence only a few years; they were kept
at the lodge at the Slough end of the Playing Fields by Ward, the
groundsman, and were a mongrel lot. One or two real beagles, some
cast-off harriers, some nondescripts, ‘just dogs.’
“As late as 1862 they kept a badger; the brute knew his job and trotted
along until overtaken, when he sat down until the field came up. One of
the whips carried a sack and a pair of tongs, and the badger was by help
of the latter dropped into the former and carried home.
“There was a story against Lewis, one of the whips, that on one occasion
the badger took refuge in a useful outhouse adjacent to a cottage, and
Lewis was discovered sitting on the sack to prevent the badger escaping
this way, making dives at him with the tongs when the badger threatened
his legs.
“Lewis was Master in 1864; he was a little Welshman, rather prematurely
aged; he was quite a sportsman but a poor runner. I used often to take a
whip in his day, but do not think I was in ‘office.’ A. A. Wace was first
whip.
“Lewis went to Merton; rather distinguished himself there as a
rider—Merton being then a hunting College—and died suddenly in his room
there in 1869.
“In 1865 A. J. Pound became Master. Pound was a remarkable
character—intellectually rather below the average, but endowed with some
originality and an exceedingly strong will. I have sometimes doubted
whether he was quite ‘right’; he looked at the world and mankind from a
point of view entirely his own, and made no effort to adapt himself to
convention of any kind. But he was thoroughly honest and straightforward;
the kindest and most faithful of friends.
“He subsequently went to the Bar, the last profession for which he
was fitted, was for a time a magistrate in British Guiana, married an
American, and latterly fell into pecuniary difficulties and took his own
life.
“His eldest son is a distinguished sailor.
“Pound took up the Beagles seriously. He got together quite a decent
little pack, and began to hunt hares regularly.
“Our great difficulty was the shortness of the time at our disposal.
‘After 12,’ the interval between 11 o’clock school and dinner at 2, after
allowing for time spent in changing, we seldom saw even an hour’s actual
hunting. Too short a time for beagles to run down a hare. ‘After 4,’ from
Chapel to lock-up, was little better, especially as hares always made it
a rule to run away from home, compelling us often to whip off in order
to get back in time. One of my most abiding recollections is that of
long trots back from the parts beyond Langley and Slough to get back to
Absence.
“Pound adopted a scheme of his own of hunting in the morning. With one
or two choice spirits he would arrange that we should be early at the
‘Saying Lesson,’ then the invariable early school, thus getting away
soon after 7.30, run across to the ‘Dolphin’ at Slough (which stood on
the site of Aldin House where old John Hawtrey subsequently flourished),
breakfast on beer and biscuits and hunt until it was time to get back to
11 o’clock school. That gave us a good two hours’ actual hunting, and we
began killing hares pretty often.
“I was Pound’s first whip and principal coadjutor for two years, and it
nearly killed me! In fact I was sent home in the middle of the Summer
Half of 1866 supposed to be threatened with consumption. Tindal and
Gosset were whips, and subsequently Armitstead, who was a very fine
cross-country runner, and at Oxford an oar of some repute.
“Of the 1867 season I have no recollection. I was not allowed to run for
reasons of health, and I cannot even remember the name of the Master;
possibly this was the year of amalgamation.”
Here is the first run recorded in the Journal Book:
“The E.C.H. met for the first time this season at the kennels. There
was a large muster. The hounds were laid on in a wheat field of Gough’s
adjoining the S.W.R. and ran at a tremendous pace down the grass meadows,
crossing the S.W.R. and into Datchet plantation, in the plough beyond
which a check ensued, which allowed time for the remainder of the field
to get up with hounds. Some cold hunting now ensued, but hitting the
scent off in one of Cantrell’s fields near Ditton Park they carried it at
a great pace as if for Langley Church. The pace however was too good, and
they ran into him in a field adjoining the London Road.
“After an interval of about ten minutes the hounds were laid on in a
field adjoining Ditton Park, and, the scent having considerably improved,
it was but few could live with them. The fencing here was very severe,
numerous being the purls, and some stiff water-jumps intervened to cool
the ardour of gentlemen who were too ambitious of shewing in the front.
It was evident from the terrific pace they were now holding that nothing
could live before them. And it was not long before they ran into their
prey just as he was crossing the Upton Road.”
There is a complaint at the end of the field pressing on the pack, “and
that there was far more noise than is consistent with the decorum of the
hunting field.”
Here is a merry account:
“The running of the hounds could be seen all the way from Riding Court
up to the Langley Road, and it was pronounced by all to be faultless.
While a drag was being sent back two fields were drawn blank. The hounds,
having been laid on, ran from Langley Broom down to Datchet Wood. The way
in which they swung their own casts was the admiration of all beholders.
‘Hark! forrard!’ was again the cry as they bowled like marbles over the
crest of the hill, making the welkin ring with their melody. When in the
bottom they bent to the left; each hound scoring to the cry, as with the
pack at her heels puss sought the friendly coverts of Ditton Park, having
crossed the line which the drag had taken in full sight of the hounds.
The huntsman and first whip, kindly assisted by Mr. Lewis, soon got the
hounds out again. Home was now the word, and home we went after genuine
sport, the field declaring that the only doubt was which was the better
run of the two.”
The Beagling Book of this period abounds in quotations from the
inimitable Mr. Jorrocks.
“Better to rove in fields for health unbought
Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught,”
is a very true maxim, and Lewis has very aptly applied it to Beagling.
Even as early as Thackeray’s season, however, they killed one wild hare
after a good run. But a drag was the usual order, and it was poor sport
really for boys especially because hounds ran as if glued to the scent.
Occasionally this was varied with a rabbit, but just as the hare almost
invariably escaped, so did the rabbit almost invariably succumb before
two fields had been crossed.
Of course the great handicap was time. But the letter which I have
already given has shown the immense difficulties in this respect. What
enthusiasm was required to surmount them all and to carry on as they did!
All the accounts of the College Races are also included in the Journal
Book. There was an unpleasant incident at the end of the season which
may as well be recorded just to show how to deal with people who are not
gentlemen.
“It was much to be regretted that several ‘gentlemen,’ who in no way
contributed to keep up sport, thought it necessary to make remarks which
only showed their ignorance of the art of venery, and complained of there
being no sport for their adequate remuneration for subscriptions. Their
subscriptions were returned, and, extraordinary to relate, the E.C.H.
still existed. These gentlemen (?), like the ‘London Brigade’ with the
Queen’s Hounds, were generally if not always choked off at the first
check, and, if there was no check, were indeed ‘lost to sight’ but not
‘to memory dear.’”
And here is the obituary notice of a really kind and pleasant farmer,
Mr. Gough of Datchet. A sporting farmer is a treasured article in any
country, and when one dies the Hunt sustains a serious loss. This Mr.
Gough had been particularly good to the E.C.H.
“The E.C.H. has much reason to regret the loss of Mr. Gough, a tenant
farmer, who by his sportsmanlike conduct conduced in no small measure
to the prosperity of the Hunt. On his land a sure find might be
anticipated, and bagmen were unknown commodities. By his example several
of the surrounding farmers were induced to open their lands to the
E.C.H., and, though a lawn meet was not often the fashion, Mr. Gough’s
hospitable house was never drawn blank for beer and luncheon. The ‘Gough
breakfasts’ in the Lent term afforded many a pleasant recollection for
dreary after fours, and his tales, though generally ‘twice told,’ were
rarely tedious.”
H. J. L. B. Lewis was Master in 1864 with J. B. Wood, A. A. Wace, who is
still alive, and R. V. Somers-Smith as his whips. Here is a letter from
Mr. Wace which describes the sport with admirable vivacity:
“The Master of the College Beagles in 1864 was Lewis. He rejoiced in five
Christian names; three, really surnames, indicated Celtic origin, of
which he was very proud. Though of a short sturdy frame his lungs were
not so good as his heart, as an early death at Oxford showed; and being
slow over plough he left much of the field work to his long-legged whips.
Lewis had learned how to handle hounds in kennel and field in Wales, and
he gave us a very happy season with his knowledge, generosity and good
temper. We had, if I remember right, five or six couples; dwarf harriers,
rather than the beagles of Sussex; though there was one true to the
latter type which generally did as well at a bad check as Lewis did. They
were kennelled at Ward’s Lodge on the Datchet Road. We hunted, I think,
three days a week, and our country extended from Salt Hill and Cippenham
to as far beyond Datchet as the calls of hall or lock-up allowed us to
get. After we had got our little pack and our lungs into some training
by following drags we took to hares, but without much success except for
exercise. Agar’s Plough and Cippenham were always good draws; but we
rarely killed, for Ditton Park, lying in the centre of our country, was
too convenient a sanctuary. It had its advantages, however, for us as
well as for the hares, as we learnt to bless it as an excuse for being
late for hall or lock-up. We could so often honestly say that we had
lost time in getting hounds out of the Park coverts; and that seemed to
please the Master in College; for, as he often told us, its ducal owner
was his wife’s cousin. Hounds, then often disappointed, required blooding
with a bagged hare or rabbit, neither ever giving a decent run; and I
disliked the job all the more because Sussex had shown me a better way of
using beagles for rabbits; and I thought of the hours spent with my gun
in a ride while real beagles hustled rabbits round and round a big wood.
Tiring perhaps of these ‘bags’ we yield to a suggestion, made I think by
Joby Minor, that a badger would give us more fun, certainly more scent,
and would always live to fight beagles another day.
“It was bought and did give us some fun at first; but this palled because
the badger soon realised that it could save its skin without so much
exertion as a long run over heavy ground. It used to make for a long
coppice beyond the Datchet Road, and when the pack ran into him there
he would run up and down immune, and finally run quite kindly into the
bag in which he had left his pleasant quarters at Ward’s Lodge. He also
developed a natural love of drains; and thereby hangs a tale, memories of
which seem to discredit Joby Minor. Our badger had found a drain under
the S.W.R. a nicer refuge than even that wood, and so Joby was ordered
to stop it before unbagging the badger out that way. One ‘after twelve’
we had a merry run up to that drain but found it stopped. Hounds swore
badger was inside; Joby swore he had stopped it; and suggested that
finding this the badger had got out to the metalled line one way or the
other, leaving on that no scent. It was dangerous to test this, and,
casts on the fields either side failing, we drew off homewards. On the
run back suspicions seized us, and two of us undertook to shirk hall or
cut it short and run out again to that stopped drain before Chapel. Joby
was right, but very wrong too! He or his understudy _had_ stopped the
drain, but not till the badger had been allowed to run in! He unstopped
it when we were safely gone, and the badger had walked into its familiar
bag. Had we two not met him just leaving the line he would probably have
tried to sell us that badger the following week! I still cannot think
unkindly of Joby when I recall the humour of this incident; or think of
the Beagles of 1864 and of many friends who followed them, of whom two
later on—Frere and Somers-Smith—ran for Oxford over shorter distances
than we covered.”
Lewis was famous for his Rape of the Block, which was restored to the
Head Master in 1891. The Block, as all Old Etonians will know, is used by
offending boys to kneel on during the process of being swiped.
About this time the kennels underwent some improvement. “A new room
was added, a new palisade raised and the brick pavement laid down.
The appearance of the whole was workmanlike and neat, but not gaudy,
reflecting credit on Mr. Martin, the carpenter.”
“Con—found all ’ares wot takes to parkses” (_vide_ Mr. Jorrocks) was
very appropriate to their country with Stoke Park and Ditton Park in the
middle of it as tempting places of refuge for a sinking hare.
On one occasion in Lewis’s season he was favoured with a visit.
“Wednesday, St. Matthias’ Day, _dies creta notandus_, the great
Pomponius Hego and Scrutator, known as having long held a proud position
in the first flight of the E.C.H., leaving the ‘Shires’ favoured the
provinces with their presence. Thackeray and Moore brought down a hare
from Oxford, which Pound turned out at Queen Anne’s Spring.”
The sport, however, on this occasion was not good, “every inch of scent
being trodden out by gentlemen who seemed to have discovered the secret
of perpetual motion.” This season ended after rather unsatisfactory
sport. In Lewis’s case ‘the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak,’
and he frankly owned that his running powers did not enable him to prove
a capable huntsman. Ichabod, Ichabod.
But Pound got together a much better pack. His season has already been so
well described by Mr. R. V. Somers-Smith that it is unnecessary for me to
add anything. Pound seemed in all his accounts to have been completely
dissatisfied with the world in general, for he scarcely ever praises
anything in big records, and he speaks of almost everything in embittered
terms.
On one occasion a hare was put up at 10.45, i.e. a quarter of an hour
before school. The huntsman and whips returned to school while the hounds
went on by themselves and killed their hare, which was stolen by and
afterwards recovered from a sweep. This was only the third occasion on
which a wild hare had ever been killed by these hounds.
One day the hounds joined with the Prince’s Harriers, and the Prince and
his retinue passed close by and inspected the little pack, “_no doubt_
with an admiring eye!” The unlevelness of the pack may be shown by the
measurements taken on March 25th, 1865:
Abigail 19″
Rouser 18
Valiant 17½″
Pliant 17″
Smuggler 16½″
Jargon 16½″
Affable 16″
Wellington 16″
Rattler 15¾″
Dainty 14½″
This was by far the most successful season the E.C.H. had ever seen.
So much for the College Beagles. It is to be wondered at that at this
time there should have been two packs of beagles in the school, but
it was about then that the differences between the Collegers and the
Oppidans were one by one abolished. The amalgamation of the Beagles was
almost the last of these reforms, and some account of it will be given
in the next chapter. It was quite natural that the attempts to introduce
beagles should have begun in an unofficial and semi-organised manner. But
the pack in the time of Pound was very different from that of Carter.
Just as the Oppidan pack had been brought to a respectable standard, so
had the College pack; and it only remained for the amalgamation (hideous
word!) to establish hunting at Eton on a very firm basis.
[Illustration: GOOD-NIGHT.]