ROWLAND HUNT AND HIS SUCCESSORS.
The year 1876 was as full of surprises as any that the E.C.H. has ever
seen. It was a year of changes, one might almost say of revolution. For
ten years the hunt had struggled on since the amalgamation with no very
marked improvement in the sport. The pack belonged to various boys. It
consisted of hounds of all sizes and shapes. Many things were crying out
for reform.
The year did not open with any great promise. None of the whips of the
previous season remained to hunt the hounds, and so the office of Master
devolved on Rowland Hunt, whose chief qualification was that he was an
amazingly good runner. He had never once whipped-in the year before, and
is not even mentioned in the Journal Book previous to 1876. But directly
the season began, he astonished everyone by the talent and knowledge
he displayed. Not only did he prove the most successful huntsman the
E.C.H. had ever possessed, but he showed himself to be an organiser of
the highest degree. No sooner had he taken over the Mastership than he
realised that the hounds were disgracefully kennelled, and that Ward,
the kennelman, was making a great deal too much money out of them. He
obtained leave from the Head Master to have the hounds removed to kennels
at the back of a Turkish Bath in the town. Here he made an arrangement
with William Lock, who kept the Turkish Bath. But it is better given in
his own words:
“It has been arranged that Lock is to receive £53, for which he is to
keep 15 couples of Beagles and do everything for them, in the way of
feeding, straw, coal, etc., and that if the Master wishes they should be
taken a week before the beginning of the Half to get them in condition.
For this £53 Lock’s boy takes the Beagles to the meet and takes them
back, etc.”
At the end he says:
“I have found Lock to be a thoroughly steady, honest man, and I think he
can be trusted in anything.”
I have mentioned Hunt’s dealings with Lock, first partly because Lock
entwines himself in the history of the pack from this time onwards, and
partly because the kennels of a pack of hounds are next in importance to
the pack itself, and the change of kennels was one of the most important
of Hunt’s many reforms.
Hunt in his first season killed 15 hares; that is, he more than doubled
the record for any previous season (seven hares by F. Johnstone). In his
second season he beat his own record by two. These wonderful results were
the effect partly of his talents as a huntsman and partly of the way in
which he reformed the E.C.H. He was the first to see the need of three
whips at Eton. Moreover they (the whips) soon learnt (for Hunt’s tongue
was particularly caustic and his expressions well chosen and to the
point) that they were not out hunting for pleasure. Hunt’s tactics were
to have one whip wide and forward on each flank, and one with him to stop
hounds running heel.
Rowland Hunt has sent me his own recollections of the E.C.H., which I
append here:
“When I took the Eton College Beagles, they were kennelled at a house
at the end of the Playing Fields towards Datchet. My recollection is
that the conditions there were very unsatisfactory, and that the man in
charge made far too much money out of them and did not feed them well.
I got the then Head Master to have the kennels moved to somewhere over
Barnes Bridge, and they were kept by a man named Lock, and, as far as I
remember, he did them very well, and I think he took them to the meets.
I think we improved the pack considerably by getting fresh hounds, some
of which were, I think, obtained from the late Mr. Fellowes of Shotesham
Park—about 16 inches—really dwarf harriers, but there was no foxhound
blood in them, and they had very good noses and could get along.
“I think the whips knew about as much about hunting as I did, but, as far
as I remember, it was roughly the usual way to have one whip somewhat
wide and forward on each flank and one with me to stop hounds running
heel or a fresh hare. On account of the short time for hunting, we took
every possible advantage of a hare and never allowed hounds to potter.
We lifted hounds and cut off corners when the chance occurred, but I
don’t think it was done enough to stop hounds hunting well. We had to
run risks, as it was very difficult to catch a hare in the time allowed
between Absence and lock-up. I don’t remember for certain which was the
best country; it is too long ago; but think it was towards Maidenhead.
I don’t remember any trouble with the farmers, but we got into a deuce
of a row with an old gentleman once for killing one of his hares in the
middle of March. It was a long day with Mr. Vidal, and I had to go over
on Sunday and apologise to the old boy and he became friendly, but I
missed Chapel and had to square the Praepostor—wasn’t that the name of
the cove who marked you in or out? I think we used to reckon that we
went to the meet at about seven miles an hour. May I venture to express
the opinion that hunting the hare on foot with 15-inch beagles is real
hunting, and real sport, and that the hare has a very good chance of
escaping, especially after Christmas? As I dare say you know, a hare is a
much more tricky animal to hunt than a fox.”
Hunt’s personality was amazing. He had a way which carried all before it.
He was versatile, and, as well as being a wonderful runner, he was an
excellent shot, a fearless rider and a good fisherman. He was, moreover,
a keen politician, even while at Eton, and has only just given up taking
an active share in the politics of the country.
Hunt was a good rider and used to hunt the Wheatland hounds on Arab
horses. Some one remarked that “to see him charging great hairy fences
was a sight for the gods!”
At Cambridge one day he saw a mounted farmer. “Hi, you elderly,
yellow-bellied oyster,” shouted he, “have you seen our hare?” Naturally
the farmer was offended, but Hunt smoothed over the difficulty and
explained it away by saying that it was one of his most endearing
epithets.
And now after not having hunted for some twenty years, he has again taken
on the Mastership of the Wheatland hounds. He hunts them himself with two
amateur whippers-in.
Hunt was a wonderful runner at Eton. In 1876 he won the Steeplechase
with consummate ease, after having lost a shoe early in the race. There
was a rule in those days that no one who had previously won a race was
allowed to enter for that race next year. Hunt in 1877 started for the
Steeplechase in full school dress and finished an easy first, clearing
the School Jump at the finish so as not to wet his clothes.
He was slovenly as to his dress, and several stories are told of his
appearance. Once he appeared on parade in beagling shoes which he bought
from Gane’s in the High Street and wore on every possible occasion. He
always ran with his shirt hanging out behind, at least his shirt always
came out when he ran. He did not care a button what he wore; his clothes
were bought merely with a view to respectability and not to smartness.
His language was his own; he had a knack of coming out with peculiar
expressions, and yet his personality was delightful. In some mysterious
way he smoothed over every trouble. There was only one farmer who gave
him any difficulty, and he made friends with two enemies of the E.C.H. On
one occasion he disturbed the pheasant coverts of a certain gentleman,
who was furious, as was his keeper; but Hunt on going to apologise so
touched the heart of the old gentleman that from that time forth he was
one of the firmest friends of the hunt. Hunt gives a list of farmers in
his time, and his remarks on how to treat them are well worth recording:
“Mr. G. Lillywhite Eton Wick.
*Mr. Lovell Eton Wick.
*G. White Boveney.
*T. White Dorney.
J. Trumper Dorney.
*— Twynch Cippenham.
*J. D. Chater Cippenham.
*A. H. Atkins, Sen. Farnham Court.
*A. H. Atkins, Jun. Chalvey.
*H. Cantrell Upton Lea.
*H. F. Nash Langley.
J. Nash Langley.
*J. Five Langley.
R. Talbot Ditton.
*S. Pullen Horton.
*C. Cantrell Riding Court.
Vet. Surgeon Datchet.
H. Wells Dutchman’s Farm.
Slocock Upton Court.
*Major Langley.
*T. C. Moore Upton.
“Great care should be taken about Mr. ——, as he is a very awkward
customer and an awful snob, and so he must be dealt with very gingerly.
“Those marked * must be called on personally. Game, two pheasants and a
hare, _must_ be sent to all these farmers annually as early as possible
in the football Half. Be careful to address all with an Esq. to their
names.”
It is such little attentions as these that make the difference between a
friend and supporter and an enemy. Hunt instituted this custom of sending
game to the farmers, and very successful it proved. It has become a
permanent custom, and is regularly observed to this day.
Hunt brought the pack to a much higher standard than it had ever
attained before, and left the foundations of an excellent kennel of
hounds. Some of them, as will be seen from the photograph, were somewhat
weak below the knees. But it must be remembered that careful breeding
had not yet brought the beagle to the standard of to-day. The sport
showed was in every way wonderful. The accounts of his runs in the Beagle
Book are very entertaining, and his language was as varied as it was
appropriate. Some of his best runs are worth quoting. There were so many
good ones that selection is difficult. Here are a few:
“_Thursday, March 30th._ The meet was Dorney Gate. We soon found to the
left and ran slowly for about a hundred yards, when they settled fairly
to her, and positively raced as hard as they could lay legs to the ground
to the river. Then, turning to the right, they ran through Taplow Spinney
(they had run so fast that only Hunt and Bigge, who had got a good
start, were anywhere near them). Then they ran on without dwelling for
an instant, and bearing to the left and then to the right they skirted
Dorney Village, leaving it on the left, and on nearly to Dorney Gate,
where they caught sight of her, and so, instead of returning to her form,
she made for some haystacks of Mr. White’s, but being routed out of there
she made her last effort in the open. But Harmony was too much for her
and she was pulled down in the open, after having been run in view for a
good half mile. Mr. Fellowes was very quick in getting the hare from the
hounds, for which the Master is much obliged. Time, 49 minutes; distance,
7 miles.”
The run that follows is typical of Hunt’s language:
“We found again after a short time and ran like old gooseberry up to
Dorney Village, where she tried to enter a garden, but there being no
entrance she turned round and made for the G.W.R., which she skirted
almost down to that interesting public called Botham’s, where she turned
sharp round and made back again to her form. But we had to whip off as it
was getting very late. Time, 55 minutes. Having to whip off so many times
plays Old Nick with us, but it can’t be helped.”
Here is an unfortunate incident recorded:
“Just after the beginning of the run, we are sorry to say that Mr.
Douglas came a real imperial cropper in charging in his usual determined
way a very high stiff piece of timber with a huge ditch on the other
side. He was so badly hurt that he had to be taken home in a fly. Hunt
only managed to get over the fence by landing on his head on the other
side, so it was ‘rather a stinker.’”
Referring to a run when C. P. Selby-Bigge had come down for a day’s
beagling, Hunt says:
“Mr. Bigge showed us that he had lost none of his ancient speed or powers
of endurance, and we were delighted to see his gigantic form once more
among us.”
And after they had killed a hare in the River Thames, he said:
“It was a very pretty sight to see the hounds dash into the river without
the slightest hesitation, four or five abreast, headed by the old white
bitch Bonnybell.”
Here is just one more good hunt:
“_Colnbrook Cross Roads._ We drew the Island blank but found directly
we got outside it and ran well along the side of Richings Park, which
she threaded and broke again for the Colne, which she crossed and then
recrossed, causing very difficult hunting. Then having got some way
before us she began a series of tricks enough to puzzle Old Nick himself,
but old Limber seemed to understand her dodges, and it was wonderful to
see the way he picked out her doubles and then brought the whole pack
round him in a second with one of his well-known notes so welcome to
hounds as well as huntsman. We went on thus very slowly for some way when
luckily our hare got up again and we got on better terms; but we soon got
on to some black fallow and they had to hunt every yard and at last to be
lifted on to some grass, where they hit it off again and ran nearly back
to the plantation, where she turned round and lay down by the Colne. She
got up in view, and they ran well for some little time. But getting on to
some black fallow again, they could not even own the line, so Hunt lifted
them over and they soon took it up on the other side and ran pretty well
over a road and round a pretty big field, where we again viewed her,
and this time she went decidedly groggy. She ran some way down a road
(bless the roads!) and we had a little difficulty, but we soon got on
her in a wheat field, where we viewed her, and she had been joined by
another hare. This was a bad job, and Hunt felt rather up a tree. However
he halloed to inform the fresh hare of our arrival. Accordingly, when
they got to the ditch at the bottom, they separated, and Hunt by a great
effort just managed to whip them off the fresh hare, and as our old hare
had stopped behind a tree, not being able to get over the ditch, when
Hunt got over it he found Mr. Portal at the bottom of the ditch (it
was about four feet deep), having got hold of the hare, with the pack
worrying and tearing at the hare on top of him. The pack also were most
of them in the ditch, and we had quite a job to get him out. Why on
earth the hounds did not bite him nobody knew, for he wouldn’t loose the
hare and neither would the hounds, so we had to pull the whole boiling
up together. He luckily escaped with a scratch or two, and looked very
lovely when he appeared looking rather as if his clothes were made of
damp mud. The time was 2 hours 25 minutes. An excellent performance for
hounds, huntsman and whips, for not only was the scent execrably bad on
the fallows, but the hare was one of the strongest and biggest ‘whatever
was seen,’ as Mr. Jorrocks would say. It was quite the finest hare Hunt
ever killed.”
[Illustration: ROWLAND HUNT (CENTRE) WITH HIS WHIPS AND HOUNDS.]
E. K. Douglas (the late Canon E. K. Douglas, of Cheveley, Newmarket)
closed the Journal Book of this good season with the following remarks:
“This ended the season of 1877, one of which the E.C.H. may be justly
proud and which we can hardly ever expect to be equalled. No less than
seventeen hares were killed and almost every day we enjoyed a thoroughly
good run. We cannot praise too highly the exertions of Mr. Hunt, the
Master, to whose wonderful skill and pluck the excellent sport enjoyed
throughout the two seasons in which he carried the horn is entirely due.
His loss cannot be too deeply deplored, while the E.C.H. owe their thanks
to Mr. Portal for his untiring energy in the field.
“Owing to the exertions of Rowland Hunt the pack of 1877 was brought into
a most efficient condition, and by judicious selection and drafts the
foundation of an excellent pack has been made, which it will be the _duty
of future Masters to maintain_.”
One other great reform is due to Rowland Hunt. He realised the necessity
of increasing the subscribers, and consequently he obtained leave for 120
instead of 70 boys to run with the beagles. When this limit of 120 became
obsolete I cannot ascertain, but no such limit exists to-day.
And now for Lock. Probably he was about the most unconventional kennel
huntsman that ever existed. He was short and fat and kept a Turkish Bath
in the High Street. How Hunt discovered his capacities for keeping a pack
of hounds is a mystery, for he was always to be found in his premises
attired in a very brief pair of scarlet bathing drawers.
Lock was quite a character. He grew to have a wonderful knowledge of
the country. He seldom went out of a walk and yet always seemed to
find his way to the kill. When he was out beagling was the only time
when he doffed his bathing drawers and substituted a pair of brown
knickerbockers. The hounds were very fond of him. According to up-to-date
ideas he did not do them well, but he did his best and kept hounds
fairly fit throughout the season. The kennels themselves were rather a
ramshackle construction, and not really fit for housing a pack of hounds.
But they were an improvement on the old ones, especially as the hounds
only spent three months in the year there; and they were considered
sufficient by many capable masters right up to the time when the twin
Grenfells, those two great Etonians who as every one knows fell in the
service of their country, took upon themselves the task of erecting new
and up-to-date kennels.
[Illustration: AN AWKWARD MEETING.]
Rowland Hunt left Eton and went to Cambridge, to do for the Trinity
beagles what he had already done for the Eton beagles. There is no
greater testimonial to his work at Eton than the fact that crowds of Old
Etonians flocked to subscribe to the Trinity beagles directly they heard
that he had undertaken the mastership. E. K. Douglas, his second whip,
reigned in his stead. From 1876 onwards for the next ten years the sport
was consistently good. Hunt had brought the Eton beagles to a higher
standard of efficiency than they had ever enjoyed before. It merely
remained for the succeeding masters to keep up this standard, which, it
can be asserted with truth, they have not failed to do.
Douglas was remarkable for his versatility. Few Etonians can boast the
honour of having had such a career at Eton as he. Senior keeper of the
Field, Master of the Beagles, and a prominent member of the Cricket XI.,
is a wonderful record for anyone. Here is a letter from R. D. Anderson, a
whip in 1878, which includes one or two interesting anecdotes:
“It is difficult to think of special incidents with regard to the beagles
in 1878 when I was first whip, but I enjoyed every moment of it.
“Douglas had a delightful personality, and there was no friction of any
sort with farmers or school authorities.
“After a strenuous football season, during which Douglas had been senior
keeper of the Field, he was obliged, by doctor’s orders, to be rather
careful of himself, so that occasionally he had to take a rest from the
active duties of huntsman. He was also in the Cricket XI. and got 53 at
Lord’s against Harrow. I remember on one occasion, when the hounds were
about to cross a road, hearing a lady’s voice call out ‘Stop.’ This was
not a request to the hounds or the Field, but an order from Her late
Majesty Queen Victoria to stop her wagonette, a carriage she invariably
used in her drives round Windsor, to allow the hounds to go by without
interfering with the sport.
“On another occasion a stag which was being hunted by the royal
staghounds crossed a field which we were drawing, and, although we did
our best to whip them off, two-thirds of the pack went after the stag,
and we did not get them all back for nearly a fortnight. Only a few
months ago I was interested to discover that quite accidentally I had
originated the jacket now adopted by the hunt. I never could run unless
thoroughly warm, and upon asking Denman & Goddard what was the thickest
material they could suggest I ordered a velveteen Norfolk jacket, which I
still possess.”
Douglas went into the Church and, I am sorry to say, died about a year
ago; he rose to be a Canon and lived at Cheveley, near Newmarket,
respected and revered wherever he went.
Invitation meets were always a joy in those days. Once or twice every
season the E.C.H. used to meet outside their own country at the
invitation of various hospitable people. One of the most favourite of
these meets was at Wooburn Green, where a certain Mr. Gilbey lavished
hospitality on the master and whips and a few kindred spirits. This
particular meet was famed for its luncheons and its hills, two delights
which it will at once be seen are scarcely compatible with each other.
Douglas was terribly handicapped by the weather, which was execrable,
at least so far as hunting was concerned. Dry winds and a clear sky
prevailed throughout the month of March, with the result that very poor
sport was shown during the latter part of the season. However he killed
eleven hares, a number by no means to be despised when there is only the
Easter Half to do it in. He entered in the Beagle Book what must have
been some excellent advice to new masters. Some of the previous masters
were flooded with useless hounds as a result of advertising for them in
the _E.C.C._,[4] for in those days few of the hounds actually belonged
to the hunt, and even those few were not kennelled at Eton in the
non-hunting months, but were walked by different boys at the request of
the Master.
Douglas says: “As regards hounds, it is best to insert a notice in the
_Chronicle_ at the end of the Football Half to the effect ‘that the
Master will be glad to have back any hounds (not belonging to the E.C.H.
itself) which were _regularly hunted_ to the end of last season,’ and
if he thinks he will want more, it will be found better for him to ask
fellows who, he thinks, know a good hound when they see one, to bring any
they can, rather than to issue a general invitation to the school. If
he does the latter he will probably find himself overwhelmed with every
description of cur under the sun.”
There was some discussion as to who should succeed Douglas as master. The
present Lord Hawke was approached, but declined in favour of his friend
A. H. Beach, who had a pack of beagles at Basingstoke. This is what he
says:
“Archie Beach and I were great pals, and on being offered the mastership
I said he must take it on as he had a pack of his own at Basingstoke, and
would make a much better huntsman. He was an artist at his job, and we
had a very good season.”
This season, 1879, was remarkable because the officials of the E.C.H.
adopted a distinctive dress for the first time. R. D. Anderson, in the
letter inserted above, claims that he introduced the brown velvet Norfolk
jacket which became the hunt uniform until 1904. A. H. Beach (now Maj.
A. Hicks Beach) says that he asked permission of the Head Master for the
master and whips of the beagles to wear a brown velvet Norfolk jacket;
the remainder of the uniform was not introduced till later, and the
pictures of this time give a peculiar impression of an ordinary school
cap and muffler, with dark knickerbockers and stockings of very varied
designs, with the rather picturesque brown velvet Norfolk jacket as a
quite distinctive feature.
Mr. Gerard Streatfeild writes:
“Your letter recalls an excellent season and many happy
recollections. The year I was whip (Beach master) the master
and whips assumed the velveteen coat as uniform for the first
time. Rupert Anderson the _previous_ season (master, E. K.
Douglas), one of the whips, wore a velveteen coat throughout
the season and was duly admired; so much so that Archie Beach
copied it for the hunt the next season, and it has stuck. At
the end of the season we secured two bag-foxes from (I think)
Leadenhall Market. The result was not brilliant, the first
getting away from hounds and getting into Stoke Park, which at
that time was strictly preserved for game, and we heard a good
deal on the matter; the second fox refused to run at all and
finally took refuge behind a stable gate in Dorney Village,
and I have a lively recollection of being told off to collect
him from thence, no pleasant job as he was very nasty; he was
returned to his bag, and what his ultimate fate was I fail to
remember.
“Dan Lascelles (Hon. D. H. Lascelles) carried a whip most of
the season, as Hawke (Lord Hawke) did not come out much as
he was anxious to win the School Steeplechase, and thought
beagling might make him stale. Hawke was offered the mastership
before Beach, but declined the honour and selected being first
whip.”
On the very first day that Beach took out the beagles a hare began to
swim the river with half the pack behind her. She was brought to land by
a man in a boat and was killed shortly afterwards.
Beach was one of the few masters who entered in the Beagle Book the names
of those who ran well. On one occasion the name of Aikman occurs, now
Col. Robertson-Aikman, who has been Master of Foxhounds for five and
Harriers for twenty-two years. He won more of the prizes for harriers at
Peterborough Hound Show than any one else, and his sideboard is covered
with cups.
Of the Eton Masters at this time, Mr. Vidal, Mr. Cockshott, Mr. Marindin
and Mr. Bourchier were very kind, the two former on more than one
occasion obtaining leave for bill-days, i.e. a bill off boys’ dinner and
Absence. Mr. Vidal left Eton in 1881, much to the regret of everyone
concerned with the E.C.H. A more loyal supporter of beagling at Eton
than he could not have been discovered, and at the end of almost every
season’s beagling at Eton till 1881 the masters have entered in the
Journal Book a special note of gratitude for his support. While he was
at Eton he used to go up and judge at horse shows. Once he travelled as
far as Chicago, U.S.A., in order to judge the Arabs at a great American
show. After he left Eton he retired to Suffolk, where he bred horses till
his death in 1909. He had a large family, and one of his daughters is the
Dame at Mr. Stone’s house to-day.
Once in A. E. Parker’s season (1882) a hare went to ground in a rabbit
hole and took a considerable time to unearth. This incident happened at
an invitation meet near Reading. Two hares had been killed. The account
of the day ends as follows:
“Thus ended a most enjoyable day which afforded the best sport we have
had this season. Our best thanks are due to Mr. Hargreaves, whose
kindness and hospitality was only equalled by that of his son. The
weather had been perfection and we returned to Eton charmed with our day,
our sport, and our host.”
Both Daniel Lascelles and A. E. Parker had remarkable Eton careers in the
way of sport. Both were in the XI., the Field and the Oppidan Wall, and
both were masters of the beagles for two years. Lascelles unfortunately
perished of typhoid in the nineties, but Parker is still living. He was
for some time master of the North Warwickshire, and his son was master of
the beagles at Eton as late as 1916. No less than four different Parkers
held office at different times. This is a good record, but it has been
equalled by that of the Ward family, three of whom have actually been
masters.
These are Mr. Parker’s own recollections of the sport:
“When I was whip and master, and for some time previous, the beagles were
looked after by Lock at the Turkish Baths on the opposite side of the
street, only a little higher up, to Tap.
“Lock was a great character, and my first acquaintance with him was when
a bagged fox was hunted at the end of my first beagle Half; Lower Boys
were allowed to go out, and I went. The hounds ran the fox into a hedge
on Dorney Common, but would not tackle it. Lock pulled him out by his
brush, and he turned round and bit his thumb, so Lock hit him over the
head with his whip and killed him.
“When I was whip to Dan Lascelles we met at Dorney Common and ran a hare
up to Orkney Cottage near Maidenhead, and back down the side of the
river, and eventually picked her up stone dead in a cottage garden on
Dorney Common; she was as stiff as a post. I believe the time was 1 hour
20 minutes, but am not sure; it was a hot day and the pace very fast.
“The same year, when hunting a hare at Salt Hill, the hounds brought her
back close to the Field, and a cad killed her dead with a stone at about
20 yards. I broke my whip across his shins.
“Frequently when we went into the kennel Lock would come out of the
Turkish Bath with nothing whatever on, and with a mop in his hand which
he occasionally spun like a torpedo at a hound that happened to be
fighting or even scratching.
“One of his favourite expressions out hunting was ‘Pop your whip, Sir;
pop your whip.’
“On one occasion, when we had found at Turner’s Nurseries we ran the hare
back, and found Lock very busy stopping up the holes in the fence, so
that if she ran in she would find it difficult to get out.
“On another occasion we ran a hare dead beat into these same nurseries,
and Lock stood quite still in the rows of young green trees, about 18
inches high and very thick, and as the hare came jumping along the rows,
which she had to do as they were so thick, he hit at her, but mistimed it
and missed her, much to his disgust.
“I was hunting the beagles one day when we ran a hare to the river about
50 yards above the Victoria Bridge. She plunged in, with every hound
after her, and it was a very pretty sight to see hare and hounds all in
the river together. She swam under the bridge, and they were gaining on
her fast and were just about to catch her about 6 feet from the bank.
Seeing this, I got hold of a bush with one hand and tried to save the
hare with the other. I got hold of something by the ear, but when I
pulled it out it was one of the hounds, and we never saw the hare again.
I _was_ disgusted, especially as I lost my hold and fell into the river,
going clean under.”
Parker had hard luck in his second season owing to the floods, which
are always liable to be bad in the low-lying Thames Valley. Indeed,
during the great flood of 1894, Sayer, who now holds the post of verger
in Chapel, swam across the road outside Baldwin’s Bec (then Mr. H. E.
Luxmoore’s, now Mr. Stone’s) and back before breakfast on one pleasant
November morning.
There is an amusing incident recorded by Lord Newtown-Butler. After
meeting by invitation at Horton Manor they found a hare which
successively swam both the Colne and the Brent. Of the latter river he
says: “The cold water of the Brent proved no obstacle to the whips and
several of the Field, who courageously plunging in swam across. One lucky
individual got two young ladies to row him across.” This hare crossed
two more streams, and was eventually abandoned owing to the owner of a
nursery garden, into which hounds had run their beaten hare, turning the
hounds off his land. The run lasted three hours.
On April 15th, 1886, there is recorded an interesting agreement with
Lock, which throws some light on the financial management of the pack.
Barnett agreed to the hunt paying Lock £84 for the keep and food of a
pack between eighteen and twenty-two couples of hounds. This did not
include extra expenses and only referred to the Easter Half. It also
mentions that the expenses generally amount to nearly £40, which seems to
show that Lock did very well considering he was only burdened with them
for about twelve weeks.
Mr. Claud Luttrell, a prominent beagler in those times, writes:
“Barnard made me a whip after a long exercise with the beagles, with
Harry Boden and myself whipping in; my hound language, which I had learnt
from my father’s old huntsman Tom Sebright, decided Barnard in my favour,
and the other two whips were Willoughby and Barnett.
“I am writing this letter with photographs of that year’s beagle group
on the wall in front of me; Barnard has a hound called Landlord in his
lap—a light-coloured hound who helped us to kill more hares than any
other hound—wonderful nose and to drive like a foxhound. I have Gamble in
my lap, and I can’t remember the names of the others who appear in the
group; the prominent members of the hunt who are in the photograph are
Guy Nickalls, R. C. Gosling and his brother Willie, Tattersall, Holland,
Christian, Pechell, Green, Lord Montagu, Crum-Ewing, Dickinson, Vernon
and Stratton.
“The beagles were kept at Lock’s Turkish Baths, and old Lock used to
welcome us back at the end of the day in his bathing drawers—he had a
huge stomach and wore very small drawers, so was rather an unconventional
kennel huntsman in appearance, but the hounds were very fond of him, and
his kennel management was excellent. His son, who was a famous runner,
used to help him. The kennels were half way down the High Street, and
the whips used to stand in the street ‘after 12’ practising cracking
their whips, much to their own edification if not to that of the other
frequenters of the street.
“The pack was very uneven. One hound ‘Forester’ was over twenty inches.
He killed a lot of hares for us, but was always a long way ahead of the
pack and prevented their being covered with the proverbial sheet, so we
weren’t really sorry when a G.W.R. express put an end to his career on
the main line near Slough. Our best sport was in the country between
Taplow and Slough, but the railway was always a source of great anxiety
to the whips, and there were miraculous escapes of the whole pack being
cut to pieces. Lock and his son used to take hounds on to the meet—there
was no hound van in those days. We used to exercise on non-hunting days
in the Playing Fields, and I can remember some wonderful fast bursts
after a cur dog which we often coursed from Upper Club across Sixpenny
to the Fives Courts, when he used to get to ground in old Joby’s shop.
Rather derogatory to the dignity of the hunt officials, but it helped to
keep hounds fit.
“The whips used to get lots of perquisites in the shape of wounded
partridges and unsuspecting rabbits, which helped to supplement our
evening meal, though hounds were severely rated for running riot; it was
some compensation, after running one’s guts out over a heavy plough,
to return with a rabbit in the capacious pocket of one’s beagle coat!
As far as I remember Barnett’s mastership was very successful also. He
was a wonderful runner, and no day was too long for him, but I don’t
think he had quite as much ‘science’ as Barnard. His whips were Charlie
Bentinck,[5] Claud Pennant and myself. I hunted hounds a few times when
he was laid up, and I can well remember the difficulty of blowing a horn
when one had run oneself to a standstill over Dorney Common or some
50-acre plough.
“The Eton beagles taught me a lot about hunting, but the most important
lesson I learnt was never to hustle a horse over heavy plough, and I am
sure my horses ought to be grateful to the E.C.H. for teaching me this
lesson.”
Barnett, as a matter of fact, had a much more successful season than his
predecessor, equalling Hunt’s record of seventeen hares. His last hunt
produced an incident worth recording. “Our beaten hare,” says the Journal
Book, “was killed by a lurcher and stolen, but Barnett and Lock went for
a policeman while Douglas-Pennant took the hounds home. The policeman,
who was a ‘_nailer_,’ soon got us our hare back.”
After this season it must be owned that the E.C.H. ceased for a time to
show such good sport. During the next thirteen years the pack in no way
improved, and with the exceptions of the years 1892 and 1898 the sport
was inferior on the whole to that of the ten years just recorded.
[Illustration: “THERE SHE LAYS.”]