_L’HOMME S’AMUSE_
As if to compensate the persecuted animal for his recent trials, the
hare now enjoyed what was to him a long immunity from molestation, for
during January and part of February no enemy waylaid or pursued him.
At the end of that time the weather, which had again become bleak and
inclement, suddenly softened with the return of the westerly wind,
becoming so mild as to savour of spring. The change was felt and
responded to by every creature. On St Valentine’s Day when Golden Valley
resounded with the love songs of birds, the hare had already set out in
search of a mate. Whether influenced by reason or by instinct, he did
not seek her along his usual beats, on which he had not once crossed the
trail of his kind, but set his face to the north, to the unexplored land
he had often looked down on from Bartinney and Chapel Carn Brea; there
he was in high hope of meeting her.
So intent was he on his quest that he never stopped to browse, leaving
untouched patch after patch of tender herbage in the moorland farms he
crossed. Yet he never saw a living thing. He came to the wild which is
crowned by the weird rocks of Carn Kenidzhek, and here, standing near
the summit, he scrutinised the moonlit waste, apparently a desolate
land, a land without life. Just before daybreak, however, there came
into view, ghostly as the stoats but very much larger, a creature
threading its way in and out among the furze bushes as it made for the
Carn. The hare was puzzled as to its identity until it began to ascend
the slope, when to his surprise he saw that it was that uncommon thing,
a white badger.
It presently winded the hare, stood, gazed at him, then after a glance
at the faint glow in the depressions between the hills, hurried to its
earth. As soon as it had disappeared the hare sought a couch in the
heather, and sat with his face to the far-off Carns, whose crests were
soon bright in the rays of the rising sun.
“In that golden land,” he thought, “I shall surely find her. To-night I
will go there.”
The day proved as glorious as the night had been serene, but for the
hare it was all too long. He could hardly sit in his form, so eager was
he to be afoot, and the moment the stars peeped he quitted the seat.
What miles on miles he traversed: he visited the hills, he penetrated to
the cliffs of Morvah, he turned inland again and roamed wide stretches
of moor and down, he skirted Chun[8] cromlech, and passed within sight
of the Men Scryfa as he headed for the Galver, with its upthrust peak
conspicuous against the stars. From the Galver he went to Hannibal’s
Carn, and presently stood on its highest rock gazing at the plain
beneath. His ears were pricked as they had been a score times since
sundown to catch the whispers of the waste and perhaps hear the bleat of
a doe. He listened as he had never listened before; but there came no
call, no sound indeed save the murmur of the dawn wind about the crags;
so at last the love-sick fellow forsook his station and returned to the
Galver, where after weaving a maze of trails he sought a form high up
the slope.
In his lone retreat he felt as safe as on Chapel Carn Brea; he was even
more remote from the haunts of man. Yet harriers were already on their
way to the meet, and it was that very ground where he sat that was to be
hunted.
The Squire of Trengwainton had breakfasted by candlelight, and as the
clock over the stables was striking half-past six, he mounted his
favourite grey mare and started out attired in full hunting costume,
green coat, white breeches, boots reaching almost to the knee, and a
velvet cap that well became his clean-shaven face. Twelve couple of
hounds followed at his horse’s heels, the little procession as it made
its way along the avenue of beeches being closed by Sam Noy, the
whipper-in.
Coming to the high ground beyond the Forest Carn where the track forks,
the squire turned in his saddle and asked which road he should take.
“The lower road, Sir Tudor,” was the prompt reply. Strange though it
seems that the Squire of Trengwainton should ask his way to the meet,
the explanation is simple.
He had arrived in Cornwall from Pembroke only three weeks earlier, after
a voyage exciting even for those disturbed times. The schooner in which
he sailed was attacked off the Land’s End by a privateer which had been
harassing St Ives, and compelled to run before the wind in order to
escape capture. Under cover of darkness she got away, and reached St
Ives with no more damage than a hole in her mainsail and the loss of her
topmast. But the mayor and the watch mistaking the rakish-looking craft
for another Frenchman, had opened fire from the three four-pounders on
the “Island”—luckily without effect, the balls dropping at least fifty
yards short.
The incident had so greatly amused the squire that the very memory of it
brought a smile to his face again and again as he rode through the grey
dawn. By and by the sun rose, making a jewel of every dewdrop, and
calling forth the carols of the birds.
This changed the train of his thoughts. His mind reverted to Gaston de
Foix, of all followers of the chase the one dearest to his heart, and
after passing the farmhouse at Lanyon as he descended the hill to the
millpool he was quoting aloud: “Et quant le soleil sera levé, il verra
celle douce rosée sur rincelles et herbettes et le soleil par sa vertu
les fera reluysir. C’est grant plaisance et joye au cœur du veneur.”
“We turn in here, sir,” presently interposed the whipper-in, who thought
the squire had taken leave of his seven senses.
“Four Parishes, where the meet is, lies right afore ’ee under the
Galver, and the Galver is that git hill up again’ the sky theere.”
Whereupon Sir Tudor left the track for the moor lined with the shadows
of the Carns.
Awaiting him at Four Parishes[9] were Squire Tregenna, to whose gun-fire
he had been exposed in St Ives Bay, Squire Praed of Trevethoe, a few
yeomen, some crofters for the most part fairly mounted, and a
promiscuous crowd of men afoot, amongst whom the fiddler’s pinched face
peeped out between the rough beards of two tall smugglers, and three or
four ne’er-do-wells were marked off by their careless slouch from the
sturdier forms of half a dozen miners.
After greetings had been exchanged, Sir Tudor appealed to Jim Curnow of
Towednack, whose keenness and knowledge he had already noticed: “Where
shall we draw first?”
“Try the ground about the Galver,” said Curnow, “if there’s a hare left
in the country she’ll be there.”
So it was decided; and all moved off to the hill, where the pack
scattered freely in search of the game.
They were a level lot of hounds, very much alike to a stranger, yet as
different in the eyes of the squire as were their names to his ears. He
had named them himself, most happily Squire Praed thought, on hearing
Sir Tudor call in turn on Melody, Corisande, Guinevere, Merlin, Cymro,
and Caradoc.
Awhile each hound worked separately, indifferent to all around, one
would have thought, yet in reality keenly observant of the others, for
as soon as Trueboy waved his stern half a score flocked to him.
They are at once all excitement, as well they may be; they have hit the
line of the hare, and are following it between the two big boulders
where he passed on his way to Hannibal’s Carn, the tan splashes on their
coats gleaming like russet gold in the slant sunlight, their musical
voices awakening the echoes of the rocks, and thrilling every member of
the little field.
Soon they return to the Galver, clinging tenaciously to the trail, whose
bewildering maze they strive their utmost to unravel. The eager
movements of every hound show that he knows the hare is near and will
soon be afoot, yet, when like a shadow gliding over the sunlit slope
below the ridge he silently steals away, not one even suspects that he
has risen, much less catches a glimpse of his crouching form.
The squire, however, has viewed him; his hand proclaims it, raised to
command silence and allow a reasonable start to the jack, who still
moves stealthily in the hope of getting away unobserved. But the moment
the squire cheers the hounds on to his line he knows that he has been
seen, instantly abandons his slinking tactics and breaks into a gallop,
his head pointed straight for his native hills.
It was an exhilarating moment for Sir Tudor, and as he settled down to
ride, what with the pleasant undulations of his horse, what with the
freshness of the morning and the wildness of the country, above all with
the thought that his little companions in a hundred hunts were chiming
on the scent of their first Cornish hare, he would not have changed
seats with King George.
He kept sufficiently close to the pack to observe the niceties of the
chase and help the hounds in case of a check; but they held on, straight
as a crow might fly, in the direction of Chun Castle.
There the hare stopped for the first time and looked back. His glance,
which took in hounds, horsemen, and the straggling line of pedestrians,
removed all doubts that he himself was the object of pursuit, so he laid
his ears back again and resumed his gallop, scared nearly as much by the
glaring sunlight as by the cries of the pack.
Twice he swerved, the first time to cross a ploughed field which he knew
would hold little scent, and again to thread his way among the cattle in
a field beyond. Presently he crossed the track to St Just close behind a
train of mules bearing tin ore, set foot on Balleswidden common, and
soon saw the hills of his first home right ahead of him.
Cheered by the sight he sped bravely on across the waste of furze and
heather to the foothills, and bounded up the slope with a vigour that
showed little sign of fatigue. He was making for the form. There he
believed he would be safe when shielded by a ruse, for he meant after
going nearly to the foot of Chapel Carn Brea to return on his line and
leap aside into his seat.
His mind was full of his purpose as he skirted the Liddens, and a little
way beyond them he stopped to satisfy himself that he had time to carry
out his plan before the hounds came up. Though he listened intently, he
heard nothing; his pursuers had been delayed in the ploughed field as he
expected: he had ample opportunity for his manœuvre.
Yet the whole plan came to nought. On reaching the chantry he suddenly
leapt aside as if from an ambuscade, for he found himself in the
presence of man. There on a rock sat an antiquary sketching the ruin,
and so engrossed by his task that he never saw the hare. Even if he had
he would not have raised a finger to scare it, much less betray its
refuge to the hounds. But the hare’s faith in man was gone. He fled down
the hill towards Brea Farm, save for the thud of the flail in the barn
silent as in winter, and from thence to the moor, over which he rather
loped than galloped, for he was getting exhausted.
Meanwhile Sir Tudor had reached the chantry. Despite the excitement of
the chase he reined in his mare, and looked for the first time on
Cornwall’s fairest scene.
“Fine subject for a canvas,” he said, addressing the antiquary.
“Yes, but not half so impressive as this old oratory, with its
memories.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said the squire, riding on again after the
hounds, now streaming over the boundary wall.
The mare took him over the wall with the greatest ease, and soon was
cantering along the bridle-track, watched by Andrew, whom the music of
the hounds had drawn to the barn steps.
“Have you seen her?” asked Sir Tudor, when he reached the farmyard.
“Seed what, sir?”
“The hare?”
“No, sir, theere ed’n such a crittur in the country.”
Later the fiddler came running past. “Where are they, Andrew?” he asked
breathlessly.
“Gone right over the ‘curley’ moor straight for Hayl Kimbra Pool. But
what’s the hurry? Stop and have a bit of croust,[10] a bit o’ heavy
cake.”[11]
“Lor’ bless the boy, ’tes no time for feasting nor fiddling. Did ’ee
ever hear such pretty music as they little dogs give out?”
And without waiting for an answer the fiddler went off as if his life
depended on being in at the finish.
Andrew had directed him well, for the hare had gone to the pool where he
had his first swim. The hounds following, crossed it as if nothing could
live before them; but on the far side of the moor, where beyond
Trevescan it slopes gently to the sea, they were in difficulties. The
hare had run along a stone wall, returned a score yards on his trail,
leapt into the track it bordered, and gone off in the direction of his
cliff retreat, now his goal.
There for the first time the squire came to their aid. He solved the
mystery of the wall in vain, for the track held no scent, and he was
face to face with defeat.
Hearing a shout, he looked up and saw a man on a bank waving his hat.
“Did you see her, my man?” said he, riding up to him.
“I did, sir, and flinged this pollack at her, and turned her.”
“Was she done up?”
“Not a bit, for when I heaved the fish, she took down along over they
rocks there, like a ball of fire. But if you’re going down to the point,
you’d better leave hoss and hounds behind. ’Tes no place for they.”
Taking the hint, Sir Tudor left his mare and the hounds in charge of the
whipper-in, and casting his eyes right and left as he went in the hope
of seeing the hare, made his way to the extremity of the headland.
“What do you call this point?”
“Why, bless thee, I thought every grown man knowed that!”
“’Tes the Land’s End.”
“Ah!” ejaculated Sir Tudor reflectively. He was moved at learning that
he stood at the uttermost verge of the land; for a moment he forgot all
about the hare, but only for a moment.
“I hope she’s not gone over,” said he, as he looked down at the seething
waters. Then after a pause, he added with much feeling—“She was as
stout a hare as ever stood before hounds.”
He quite believed that the jack had leaped over rather than be taken;
but he was wrong. The distressed creature had found a sanctuary amongst
the rocks, where the hounds would never have found him even had they
been allowed to search.
There we will leave him, for though his after years were marked by
hairbreadth escapes, his adventures do not exceed in interest those that
have been chronicled.
One incident, however, must be mentioned.
Within four days of the chase he returned to Hannibal’s Carn, where he
found a mate worthy of his fine qualities, and for a time his happiness
was complete.
All his days he remained true to his native hill; in the end he crept
beneath the ruins of the chantry, and there the toad guarded the portal
of his death-chamber.
-----
[8] _Pron._ Choon.
[9] A spot marked by a granite post, where the parishes of Gulval,
Madron, Morvah, and Zennor meet.
[10] The food taken at the meal between breakfast and dinner.
[11] A toothsome cake peculiar to Cornwall.
INDEX
A
Andrew, 136, 144, 190
Angler, 52, 158
Antiquary, 189
B
Badger, 17, 42, 90, 181
Bartinney, 13
Beacon wood, 97
Bees, 44
Boscawen-Un, 88, 101, 134
Boswarthen, 89
Brea farmyard, 137
Buzzard, 6
C
Caer Bran, 2, 88, 151
Chapel Carn Brea, 2, 67, 80, 86, 96, 107, 122, 134, 148, 179
Chough, 116
Crowz-an-Wra, 25, 140
Cuckoo, 4
D
Den, polecat’s, 65, 155
marten’s, 100
F
Fairies’ Green, 14, 36, 127
Fiddler, 144, 190
Flail, 189
Fog, 83
Fox, 28
G
Galver, 182
Gannets, 115
Genvor, 33
Glow-worms, 50
Golden plover, 120
Golden Valley, 49, 86, 180
Graymalkin, 34, 107
Grey Fox, 83, 108, 118, 145
H
Hannibal’s Carn, 186, 192
Harriers, 183
Hedgehog, 84
Hurricane, 87
I
Ives, St, 184
J
Johanna’s Garden, 42, 66, 89, 128
K
Kite, 5, 131
Kites’ Carn, 101, 132
L
Land’s End, 25, 100, 184, 192
Liddens, 105, 149, 188
Linnet, 21
Lizard, 100
Longships, 33, 84
Lurcher, 88, 109
M
Magpie, 14, 23, 65
Marten, 98, 116
Miller, 52, 56, 65
Mill-pool, 51
Morvah, 182
Mount’s Bay, 100
Mules, 72
N
Neck, crying the, 48
O
Otters, 50, 71
Owl, 56, 98, 142
P
Pilchards, 115
Pixie, 36
Polecat, 57, 141
Pool, “islet,” 67, 92
Q
Quarry, 154
R
Rabbit, 47, 102
Raven, 73
Rooster, 24, 145
S
Sand dunes, 104
Sancreed Beacon, 97, 152
Scilly Isles, 95
Sennen, 32, 95
Smugglers, 170
Snow, 124
Stoat, 129, 140, 174
Summer, St Martin’s, 82
T
The great drift, 150
Toad, 84, 193
Tregonebris, 36
Trengwainton, 183
V
Vixen, 6, 147
W
Weasel, 21, 102
Wheatear, 69
Whitesand Bay, 32
Will o’ the wisp, 49
Wolf Rock, 95
Woodcock, 85
PRINTED BY OLIVER AND BOYD, EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Punctuation has
been corrected without note. Other errors have been corrected as noted
below.
Page 12, perplexed, seem to say ==> perplexed, seemed to say
Page 62, knew against times, for ==> knew against time, for
Page 101, Kites’ Cairn as on the ==> Kites’ Carn as on the
Page 195, marten’s, 101 ==> marten’s, 100
Page 195, Fairies’ Green, 13, 36 ==> Fairies’ Green, 14, 36
Page 196, Mill-pool, 52 ==> Mill-pool, 51
Page 196, Pool, “islet,” 68, 92 ==> Pool, “islet,” 67, 92