“Slow pass’d the night, and now with silver ray,
The star of morning ushers in the day;
The shadows fly before the roseate hours,
And the chill dew hangs glittering on the flowers;
The pruning-hook or humble spade to wield,
The cheerful labourer hastens to the field.”
“Trifles, light as air,” observed Trimbush, “are frequently of the most
momentous importance. Who could have thought, now,” continued he, “that
brushing a flea from your neck would have subjected ye to upwards of
six weeks confinement from all society?”
“Ah!” exclaimed I, “if I could have had any anticipation of such a
result, he might have sucked my blood till now.”
“I was in a terrible fright,” rejoined my friend, “that they were going
to stop its circulation at once.”
“It would have been one of the most unjustifiable murders ever
committed,” returned I.
“That may be all very true,” added my companion; “but what compensation
would the act of injustice have been to you?”
“None,” replied I.
“There have been innumerable such-like mistakes committed,” said
Trimbush, “and never discovered. Fortunately for you, the suspected had
the benefit of the doubt.”
“I consider that the Squire was far too hasty in his decision regarding
myself,” responded I.
“The convicted always think so,” rejoined the old hound. “However,”
continued he, “I quite agree in the same opinion. There was sufficient
cause for fearful apprehension, and it was impossible to calculate
the amount of the calamity. But I do not think that any kind of fear
should be allowed to exaggerate an injury. To observe sedulous care
in preventing its extension is most wise and prudent. At the same
time, if a hasty panic overrules the cooler judgment, the engendered
evil may on evil’s head accumulate ten-fold. Our master was decidedly
wrong in contemplating having you destroyed with such slight evidence
of questionable inoculation; but he was quite right in ordering you
to be drafted from the rest. The one was an unweighed, ill-judged
impulse--the other, a wise precaution.”
“A distinction, with a material difference,” I observed.
“Yes,” replied he, “beyond the shadow of a doubt. I once heard,”
resumed my friend, “of a M. F. H. having his entire pack destroyed, in
consequence of a couple-and-a-half showing symptoms of hydrophobia--or,
as we should say, in more intelligible language, a dread of water.
Nothing could be more wanton or unjustifiable, and as well might an
entire community of human beings be doomed to perish in consequence of
one or more of its members becoming insane, as fifty or sixty couple of
hounds, from the same cause.”
“Were there any other doubtful cases besides myself?” I inquired.
“No,” replied Trimbush. “All were turned over with the greatest
scrutiny; but nothing suspicious appearing, we were allowed to remain
as we were, with a great additional watch being kept over us. In
fact, Mark, or Will Sykes, was always close by for a long time after
Gameboy’s death; and if a hound growled even in his dream, one or the
other was at hand in a moment. I never saw greater vigilance; and I
can’t help thinking that the two kept an eye open for weeks in their
sleep.”
The tramp of three horses approaching the kennel door put an end to
this, our first conversation since the fatal occurrence of Gameboy’s
death.
“Let ’em out, Mark,” said a well-known voice, and as the feeder threw
back the door, we scrambled from the court, and ran and jumped in
sportive circles about the horses. Although in the highest state of
excitement, every tongue was mute, and a slight crack from Tom Holt’s
whip put a considerable check to the rather violent gambols of a few
of the youngest. It was not quite daylight as we trotted along between
three and four miles; and as we entered a gate at the end of a by-lane,
who should be standing with his reins over his arm, and leaning
carelessly against the side of his horse, but our “up-with-the-lark”
and excellent master.
“You are behind your time, William,” said he, throwing himself into his
saddle.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” replied the huntsman, tugging at the curb
chain securing his thick watch in a very deep fob, “I think not.”
“By seven minutes,” rejoined his master.
“Quite right, sir,” added Will, looking at his apoplectic time-keeper.
“Seven minutes have given me the slip.”
“No matter,” returned the Squire; “we have scarcely light enough as it
is.”
The narrow zig-zag lane led on to a large open grass field, on the
borders of which was one of the best and strongest covers in our
country.
“Who has examined this cover?” asked the Squire.
“Tom Holt, sir,” replied the huntsman.
“Where did you find most billets?”
“In the field beyond this, sir,” replied the whipper-in, with a touch
of his cap.
“Very good,” rejoined his master. “Then take them there, William,”
continued he, “and let the puppies see the old hounds feel for the
scent.”
No sooner were we in the field spoken of by Tom Holt, than, stooping my
nose to the ground, I inhaled that scent, which, from the first, sent
my blood tingling through my whole body. Several began to hustle, push,
and fling themselves about, and one, named Harbinger, threw his tongue.
“So-oftly, Harbinger, so-oftly,” said Will. “You’re as noisy as ever, I
see.”
“He’s incorrigible,” replied the Squire. “Put him away.”
“We shall cure him after a few more trials, sir, I hope,” rejoined the
huntsman, who could never bear to have one of us destroyed.
“He should have been cured before this,” rejoined his master, “and if
not removed, he will render others as bad as himself. I hate a noisy
hound,” continued he, “and I’m certain no drilling will stop Harbinger
from riot and babbling. There is no vice so contagious and injurious as
the one he possesses and persists in; and to use further forbearance in
retaining him in the pack would be most unwise. You know, last season,
that after being flogged three times in one day for riot at hare, he
repeated the fault whenever he had the chance and thought the whips
could not get at him.”
“He’s to go, then, sir?” said Will.
“The sooner the better,” replied the Squire. “I wish to have my hounds
so perfect, that if any one of them speaks in cover, you may be certain
that it’s a fox, and know that he may be cheered without fear of a
mistake. Unless this be the case, what pleasure can there be to me, as
their master, or satisfaction to you, as their huntsman?”
Will gave no answer, and to account for the obstinate Harbinger’s fate,
all I can say is, that he was led from the kennel the following day,
with a coil of rope round his neck.
We now carried the drag into the cover, and Trimbush and myself
acknowledged the scent. Will gave us a cheer that startled many a
pigeon from her roost, and Tom Holt and Ned Adams spurred right
and left, with orders to head short back every fox that made his
appearance. We got up to our cub, and drove him through the cover at a
slashing rate. The morning being warm, and the scent good, there was
no breathing time, and the pace soon began to tell upon the family of
foxes, which we were now racing in divided lots.
“How many of them are there?” inquired the Squire.
“Not less than two brace and a half, sir,” replied the huntsman.
“Very good,” rejoined his master. “Let the vixen go if she will.”
He then galloped towards Tom Holt, and just as he was about cracking
his whip, a signal from the Squire stopped him.
“Come from this corner,” said he, “and let the old one go, and as soon
as these hounds come out with the scent, stop them, and take them to
William.”
Scarcely were the instructions given, when the vixen took advantage of
the opportunity, and broke away at her best pace. The lot settled to
her were stopped, and taken to the huntsman at the top of a ride, in
about the middle of the cover.
Being joined in one body, we now pressed our cub most severely; and I
viewed him cross two or three rides with his red rag out, in a truly
sinking condition.
“This cub is very much distressed, sir,” observed the huntsman, “and
if they don’t get one of the others up, for they have all dropped but
this, they’ll soon run into him.”
I now heard a succession of cracks from a thong, which I knew to be Ned
Adams’s.
“He’s headed a fox back,” said Trimbush, exultingly, “but it isn’t our
hunted one. He’s out--come along.”
A bunch of us swept from the side of the cover, and with heads up,
dashed across a field, before Will was aware that we had got away.
“They’re out, by heaven!” exclaimed the huntsman. “Where can Ned be?”
“All right,” returned the Squire. “They broke from the side, and no
one’s to blame.”
We carried the scent through the first hedge into a summerland, and
threw up. Will, coming up, took hold of us rather hastily, and cast us
down wind.
“Gently, William, gently,” said his master, reprovingly. “You appear to
have forgotten the golden rule of letting them alone.”
We felt down wind for some distance, but not making it out, turned up,
and as we were passing the spot where we had jumped through the hedge,
a thought struck me that the cub might be skulking in the ditch on
the other side. Popping my nose down, I dropped into it, and finding
instantly that I was right, I rushed through the brambles, and just as
he was about to spring out, I caught him across a tender part, and with
one pinch he was as dead as a salt herring.
“Who-whoop!” hallooed the Squire. “Who-whoop, my beauty!”
To the envy of most of my companions, I received great praise for this
kill from our master, who seemed not to know how to make enough of me
on our road home.
“Yo-o, Ringwood!” cried he, throwing me a bit of biscuit from his
pocket. “Yo-o, Ringwood, darling,” and then turning to Will, said,
“What a mercy such a hound as that was not destroyed through my haste!”
“Ay, sir,” returned the huntsman, with a knowing shake of the head. “If
we have as good, we’ve none better.”
“Thanks to my instructions,” growled Trimbush.
“Come, come,” said I, “don’t be jealous of the little praise I’m
getting. You receive your share.”
“Jealous?” repeated my companion, with a proud lash of his stern, “I
flatter myself that I can afford to be _generous_.”
Seeing, however, that he was a little annoyed at the attention I
received, I said nothing more, but jogged in silence by the side of the
Squire’s horse.
“By the way,” said our master, addressing Will, “in speaking of haste,
let this morning be another lesson to you not to take your hounds off
their noses with a sinking fox. More are lost by that than by any
other mistake committed. There was every probability of your leaving
your fox behind in the ditch, and then you would have said that he had
headed back to cover. A fresh one would have been got up, and the error
remained undiscovered. Countless foxes, booked safe to die, are changed
in this manner, and escape from no other reason than from taking hounds
off their noses. Remember this, William.”
The huntsman touched his cap, and the conversation dropped.