Fortunately I don't live by the sea. I say fortunately, because I look
upon the sea as a swindler, for it robs one of just half one's little
world and upsets all calculations by forcing one to live in a mean
semicircle. I actually know a rat-catcher who is stupid enough to live
in a village on the east coast, and half his time he and his dogs are at
home in idleness and are half starved, because the ever-restless
tiresome sea rolls about and disports itself over all that is east of
the village, so the poor man can only go rat-catching in one direction.
Now and then I go to the sea-side, but when I go there it is on
business--not in my Sunday clothes and with a "tripper's" return
ticket, but with my dogs, ferrets, nets (the long ones) and the boy
Jack; he and I dressed in our well-worn corduroys, gaiters, and navvy
boots; and instead of choosing a town to visit with Marine Parade,
Esplanades, Lodgings to let, Brass Bands, Nigger Minstrels and spouting
M.P.'s, we go to a little village unknown to "trippers," and put up at a
small inn for a week or ten days. We sleep in a room not unlike a
hay-loft, and take our meals and rest in the common kitchen, with its
rattling latticed windows and sanded floor.
We go there twice each winter to kill rabbits on what are called the
"Denes," which are great, wide, down-like lands on the top of the steep
earth cliff, partially covered with the ever-flowering gorse, a cover
dear to rabbits and all sorts of game. We reach the inn in time for an
early dinner; and after we have housed the ferrets in a big tub and the
dogs in a warm dry shed with heaps of straw to sleep on, Jack and I
despatch our food and then start off to inspect the field of our future
operations. We have not far to go. First down the street, past two or
three dozen flint-pebble cottages; past the church, with its square
tower so high that it makes the really big church look small in
proportion; past the rectory; past the schools, where some forty or
fifty future fishermen and sailors have just finished their tasks for
the day and come rolling out, dressed all alike in dark, sea-stained,
canvas trousers and thick sailor jerseys; past the low one-storied
cottage where the old retired naval captain has lived for many years,
and then up a sandy lane between high crumbling banks and out on to the
open Denes. We take a path that runs close along on the top of the
cliff, mounting a steep hill as we go till we reach a spot half a mile
further on, where the sea cliff is four hundred feet high and nearly
perpendicular; and here among the ruins of an old church, part of which
has fallen with the slipping cliff into the sea many years ago, Jack and
I halt and take a look round. We are on the highest spot within miles,
and spread out in front of us, as we face inland, are, first, the
down-like hills, dotted over with patches of gorse and with turf between
as fine and soft as a Persian carpet; then cultivated fields intersected
by thick hedges; and in the distance we could distinguish a clustering
village here, a homestead there, an old manor-house in its well-kept
garden and park-like grounds, and in all directions the square, solid,
picturesque towers of village churches peeping from among the trees,
that became thicker and thicker the further the eye travelled from the
sea. Close to our left, just under the shoulder of a hill which protects
it from the keen east wind off the sea, is a tiny village of some ten
cottages, all different, all neat and snug-looking, each in its own
garden. There is a stand of bee-hives in one, a honeysuckle-covered porch
to another, and, though it is mid-winter, there is a warm home-like look
about all. Then there is the one farm-house, well kept and well cared
for, but old and belonging to other days, as its gables and low windows
denote; and from our high hill we look over the house into a garden and
orchard beyond, both enclosed by grey lichen-covered walls. On either
side in front of the house are the farm buildings, all, from the big
barn to the row of pigsties, thatched with long reeds, which give the
whole a pleasant English home appearance.
There are big yards filled with red and white cattle up to their middle
in straw, others full of horses or young calves; cocks and hens are
everywhere, ducks and geese swim in the big pond by the side of the
road, and turkeys, so big and plump they make one long for Christmas,
mob together in the yard, and the turkey-cocks "gobble-gobble" at a boy
who is infuriating them by whistling. A man crosses the yard with two
pails on a yoke, evidently going a-milking; and another passes with a
perfect hay-stack on his back, and a dozen great heavy horses come out
of the stable in Indian file and stump off to the pond to drink. Beyond
the farmstead, in a field on the right of the road, is a double row of
heaped up mangels and swedes; and a little further on are a number of
stacks, so neatly built and thatched that it seems quite a pity they
should soon be pulled down and thrashed, but all showing signs of
prosperity and plenty.
Beyond this stands a tiny church, with reed-thatch roof. It is all,
church and tower, built of round flint stones as big as oranges,
cleverly split in two and the flat side facing outwards; and from the
dog-tooth Saxon arch over the door one knows it has seen many
generations pass away and find rest from the buffets and storms of the
world in the peaceful, carefully-tended "God's acre" that surrounds it.
If one passed down the red gravel churchyard path, and on in front of
the south door to the far corner, under the big cedar, a small door
would be found, which would lead through a well-kept, old-fashioned
garden to the Rectory: a good old Elizabethan house, covered with thick
creepers up to the very eaves, the model of one of England's snug
homes--homes that have turned out the very best men the dear old land
has produced, to fight, struggle, conquer or die in all professions, in
all parts of the world; men who in such shelters learned to be honest
and true, brave and persevering, lions in courage, women in gentleness;
who could face hardships and poverty without a moan, and prosperity and
riches without swagger; and through all the difficulties of life thought
of the old home, and when success arrived, be they ever so far away,
packed up and came back to finish their days in just such another home
and such surroundings.
Turn round now, Jack; turn round and take a look at the restless sea
rolling its big waters on the smooth strip of sand there below _on this
side_; and on the other, Jack, far, far away over there in the south, on
the other side of the world, laving the roots of the palm and the
mangrove, beneath the burning rays of tropical suns; and away round
here, Jack, far in the north, dashing its storm-driven waves against the
face of frost-bound rocks and treacherous icebergs. There on the dancing
waters, with all sails set, chasing the lights and shadows as they flit
before it, sails a boat bound south to sunny climes. There on the
horizon, against wind and wave, steams a collier, taking fuel to lands
where the snow lies deep on the ground for four months in the year; and
right and left, outward bound or coming home, are various white sails
dotting the waters. But, Jack, how about supper? I ordered eggs and
bacon for supper, and those chimney corners at the inn looked as if they
might be snug and warm to smoke a pipe in afterwards before turning in.
Step on, Jack, and have supper ready in half an hour, while I go round
by the Rectory and see if the two young gentlemen are at home. They are
the right sort, and as keen as Pepper after the rabbits, and they always
have half a dozen good terriers as fond of the sport as they are.
At the Rectory I received a kindly welcome from Miss Madge Ashfield, the
rector's only daughter and the sister of the two lads I came to enquire
for; and I was told that they were not yet back from school, but were
expected in three days, and that only that morning a letter came from
them asking when I was likely to come and work the Denes. I comforted
Miss Madge, who at first feared the pick of the sport might be over
before her brothers arrived, by telling her that for the next four days
Jack and I should be busy "doctoring" holes, and that during that time
we could not "away with" boys or dogs, as both were too noisy for the
work.
Miss Madge took me round to the kennels to see some rough wire-haired
terriers, old friends; also three new ones, all supposed to be wonders;
and she told me she would arrange for her brothers to bring one day five
small beagles belonging to a friend.
Jack and I did our duty by the ham and eggs that night at the inn, and
the pipe in the old-fashioned chimney corner was very sweet; and if the
beds were a bit hard and knubbly, we did not keep awake to think of
them, for we had both been up since day-break. By eight o'clock the next
morning we had finished breakfast, given the dogs a few minutes' run to
stretch their legs, fed the ferrets that were not wanted, and were on
our way to the Denes, each with two strong male ferrets, a spade, and
game-bag with cold meat and bread in it. We were on our way to "doctor"
the burrows, and this is done by running a muzzled ferret that has first
been smeared with a little spirits of tar down every hole, with a line
on it. It is necessary to keep very quiet, so as to get the rabbits to
bolt. We don't want to kill a single rabbit, but only to disturb hole
after hole, bolt what rabbits we can, and leave a nice sweet smell of
tarred ferret behind us. No time is lost. Jack goes one way and I
another, and every hole is visited till evening shades stop us; then
back home to supper and bed, and at it again in the morning; but on the
second day we begin by visiting each hole we ferreted the day before,
stopping them tight down with sods, and sticking a piece of white paper
on the top of such stopped holes. No fear of shutting in a rabbit, as
the smell of the tarred ferret will keep them out for days; and no fear
of their opening the stopping, as the paper will drive them away. For
four days this work goes on, and we are ready to wager there is not a
hole in the cliffs or Denes that is not doctored, and not a rabbit that
is not above ground.
It was Wednesday night when we had finished, and that evening the two
boys from the Rectory came down to the inn to see us and get
instructions for the morrow; but I was glad they did not stay long, for
we wanted to go to bed early, so as to get a good night and yet be up
betimes. By eight o'clock next morning, Jack and I were already back
from the Denes, after having run out one thousand yards of long nets.
The nets are in lengths of about one hundred yards, and two feet six
inches high, made of fine string, and each of the top and bottom meshes
knotted on to a cord that runs the entire length. To set these nets,
they are threaded on to a smooth stick, four feet long, and the stick
with the nets on is thrown over a man's shoulder. The man walks off with
the nets along the border of the piece of ground to be enclosed, while
another, after fixing the end of the first net fast to a starting stick,
follows behind. As the man with the net proceeds, he lets the net slip
slowly off the stick on his shoulder, piece by piece; and, as it comes
down, the man behind picks up the top line, gives the net a shake, and
twists the line round the top of stakes previously placed in the ground
about fifty yards apart, taking care as he goes that the bottom of the
net lies for a few inches on the ground. In this way squares of gorse of
about two hundred yards can be entirely enclosed, and every rabbit
inside them surrounded like sheep inside a fold.
Our breakfast over, we were soon out again with all our dogs (except old
Chance, who had been left at home on account of her age, and also on
account of her trick of always liking to go up to the carrier's each
night to sleep), and we had also two real good lurchers. At the foot of
the Denes we met the boys from the Rectory, with a friend about their
own age, and the curate of the next parish with a business-like ash
stick under his arm; and among them they had mustered a pack of ten
terriers, some of which wanted to begin work by a fight with my dogs;
but it takes two to make a quarrel, and my dogs knew better than to
waste their strength in fighting when there was a day's work in front of
them.
In a few minutes we were at the first piece of netted gorse--a real
tearer, close, compact and a mass of thorns; but what dogs or boys care
for gorse thorns when rabbits are on foot? So it is, "Over you go,
boys!" "Hie in, dogs! Roust them out there!" and the old dogs spring the
nets and are at work in a minute, while the young ones blunder and
struggle in the nets, and have to be lifted over. The curate, Jack and
I, and the man who drove the cart with the nets, and who will carry off
the dead rabbits, stand at the nets and take out and kill the rabbits
that get caught; and for the first hour we have as much as we can do,
and work our hardest. Many rabbits do get through the nets, and others
go back, and these latter it is difficult to get into the nets a second
time, and they are killed by the dogs in the thick gorse. Yap! yap! yap!
"Hie in, good dogs! hie in, young ones! Ah! back there! back! no going
over the nets! Would you? Look here! hie there! in you go!" Yap! yap!
yap! all scurry, rush and bustle; and the Rectory boys and their friend
are all over the square at once, and in ten minutes so tingle from
innumerable pricks from the gorse that they are benumbed and feel them
no more. "Go, Fly, go!" and a big hare dashes out, with Fly after it,
and both jump the net and make for another clump of gorse; but Fly has
never been beaten since she was a puppy, and soon returns with the hare
in her mouth. "Hie in, dogs! hie in!" There are more yet, and we are
bound to make a clean sweep; and so the work goes on.
First one patch, and then another, till lunch-time, which said lunch,
according to a long-standing custom, comes up in a cart from the
Rectory; but after snatching a hurried bit, the man and I have to bustle
away to shift the nets, a work that keeps us hard at it for an hour and
more; but long before we have done, the boys, parson and dogs are at it
again in one of the first patches we have surrounded, and it is night
and the moon is up before we have finished and picked up the nets. We
find on counting the bag that we have two hundred and seventy rabbits,
and feel content with our day's work. On Friday and Saturday the same
work, and when we turned homewards on this last night, it was as much as
man, boys or dogs could do to drag themselves along; but we had killed
six hundred and fifty rabbits in the three days and were well content.