LETTER XI

I have already observed, that a trail in the morning is of great service to hounds; and that, to be perfect, they should always find their own game; for the method of hare-finding, though more convenient, will occasion some vices in them, which it will be impossible to correct.

Mr. Somerville’s authority strengthens my observation; that, when a hare is found, all should be quiet; nor should you ride near your hounds till they are well settled to the scent.

The natural eagerness of the hounds will, at such a time, frequently carry even the best of them wide of the scent; which too much encouragement, or pressing too close upon them, may continue beyond all possibility of recovery: this should be always guarded against. After a little while you have less to fear. You may then approach them nearer, and encourage them more; leaving, however, at all times, sufficient room for them to turn, should they over-run the scent. On high roads, and dry paths, be always doubtful of the scent;¹ nor give them much encouragement; but when a hit is made on either side, you may halloo as much as you please; nor can you then encourage your hounds too much. A hare generally describes a circle as she runs; larger, or less, according to her strength and the openness of the country. In inclosures, and where there is much cover, the circle is, for the most part, so small, that it is a constant puzzle to the hounds. They have a Gordian knot, in that case, ever to unloose; and though it may afford matter of speculation to the philosopher, it is always contrary to the wishes of the sportsman:—such was the country that I hunted in for many years.

Besides running the foil, they frequently make doubles; which is going forward, to tread the same steps back again, on purpose to confuse their pursuers; and the same manner in which they make the first double, they generally continue, whether long or short. This information, therefore, if properly attended to by the huntsman, may be of use to him in his casts.

When they make their double on a high road, or dry path, and then leave it with a spring, it is often the occasion of a long fault. The spring which a hare makes on these occasions is hardly to be credited, any more than is her ingenuity in making it: both are wonderful.

She frequently, after running a path a considerable way, will make a double, and then stop till the hounds have passed her; she will then steal away as secretly as she can, and return the same way she came. This is the greatest of all trials for hounds. It is so hot a foil, that, in the best packs, there are not many hounds that can hunt it; you must follow these hounds that can, and try to hit her off where she breaks her foil, which, in all probability, she will soon do, as she now flatters herself she is secure. When the scent lies bad in cover, she will sometimes seem to hunt the hounds.

When the hounds are at a check, make your huntsman stand still, nor suffer him to move his horse one way or the other; hounds lean naturally towards the scent, and, if you say not a word to them, will soon recover it. If you speak to a hound at such a time, calling by his name, which is too much the practice, he seldom fails to look up in your face, as much as to say, what the deuce do you want?—when he stoops to the scent again, is it not probable that he means to say, you fool you, let me alone?

When your hounds are at fault, let not a word be said: let such as follow them ignorantly and unworthily, stand all aloof—Procul, O procul este profani!—for whilst such are chattering, not a hound will hunt. A-propos, Sir, a politician will say: “What news from America?” A-propos, “Do you think both the admirals will be tried?” or, à-propos, “Did you hear what has happened to my grandmother?” Such questions are, at such a time, extremely troublesome, and very mal-à-propos. Amongst the ancients, it was reckoned an ill omen to speak in hunting: I wish it were thought so now. Hoc age, should be one of the first maxims in hunting, as in life: and I can assure you, when I am in the field I never wish to hear any other tongue than that of a hound. A neighbour of mine was so truly a hare-hunter in this particular, that he would not suffer any body to speak a word when his hounds were at fault. A gentleman happening to cough—he rode up to him immediately, and said, “I wish, Sir, with all my heart, that your cough was better.”

In a good day, good hounds seldom give up the scent at head; if they do, there is generally an obvious reason for it: this observation a huntsman should always make; it will direct his cast. If he be a good one, he will attend as he goes, not only to his hounds (nicely observing which have the lead, and the degree of scent that they carry), but also to the various circumstances that are continually happening from change of weather and difference of ground: he will likewise be mindful of the distance which the hare keeps before the hounds, and of her former doubles: he will also remark what point she makes to. All these observations will be of use, if a long fault make his assistance necessary; and, if the hare should have headed back, he will carefully observe whether she met with anything in her course to turn her, or turned of her own accord. When he casts his hounds, let him begin by making a small circle: if that will not do, then let him try a larger: he afterwards may be at liberty to persevere in any cast that he shall judge most likely. As a hare generally re-visits her old haunts, and returns to the place where she was first found; if the scent be quite gone, and the hounds can no longer hunt—that is as likely a cast as any to recover her. Let him remember in all his casts, that the hounds are not to follow his horse’s heels; nor are they to carry their heads high, and noses in the air. At these times they must try for the scent, or they will never find it; and he is either to make his cast quick or slow, as he perceives his hounds try, and as the scent is either good or bad.

Give particular directions to your huntsman to prevent his hounds, as much as he can, from chopping hares. Huntsmen like to get blood at any rate; and, when hounds are used to it, it would surprise you to see how attentive they are to find opportunities. A hare must be very wild, or very nimble, to escape them. I remember, in a furzy country, that my hounds chopped three hares in one morning; for it is the nature of those animals either to leap up before the hounds come near them, and steal away, as it is called; or else to lie close till they put their very noses upon them. Hedges also are very dangerous: if the huntsman beat the hedge himself, which is the usual practice, the hounds are always upon the watch; and a hare must have good luck to escape them all. The best way to prevent it, is to have the hedge well beaten at some distance before the hounds.

Hares seldom run so well as when they do not know where they are. They run well in a fog, and generally take a good country. If they set off down the wind, they seldom return: you then cannot push on your hounds too much. When the game is sinking, you will perceive your old hounds get forward: they then will run at head.

Keep no babblers; for though the pack soon find them out, and mind them not, yet it is unpleasant to hear their noise; nor are such fit companions for the rest.

Though the Spectator may make us laugh at the oddity of his friend Sir Roger, for returning a hound which he said was an excellent bass, because he wanted a counter-tenor; yet I am of opinion, that if we attended more to the variety of notes frequently to be met with in the tongues of hounds, it might greatly add to the harmony of the pack. I do not know that a complete concert could be attained; but it would be easy to prevent discordant sounds.

Keep no hound that runs false: the loss of one hare is more than such a dog is worth.

It is but reasonable to give your hounds a hare sometimes: I always give mine the last they killed, if I thought they deserved her.

It is too much the custom, first to ride over a dog, and then cry, ’ware horse! Take care not to ride over your hounds: I have known many a good dog spoiled by it. In open ground, caution them first; you may afterwards ride over them, if you please; but, in roads and paths, they frequently cannot get out of your way: it surely, then, is your business, either to stop your horse, or break a way for them; and the not doing it, give me leave to say, is not less absurd than cruel, nor can that man be called a good sportsman, who thus wantonly destroys his own sport. Indeed, good sportsmen seldom ride on the line of the tail hounds.

An acquaintance of mine, when he hears any of his servants say, ’ware horse! halloos out, “’ware horse! ’ware dog! and be hang’d to you!”

You ask, How my warren-hares are caught? It shall be the subject of my next Letter.

[¹Hares are very fond of running roads, and many are lost thereby. A good road hound is invaluable, but it is very few that develop this instinct, and then not before the fourth or fifth season.]