LETTER XIII
In some of the preceding Letters, we have, I think, settled the business of the kennel in all its parts; and determined what should be the number, and what the qualifications, of the attendants on the hounds: we also agree in opinion, that a pack should consist of about twenty-five couple: I shall now proceed to give some account of the use of them. You desire that I would be as particular as if you were to hunt the hounds yourself. To obey you, therefore, I think I had better send you a description of an imaginary chase; in which I shall be at liberty to describe such events as probably may happen, and to which your present inquiries seem most to lead: a further and more circumstantial explanation of them will necessarily become the subject of my future Letters. I am, at the same time, well aware of the difficulties attending such an undertaking. A fox-chase is not easy to be described; yet, as even a faint description of it may serve, to a certain degree, as an answer to the various questions which you are pleased to make concerning that diversion, I shall prosecute my attempt in such a manner as I think may suit your purpose best. As I fear it may read ill, it shall not be long. A gentleman, to whose understanding Nature had most evidently been sparing of her gifts, as often as he took up a book and met with a passage which he could not comprehend, was used to write in the margin opposite, matière embrouillée, and gave himself no further concern about it. As different causes have been known to produce the same effects, should you treat me in like manner, I shall think it the severest censure that can be passed upon me. Our friend Somerville, I apprehend, was no great fox-hunter; yet all that he says on the subject of hunting is so sensible and just, that I shall turn to his account of fox-hunting, and quote it where I can. The hour most favourable to the diversion, is certainly an early one; nor do I think I can fix it better than to say, the hounds should be at the cover at sun-rising. Let us suppose that we are arrived at the cover-side.
| Delightful scene! |
| Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs; |
| And in each smiling countenance appears |
| Fresh blooming health, and universal joy.—Somerville. |
Now let your huntsman throw in his hounds as quietly as he can, and let the two whippers-in keep wide of him on either hand, so that a single hound may not escape them; let them be attentive to his halloo, and be ready to encourage, or rate, as that directs; he will, of course, draw up the wind, for reasons which I shall give in another place. Now, if you can keep your brother-sportsmen in order, and put any discretion into them, you are in luck; they more frequently do harm than good. If it be possible, persuade those who wish to halloo the fox off, to stand quiet under the cover-side, and on no account to halloo him too soon: if they do, he most certainly will turn back again. Could you entice them all into the cover, your sport, in all probability, would not be the worse for it.
How well the hounds spread the cover! the huntsman, you see, is quite deserted, and his horse, who so lately had a crowd at his heels, has not now one attendant left. How steadily they draw! you hear not a single hound; yet none are idle. Is not this better than to be subject to continual disappointment, from the eternal babbling of unsteady hounds?
| See! how they range |
| Dispers’d, how busily this way and that |
| They cross, examining with curious nose |
| Each likely haunt. Hark! on the drag I hear |
| Their doubtful notes, preluding to a cry |
| More nobly full, and swell’d with every mouth.—Somerville. |
How musical their tongues! and as they get nearer to him, how the chorus fills! Hark, he is found! Now, where are all your sorrows, and your cares, ye gloomy souls! or where your pains and aches, ye complaining ones! one halloo has dispelled them all. What a crash they make! and echo seemingly takes pleasure to repeat the sound. The astonished traveller forsakes his road, lured by its melody: the listening ploughman now stops his plough; and every distant shepherd neglects his flock, and runs to see him break—what joy, what eagerness, in every face!
| How happy art thou, Man, when thou’rt no more |
| Thyself! when all the pangs that grind thy soul, |
| In rapture and in sweet oblivion lost, |
| Yield a short interval and ease from pain.—Somerville. |
Mark how he runs the cover’s utmost limits, yet dares not venture forth: the hounds are still too near! That check is lucky. Now, if our friends head him not, he will soon be off. Hark, they halloo! by G—d he’s gone.
| Hark! what loud shouts |
| Re-echo through the groves! he breaks away: |
| Shrill horns proclaim his flight. Each straggling hound |
| Strains o’er the lawn to reach the distant pack. |
| ’Tis triumph all, and joy.—Somerville. |
Now, huntsman, get on with the head hounds; the whipper-in will bring on the others after you: keep an attentive eye on the leading hounds, that, should the scent fail them, you may know at least how far they brought it.
Mind Galloper, how he leads them! It is difficult to distinguish which is first, they run in such a style; yet he is the foremost hound: the goodness of his nose is not less excellent than his speed. How he carries the scent! and, when he loses it, see how eagerly he flings to recover it again! There, now he’s at head again! See how they top the hedge! Now, how they mount the hill! Observe what a head they carry; and show me, if thou canst, one shuffler or skirter amongst them all. Are they not like a parcel of brave fellows, who, when they engage in an undertaking, determine to share its fatigue and its dangers equally among them.
| Far o’er the rocky hills we range, |
| And dangerous our course; but in the brave |
| True courage never fails. In vain the stream |
| In foaming eddies whirls; in vain the ditch, |
| Wide gaping, threatens death. The craggy steep, |
| Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care, |
| And clings to ev’ry twig, gives us no pain; |
| But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold |
| To pounce his prey. Then up th’ opponent hill, |
| By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft: |
| So ships, in winter seas, now sliding sink |
| Adown the steepy wave, then toss’d on high, |
| Ride on the billows, and defy the storm.—Somerville. |
It was then the fox I saw, as we came down the hill: those crows directed me which way to look, and the sheep ran from him as he passed along. The hounds are now on the very spot; yet the sheep stop them not, for they dash beyond them. Now see with what eagerness they cross the plain! Galloper no longer keeps his place. Brusher takes it: see how he flings for the scent, and how impetuously he runs; how eagerly he took the lead and how he strives to keep it! yet Victor comes up apace: he reaches him! Observe what an excellent race it is between them! it is doubtful which will reach the cover first. How equally they run! how eagerly they strain! Now Victor, Victor! Ah, Brusher, thou art beaten, Victor first tops the hedge! See there; see how they all take it in their strokes! The hedge cracks with their weight, so many jump at once!
Now hastes the whipper-in to the other side of the cover: he is right, unless he head the fox.
| Heav’ns! what melodious strains! how beat our hearts |
| Big with tumultuous joy! the loaded gales |
| Breathe harmony; and as the tempest drives |
| From wood to wood, thro’ ev’ry dark recess |
| The forest thunders, and the mountains shake.—Somerville. |
Listen! the hounds have turned: they are now in two parts. The fox has been headed back, and we have changed at last.
Now, my lad, mind the huntsman’s halloo, and stop to those hounds which he encourages. He is right! that, doubtless, is the hunted fox. Now they are off again.
| What lengths we pass! where will the wand’ring Chase |
| Lead us bewilder’d! Smooth as swallows skim |
| The new-shorn mead, and far more swift, we fly. |
| See my brave pack! how to the head they press, |
| Jostling in close array, then more diffuse |
| Obliquely wheel, while from their op’ning mouths |
| The vollied thunder breaks. |
| Look back and view |
| The strange confusion of the vale below, |
| When sour vexation reigns; |
| Old age laments |
| His vigour spent: the tall, plump, brawny youth |
| Curses his cumbrous bulk; and envies now |
| The short pygmean race, he whilome kenn’d |
| With proud insulting leer. A chosen few |
| Alone the sport enjoy, nor droop beneath |
| Their pleasing toils.—Somerville. |
Ha! a check. Now for a moment’s patience! We press too close upon the hounds! Huntsman, stand still! as yet they want you not. How admirably they spread! how wide they cast! Is there a single hound that does not try? If there be, ne’er shall he hunt again. There, Trueman, is on the scent: he feathers, yet still is doubtful. ’Tis right! how readily they join him! See those wide-casting hounds, how they fly forward to recover the ground they have lost! Mind Lightning, how she dashes; and Mungo, how he works! Old Frantic, too, now pushes forward: she knows as well as we the fox is sinking.
| Ha! yet he flies, nor yields |
| To black despair. But one loose more and all |
| His wiles are vain. Hark! through yon village now |
| The rattling clamour rings. The barns, the cots, |
| And leafless elms, return the joyous sounds. |
| Thro’ ev’ry homestall, and thro’ ev’ry yard, |
| His midnight walks, panting, forlorn, he flies.—Somerville. |
Huntsman! at fault at last? How far did you bring the scent? Have the hounds made their own cast? Now make yours. You see that sheep-dog has coursed the fox:1 get forward with your hounds, and make a wide cast.
Hark! that halloo is indeed a lucky one. If we can hold him on, we may yet recover him; for a fox so much distressed must stop at last. We shall now see if they will hunt as well as run; for there is but little scent, and the impending cloud still makes that little less. How they enjoy the scent! See how busy they all are, and how each in his turn prevails!
Huntsman, be quiet! Whilst the scent was good, you press’d on your hounds: it was well done: when they came to a check, you stood still and interrupted them not: they were afterwards at fault; you made your cast with judgment, and lost no time. You now must let them hunt. With such a cold scent as this you can do no good: they must do it all themselves. Lift them now, and not a hound will stoop again. Ha! a high road at such a time as this, when the tenderest-nosed hound can hardly own the scent! Another fault! That man at work, then, had headed back the fox. Huntsman! cast not your hounds now; you see they have over-run the scent: have a little patience, and let them, for once, try back.
We now must give them time. See where they bend towards yonder furze brake! I wish he may have stopped there! Mind that old hound, how he dashes o’er the furze; I think he winds him! Now for a fresh entapis! Hark! they halloo! Aye, there he goes!
It is nearly over with him: had the hounds caught view, he must have died. He will hardly reach the cover. See how they gain upon him at every stroke! It is an admirable race! yet the cover saves him.
Now be quiet, and he cannot escape us: we have the wind of the hounds, and cannot be better placed. How short he runs! He is now in the very strongest part of the cover. What a crash! every hound is in, and every hound is running for him. That was a quick turn! Again another! he’s put to his last shifts. Now Mischief is at his heels, and death is not far off. Ha! they all stop at once: all silent, and yet no earth is open. Listen! now they are at him again! Did you hear that hound catch view? They over-ran the scent, and the fox had laid down behind them. Now, Reynard, look to yourself! How quick they all give their tongues! Little Dreadnought, how he works him! The terriers, too, they now are squeaking at him. How close Vengeance pursues! how terribly she presses! It is just up with him! Gods! what a crash they make! the whole wood resounds! That turn was very short! There! now—aye, now they have him! Who-hoop!
