LETTER XVI
I ended my last Letter, I think, in a violent passion. The hounds, I believe, were at fault also. I shall now continue the further explanation of my thirteenth Letter from that time
The first moment that hounds are at fault, is a critical one for the sport: people then should be very attentive. Those who look forward, perhaps, may see the fox; or the running of sheep, or the pursuit of crows, may give them some tidings of him. Those who listen, may sometimes take a hint which way he is gone, from the chattering of a magpie, or perhaps be at a certainty from a distant halloo: nothing, that can give any intelligence at such a time, is to be neglected. Gentlemen are too apt to ride all together: were they to spread more, they might sometimes be of service, particularly those who, from a knowledge of the sport, keep down the wind: it would then be difficult for either hounds or fox to escape their observation.1
You should, however, be cautious how you go to a halloo. The halloo itself must, in a great measure, direct you; and though it afford no certain rule, yet you may frequently guess by it whether it may be depended on or not. At the sowing time, when boys are bird-keeping, if you be not very much on your guard, their halloo will sometimes deceive you. It is best, when you are in doubt, to send on a whipper-in to know: the worst, then, that can befall you, is the loss of a little time; whereas, if you gallop away with the hounds to the halloo, and are obliged to return, it is a chance if they try for the scent afterwards: on the other hand, if, certain of the halloo, you intend going to it, then the sooner you get to it the better. I have been more angry with my huntsman for being slow at a time like this, than for any other fault whatsoever. Huntsmen who are slow at getting to a halloo, are void of common sense.
They frequently commit another fault, by being in too great a hurry when they get there. It is hardly credible how much our eagerness is apt, at such a time, to mislead our judgment; for instance, when we get to the halloo, the first questions are natural enough—Did you see the fox? Which way did he go? The man points with his finger, perhaps, and then away you all ride as fast as you can, and in such a hurry, that not one will stay to hear the answer to the question which all were so ready to ask: the general consequence of which is, you mistake the place, and are obliged to return to the man for better information. Depend upon it, the less you hurry on this occasion, the more time you save; and wherever the fox was seen for a certainty, whether near or distant, that will not only be the surest, but also the best, place to take the scent; and, besides the certainty of going right, you probably will get on faster than you would by any other means.
That halloos are not always to be depended on, will be sufficiently evinced by the following instances:
My hounds being at a long fault, a fellow halloo’d to them from the top of a rick at some distance off. The huntsman, as you may believe, stuck spurs to his horse, halloo’d till he was almost hoarse, and got to the man as quickly as he could: the man still kept hallooing; and, as he hounds got near him, “Here,” said he—“here—here the fox is gone.” “Is he far before us?” cried the huntsman. “How long ago was it that you saw him?” “No, master, I have not seen him; but I smelt him here this morning, when I came to serve my sheep.”
Another instance was this:—We were trying with some deer-hounds for an out-lying stag, when we saw a fellow running towards us in his shirt: we immediately concluded that we should hear some news of the stag, and set out joyfully to meet him. Our first question was, If he had seen the stag? “No, Sir, I have not seen him, but my wife dreamt as how she saw him t’other night.”
Once a man halloo’d us back a mile, only to tell us that we were right before, and we lost the fox by it.
A gentleman, seeing his hounds at fault, rode up to a man at plough, and with great eagerness asked him, If he had seen the fox. “The fox, Sir?” “Yes, d—n you, the fox!—did you never see a fox?” “Pray, Sir, if I may be so bould, what sort of a looking creature may he be? Has he short ears and a long tail?” “Yes.” “Why, then, I can assure you, Sir, I have seen no such thing.”
We are agreed, that hounds ought not to be cast, as long as they are able to hunt; and though the idea, that a hunted fox never stops, is a very necessary one to a fox-hunter, that he may be active and may lose no time; yet tired foxes will stop, if you can hold them on; and I have known them stop, even in wheel-ruts on the open down, and leap up in the midst of the hounds. A tired fox ought not to be given up; for he is killed sometimes very unexpectedly. If hounds have ever pressed him, he is worth your trouble: perseverance may recover him, and, if recovered, he most probably will be killed; nor should you despair whilst any scent remains. The business of a huntsman is only difficult when the scent dies quite away; and it is then that he may show his judgment, when the hounds are no longer able to show theirs. The recovering a lost scent, and getting nearer to the fox by a long cast, requires genius, and is therefore what few huntsmen are equal to. When hounds are no longer capable of feeling the scent, it all rests with the huntsman: either the game is entirely given up, or is only to be recovered by him, and is the effect of real genius, spirit, and observation.
When hounds are at cold hunting with a bad scent, it may then be a proper time to send a whipper-in forward: if he can see the fox, a little mobbing, at such a time as this, may reasonably be allowed.
When hounds are put to a check on a high road, by the fox being headed back, if, in that particular instance, you suffer them to try back, it gives them the best chance of hitting off the scent again, as they may try on both sides at once.
When hounds are running in cover, you cannot be too quiet. If the fox be running short, and the hounds are catching him, not a word should then be said: it is a difficult time for hounds to hunt him, as he is continually turning, and will sometimes lie down and let them pass him.
I have remarked, that the greatest danger of losing a fox is at the first finding of him, and when he is sinking; at both of which times he frequently will run short; and the eagerness of the hounds is too apt to carry them beyond the scent. When a fox is first found I wish every one would keep behind the hounds till they are well settled to the scent; and when the hounds are catching him, I wish them to be as silent as they can.
When he is caught, I like to see hounds eat him eagerly. In some countries, I am told, they have a method of treeing him: 2it is of use to make the hounds eager; it lets them all in; they recover their wind, and eat him more readily. I should advise you, at the same time, not to keep him too long, as I do not imagine the hounds have any appetite to eat him, longer than whilst they are angry with him.
When two packs of fox-hounds run together, and they kill the fox, the pack that found him is entitled to the head. Should both have found, how is it to be determined then? The huntsman who gets in first, seems, in my opinion, to have the best right to it; yet, to prevent a dispute (which, of course, might be thought a wrong-headed one), would he not do well to cut off the head, and present it to the other huntsman?
The same author, whom I quoted in my tenth Letter, and who tells us how we should not eat a hare, is also kind enough to tell us when we should eat a fox; I wish he had also added the best manner of dressing him. We are obliged to him, however, for the following information:—“La chair du renard est moins mauvaise que celle du loup; les chiens et même les Hommes en mangent en automne, surtout lorsqu’il s’est nourri et engraissé de raisins.” You would have been better pleased, I make no doubt, if the learned gentleman had instructed you how to hunt him, rather than when to eat him.
I shall end this Letter with an anecdote of a late huntsman of mine, who was a great slip-slop, and always called successively successfully:—One day, when he had been out with the young hounds, I sent for him in, and asked him, What sport he had had? and, How the hounds behaved? “Very great sport, Sir, and no hounds could behave any better.” “Did you run him long?” “They ran him, and please your honour upwards of three hours successfully.” “So, then, you did kill him?” “Oh, no, Sir, we lost him at last.”
