INTRODUCTION

More than a hundred years have elapsed since Beckford wrote Thoughts on Hunting, yet to this day the book remains a standard work on the subject. There had been no textbook on hunting previous to its appearance, and there has been nothing to rival it since. The ordinary reader fights shy of the yellow-toned page discoloured with the stain of years, and thinks—often rightly—that any literature of our great-grandfathers must be of a prosy nature. Nowadays a book, whether it be for instruction or amusement, must be distilled and compressed to its smallest compass. The bulky tome may fill a place in the bookshelf, but its virgin leaves will remain uncut for ever. In consideration for the age in which he lived, we could have forgiven Beckford if he had been slightly long-winded, but every word is to the point, and there is not a sentence we would wish left out. The book is purely technical, and yet those who know nothing of the subject read it with pleasure.

I have not been able to gather many reliable facts about the personal character of our author, but whoever reads his Thoughts on Hunting will, I think, agree with me that the man who wrote them was a sportsman and a gentleman. Can there be higher praise than this? Every line in the book bespeaks him a fox-hunter, and yet he was able to appreciate the mysteries of hare-hunting. Humane, kindhearted and fond of animals, still, when he found a fox he was never satisfied until he had run him to ground or killed him. It would be hopeless to try and explain these things to those outside the craft, but we know that it is impossible for a good sportsman to be cruel. A fox-hunter may love the fox, but he loves the hound more, and he cannot spare the life of one without being cruel to the other.

Peter Beckford, born in 1740, was the son of Julines Beckford, whose brother William was the celebrated Lord Mayor and father of the author of Vathek. Five years after the birth of Peter his father purchased the house and manor of Stapleton, or Steepleton-Iwerne, in Dorsetshire, together with certain rights in Cranbourn Chase, from Thomas Fownes, who bought it from George Pitt in 1654. This Mr. Fownes appears to have been an excellent sportsman, and was one of the first masters who kept a pack exclusively for hunting the fox. He was also one of the pioneers in the scientific breeding of the fox-hound, and his pack was supposed to have been the most perfect in England, not only for looks, but for the style in which they hunted a fox. Like many other good men who have devoted a lifetime to sport, he took no thought of riches for himself, and in the end want of money forced him to sell his estate. Mr. Bowes, of Yorkshire, bought the pack for what at that date was considered an enormous price, but their subsequent history I have not been able to trace, though it is unlikely masters of that day would allow blood to be wasted which had proved itself to be good.

Julines Beckford does not appear to have kept a regular pack of hounds, but as his boyhood had been spent in Jamaica, it was perhaps a form of amusement that he did not understand. We, however, read that he appointed keepers to look after the deer in certain parts of Cranbourn Chase, so that it is evident he was interested in sport.

Young Peter must have been initiated early into the mysteries of sport, and we can imagine him as a boy with a few couple of the ancient breed of buck-hounds pursuing the deer in Cranbourn Chase. We are told these hounds were not particular what they hunted—deer, hares, foxes, and marten-cats were hunted impartially. It was the duty of the keepers of the Chase to keep down the vermin, and it was probably with these men that Peter first imbibed his love of hunting a fox. The population in and around the Chase was of a very sporting character, for they were all descendants of either poachers or keepers. These men would naturally be delighted to see the young squire of Stapleton developing sporting tastes, and would gladly impart their knowledge of woodcraft to him.

A slight stretch of imagination and we can see Peter, a lad of twelve or thereabouts, galloping off to the Chase on his pony in the fresh crispness of an autumn morning. By arrangement the keepers meet him at a certain spot with eight or ten couple of buck-hounds, but on this occasion it is not deer that are to be hunted.

A litter of cubs have been located in a patch of gorse in one of the open parts of the Chase, and as they have been making havoc amongst the rabbits it has been decided to reduce their numbers. A crowd of footpeople await the young squire’s appearance, and under the direction of the head keeper they proceed to form a circle round the gorse where the cubs are supposed to be. There are several terriers, and nearly every man carries a spade, for they fully anticipate having to dig. The cubs have, however, moved elsewhere, but there is an old fox at home, and hounds are soon bustling him from one clump of gorse to another. Every time he attempts to escape he is met by a chorus of yells. Peter, in the middle of the gorse, is wild with excitement, dashing wildly from one side to the other, and occasionally viewing the fox. The old varmint begins to think there is more danger in stopping in the covert than in going away, and just when he is supposed to be on the further side, he breaks through the cordon and gets clear away. The noises that are made to stop the fox bring the hounds to the scene, and away they go in view to the disgust of all except Peter, who gallops after them in an ecstasy of delight. The open space is soon crossed and hounds disappear amongst the trees; but there is a riding handy, and our young sportsman hastens down the track with hounds running a little to the left. At last the limits of the Chase are reached, and hounds cross some rough heathy ground which brings them on to cultivated land. Peter’s pony is showing symptoms of distress, for he is not in very good condition, the pace has been fast and the day hot; but scent is not so good now, and there is every appearance of the hunt coming to an end. Hounds also are not showing any desperate keenness to recover the scent, and are turning over in their minds the shortest way back to kennels. Then Peter sees some men in a cornfield half a mile away, frantically waving their hats. Digging his heels into the pony’s fat sides, he holloas to the hounds and gallops with them to the distant cornfield. The men have been reaping wheat with the sickle, and seeing the tired fox lie down in the long stubble they promptly surrounded him. Peter rides into the stubble, which reaches nearly to his pony’s girths, the fox jumps up in the middle of the pack, there is a shrill little holloa, and they run into him before he can get out of the field. The little heart had throbbed wildly throughout the exciting incidents of the hunt, and every moment would be engraved deep on his memory, leaving an impression that nothing in after-life could obliterate.

The next few years at Westminster School would not afford much opportunity for hunting, except during the holidays, and we may conclude that Peter had to devote most of his time to study until he was twenty-three. Julines Beckford, the father, was himself a man of very good ability, and was desirous that his son should lack nothing that education could impart.

Peter’s innate love of sport found vent at first in keeping a pack of harriers, but these soon gave way to fox-hounds. Thomas Fownes had given the neighbouring squires and yeomen a taste of fox-hunting in its legitimate form, so that when Beckford announced his intention of reviving the glories of the Cranbourn Chase hunt he was welcomed on all sides. From what source or sources he procured the foundation of his pack it is now impossible to ascertain, but judging the man from his writing, one does not deem it likely that he would spare either trouble or expense in getting the best blood. We may also consider it an established fact that by dint of careful breeding he brought his pack to a very high state of perfection; but what was their ultimate fate I have not yet been able to trace. The Cranbourn Chase country was not, even in Beckford’s day, an ideal spot for hunting, as he says himself; but being then less cultivated and fenced it was probably much better than as we know it now. They had, however, good sport and killed their foxes, so that it may be presumed they enjoyed themselves, which is after all the chief object for which we hunt. The country which Beckford hunted was probably that which now is known as the South Dorset. We know he hunted beyond the Stour, as we have it on his authority, the occasion (p. 190) being when he crossed it in a flood and lost several hounds. To the north is the Blackmore vale, which is nearly as good a country as any in the shires, being a wide expanse of grass, though it is greatly spoilt by the majority of fences being planted on banks. From the little one can gather of Beckford’s doings as set down by himself, I imagine he was not a very hard rider, and the big banks of the vale may have had no great attraction for him.

Cranbourn Chase was a royal forest in the time of King John, and it then became the property of an Earl of Salisbury, by whom it was sold to the Earl of Pembroke. The next owner was a Lord Shaftesbury, who sold it to Mr. Freke, of Shroton, and it thus descended to Lord Rivers. The Rev. W. Chafin, in his Anecdotes of Cranbourn Chase, says there were many serious fights between poachers and keepers. About the year 1786 a severe battle was fought, the combatants being equally divided; the keepers were, however, armed with staves and short hangers, whilst the poachers only carried flails. The keepers, finding they were getting the worst of the encounter, retired amongst the trees, where it was impossible to use the flail, and at close quarters the hangers soon carried the day. The leader of the gang, a soldier from Blandford, had his hand cut off, another man was killed, and the remainder were all taken prisoners. History relates that prisoners and wounded were haled before his honour Peter Beckford, Esq., at that time Ranger of the Chase, who committed them for trial at the next assizes, after first procuring medical aid to bind up their wounds.

The family of Beckford was supposed to have originally come from Gloucestershire, but there is no record to establish the claim between the family who lived there in the thirteenth century and the man who was the direct ancestor of the author of this book. This ancestor was also called Peter Beckford, and was one of the richest men in Jamaica, but where he came from or how he became possessed of his riches history does not relate. Jamaica was at one time a favourite resort for the buccaneers of the Spanish main, and many a highly respected pirate retired to that island to spend the remainder of his days in peace after a stormy life on the ocean. Occasionally, when His Majesty of England had not other work for his ships to do, one of these searobbers would be captured and hung from the yard-arm, but as a rule, if he confined his attentions to the unhappy stranger and respected the union jack, the hard-working pirate had not much to fear. It is quite certain that many families in Jamaica are descended from successful buccaneers, and it is not unlikely that Peter Beckford, Commander-in-chief and Governor of the island, may have been a pirate chief or the son of one. Whatever his origin, this Peter must have been a very able and energetic man, or he would not, on the death of the Governor, have been elected to fill that post. We are told that he was the owner of several plantations and of slaves by the hundred. Peter Beckford, his son, was Speaker of the House of Assembly, and was the father of thirteen children. Two sons, William and Julines, came to England, and were at the time of their arrival possessed of considerable wealth. William had inherited his grandfather’s energy and strength of character, so that we find, instead of allowing his capital and time to be idle, he entered very successfully into business as a merchant in the city of London. Twice was he made Lord Mayor, and on one celebrated occasion he demanded audience of the king and protested stoutly against the infringements of certain rights. His son William, the author of Vathek, was a man who could probably have made his mark in the world had he not been hampered with too much riches, but he lacked the fixity of purpose which was one of the strong points in his father’s character. His collection of art treasures at Fonthill Abbey was perhaps larger than any single individual has ever owned.

Julines Beckford was more of a student than his brother, and enjoyed the quiet retirement of a country life, but we find that he was at one time the member for Salisbury. He married Elizabeth, daughter of Solomon Ashly, Ashly St. Ledgers, Northamptonshire. The result of that marriage was Peter, the author of this book and the subject of this short history, who in 1773 married Louisa, daughter of Lord Rivers. Peter’s son became the third Lord Rivers by a special Act of Parliament, and his great-granddaughter married the ninth Duke of Leeds, so that the present master of the Bedale is the direct descendant of the man whose name all fox-hunters honour.

Beckford sat for Morpeth in 1768, and in 1789 he travelled in Italy, when he wrote an account of his travels. Sir Egerton Brydges, in Retrospective Review, says: “Never had fox or hare the honour of being chased to death by so accomplished a hunter; never was a huntsman’s dinner graced with such urbanity and wit. He would bag a fox in Greek, find a hare in Latin, inspect his kennels in Italian, and direct the economy of his stables in excellent French.” Of course we understand by this that Beckford was a brilliant conversationalist and an excellent linguist, but I think it would have annoyed him, in spite of the intended compliment to read of his bagging a fox and of his giving orders to his stud-groom in French.

The first edition of Thoughts on Hunting was published in 1781, when Beckford was forty-one years of age, and the proof of the excellence of the book is in the way it has stood the test of time. You turn to its pages for information, and you find pleasure in gleaning the fruits from the experience of a master in the art. If you flatter yourself you are beginning to know something of the subject, you find yourself agreeing with the author in every particular, and in any way you may differ, you are almost persuaded by his gentle reasoning. If you are an utter novice at the game, a close study of the book will start you on that path of knowledge which experience alone can complete. I have loved and venerated the author for a great many years, so that to me the task of editing his book is an honour which I greatly appreciate.

Through the kindness and courtesy of the Misses Pitt,¹ the present owners of Steepleton, I was able to see the house where Beckford lived and the interesting pictures which are reproduced in this volume. The house is practically as it was in Beckford’s time and of course the greater part of the structure dates to a much earlier period, the basement and cellars being in existence when Elizabeth was queen. Though I have read and admired this work for years, I had no idea that the author’s home was standing in its original condition and contained personal relics of the man. My most sanguine hope was to find an engraving of the old house and to look on some new building that covered the site. Therefore my joy and surprise was great to see the house itself, the intellectual features of Peter Beckford in a life-size portrait, and the excellent paintings of his hounds.

My visit to Steepleton was unfortunately very short, but I enjoyed every moment of the hour I spent there. The grey stone walls whispered to me the tale of a country gentleman’s life more than a hundred years ago, and the wood-crowned hill seemed to echo with the notes of Peter’s horn. The house is just what your imagination would conceive Beckford’s home to be—beautiful yet unpretentious, with the picturesque surroundings that are only to be found in England’s most ancient homes. I would gladly have lingered on in the sunshine and the scent of flowers, looking at the scene as it is to-day and filling in the details of the past as my imagination painted them. The rumble of a not far-distant train recalled to me the need for hurrying and the time I was due back at Blandford. Following my guide into the garden amongst flower-beds and shrubs, we dived under a yew arch, and to my surprise there was the church—a pretty little building covered with ivy and creepers, seemingly shut off from the clamour of the outside world, and with a look of restful repose that ought to be conducive to devotions. Within the church one feels the presence of the dead; outside in the sunshine and beneath the trees Peter lives; but here in the peaceful shadows beneath our feet lie his bones, and instinctively we tread lightly, lest we should disturb his rest.

On the marble slab of the vault is this simple inscription:

Then on a memorial tablet is the name in full and the date of death, with this rather curious epitaph:

Out again into the bright sunlight, and I was asked would I like to see the kennels, which of course was exactly what I did want to see. Therefore, on we went down the gravel path, by the edge of a large ornamental lake, where tall yews threw dark shadows on the water, and through kitchen-gardens surrounded by high walls of age-toned brick. Here we called the head gardener to our assistance, and coming out into the road I was confronted with a low tile-roofed building, covered with roses and creepers, which is still known as “the kennels.” Now they are used as dwelling-houses for workmen on the estate, and the little flower gardens in front are planted where was once the kennel yard. It took me some little time to reconstruct the place as it was, but by opening doorways that had been walled up and blocking up others, the kennels grew gradully upon me. Here was the huntsman’s house at this end, there the boiling house, and the original arches are still in the walls showing the feeding place or hounds’ main lodging-rooms. Some of the flagstones, which must have often listened to the old story of legs and feet, are now used as a pathway to one of the cottages. Not fifty yards distant is the running stream which Beckford insists on should always be in the grass-yard; but here nature and man have contrived to make serious alterations. The trees under which the Cranbourn Chase hounds used to gambol are cut down and others have grown up in their place, whilst the actual scene of the grass-yard is now an osier-bed. This, I think, shows that the ornamental lake was not in Peter’s reign, as the damming up of the water must have caused the hounds’ playground to become a swamp.

Back to the house we went by way of the stables, which have evidently been shorn of much of their ancient glory; but the main building has not suffered any alteration. and only the wings have been pulled down. Close to the house are some outbuildings, which have certainly been kennels at some period, and they may have been used for shooting-dogs, but according to my fancy it was there that young Peter kept his pack of beagles.

In the drawing-room Peter welcomes me from his portrait with a pleasant smile, and I can almost imagine him pressing me to see the pictures of his hounds in the next room. There I see three excellent oil-paintings of hounds by Sartorius, a well-known animal painter of that period, which are here reproduced. After looking at these pictures it is easy to believe that Beckford’s pack had a great reputation in those days. On the staircase is a large picture without either name or date, containing one large hound, which I believe to be a harrier, and some smaller ones which are undoubtedly portraits of his beagles. This picture is not nearly so well painted as the others, but it gives one a very fair idea of the type of hound. The painting of the pack with the two hunt servants is particularly interesting as showing the costumes of that period. It will be noticed that the men carry short swords or hangers by their sides, and I believe they wore them by virtue of their master’s office as Ranger of the Chase. This picture, however, met with an accident and had to be restored, so that the outlines of the hounds are not so good as in the two others.

At the moment Beckford commenced to breed a pack of fox-hounds, others were doing the same thing in different parts of England, and the middle of the eighteenth century may be considered the period when the movement became general. For those who took the trouble to travel to different kennels there was ample material to choose from, and the few years it took to build up a first-rate pack proves the goodness of that material. The hour had arrived when the excellence of our English hound was to be recognised, and his many different qualities improved by judicious breeding. The one or two names of men that have been handed down were not the only breeders, and the fox-hound of to-day owes many of his good qualities to quiet country gentlemen, who were little known in their own time and are never heard of now.

Whilst Mr. Meynell was forming his celebrated pack in the Midlands, Beckford and others were doing similar good work in different counties. Because the names of their hounds do not appear in the pedigrees of our packs, it does not follow their blood does not flow now in the veins of the lions of the field and the winners on the flags at Peterboro’. I have not the slightest doubt that Beckford’s choicest strains have helped to form some of the best packs that are in existence to-day; but breeders then were as selfish as they are now. Whatever the animal we may wish to breed, we are always ready to forget the claims of the man from whom we obtain the strain, if by so doing we get more credit to ourselves when the animal eventually produced becomes a success.

If the few facts which I have here set down concerning the individuality of our author prove half as interesting to those who read them as they have been to me in collecting, I shall feel more than satisfied. The many readers and admirers of Beckford would view with horror the slightest alteration in the original text, and I am not sure whether they will not consider my few notes a sacrilege. I have much pleasure in stating that the text is exactly the same as in the original edition. My hope is, with the illustrations and notes, to make the book more widely known amongst those to whom heretofore Beckford has been only a name. No man or woman ought to be allowed in the hunting-field until they have read and thoroughly digested Thoughts on Hunting—I mean the original phase, not my additions.

J. OTHO PAGET

P.S.—My notes may be distinguished from the author’s by being in brackets.

¹Great-granddaughters of Beckford.