THE DEVON AND SOMERSET STAGHOUNDS.

“HARD PRESSED”

The “Devon and Somerset” Staghounds not only occupy a unique position, as the only pack in this limited kingdom that is still maintained for the sole purpose of hunting the wild red deer, but they are also one of the very oldest packs, if not the oldest, in the country. The “North Devon” Staghounds, as they were then called, could boast at the beginning of this century of being a hundred years old; and, though the existing records do not carry back the list of masters in unbroken chain beyond 1700, it is known that Hounds were kept on Exmoor for the purpose of hunting the wild deer, as far back as QUEEN ELIZABETH’S time, and probably long before that.

But in those days, and even in more recent times, wild red deer were common enough in England. The LORD DERBY of the day kept Staghounds at the Oaks when Waterloo was fought, and, judging from contemporary pictures, the king’s Hounds, at that period, hunted and killed undomesticated stags—beasts of chase, not carted deer.

That, however, has all passed away, and now it is only on Exmoor, and for a few miles round, that the ancient sport is still carried on, substantially in the same fashion as in the days of our forefathers. There is, however, one great difference: the Hounds are no longer the true Staghound, bred for deer hunting alone, they are now pure bred Foxhounds, of exceptional size truly, but not otherwise different from those in use in every pack of Foxhounds in the country. The old “North Devon” Staghounds, which were bred between the Foxhound and what was then called the true Staghound (probably the Southern Hound), left the country in 1825.

Some who knew the pack well, thought that Foxhounds were unsuitable for the work, and would be baffled by the water hunting which enters largely into every day’s sport; but this proved a mistake. The Foxhound, when once entered, will hunt a deer on the water as he will an otter, with unflagging energy and marvellous sagacity, while his pace and dash give him the advantage of any other breed when his quarry takes to the open. Chases, therefore, do not usually last as long nowadays as when GEORGE THE THIRD was king, yet, so wily and so enduring is the wild deer, that, even in September, daylight fails to bring a stag to bay, roused while the sun yet stood high in the heavens; and especially is this the case when misadventure in harbouring or in tufting has delayed the finding of the right animal till late in the afternoon. But “harbouring” and “tufting” are terms that need explanation. They lead us to the distinguishing feature of staghunting—the knowledge of woodcraft—without which the keenest sportsman, and the boldest rider will chase the red deer in vain; and they are mysteries of the sport which are not learned elsewhere.

For foxhunting or harehunting one fox or one hare will serve, generally, as well as another; but, unlike these animals, the deer takes years instead of months to come to maturity, and it is as unadvisable to kill one under age as it is to kill the wrong sex at the wrong season. The difficulty of avoiding this is increased by the fact that deer are gregarious, and are seldom found quite alone, and it is only overcome by first employing a man termed the “harbourer,” to ascertain, beforehand, where a warrantable deer may be found; and then by drafting out a few couples of Hounds, termed “tufters,” to rouse him, instead of drawing with the whole pack. A “warrantable deer,” is a deer old enough to be hunted to the death. At least four years old, if a stag; at least three, if a hind. Younger than this they should not be killed, unless in exceptional circumstances; and, as the “Devon and Somerset” run for blood, immature animals are left in peace, but the forbearance does not make the harbourer’s task a lighter one, indeed, he requires exceptional talent to discharge his duties properly. Deer are plentiful enough now, but their numbers are sometimes as embarrassing as their scarcity used to be when the late MR. BISSET began his long mastership. The woodlands, too, that encircle the open country, are very extensive, stretching, in some cases, almost without a break, for miles, so that it is not always easy to tell the master, with any certainty, where lies the best deer of the dozen that resort to a particular valley.

In France, where, contrary to the accepted John Bull theory, they know a great deal about hunting, the harbourer takes a Hound with him, in a leash, to help him in his investigations. In old days this was the English method also, but there is no tradition even of such a practice in the west country, where the harbourer relies, in the first place, on the general information about the deer and their haunts which the natives are always delighted to give; and, secondly, and more particularly, on his own observation of the “slots,” or footmarks, of the deer, and of any other signs with which he is familiar. Generally, the less the harbourer sees, or tries to see of the deer, the better; for, a deer’s sight being, at least, as good as a man’s, he will probably see the man first, and make himself scarce accordingly; but experience, knowledge of the animal, and sagacity, will enable an expert to do much even with data as slender as a nibbled ash shoot, the chatter of a magpie, and a half perceptible footprint on a cover path. So, unless baffled by extreme drought or heavy rain, both alike fatal to slotting, or, worst of all, by amateur assistants, the harbourer can generally make a satisfactory report. Yet, though he may be able to say that there is a good stag in the cover, and in such a part of it, it is another thing to get the said stag on his legs, to separate him from the other deer whose company he will surely seek, and to force him to the open, and away. It is to effect this purpose that the tufters are used. They have no special outward characteristics to distinguish them from other Hounds, in fact, nearly every Hound in the pack will do a bit of tufting in the course of the season, but, for obvious reasons, those generally chosen are the strongest, the most free with their tongues, and the best drawers. Four or five couples is the number usually taken, and with them the huntsman and his assistants proceed to their task, leaving the rest of the pack shut up in any farm-stable or outhouse that is near and convenient. If possible, the huntsman takes his tufters to the point where the deer entered the cover when he came off his feed, and cheers the Hounds on the walk. If lucky, and if it is a good scenting morning, they may hunt right up to the deer in his bed, and find him in five minutes. Such good fortune, however, cannot be depended on, and if scent is bad, or the harbouring indifferent, much time is unavoidably consumed; for four or five couples cannot draw a hundred acres of likely cover in a moment. Quick finds, however, are not uncommon; but a quick find is one thing, an early bay another. Owing to their wonderful scenting powers, deer have an extraordinary facility for discovering each other’s whereabouts, and the first thing an old stag does when roused is to seek another deer whom he may compel to act as his substitute. The huntsman is always on his guard against its being tried, and difficulties are certain to ensue if Hounds, either finding the wrong deer first, or having found the right one, cannot press him closely: in either case, with two or three deer on foot, and the tufters changing unconsciously and imperceptibly from one to the other in the great woodlands, it will be a matter nearly as much of luck as of cunning if the right deer is forced, ultimately, to leave the covers; and recourse must be had sometimes to fresh tufters, and even occasionally to throwing the whole pack into the cover before it can be effected.

When once the deer to be hunted has gone away, the tufters are stopped as soon as may be, and the pack is laid on.

The scent of a deer is so strong and so sweet that you can take liberties with Staghounds that would be fatal if a fox were the quarry. The “Devon and Somerset,” moreover, are under wonderful control: there are very few of them that the huntsman cannot stop without using his whip at all; and the old Hounds know their business so well that a rate and a crack of a whip, even from a stranger, will make them sit down on their haunches, and await the development of the situation.

It is only at this moment that the day’s sport begins for the majority of the field. Latterly, increasing numbers of ardent spirits have essayed to help, or hinder, the officials in tufting: but most, having a wholesome fear of losing themselves and the Hounds in the great woods, remain at or near the place where the pack is kennelled, and spend the time as best they may, till the joyful “Gone away!” proclaims that waiting is at an end. Masters and men change the horses on which they have been working hard, perhaps for hours, and off goes the cavalcade to the point whence the deer has broken. The huntsman draws the pack across the line and away they go.

Except that the hounds always run in single file—a peculiarity due to the scent of the deer—and say little about it—a failing due partly to the scent and partly to the hot weather in which they are entered, there is at first no peculiarity about the chase. One after another the long undulations of brown heather and yellow grass are left behind; except for a directness of course which regards not paths we might be hunting a fox, but sooner or later we shall come to one of the brooks, or rivers, with which the country is intersected; then will appear one of the main characteristics of staghunting, and the science and woodcraft of the huntsman will be tried to the utmost.

The old hymn, “As pants the hart for cooling streams,” still frequently sang in parishes about Exmoor, on the Sunday preceding a convenient meet of the Hounds, has more sense in it than many sacred lyrics. There are few deer that die on dry land, fewer still that do not seek, “when heated in the chase,” to gain respite from their pursuers and refreshment for themselves in brook, river or sea. It is very doubtful if running water carries any scent at all, hence, when the Hounds bring the line to a stream, the huntsman is always careful to observe in what direction they are pointing, as generally, if a deer enters water with his head up stream, he will have gone up and vice versa. His next care is to get Hounds on both banks, so that they may hit off the line wherever the deer has gone out, and it is very pretty to see the way in which the older Hounds will, of their own accord, take charge, some of either side, while others will work in the water itself, winding every rock and overhanging branch which their quarry may have touched in his course. Deer will often wait in a pool till Hounds come up to them, and though a drink and a roll in the water refreshes them wonderfully, a fresh find gives their pursuers a great advantage, for even if the deer is not so beaten that he must forthwith stand to bay, yet the Hounds will now be able to press him closely and drive him over his pace, and once they can do that, the end is at hand.

That, as already mentioned, usually comes in some stream, and after a good run the clamour of the Hounds, as they close round their game, is as thrilling as the sight itself of the stag standing at bay, with his head erect, facing and fighting his enemies to the last. Every effort is always made to shorten the final scene, and to prevent the Hounds biting or injuring the deer, who is secured as quickly as possible. His throat is then cut by the huntsman, the Hounds are given the blood and entrails, and the carcase is placed in safe keeping till the venison can be distributed among the farmers of the district. Then comes the journey home, and a long one it often is: for there is hardly a parish between Bridgewater and Barnstaple through which the deer do not roam sometimes, and as they will constantly stand before Hounds running for two hours at best pace, it will readily be understood that many miles are traversed when poor scent or other misadventure enables the deer to husband his or her strength, and keep on travelling. Even in August and September, midnight has been known to strike before the Hounds got back to their kennels; and in the winter months, though the day’s work begins at ten, it is very seldom they are home till after dark: for the hinds are even tougher and more enduring than the stags, and there are few weeks between the 1st July and 1st April in which the Staghounds are not in the field—for there is more difficulty now in keeping down than in keeping up the number of the deer. People often ask what head there is of them. It is a question impossible to answer: suffice it to say that one hundred and one is the greatest, and forty-five the least number killed in any season since 1876, and that there are enough to afford sport for seven or eight months every year, and to unite the whole country side in promoting prosperity to staghunting.