SO John Jorrocks felt and said; but in his oratorical2 effort to glorify3 hunting he both over- and under-did his figures of rhetoric—for though stag-hunting, so long as we have the buck-hounds, may yet be a royal sport in Old England, the whole line of crowned heads that have done us the honour of sitting on our throne would repudiate4 fox-hunting as the sport of kings, while the people would claim it for their [Pg 128] own. It is the privilege of no class; its constitution is republican, founded and living on liberty, equality, and fraternity. Fox-hunting has grown out of ill-repute during the last two centuries, and has long been placed first in popular affection. Good Queen Bess, [1] by a statute5 (8 Eliz. cap. 15) “for killing6 of verming as foxes and such like,” gave expression to her people’s wishes, and provided a machinery7 of rewards for the head of every “fox” or “gray” (badger); whilst St. John, in his speech on the trial of Strafford, makes the blood of the modern sportsman run cold as he cries out: “It is true we give law to hares and deer because they be beasts of chase. It was [Pg 129] never accounted either cruelty or foul8 play to knock foxes and wolves on the head as they can be found, because these be beasts of prey9.” Mr. R. B. Turton, the editor of The North Riding Quarter Sessions Records (from whom I quote), truly remarks that, however shocking to our feelings, fox-hunting seems to have occupied somewhat the same position in this period that rat-catching does now. The statute of Elizabeth just referred to remained on the Statute-Book till 1863, and was actually in operation in Cleveland at least as late as 1847. There are in the Register and Churchwarden accounts for Lythe many entries of the rewards paid by the parish for “werment,” from 1705 to 1847. A few extracts will suffice for my object, which is to find some excuse for [Pg 130] the illegitimate proceedings11 that have been continued even to my own day in certain outlying districts of the Cleveland Hunt.
1706. —Ugthorpe quarter—for 14 fullmor [2] heads 0 04 8
Newton—for 11 fullmor and 3 fox heads 0 12 8
Barnby—6 fullmor heads 0 02 0
Lythe—3 fox heads and 6 fullmor heads 0 11 0
1787. —To 10 fox heads, 2 at Kettleness, 1 at
Mickleby, 1 at Ugthorpe, 3 at Goldsbro’,
and 3 catched in a trap at Mulgrave Castle 2 0 0
(We still know of the trap in which these foxes were “catched”!)
1846. —1 jackal head 0 8 0
5 fox heads 1 0 0
1847. —(Last entry) 1 fox head 0 4 0
From a study of the many entries similar to the above, it appears that the price set on a fox’s head in Cleveland was, in the earlier period, [Pg 131] 3s., and in the present century 4s. The “jackal head” is a mystery that I cannot pretend to solve; the only jackal I ever heard of in Cleveland being a tame one that I imported from Africa, which is living and thriving to-day, after several years of domestic life in anything but an African climate. When I was a boy, I was told by a very old sporting yeoman farmer, that it was the custom in other days, after a kill with the “Roxby and Cleveland” hounds, to go to the parson with the head, get the head money, and then to adjourn13 to the nearest public-house and expend14 the price of blood over a bowl of punch, the flavour of which was heightened by the addition of a pad, the brush, or the whole head to the mixture. This, I have no doubt, might correctly be described as [Pg 132] strong drink.
But to hark back on the line for a moment. I feel I must qualify my opening paragraph, for I have suddenly remembered a passage I lately read in one of the Reports of the Historical MSS. Commission, which both shows that royalty15 in the seventeenth century countenanced16 fox-hunting, and that it is of greater antiquity17 than some modern authors generally suppose. Here is the extract taken from a Newsletter, November 17, 1674: “11th, on Saturday or Sunday (!) next His Royal Highness and the Duke of Monmouth and divers18 persons of quality go to Chichester, where they are to lodge19 in the Bishop20’s (!) Palace, and expect all the gentry21 of the neighbourhood to repair with their dogs [Pg 133] for seven or eight days’ fox-hunting.” It must have been a curious sight on that Sunday morning to see His Royal Highness, the Duke, the Bishop, the divers persons of quality, with their dogs, at the palace—and one can picture the appearance of the “dogs,” collected from all parts of the country, of all shapes and sizes.
But I am hanging on the line, if not dwelling22 in covert23, and all this was meant to be by way of saying that these old-fashioned ideas of fox-hunting seem to have penetrated24, to some extent at least, to the days when I first hunted with the Cleveland hounds. I can testify that to many of the sportsmen on foot, even to many of the farmers on horseback, the fox was certainly in the class of “verming and such [Pg 134] like,” and that they considered it a most magnanimous proceeding12, instead of “to knock” foxes on the head as they can be found, because these be beasts of prey, “to shake him out of a bag and collect all the dogs,” and have a “hoont.”
The reader must not be too hard on them; they were hard-working farmers, with small means, who could not afford the serious depredations25 that they suffered from foxes amongst their moor26 sheep, and especially amongst their lambs in the spring. There was no M.F.H., in the modern sense. They kept a few hounds, one here and one there, which were collected or “blown up” on hunting days, and they managed their sport in a very homely27 and simple fashion, many of them never [Pg 135] having a horse to ride, and following on foot. For the man on foot with fox-hounds I have the most profound respect and admiration28. I mean, of course, the genuine article,—not the loafer with a club and a hare-pocket in the inside of his coat, nor the determined29 and ignorant sightseer, who stands in the middle of the field next the whin covert, displaying British independence when asked to “come in,” or who obstinately30 sits on a gate hallooing every time a fox attempts to break; but the dauntless man whose love of the sport and hound work is such that he counts as nothing aching limbs and blowing bellows31, nor the weary tramp home, if he can only get a look in.
It is not the footman who alone sins through carelessness and [Pg 136] ignorance—in some riding-men the latter quality seems invincible32. I knew one, a regular follower33 of hounds, who went out with Lord Zetland’s and finished with the Hurworth, without ever discovering that he had changed packs. Such good fellows as the followers34 of hounds on foot ought to receive the fraternal welcome of their mounted colleagues in the field—whilst a kind word, instead of choice Billingsgate, will do more than restrain the ignorant sinner, and tend to his better understanding of what is required of him. Every man, as long as he respects the rules of the game, has a right to be there. It occurs to me, as I turn over the leaves of my hunting diary, that I was not always so patient with the footmen, as, for instance, on December [Pg 137] 26, 1881, when I record: “Monday, Hounds at Paradise Farm. A most inappropriate name for a most unfortunate day—the country flooded with foot people. The sky-line black with them—a most horrible sight! We had soon a fox on foot, but, headed in every direction, he fell a victim to the mob’s thirst for blood. A like horrible fate awaited the second fox on Guisborough Moor, above Bethel Slack; the spectacle of the hundreds round the corpse35 of the poor murdered brute36, clamouring for fox-skin, was heartrending. What added to the mortification37 was the fact of the day being an ideal one, soft, cloudy, scenting38. Some of the remarks I overheard tended to relieve the dark melancholy40 of the day. One delightful41 ruffian, with an awful club, turned to another with a [Pg 138] bludgeon in his hand. ‘The dogs never gav oos a chance, they moordered him, not killed him.’ Mr. —— nearly rode over one of the crowd, and on the nearly overridden42 one remonstrating43 in forcible language, soothed44 him with the remark, ‘There’ll be plenty more left when you’re done for,’ which, however unfeeling, was the naked truth. Another scene of this unhappy day that gave a momentary45 joy was that of two men on bare-backed, hairy-heeled farm horses with blinkers on. One said to the other, ‘Blame it all! I wish we could get away from these foot people!’”
Years ago, when I was a boy, it was not a rare thing with the farmer’s trencher-fed pack with which I hunted to turn a fox down in the [Pg 139] moorland district where grouse-preserving or sheep-farming made a find always uncertain and often impossible. Thirteen minutes was the law allowed, and when time was called, hounds were laid on. There is no denying that if pace and distance are the only desiderata, a stout46 old moor- or cliff-fox, turned down some distance from home, will give a better run than any you are likely to get by legitimate10 methods in a season. The blot47 on such a performance is not so much unfairness to the fox, for with thirteen minutes’ law a good fox was more than often a match for the hounds, even when aniseed or turpentine had been applied48 to his pads. He had at least as good a chance of saving his bacon as if he had been found in the whin covert, where many a good fox has [Pg 140] been chopped before making his try for the open. No, it is not the pace of a run, the distance from point to point, or the perfection of the country, that make up the whole sport of hunting. The sport consists in the meeting of the hound and the animal hunted on nature’s own terms in a free field with no favour, and in being there to see the struggle. And to the man with real hunting instinct, no steeplechase after aniseed or a bagman can give the satisfaction and delight of the success in accounting49 for a wild-bred fox, whether the day be bright or dull, the scent39 hot or cold. And while no one could derive50 greater enjoyment51 from the fast good thing over the pick of the country, more than half his pleasure is due to the feeling that the reward of a [Pg 141] red-letter day has been worked for honestly and is due to no resort to artifice52.
Contrast the pleasure that the man with no idea beyond his boots, coat, tie, galloping53 and jumping, extracts from a day’s hunting, with that which the man who is a genuine “hunter” obtains. Putting aside the social pleasures of the chase, the meeting of friends by the covert side, and the incidents of interest and amusement in the field, the pleasure of the one is dependent on being well mounted in a good country after a straight-necked fox; and he is an exacting54 and hypercritical follower of hounds. The other feels the longest day too short, and can enjoy hounds puzzling out a line, bustling55 a fox through woodlands, or driving him over a moor, with one idea uppermost [Pg 142] —to be there to see every detail of their work as if he were a hound himself. Weather, indifferent scent, bad countries, ugly fences, and even an imperfect mount, are but to him difficulties he can delight in fighting with. He rides to hunt; but he who hunts to ride will, as years pass by, find the bad days are too many, the good days too few, the country too familiar to ever taste the rapture56 and expectation that charmed his younger days: either he abandons the chase or comes out for air, exercise, and gossip. But from youth to age the other’s interest never flags. When a boy the hounds are a wonder; the country is an immense and mysterious paradise; the hard man is his model; the huntsman his hero; and in every fox he sees the possibility of the [Pg 143] run of the season; truly the life with horse and hound is his ideal of earthly bliss57. For him, as for us all, time brushes away the mysteries, and the scene loses its fresh enchantment58. Hope is the richest treasure of warm-blooded youth, gilding59 each day with glorious possibilities, but the old enemy is gentler with him than with the other. He may no longer spring lightly on to the hunter with the wild eye and winging quarters, feeling equal to sending him along, no matter where, no matter how far—his eye kens60 each corner of the once unknown land, he has tasted all the joys and triumphs that the chase can give. The red-letter days, he knows, are few and far between, and when they come they but jog his memory of a better. But if his heart no longer beats [Pg 144] with the hot anticipation61 of the long ago, his experience gives him a conscious power, and an ability to appreciate niceties unnoticed by the crowd; his memory is a storehouse in which he delights to rummage62. The melancholy that must accompany age, he, like others, may not escape from—the moments when he re-peoples his country with those who have gone, and remembers the voices that are heard no more. But the landscape from the covert side is all the dearer to him for the echo of voices long since stilled, and the cry of those hounds whose blood still flows in the streaming black and white and tan with whom he still holds a place.
Well, then, if it was almost like a habit in some districts, where foxes were systematically63 kept down, for a past generation to save the [Pg 145] day’s sport by resorting to a bagman, the reader must not be shocked if I confess to being a living witness to what in charity we may ascribe to an hereditary64 tendency. After all, there was more excuse for them than for some noblemen. They at least dug out the wild fox from the sea-cliffs, while the fashionable game-preserver, or the titled vulpicide, purchased his fox in Leadenhall.
I have just turned up an old ballad65 which I have never seen in print, and as it touches on the subject, I may as well give it a place here, premising, however, that I cannot but think it is libellous, looking to the way in which subsequent bearers of the title of Lonsdale have associated themselves with the best interests of real sport.
[Pg 146]
LORD LONSDALE’S HOUNDS:
1849-1850.
It was an Earl of ancient name
Who hunted the fox, but preferred him tame,
Though his sire had been a hunter free,
As bold as e’er rode o’er a grass countree.
The sire would mount his high-bred horse,
And view the wild fox from the hillside gorse;
The son goes down by a second-class train,
Worries a bagman, and home again.
’Tis half-past twelve by the railway clocks,
And the Earl has called for his horse and his fox;
And then comes a man with a long birch broom,
Clad in the Earl’s discarded breeches,
The Earl’s admirers are ranged in Brown’s yard,
They all wear top-boots and intend to ride hard;
Whether “wily fox” or timid hare
[Pg 147]
Be the game to-day, none of them care.
Well was it the Earl had called for his fox,
And brought it from Tring in a little deal box,
For three hours and more they drew for a hare,
But drew in vain! All was blank despair.
Then said the Earl to the elder Brown,
“Open your box and turn him down.”
So they turned him down in Aylesbury vale,
In front of a fence called a post and a rail,
To suit the views of a certain gent,
Who rather liked “Rails,”[3] and thought he went.
Over the rails the first to fly
Was the gent of course, but the fox was shy,
And would have declined, but the Earl and his groom,
The huntsman and whip, and his man with the broom,
Two boys in a cart, and the Browns, Sam and John,
Wouldn’t hear of his shirking, and drove him along.
A pleasant line the captive took,
As you may imagine, he ran by rule,
Only taking the leaps he had learned at school.
Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed,
Close on his flying traces came,
And nearly won the desperate game.
But just as the Earl was preparing to sound
So they dug him out; and the Earl and his groom,
And the Browns and the gent and the man with the broom,
And the fox and the hounds are at Tring again,
And the Earl has gone back by the five o’clock train.
[Pg 148]
How well I remember some of those illegitimate days, and at this distance of time I can do no harm in telling tales of those with whom I was a post facto accomplice71. Not only I, but the very hounds knew what was “up” when we met at Liverton. Hounds’ heads all one way; ears cocked and sterns waving, and every now and again a dash of the wilder members of the pack, followed by cracking whips and hunt servants [Pg 149] galloping round the paddock. Such days remain clear in my memory. The fox generally had been procured72 overnight from the great sea-cliffs of Boulby, where it was dangerous for hounds to draw, and where many a leading hound has met his end with a last fearful fall of 600 feet into the North Sea. I recollect73 a particularly long and trying run, when, after a fast twenty minutes over the stiff enclosures between Moorsholm and Grinkle, and after crossing two of the deep gills that run up inland from the sea, our fox took the open moor, with some seven or eight survivors74 of the field in hot pursuit. His first point was Danby Beacon75, and, keeping the high ridge76 of the moor for awhile, he turned south into the valley of the Esk. A very excellent specimen77 of [Pg 150] the Cleveland hunting farmer, George Codling, senior, who will after this lapse78 of time forgive me for naming him, had now the best of it, and beat me to Castleton Park, being clearly first up when hounds pulled down their fox on the very edge of the Esk River. I was there a moment after Codling, and struggled with him to reach the fox, now in deep water, in the midst of the swimming pack, for these were the days when men turned their horses adrift, and almost fought for the honour of the brush, which fell to him who took the fox from the hounds. In our scuffle at the water’s edge, while we were using our hunting-crops as boat-hooks, I unintentionally knocked Codling’s hat into the river, thinking little of such a trivial accident at such a moment; but not [Pg 151] so Mr. Codling, who was hot with excitement, and annoyed by my efforts, which so far had only resulted in boat-hooking the fox into deeper waters. To lose the brush and his hat was too much, and though it was sleeting79 and bitterly cold, we both of us had difficulty in keeping our language at a decent temperature. I was too intent on my fishing, being up to the waist and having a tug80 of war with the hounds over the disputed trophy81, to much heed82 the noise of my companion. When, at last, after a successful dive for the remains83, I regained84 the bank with the head, backbone85, and brush, I thought that he would be appeased86 when I handed him the brush, for by this time I was cool enough, dripping and shaking all over; but not a bit of it: the brush, of course, was [Pg 152] his before, so there was nothing generous in my handing it to him. It was only adding insult to injury, to hand him a brush as if I was presenting a testimonial. Well, anything for peace and quietness, so in I went again for his hat, but still all efforts to make myself agreeable were in vain. What was the use to him of a hat full of mud and water on a coarse day like that? As we were wet through, and covered with bog87 mud, I thought a wet and muddy tile was all that any reasonable man had a right to expect, but I think I promised him a new hat; if I have never given him one (and my memory fails me on this point), I shall be most happy to do so now. I am certain of this, that he demanded a new hat all the way homewards. What opportunities [Pg 153] artists miss! I can imagine no more comical scene for a looker-on. Codling, in hatless wrath88, with the draggled brush so hardly earned and rescued, pouring curses on me, whilst I stood open-mouthed, blue, and shaking, with the dripping head in my hands, the hounds crouching89 and shivering and wretched around us, and the backbone of the fox lying between us—our horses disappearing on the horizon! I think what has stamped this day on my memory was the awful journey home in a blizzard90 with a tired horse. I hardly knew what I did, but in those days the head at my saddle, and the thought of the run, were ample compensation for all I had endured from the water, the weather, and the wrath of my successful competitor. I think that the disrespect I [Pg 154] showed to Mr. Codling’s hat rather increased in the end the friendly relationship between him and myself. It formed a fresh link in our hunting association, and he was far too keen a sportsman himself not to forgive an excess of zeal91 on the part of another, even when it had gone the length of nearly putting him in after his hat.
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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oratorical
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| adj.演说的，雄辩的 | |
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glorify
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| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
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repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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statute
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| n.成文法，法令，法规；章程，规则，条例 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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adjourn
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| v.（使）休会，（使）休庭 | |
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expend
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| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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countenanced
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| v.支持，赞同，批准( countenance的过去式 ) | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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18
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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depredations
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| n.劫掠，毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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27
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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29
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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bellows
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| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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38
scenting
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| vt.闻到（scent的现在分词形式） | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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overridden
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| 越控( override的过去分词 )； （以权力）否决； 优先于； 比…更重要 | |
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remonstrating
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的现在分词 )；告诫 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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49
accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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50
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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60
kens
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| vt.知道（ken的第三人称单数形式） | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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rummage
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| v./n.翻寻，仔细检查 | |
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systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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tickle
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| v.搔痒，胳肢；使高兴；发痒；n.搔痒，发痒 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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sleeting
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| 下雨夹雪，下冻雨( sleet的现在分词 ) | |
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tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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87
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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89
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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90
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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