Monday, 9th January 1882.—Hounds met at Ayton, where there was breakfast at the Buck6. This was the most extraordinary day I ever had. I rode Queen Mab in the morning till she got an overreach, when I changed on to Faraway, on which horse I finished the first, and was there when Bob Brunton took the fox from the hounds in Hell Gill. I state this to correct the press accounts, which describe my getting my second horse in the great run—not to save my own credit, but to preserve the record of my horse’s marvellous performance. The first was a ringing run, fairly fast, on the hills between Roseberry Topping and Guisborough Banks, and for forty minutes I rode Faraway up and [Pg 210] down the hills, over the moors8, and in and out of the gills before we found the second and ever-memorable9 fox. My brother Jack10 did not have a second horse, but rode his mount (a blood Irish hunter called Sligo, that cost two hundred and fifty guineas, and was worth every sixpence of the money) all day, and “let him have it” in the first run. If we had both started from scratch, he might have taken first honours; as it was, he took the second place in a numerous field, as the sequel will show. I have no doubt that the competition between us ministered to my success, for we generally rode a trifle jealous, but were always best pleased when we could share the honours.
I must for a moment depart from my diary, and say a word about [Pg 211] Faraway. He was an Irish thoroughbred, by Fairyland, purchased at Tattersall’s in 1880, from the stud of chestnuts11 sent up by Captain Amcotts, of the 5th Dragoon Guards. He was knocked down to me for fifty guineas. I followed him back to his box, and when I asked the groom12 why he had only two old shoes on, and what was wrong with the brute13, he said, “Sure, he’s a grand hunter, and nothing wrong wid him; but ye can’t shoe him, clip him, or physic him.” Some years after I found that he had killed a blacksmith just before I bought him; he was quite capable of killing14 any number of that profession or any other—yet it was not temper, but fear and nerves, that made him dangerous. Fast as the wind, hard as nails, wild as a hawk15, are all expressions [Pg 212] that fitted him. His little failings were discourtesy—for he met strangers visiting his box on his hind-legs and sparred at them—and buck-jumping, at which he could beat anything I ever saw at the Wild West Show, refusing to let anyone hold his bridle17 or to stand still while being mounted. One great fault he had—he would not, when hounds ran, allow you to open a gate, always managing, if you did succeed in getting your hand out to reach the catch, to dive under your arm and whip round; while, if anyone opened the gate for you, he went through it like a bullet. But when once I had become familiar with his eccentricities18, and abandoned all attempts to differ with his methods and manners, I found him one of the most delightful19 mounts I ever got [Pg 213] across—all life, liberty, and whalebone, and impossible to tire. I counted him among the most precious of my possessions, till after a bad fall he nearly killed me, breaking a few of my bones, and making me literally20 sit up and spit blood. I then yielded to the solicitations of my friends, and sold him to Mr. James Darrell, who told me he had gone well in Leicestershire in other hands.
To return to my diary. After the first fox had been broken up, and the brush presented to the Hon. A. Sidney, of Ingleby, the head being attached to my own saddle, we went to Highcliff, where we found the real old C?sar, a great grey-hound fox. He broke over the moor7 at once, and we raced across to Bethel Slack. They drove down Wiley Gill, [Pg 214] making the ravine ring again, as far as Slapewath, and then he again took the open for a short time, till he got level with Cass Rock. He then took along Guisborough Banks to where we found him, hounds running hard all the way. He now tried a change of tactics, and took a line that was to astonish all and to make most cry “capevi!” [4] breaking on to Guisborough Moor. Hounds followed at a terrific pace, leaving all but the blood horses far behind. By Sleddale he turned west and crossed the great bog21. My brother (who was level with, or in front of me here) and I went straight at it, our only chance of getting near the now flying pack being to take everything as it came. In we went, [Pg 215] both together, he getting to the other side with a frantic22 struggle; Faraway, mad with being thus checked, rolled, plunged23, and kicked, so that I could not recover the reins24 after I had got on to my feet. After a minute’s delay, that seemed an eternity25, we bucketed up the hill, while below us were others in the bog, looking in vain for a crossing. When I reached the sky-line, nothing could I see or hear. One moment of agonising anxiety, and I caught a glimpse of my brother’s hat, bobbing up as he rose a distant hill. As hard as I could take my horse, I made for this ever-blessed top-hat, and came up with him near the Piggeries, as he rode at the tail of the now almost silent pack, streaming in a file along the moor road. They ran as if it were a drag; it was [Pg 216] real business. A mile like this on the straight, and then a swift, sure swing over the wall to the right, and they were flying over the Kildale Valley—my brother and I, in our glory, taking every wall and fence as it met us. A left turn, and in a minute we were going up the valley to the moors above Baysdale. Here were sheep pastures enclosed with hideous26 walls, wire on most, and all uphill. Sligo takes a line of barricaded27 gaps; Faraway goes slap-bang through the first gate, and then takes the timber decently and in order. Another bog, another stream, a few more fences, and then the open moor. How much longer can a horse go this pace? It is too serious a business to speak to each other as we pound down into Baysdale, the hounds getting the better [Pg 217] of us. As we cross the enclosures by Baysdale Abbey, the one solitary28 ploughman in the out-of-the-world valley stops in his work to look at the rare spectacle.
“Have you seen him?” I shout.
“Ay! a gurt grey-hound fox.”
“How long since?”
“Seven minutes.”
Seven minutes, and hounds racing29 like this! Will they never check?—no, they never will, and some will never return to the kennel30 again. The Abbey is passed in one hour and twenty minutes from the find, with only one momentary31 check, and the mountain beyond looks impossible to negotiate. I cross the stream, and begin the ascent32 with a few tail hounds. They have shot their bolt, and are struggling on with [Pg 218] bloodshot eyes, dropping into my wake as I pass them.
“Come on, Jack! You must do it.”
“I can’t. Look at Sligo.”
Sligo was standing33 rocking at the foot of the hill, with his back up and staring eye—he was completely done. Could I get up to that sky-line where the last trailing hounds were disappearing? It looked desperate, but Faraway did it, and now I must give him a minute. I had dismounted the last twenty yards to pull him up the top edge of the scar. I could see about eleven couple filing away along the ridge34 of the moor half a mile ahead. Absolutely nothing but range after range of barren moors was now in sight! Where was this strange fox bound for? [Pg 219] I was astonished to find my horse still full of going, as I got on to the ridge and on to sound ground, and in a few minutes I was alongside the leading seven couple. Hounds now bore along for the Farndale head moors, and one by one the stragglers gave up the chase. Now and then one of these would pull up all at once. I saw the veteran Hermit35 roll into the heather, where he was found cold and dead next day. Still the leading bunch held on, and Wrangle36 (from the Oakley) is driving away first, followed closely by Statesman, Bajazet, Rascal37, and Ringwood. As they crossed a boggy38 slack, I strained my eyes to see this terrible fox; it was impossible he could stand up many minutes more. I felt for my knife—but the end is not to be yet. The thought uppermost in my [Pg 220] mind is, what a wonder my horse is! Is it possible for any animal to survive this? and yet he is going strong. The moors look endless; I can see, even in the fast-deepening dusk, miles of desolation in front.
A turn to the right, and we reach the edge of the hillside above Ingleby. Down the rocks and the cliff-side dash the now only seven couple, and once more open into cry. The pace on the moor was too great for much speaking. I cannot get down there. I make a despairing effort to cross a bog at the top—I cannot do it. The north wind is blowing a cloud of spray from the dripping bog at the edge of the cliff, and the stars are coming out. I see beyond me an abandoned workman’s shanty39, and my mind is made up. The door is locked; a good kick and [Pg 221] it is open. In the inside there is just room for my horse. The ceiling is low, but so is now his head. I shut the door and run as fast as top-boots will allow along the edge of the cliff to the top of Midnight Crags. Here I hear the hounds still running some hundred of feet below me in the darkness. I labour on, till, exhausted40, I sit down above the pass into Bilsdale. I can still hear them occasionally, in spite of the wind howling up the gully, and then all is still. I wait some minutes, then halloo with all my might. They have either killed or run to ground, but wherever it is, I cannot reach them.
Eventually five and a half couples came to me, and I floundered and blundered over the moor to my horse. I had not a match, so as to [Pg 222] examine the mouths of the hounds, but, as far as I could judge, they had not killed. I could find no blood—perhaps if they had run into him they had not managed to do more than just kill. I drained my flask41, and led my horse down the Ingleby incline, reaching at length Ingleby village.
When I got to the inn, to my surprise, there was Bob Brunton, who, having lost all trace of us in Kildale, whither he had tracked us, had ridden on here with Richard Spink of the Bilsdale, where, night overtaking them, they had sought shelter and refreshment42. Bob, on seeing me, literally hugged me, and swore I ought to be knighted. We got the hounds bedded in a barn and fed, and my horse gruelled, and [Pg 223] then I jogged home—but sleep was banished43 by aching limbs, and the excitement of the day. All night I saw the whole scene enacted44 over again. The streaming ten couple always tearing and racing on as if for ever over valley and lonely moor. I felt my horse floundering through the bogs45 again; myself clambering up and down those gills under the stars—each wall and stream, gate and stile were jumped a dozen times. I could see again the straggling hounds, run out, sitting in the heather, and hear their dismal46 howling as they realised they were “done” and “lost.”
Now this run was an extraordinarily47 long one; it cannot be made less than 19 miles, and is more like 21. It was 11 miles from point of find to Ingleby Landslip; but where I think it tops the record is the pace. [Pg 224] I believe the whole run to have occupied 1 hour and 45 minutes—1 hour and 20 minutes to Baysdale, and 25 on to the landslip. I know that it will not be credited by most hunting-men, but it must be remembered that it was mostly over open moorland, with few obstacles to check hounds, and, except the solitary ploughman in Baysdale, no sign of humanity all the way. Three hounds died of exhaustion48, and the other lost ones were only got back by degrees during the week following.
In connection with this run I think the following performance of Bob Brunton’s worth recording49. He had hunted all day, being at the meet at Ayton some miles from his home, and I found him at Ingleby at night. He remounted after he had attended to the hounds, and [Pg 225] rode to Guisborough, say 8 miles, where he looked in at a political meeting which was being held; he rode on the same night to the Kennels50 at Warrenby, 8 miles more, and found the huntsman sitting up disconsolate51 and refusing to go to bed without his hounds. He started before daybreak (3 a.m.), and, riding the same horse, accompanied the huntsman, Will Nicoll, to Ingleby (12 miles); hence he helped to collect the lost hounds on the moor and in Bilsdale; and the following afternoon I met him, still on the same horse, now more like a gigantic grey-hound than anything else, escorting the hounds back to Warrenby from Ingleby (16 miles); and when this was accomplished52, he rode home [Pg 226] to Marton (7 miles); so that if we put down 40 miles for the long hard day’s hunting, we have
To the meet and two long runs, and to Ingleby 40
Ingleby to Guisborough 8
Guisborough to Warrenby 8
Warrenby to Ingleby 16
Collecting hounds 10
Ingleby to Warrenby 16
Warrenby to Marton 7
―
105
―
a total of 105 miles, 65 of which were undoubtedly53 ridden after the day’s hunting by Mr. Brunton on the same horse that he had ridden hard (for he was among the hardest riders ever seen in Cleveland) during the longest and severest day the Cleveland hounds have had in my lifetime.
As for the horses, Faraway was at covert54 side again within three weeks. Sligo, with whom it appeared to be a case for an anxious hour or so, [Pg 227] came up to time as well.
Finally, a few words about the hounds that led the van. Two couple were to the front the whole time, and Wrangle led throughout.
1. Wrangle was a powerful bitch that Mr. Wharton, now master
of the Cleveland, brought from the Oakley. She was by the
old at the time of this run, and was on the list of the
running hounds till 1885, and at the great age of 9, for a
hunting-hound, could still hold her place. From this bitch
2. Ringwood, by Lord Fitzwilliam’s Champion, out of his
Roguish, was 7 years old.
3. Bajazet, by Milton Bajazet, out of their Scornful, was 6
years old.
Careless, was 5 years old.
5. Statesman, by the Belvoir Saffron, out of their Redcap,
was 6 years old.
[Pg 228]
The following were the remainder of the leading bunch as they ran into the darkness:—
6. General, by Major Brown’s Chorister, out of his Gracious,
7 years old.
Symmetry, 7 years old.
Durham Actress, 5 years old.
9. Gertrude, by Cleveland General, out of Cleveland Careless,
5 years old.
10. Novelty, by Cleveland Nelson, out of Cleveland Friendly,
3 years old.
11. Merryman, by Cleveland Senator, out of Cleveland Maypole,
3 years old.
The surviving hounds were thus—
Hounds 7 years old 3
" 6 " " 2
" 5 " " 4
" 3 " " 2
" " " " ―
" " " " 5? couple.
" " " " ―
[Pg 229]
It is a little painful to confess that other blood than Cleveland made this run the memorable one it is. But so it was that in a chase that tested the pace, stamina60, and endurance of hounds to their utmost limit, the Milton blood showed best in front. I have placed the ages of these hounds on record as being evidence of the value of mature-seasoned hounds, and in the hope that it may discourage the tendency of many M.F.H.’s, in these days, when stoutness61 is so often sacrificed for appearance, to yield to the temptation of replacing hounds in their prime by a big entry of promising62 and shapely puppies. I shall ever maintain that the proved hounds of from 4 to 6, or even 7 years old, should form the main body of a pack, and I firmly believe that there would be more straight-necked foxes and good [Pg 230] runs satisfactorily finished were this the rule. As it is, there are generally twice, or even three times, the number of hounds 1, 2, or 3 years, than of older ones. [5]
Since this day I have seen many a good run, over every variety of country, and each hunting morning that I ride out I start hoping for such another; but as the seasons slip away and years roll on, the hope grows fainter and fainter, and I begin to think that as long as life [Pg 231] lasts I shall never again see anything like it. Like others, as they begin to get grey, I become laudator temporis acti, and ask, Where are now the hounds that could do this? Where is there another fox like old C?sar? And, worst of all, I doubt if I or any horse of mine could struggle to the end if such an opportunity should ever return.
There have, of course, been many more remarkable63 runs than this one recorded. One of my father’s tenants64, who recently died, told me he remembered, when a boy, Ralph Lambton coming into Bishop65 Auckland on foot, with one and a half couple of hounds and a fox dead beat a few yards in front, calling through the streets, “Hoick to Jingler66!” The fox lay down in the main street, and the hounds, quite done and unable [Pg 232] to tackle him, lay down beside him. The master gave them a few minutes to kill him, but as they could not, he had the fox attended to, and turned down again in his native covert in the Sedgefield country.
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1
survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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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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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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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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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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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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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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18
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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19
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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22
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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23
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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25
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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26
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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27
barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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28
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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29
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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34
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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35
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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wrangle
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| vi.争吵 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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38
boggy
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| adj.沼泽多的 | |
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shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bogs
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| n.沼泽，泥塘( bog的名词复数 )；厕所v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的第三人称单数 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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recording
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kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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54
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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wrangler
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| n.口角者，争论者；牧马者 | |
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56
flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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ransack
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| v.彻底搜索，洗劫 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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60
stamina
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| n.体力；精力；耐力 | |
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61
stoutness
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| 坚固，刚毅 | |
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62
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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63
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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64
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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65
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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66
jingler
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| 喝醉酒的人 | |
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