Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  The pack apart, the turn-out was anything but first-rate; it was to be remembered though that probably it had been decided to hunt at the last minute, the thaw which made sport possible having, as I said, set in suddenly the evening before. The hounds are certainly large when contrasted with Mr Osbaldeston’s, Lord Yarborough’s, or the Duke of Beaufort’s; but, with the exception of the head which is broader, and wherein I think lies the chief characteristic of the breed, they are very little larger than the hounds of the Duke of Grafton, the Duke of Cleveland, Lord Fitzwilliam, or Mr Farquharson. They have, however, an individuality of their own; if all the packs in England could be collected together no man could have much difficulty in identifying Mr Horlock’s. Mr Farquharson’s approach them more nearly than any other hounds I know.

  The district in which we met had not much the look of a fox-hunting country — high hills, immense quarries, a canal, and a river. As there seemed no likelihood of any addition to the field, Mr Horlock immediately proceeded to draw the banks of the river; and the woods being tolerably open at the bottom the work of the hounds could be watched to great advantage. It was beautiful to see each taking his line along the hillside, nose down, working now to the right, now to the left, trying whether the varmint had been on his travels. Mr Horlock hunts them himself and does it very quietly; both his whippers-in seem to have good headpieces. Treadwell indeed is a very superior fellow; he was a great favourite in the Craven country.

  After leaving the banks of the river we moved away into a better country; but did not find until we came to Pomeroy, or Pomeroy Wood, when, with hounds well settled to the scent we lost our fox in a most extraordinary manner; he seemed either to have vanished into thin air or to have sunk into the ground, so sudden was his disappearance; yet there was no drain open, no earth near; neither were hounds pressed beyond the scent, for there was nobody on the spot to do it.

  Large as Mr Horlock’s hounds are, they are very quick in cover and in turning; and their dash is truly splendid. Fancy five and twenty couple of such fox-hounds with lots of music bursting out of cover together!

  On the following day I went to have a look at the pack in kennel, at Mr Horlock’s seat, Ashwick House, about six miles from Bath. Misled as to the distance I set off on foot and soon found I had set myself a stiffer task than I intended, such was the greasy state of the roads. On the way I was overtaken by Treadwell’s brother, Mr Codrington’s huntsman, with three bitches, on his way to Badminton; Abelard, and Ajax, the hounds to which he was taking his charges.

  Owing to the little sport we had had on the preceding day Mr Horlock was taking a bye; and I was as near missing the hounds as could be. I had looked over the few couples remaining at home and was on the point of leaving, when the feeder announced the approach of the pack; they had had a sharp scurry somewhere near the Monument and run their fox to ground, where he was left. I saw them fed and walked out afterwards; and then walked off myself.

  The reputation of Mr Horlock’s hounds is such that his draft is not to be obtained. Lord Kintore takes all Mr Horlock can spare, and away they go in one lot. He breeds them as large and powerful as he can, his doctrine being that unless fox-hounds have plenty of strength and substance they cannot compete with a good flying fox. He holds that many Masters of the present day who are all in favour of little ones will find out ere long that most good foxes will beat their hounds. Time will prove whether Mr Horlock is right or not.

  II. THE PYTCHLEY.

  (1833-1834.)

  SIGHT-SEEING CONDEMNED — AETHORP A SHOW PEACE — NORTHAMP TONSHIRE AS A HUNTING COUNTRY — THE WATERLOO GORSE — MR OSBAEDESTON’S EAST SEASON — EAST RUN FROM COTTES- BROOKE — SPORTING RUN FROM FAWSLEY WOOD — THE KIEL.

  IF riding across country affords us opportunities of contemplating natural beauties, what advantages it also offers for viewing stately mansions which the owner’s hauteur or our own bashfulness would otherwise never permit us to approach!

  Of all human miseries there is none equal to the sufferings of an unwilling sight-seer. I would rather be well cow-hided, as Jonathan would say, with one of Griffith’s best malacca cane-handled hunting-whips, or have all the skin rubbed off my back with one of his “oblique double-acting horse brushes,” than be condemned to ride with three ugly cousins (or even two) a-castle-seeing. All geese are swans in the country, and there is no place too mean for the admiration of a “lowly hung” mind, to use a coach-maker’s expression. The worst of all manias is decidedly that of house-seeing. It is the last stage of hydrophobia; but if I can survey my lord’s demesne with a pack of fox-hounds meeting in the park, I have no objection at all; one may almost be said to save a day — at all events to combine the work of two in one; and what shows a place off to greater advantage than a pack of hounds meeting before it? This, after the regular visiting invitation, is the most legitimate way of seeing a place, for the announcement of the meet is a sort of general invitation to the whole world.

  That train of thought was produced by recollection of the last day I hunted with Mr Osbaldeston’s hounds in Northamptonshire, when we met at Lord Spencer’s on much such a day as I have described. Althorp is decidedly a Show place — any man who knew you had been in the county would immediately ask if you had seen it; and yet I should not have approached it nearer than hounds occasionally led me in chase, had it not been that they met there one day to draw the park in which a litter of foxes was reported to have been reared. The same enticing cause brought me acquaintance with most of the seats in this thickly-parked county — there are more deer parks in Northamptonshire than in any other county of equal extent.

  Northamptonshire is worthy the name of a hunting county. If I had under my wing a foreigner who wanted to see the very cream of fox-hunting I would place him on the top of the little ravine that runs up Waterloo Gorse in the Harborough country, where he would see a fox found, and view him away over a scene that leaves the most jaundiced-eyed nothing to wish. What a view it is from the top of the hill above that gorse! Grass, grass, grass — nothing but grass for miles and miles, right away into the heart of Leicestershire! And such enclosures! Then, if old reynard were minded to take a turn to the south, as I have seen him do, what can be finer than the line across the Kelmarsh Vale, on to Naseby Field; or to the east by Artingworth, and over that magnificent vale? In fact, let him go where he would, barring the forest, perhaps, and he would have as fine a country before him as a man need wish to see.

  I think Waterloo Gorse is the finest cover I ever saw. It lies well down on the side of the hill — half-way down, like Shakespeare’s samphire gatherer, — is of fair extent, with strong lying in some parts and weakish in others; so that a fox which hangs is frequently viewed as he passes from part to part. There is a farmhouse at the top with a fine roost of cocks and hens that would appear to be kept for reynard’s special delectation. Then the place of mustering is so good! As the fox may take to the south no one thinks of going below hill, consequently if he points toward Leicestershire he is in no danger of being headed; and if the hounds are quick in getting out of cover they have time to settle to the scent before the great rush of horsemen takes place.

  Look also at the country and gorse near Lilboume! What can be finer than the grazing grounds in that district, or more beautiful than the cover on the slope of the hill below the mound which commands a view of the whole gorse? This is a very strong one, and it requires a good deal of working to get a fox out. The finest, sleekest fellow I almost ever saw was found in this gorse, and went away to the west, towards Misterton, regardless of an immense array of horsemen that crowded on the other side of the hedge along which he passed. The country about Lilbourne is tremendous. There are some of the stiffest, highest fences, with some of the widest drains in the whole of Northamptonshire, or perhaps in the whole of England. In fact I never rightly appreciated a bullfinch until I cast my eye over these. Crick also is well supplied that way, but the fences there are not, I think, equal to those in the Lilbourne country and
to those eastward, towards Mr Otway-Cave’s house, Stanford Hall. The country down by Claycotton, Velvertoft, Winwick, and Watford is very fine, with large grazing grounds. Winwick Warren is one of the favourite covers of the hunt, though some say that sufficient attention is not paid to this part of the country. The Grand Junction Canal which intersects the whole of this western side is a nuisance, to be sure; but it is better to have it there than in the centre of the hunt. Welton Place, between Watford and Daventry, is a fairish country, though I do not think so much of it as some people. A good friend to foxhunting, Mr Whieldon, fives there; his gorse generally holds a fox for the hounds, and his house an excellent breakfast for the sportsmen. It is pleasant in these days of selfishness to see a man who, I believe, is not a professed sportsman, taking the trouble to promote the amusement and happiness of his neighbours.

  A mile or two below Welton Place are some extensive willow beds which frequently hold a fox; and further south again we come to Dodford Holt, a gorse cover which used to be a sure find, but a spade-husbandry garden having been lately established in the neighbourhood, which draws together a good many idle hands, it is not quite so certain as it used to be.

  Mr Drake and the Duke of Grafton have a shoe off the lower end of the country, the former’s share being very stiff. The Duke’s, I believe, is chiefly woodland, Whittlebury Forest and so on. Nobottle Wood, near Althorp, is a sure find; and if foxes go into the vale below a good run is sure to follow; the line by Brington, Floore, and into the Weedon country, is very fine. There are two capital gorses, beautifully placed on hills, a little to the west of Nobottle Wood — the property of Lord Spencer — which generally hold stout-running foxes. The bird’s-eye view from the range of hills that runs through this part of the country can hardly be surpassed even by the far-famed Brighton Downs. All Lord Spencer’s property is well stocked with foxes, and the country is very friendly. Brington or Brampton Common, and Dallington Firs are always full; eight or nine foxes were viewed one afternoon in the early part of the season at the latter place.

  Duston is too near Northampton, as also is Delapre Abbey, the seat of Mr Bouverie, which contains more than one good friend to the cause. Crossing the Northampton road towards Wellingborough, we come upon the plough country which, though good, is not in great favour; but we soon get off it again across the Kettering road, when a splendid grazing district greets the eye, to the north. Mr Isted fives in the plough district, at Ecton, a fine old family mansion. He is a very keen sportsman and gives capital hunting breakfasts.

  The Northamptonshire woodlands are very extensive, and in this respect it has a decided advantage over Leicestershire as a hunting country. Nothing can be better than the Duke of Buccleuch’s range of woodlands to the north, extending twenty miles from end to end; here they may begin as early and hunt as late (with sport) as they can in any part of England, the New Forest not excepted; they generally kill twenty brace of foxes before they disturb a cover in the Pytchley country. The kennel is at Brigstock on the borders of Geddington Chase and Rockingham Forest; and they have walks, among the Duke of Buccleuch’s tenants, for fifteen couples, five couple of which the Duke has if the whole lot come in well. Mr Osbaldeston has walks for between forty and fifty couple on his own estates near Scarborough. I need scarcely add that he is a YorksMreman, for no other country in the world could produce such a thorough sportsman.

  Northamptonshire is an expensive country to hunt — at least to hunt it properly as Mr Osbaldeston used to do. I speak in the past tense because I am sure the Squire will not be offended, and indeed would only laugh at me, were I to say he did the thing in style this season when he is only scrambling on by way of a mutual accommodation to himself and the country; I have seen him in his best day and know what he used to be. Until this season he had three kennels — viz.: at Brixworth, Dunchurch, and Brigstock, which must have added considerably to the expense of the thing; the keepers and earth-stoppers alone come to about £200 a year, I believe. However, it is a fine shire, and worth all the money that was ever laid out in hunting it. The country might be improved, to be sure, by planting a few more covers, for in some districts they he wide apart. For instance, one day after leaving Lilboume we had to go all the way to Winwick Warren, seven or eight miles, to draw for a second fox. True, we passed Mr Otway-Cave’s covers, but in those there are too many pheasants for foxes; also Hempley Hills which had been drawn a few days before, and is never a very favourite place on account of the habit of its foxes; they generally run in a ring and regain the hills, after the fashion of their Surrey brethren; so it is “up and down” all day, like buckets in a well.

  Blue Berries near Lamport, the property of Sir Justinian Isham, is a very pretty cover, sloping down a hill; it generally holds either a fox or a pheasant. Blue Berries adjoins the property of Sir James Langham of Cottesbrooke Park, who owns some of the best covers in the Hunt. One of the best runs of the earlier part of the season was from a cover close to Sir James’s house — in fact, from one of his pheasant preserves. The hounds had met at Maidwell, on the Northampton road, and drawn Scotland Wood, which adjoins the road, also Blue Berries, both blank, after which they trotted on to Cottesbrooke. It was a nasty, rainy, foggy morning, and all who had come from any distance were wet through before the hounds threw off. The cover being open and hollow at the bottom, owing to the ash trees which, they say, kill the undergrowth, Mr Osbaldeston sent Mr West forward to watch lest the fox steal away before the pack came up; and just as hounds arrived a brace went off, one towards Naseby Field, the other on the line along which hounds had just travelled. A dense fog came on at the moment they found, but the notes of the far-famed bitch pack made the welkin ring again, and away they went at a pace which the hardest riders admitted was terrific. But for a lucky turn the field must inevitably have been beat, for the country was awfully deep and horribly rotten. Instead of going straight away the fox turned and ran nearly the same line over again; and after an hour and five minutes without a check he was run into at Lamport. Of those who saw this run was a gentleman named Lawson, a stranger, I believe, who had some very neat horses which he rode in first-rate style — indeed on this occasion it was allowed that he had the best of it; he took a leap of enormous magnitude towards the end. Some said he was a Duke of Buccleuch’s man (he sported a coroneted button), but from whatever country he came he did credit to it, contending with some of the best men in Northamptonshire. The fences in this part of the country are very stiff, particularly towards Cottesbrooke, where the land is unusually rich.

  This is one of the best hunting quarters in the world; it is the very centre of the Pytchley, yet is within occasional reach of the Quom, Atherstone, and Warwickshire hounds. One would think that Cottesbrooke had been built either by a holy man or a sportsman, for Brixworth spire terminates the vista in front of the house.

  There is a fine country all about it, by Hazelbeech, Kelmarsh, and Naseby up to Mr Payne’s (Sulby), and Sibbertoft; the last famous for the presence of a hostile farmer who locks and spikes his gates, and makes his hedges of such a form, bearing outwards, as to be perfectly impracticable. Harrington, near Maidwell, is a capital fixture in the centre of a fine country. Loat-land Wood is generally the draw, but if the fox points for the north there is no time to lose, for Wilbarston and Rockingham Forest offer asylum — at all events the number of foxes in either precludes the prospect of much sport for those who like “switching raspers and plenty of them.” Red Lodge, near Old, in the next hundred to Harrington, is also a good fixture. Fawsley Wood is the nearest cover, and a mile or two off is Short Wood. Towards Cransley the country is very fine; the rides and avenues are beautiful.

  We had a very pretty day’s sport from Fawsley Wood on the 2nd January, running for an hour and thirty-five minutes with a glorious finish. The first part was slow, but we had faster hunting up to within a mile of Kettering where the fox turned and, passing back through Cransley, made a wide circuit to Old, where there was a short check in a farmyard in the vil
lage; but after working it through, the scent improved at every yard; getting upon grass beyond, the pace changed from a hunting run into a regular burst, and the line being across as good a country as man need wish to see, the thing became literally brilliant. Before we reached Old we had been running for an hour and twenty minutes at least; and, though not fast, still quite hard enough to allow loose rolling riders to take a good deal out of their horses; an opportunity which, it soon became evident, had not been neglected by some, for horses were every now and then passed which exhibited the usual symptoms of distress — some kicking their bellies, others turning slap round and declining it altogether, and some reposing in the ditches. I fell in with Jack Stevens who was fanning his horse along as gently as he could; and on gaining the summit of gently rising ground we looked back to view