by R S Surtees
The next peep I had at Mr Farquharson’s hounds was at Ilsington Wood in the ‘puddle’ and ‘piddle’ country; most of the villages in the district are thus designated — as, for instance, Tolpuddle, Afipuddle, Tomer’s-puddle, Bryant’s-puddle; Piddlehinton, Piddletown, &c.; all lying in the country between Bere Regis and Dorchester. A more unfavourable hunting day I never knew; the wind due east, the sun hot overhead, the dust flying on the roads; and of course the ground was as hard as bricks. I only mention it because it ended in Yellowham Wood, so called, I suppose, from the colour of the soil, a cover that has since been selected by Mr Hodges of Dorchester, painter of the very clever series of pictures of the Beaufort Hunt published last year, for the purpose of displaying the “Farquharson Hunt” at the hour of throwing off. The scene will be readily recognised by those acquainted with the country, though I cannot say that Mr Hodges has selected the best spot in it: Yellowham Wood, or Yallam, as it is pronounced, is a notoriously unpopular cover, being part of a large range of woodlands from which foxes seldom or never get away. The companion picture, “The Cocktails Done; Fifty Minutes in the Vale of Blackmore and Twenty Minutes on the Hills Without a Check,” a downs scene — or more properly speaking an up and down scene, is little better than a caricature; but this, I think, must be the fault of the engraver; the plum-pudding appearance of the bumps or hills that represent the downs is a sad libel on those fine, wide-spreading, undulating tracts.
I wonder Mr Hodges did not select for one of his scenes Chetterwood with the famous Chetterwood fox giving them a scurry over the open to Cranbourne Chase; this would have been a subject worthy of his talent. Of course, during my stay in Dorsetshire I was in this famous cover and also had a brush after the noted fox; but it was a very bad day for hearing, and thus hounds could not be got to the holloa quickly enough to go away close at him; and after travelling his usual line he beat us. I have since heard that this fox has been killed by Mr Codrington’s hounds. He was an exception to the generality of foxes in this part of the country, most being reputed sad dwellers; one day in Ashley Wood a field of two or three hundred horsemen made themselves hoarse with holloaing the different foxes they viewed in the rides before one could be induced to leave. When he did go away hounds soon made it evident to him that he would have been much safer in cover, for they ran into him in twenty minutes, after trashing in cover, changing every now and then, for upwards of two hours. We killed him by the river Stour, near Sturminster Marshall; and, it being New Year’s Day, some one proposed a cap for old Ben, which proposal was cheerfully adopted. This was the only time I saw a cap taken while in the country.
I liked the appearance of the whole of this side of Mr Farquharson’s country; there are some fine, wild tracts, a good deal of which may be ridden over at any time of the year without injury. The heaths, moors, and forest glades about Horton Tower, and towards Ringwood, are calculated to prepare the mind for the grand expanses of the New Forest; though here, as there, it is necessary to ride to a leader who knows the country lest one flounder into a bog. Since Mr Grove gave up his hounds Mr Farquharson, I believe, has had Cranbourne Chase, an excellent spring and autumn country. I saw several head of blackgame disturbed by the hounds one day while drawing the moors and plantations beyond Winbome Minster. Foxes are by no means plentiful, and not very well preserved; I was present at the chopping of a three-legged one, and that in a country where one would think a fox could do no harm.
V. DORSETSHIRE — Continued.
MR FARQUHARSON’S AND MR DRAX’S. MR FARQUHARSON’S KENNELS AND STABLES — THE MASTER IN THE FIELD — MEET MR DRAX’S ON SPITTESBURY DOWNS — THE CHARBOROUGH COUNTRY — MR DRAX’S PURCHASE FROM THE CRAVEN — GREYS ONLY KEPT AT CHARBOROUGH — THE PRESENT PACK — A RUN FROM BERE WOOD — FORTY MINUTES FROM WESTLEY WOOD — MR BARTLETT — THE CHARBOROUGH DEERHOUNDS — HUNT RACES — A SPORTING BARBER.
IT IS THE fashion in Mr Farquharson’s country, as in a good many others, to accuse the huntsman of slackness. When a man has reached his threescore years and passed it — as I am told Ben has — he can hardly be expected to show much of the fire and energy of youth; and in these ‘fast times’ there is no accusation so easily made as that of slowness. Unless a huntsman lays hold of his hounds the instant they lose the scent, and makes a cast forward at a canter, he is sure to be called slow. Having been in the country during a very unfavourable season, and knowing nothing of its properties as to scent, it would be absurd in me to offer an opinion on Ben’s methods; I may, however, observe that Kit Atkins, Mr Portman’s huntsman, one of the fastest of the fast, said he would give something to have such a head as old Ben’s for killing a fox.
Mr Farquharson’s home kennel and hunting stables are at Eastbury Park, about five miles from his residence, Langton House, near Blandford. Eastbury was an ancient seat of the Dukes of Bolton, but the mansion-house was burnt many years ago, some say intentionally. The site of the old building can still be traced, and the parts that remain betray great solidity and magnificence. The timber in the park is particularly fine. I was disappointed in the stables; these are not in keeping with the splendour of the courtyard; the space behind the horses is narrow by comparison with that provided in modern stables, and nothing sets off a stud to greater advantage than width between the ranges of stalls. I forget the number of horses I saw, but there were a great many, as indeed there must be to mount so many men five days a week throughout the season. The stud groom, huntsman, and whips live at Eastbury. The kennel, which stands in the park, is a roomy old-fashioned building, more remarkable for the merits of its inmates than for architectural elegance. The country round, chiefly downs, affords every convenience for exercising both horses and hounds, and the Blandford Race-course lies between Langton and Eastbury.
Mr Farquharson has an immense estate in this district, a considerable portion of which he keeps in his own hands. His new house at Langton is one of the finest in England belonging to a private gentleman; and here he lives as the real old English gentleman with a fine old estate should live, not content to see only guests, but taking in the servants and horses of his visitors, be they ever so many, instead of availing himself of the accommodation that might be provided for these at Blandford. This is true English hospitality, and for such the county of Dorset is famous. I must add that the new stables at Langton, built on the latest principles and containing about thirty stalls, with a covered ride, will be well worth a visit when finished.
Mr Farquharson has now hunted Dorsetshire for nearly thirty years, during the whole of which period he has kept his establishment on a large and magnificent scale without drawing one farthing subscription; there not being even a fund for repairing damage. In the field he leaves the hounds almost entirely to the huntsman. His bearing and manner, while free from anything like aristocratic hauteur, is distinguished by the frank openness of the English gentleman. Indeed, without flattery, I think Mr Farquharson may be held up as a model of his order. He resides nearly the whole year on his estate, spending his large income in the county whence he draws it, promoting the amusement of his friends and neighbours and discharging all the public duties that pertain to his position.
When they recollect how unfavourable the weather was for hunting up to the close of the year, sportsmen will not be surprised to know that the first time I met Mr Drax’s hounds it was on as bad a day as could possibly be. It was about the end of December, and apart from the extreme dryness of the ground there had been a severe frost during the night; so hard that as I rode to the place of meeting I had great doubts whether the hounds would come. However, the meet being on Spittesbury Downs, only a few miles from where I was staying, and the sun pretty powerful, I calculated on their throwing off at perhaps twelve o’clock (ten or half-past being their usual hour), and I walked my horse quietly on. Nor did I speculate amiss, for shortly after my arrival a whipper-in on a smart grey rode up and told me the hounds would leave the kennel about eleven.
The downs on which they were to meet are exte
nsive, adjoining Charlton and Whitchurch Downs, forming a considerable area of open country. Mr Drax has lately made gorse covers in all directions on Spittesbury Downs, and indeed in all parts of his very extensive property. Dorsetshire was originally hunted by the former owners of Charborough Park, there having been a Charborough Hunt seventy years ago, consisting of eight different draws in which the Mr Drax of that day used to kill his five-and-twenty brace of foxes or so; after which he would go into the New Forest for a couple of months towards the spring, and kill some fifteen or twenty brace more. Mr Beekford had it after Mr Drax, I believe, and Mr Humphrey Stmt of Critchell, ancestor of the present member for the county, succeeded him; and on Mr Sturt selling his hounds to Mr Farquharson in 1807, he returned the Charborough country to the present Mr Drax’s late father-in-law, Mr Grosvenor, who thereupon agreed to let Mr Farquharson hunt it with the stipulation that if Mr Grosvenor’s son wished to resume the country Mr Farquharson should resign it.
Mr Drax, who formerly kept harriers and also hunted roebuck, gave them up in 1833; and, purchasing half the Craven pack when Mr Smith resigned that country, commenced hunting the Charborough; but owing to the scarcity of foxes and the contracted field for his operations, he has been obliged to turn out an immense number of foxes, as many as fifty brace having been placed in the different covers in the course of last year.
The Craven hounds when the property of Mr Smith were a most killing pack, but they did not carry such a head as modern sportsmen delight in; indeed I think that no small share of their fame was earned for them by their Master.
About half-past eleven the hounds appeared at the far end of the Down, attended by a huntsman and two whippers-in on grey horses, a groom on another leading a fifth — greys both for field and harness are the order of the day at Charborough, and it must be admitted that no colour shows to such advantage. The huntsman, John Last, is an old family servant, and formerly hunted the harriers; he is a very clean, civil, respectable man: one of the whips is a son of Mr Portman’s late huntsman, Charming; the other, named Penney, is a very promising hand. The hounds, of which there were about twenty couple out, are small — at least small when compared with Mr Farquharson’s and some of Mr Portman’s, — speedy, but not weedy-looking; they looked as healthy and well as possible, and so they ought to do, for they have one of the best kennels in England and two kennel-huntsmen to look after them.
There are not many of the parent stock of the pack remaining, and as Mr Drax has made a large draft since I question whether any hounds that came from the Craven kennel are now left in that of Charborough. At present Mr Horlock’s, the Duke of Beaufort’s, and Mr Codrington’s blood predominates; though, in looking through the fist, there appears to be a dash of blood from almost every fashionable kennel in the south. The servants’ dress is black cap, red coat with gilt buttons on which is a fox’s head and “Charboro’ Hunt” round the edges, yellow waistcoat and white breeches. With the possible exception of Lord Yarborough’s it is perhaps the smartest turn-out in England. In many provincial countries a very erroneous idea prevails relative to the “turns out” in Leicestershire and the shires; many men supposing that they are much superior to what they see in their own. All who have hunted in the crack countries know that, barring the horses, which are generally better bred, the men’s appointments, boots, breeches and so on, are as rough and ready as the veriest disciple of the “d — n all dandies” school can desire.
A little before twelve Mr Drax made his appearance on his cover hack. He is about six feet high, and thin, rides rather short with a very graceful seat, and when he has a mind can go with the best, generally taking a line of his own. He is one of the neatest of men in his appointments.
The frost being still very severe, and the Downs, on the hillsides which had not been reached by the sun, being dangerous to ride, Mr Drax sent his hunters home, and threw the hounds into Col Wood, where we soon found. Scent there was none, however, and hounds having picked it out for a couple of hours without appearing to get nearer their fox, so ended that day.
The next time I met Mr Drax’s hounds was on Bloxworth Downs, the draw Bere Wood, an immense cover belonging to the master near Woodbury Hill. This is by no means a favourite fixture, foxes being seldom known to go away; added to which there are in the wood several roebucks, whose scent is so ravishing as to try the staunchness of the steadiest pack. The opening of the hounds upon the scent is, I am told, the surest criterion whereby to judge whether the game is fox or roebuck, for they score to cry immediately when they touch on the latter, especially after they have been trashing about for some hours on a cold fox scent. The size of the wood is said to be the chief objection to this place, but all covers must be hunted in their turn, especially in a country of limited area; and my choice this day lying between Mr Drax at Bere Wood and Mr Portman at Milton Abbey Wood, which is still larger, I chose the former. We soon found, but after running a long time in cover many of the field went home, despairing of a run; and Fortune, either by way of reward to the persevering, or punishment of the deserters, decreed that a fox should steal away unperceived on the Bere town side; and though he must have been gone a long time before hounds hit it off over the foiled ground to the cover’s edge, they carried the scent over some dry chalky fallows and ultimately hunted up to him in a hedgerow where doubtless he had lain down to take his afternoon siesta.
How joyful is the loud “Tally Ho!” at such a juncture! From the jog-trot pace and cheerless aspect all became ecstasy and confusion! Pug, close before, finding it was no joking matter, set his head straight, crossed the Downs by the clump at a splitting pace, and on to Milton Abbey Wood, through which hounds hunted him most perseveringly up the point towards Whatcombe House, where the shades of night threw a mantle over the pursued. A little more daylight and I think they would have tasted him. The pace across the Downs was capital, and the scene as hounds and horsemen went streaming along the sward with a lengthening tail, beautiful.
The best day’s sport I saw in Dorsetshire was with Mr Drax’s hounds on the 2nd January. The old year had been washed out with a good four-and-twenty hours soaking rain which after a dry day and night made the ground beautiful for riding. The fixture was the kennel, and the cover one of the best in the country — namely, Westley Wood, a mile or two from Charborough. Mr Farquharson met on the Blandford Racecourse, a few miles off, thereby reducing Mr Drax’s usually small field to a mere handful; there being in scarlet only himself, Captain Portman, who was on a visit to his brother at Bryanstone, Mr Lambert, Colonel Pedlar, and myself; with about the same number of dark coats. After drawing a few outlying places we entered Westley Wood, a long slip of a cover with excellent lying in parts; one or two of the sure finders of the pack at once feathered up the ride. “Tally Ho!” cried Penney. Mr Drax out with his horn, and hounds were on their fox in an instant. Some foot-people headed him back once and made him run the cover to secure his point again; and again away he went at a rattling pace, passing straight through Col Wood to the open country pointing for Milton Abbey Wood (whence, doubtless, Mr Portman had driven him). He crossed some splendid downs over which the hounds swept like a gust of wind, and fairly ran into him in the open on Whitchurch Down: forty minutes, best pace, with only one trifling check.
John Last rode well up to his hounds on this occasion, and belied his name. Mr Drax, too, was where the Master should be. There was a small, fat, pudgy farmer named Bartlett out this day who amused us not a little: I had observed him with Mr Farquharson’s, holloaing and cheering on the hounds in a way that would have called down blessings on his head from some Masters. On this day he rode and shouted and holloaed until both himself and his pony were fairly blown, which misfortune overtook him at the far end of Col Wood, where we shook him off. Mr Bartlett is a character in his way and certainly a dear lover of the chase.
The Charborough Kennel, which is very good and beautifully kept, stands in a field outside the park, just below the lodges. I do not know that it is built o
n the plan of any other kennel, nor do I recollect having seen any other like it. Besides the fox-hounds there is a kennel of beagles and another of deer-hounds which are used for catching the deer in the park, of which there is an immense number. These dogs are curious-looking animals, very dark-coloured with black streaks. Mr Portman has a very fine one which was presented to him by Mr Drax, and is kept as a house dog. Mr Drax has been kind enough to lend Mr Wilkins’ picture of Carter, the keeper, with three of these deer-hounds, to be engraved. They are a cross from a greyhound with a bulldog in the first instance, and after breeding in six or seven times, they produce the description of dog represented in the accompanying engraving. They imite the fleetness with the strength of the original stock and are used in winter for catching the deer to be placed in the paddocks for fattening. A buck is singled out and ridden at by several horsemen till he is separated from the herd; two of the dogs are then slipped in pursuit; and after a chase the length of which varies according to circumstances, they ultimately seize him by the ears and hold him tül the horsemen come to the rescue. The chase is renewed until the required number of deer has been secured.
Mr Wilkins has painted a very large picture of the Charborough hounds in kennel for Mr Drax, the size 6 ft. 6 in by 4 ft. 10 in., into which admirable portraits of no fewer than 38 hounds are introduced. The arrangement in this work is different from any I have seen; the interior of the kennel is represented with hounds on their benches, only the heads of most being visible; two or three standing in the foreground. Mr Drax is a most liberal patron of the fine arts, and has a magnificent collection of pictures.
