PART II.
CHAPTER I.
HARES.
By Major Arthur T. Fisher.
It would be indeed regrettable if our British hare were exterminated; yet, some thirty years ago, such seemed by no means impossible, for our stock was so rapidly diminishing that it was with difficulty that the Committee of some coursing meetings could make their arrangements. But since that time normal conditions have returned, and hares are to-day apparently as abundant as before the passing of the Ground Game Act.
Hares afford a large amount of sport, to say nothing of their value as most excellent food. To the lovers of Natural History their habits and ways are full of interest. For several years my home was situated at the foot of the Wiltshire Downs, where I rented a long strip of shooting, some two or three miles in length, and so had ample opportunity afforded me of studying their habits.
It seems that we have at least some four distinct varieties of the hare in Britain. First, there is the comparatively small hare of the Midlands, perhaps more valuable for its edible qualities than for sport; the marsh hare, better for sport than table; the large long leggy hare of the Downlands, and the blue mountain hare of Scotland, which turns nearly to quite white in winter.
Many years ago I wrote and published a work entitled Outdoor Life in England. At the present time it is out of print, though I have some idea of republishing it in an abridged and less expensive form. In it I dealt somewhat at length on the subject of hares, and it seems that I can hardly do better than quote some portions at the present time.
Hares love to squat on the hillsides out of the wind, and with their heads to it; east and west winds are those to which they least object, but, when a cold northerly or a rain-laden southerly wind prevails, they betake themselves off to the hedgerows and coverts. The barest looking ground is often selected by them; and a hole, scratched out on the leeward side of a molehill or a broken bank, affords comfortable shelter; and there, unless disturbed, they will sit throughout the day, asleep with wide-open eyes, or survey the world around them until it is time to caper off to supper in the turnips.
The ears of a hare are singularly adapted for hearing—more especially, sounds from behind them. The size and position of their eyes enable them to see around and behind them. Strange to say, however, it is easier to approach a hare from the front than from any other direction. This fact is, perhaps, due to the position of the eyes, which are situated somewhat on the side of the head, and backward rather than forward. In that delightful old book, Jesse’s Gleanings in Natural History—published nearly a hundred years ago—the author makes the following statement: “I have observed in coursing that, if a hare, when she is startled from her form, has her ears down, she is a weak runner; but, if one of her ears is carried erect, the hare generally beats the dogs.” I have never proved the truth of this assertion.
Unlike rabbits, hares are born with their eyes open, and are covered with hair. They seem to breed during the greater part of the year. As a rule, they produce two at a birth, though three are by no means uncommon. One naturalist mentions a case in which a hare gave birth to no fewer than seven young ones.
Years ago a labourer, whom I occasionally employed as a hedger, brought a live leveret to me, stating that it was one of three which had been born outside his garden, and informed me that whenever three were produced at a birth they invariably had a white star mark on their foreheads. I was somewhat sceptical as to the truth of this, but I have since ascertained that some naturalists assert this to be a fact. I kept the leveret until it had developed into a full grown hare, when I gave it away. It had grown very tame, and would sit out under the large wire run in front of its coop and play with the spaniels. These latter used to lie about in the sun close to the wire “creep,” the hare drumming at them with its fore feet. I have often seen a happy family composed of several spaniels round the cage, two cats sitting on the top, several white fantail pigeons, and, not infrequently, some pied wagtails fearlessly running about on the grass within a few yards.
We are accustomed to regard a hare as one of the most timid of all animals, and in a state of nature this is the case. When, however, they are kept in confinement, and have been tamed, they not only lose their shyness to a very great extent, but are at times capable of exhibiting an amount of ferocity hardly credible; and instances have been recorded of their having completely beaten off a dog. A relation of mine was well acquainted with a lady in one of our northern towns who kept two hares, which she had succeeded in taming, and which were very much attached to her. On her return home, after a prolonged absence of some three or four months, and visiting her pets, they had, apparently, not only lost their affection for her, but attacked her in so savage and determined a manner that she was forced to beat a retreat. I have every reason to believe in the absolute truth of this statement. Unlike rabbits hares prefer solitude. It is an almost unknown thing to put up two hares which have “seated” together. Even the young ones, as soon as they are weaned, appear to separate themselves, and will lie couched some fifty or sixty yards away from the doe. In hilly countries hares prefer to lie as near to the top of a hill as the weather permits of their doing. The reason for this is probably because the length of their hind legs enables them to tread uphill better than down. When, however, they are forced to take downhill, feeling their inability to descend in a straight line, they invariably travel in an oblique direction. If pressed hard down a very steep incline, they are apt, at times, to turn head over heels.
It is unusual to find hares “seated” under a hedgerow, except in stormy weather, when no other protection is available. As a rule, they prefer to make their “forms” in the centre of a field, probably for greater security. In mild, drizzly weather they generally move up to the higher grounds, or seek the shelter of a gorse bush.
As everyone is aware, a hare is capable of giving a pack of hounds infinitely more trouble to kill than a fox. It is the exception for a hare to run straight away from hounds for any great distance, though occasionally it will take a line as straight as that of a fox. The account of a run with some harriers in one of our Eastern Counties, in which, after affording a rattling gallop, the hare took out to sea in the Wash, was recorded in the Field. The pack referred to was kept by a relation of mine. For those who are able to appreciate the hunting and working of hounds, hare-hunting affords greater opportunities for witnessing the intricate difficulties of hunting by scent than any similar description of sport. The man who is able to hunt harriers well and successfully should be able to account for a fox, although the tactics of the two animals pursued are different; for, whereas a forward cast will generally succeed in hitting off the line of a fox when hounds are at fault, nine times out of ten it is on one of the backward casts that the true line of a hare will be found. It may well be said that the direction a lost hare has taken will most surely be the one which appears to be the least likely. It is the constant “doubling” which renders hare-hunting so difficult. The best pack of harriers I ever saw at work was one belonging to a Mr. Jeffreys. In colour they were black and tan, owing to a strong infusion of the blood-hound cross. These hounds, which were notorious, were exceedingly well handled by their owner, who contrived to account for an incredible number of hares in the course of the season. They were somewhat light-limbed, very speedy, and possessed the most wondrous noses. No matter what the weather or the country might be, they could pick up a scent where other hounds could not own a yard, and even in the driest road or fallow in March.
Hare-shooting is but poor sport, and to my view, even under the best circumstances, vastly inferior to good rabbit shooting. To miss a hare within easy distance in the open is inexcusable, and to shoot at one at a doubtful range still more so.
I am very much inclined to the opinion that, unless coursed or hunted, a hare is by no means deserving of the high repute in which it is held for table purposes, and there is, moreover, comparatively little of its flesh worth eating. The following method of preparing a hare for table may possibly be found useful. After skinning the animal, immerse it in vinegar and water with a few juniper berries for twelve or even twenty-four hours previous to roasting. By this means it will be found little, if at all, inferior to a coursed or hunted hare.
I refer my readers to the Satires of Horace (II. 4):
“Si vespertinus subito te oppresserit hospes,
Ne gallina malum responset dura palato,
Doctus eris vivam mixto mersare Falerno;
Hoc teneram faciet.”
Hare skins are useful for a variety of purposes. The country people make them into waistcoats—chest preservers; the fur from the face and ears forms an admirable body, either natural or dyed, for certain trout flies such as the “Rough Olive Dun,” “Blue Dun,” “Sedge Flies,” etc.
The hind feet are most useful for oiling guns and such like articles. They were—in former days—much used by those ladies who preferred to supply the complexion which they lacked by a use of the rouge pot; and the bones of the hind legs, when scraped and polished, are capable of being converted into very handsome cigarette holders. So, all things considered, a hare may be said to be a most useful animal.
Besides hunting, coursing, or shooting, various illegitimate methods are employed in capturing hares, most commonly that known as “wiring,” to my mind detestable in every sense of the word. A person well skilled in setting a hare wire can make pretty certain of success. It is, however, a practice usually confined to the poaching fraternity, who are far more skilful in the use of a wire than keepers. An experienced eye can very readily detect the difference between a poacher’s and a keeper’s wire, whether it is set for hares or rabbits. An old hand can utilise a bramble with nearly as certain success as a wire, and with far less fear of detection, always provided that there happens to be a bramble growing near enough to the run of a hare for the purpose. It is somewhat difficult to explain, without the aid of an illustration, the difference between a wire set by a keeper and that set by a poacher; but, if the two are compared, the difference is very perceptible. Keepers twist their wires far too much as a general rule, and, although they present a very much neater appearance, they are not nearly so destructive; their wires, too, are generally hand-twisted. A skilful poacher never twists his wire by hand, and is careful not to touch the wire more than he can help during its manufacture, using for the purpose of twisting the strands a weight which is attached to each separate one, and by moving which the necessary degree of twist is imparted, ever taking care to make the twist as slight as possible. A poacher is well aware of the value of an old wire, always provided it is sound and good, preferring it to a new one. The general effect of such a wire when set appears clumsy to an inexperienced eye, but a closer inspection will show the care and skill with which it has been laid. Keepers, as a rule, set wires to catch rabbits or hares for their employers, whereas poachers do so for themselves. On one occasion, when shooting with a friend, we took up some thirty or forty rabbit wires which had been set by a poacher; and the next day my friend found a basket containing upwards of forty more, all of which he gave to an old man in his employ. Curiously enough, we afterwards discovered that these wires had been set by the grandson of the man to whom they were given, who, of course, was not a little pleased to have his property restored to him.
Another method of taking hares, adopted by poachers and the lower class of gipsies, is to place a net across a gateway through which hares are known to pass, and then to send a trained lurcher into the adjoining fields to beat up the hare. Calling hares by means of a hare-call, and then suddenly shooting them or suddenly slipping a lurcher on to them, is a plan occasionally pursued. An ordinary tobacco pipe, provided it has a mouthpiece, makes an excellent call-pipe. The call is produced by pressing the mouthpiece against the lips, which must be nearly closed, sucking in the air, placing the ball of the thumb on the bowl of the pipe, and again quickly removing it. It is easy to produce the required sound with a very little practice.
The following may interest the reader. On the afternoon of Easter Day 1895, I was walking in the water-meadows in front of my house in company with my wife and a friend who had two well-broken retrievers with him. My wife left us, returning to the house by a bridge which used to span the river intervening between my house and the meadows, and which is at that point some forty or fifty yards in width, the current being at the time strong and deep. For some days previously I had noticed a hare in the meadow, and on this occasion she jumped up some two hundred yards from where we were standing in the centre of the field, raced round the meadow, and eventually made straight for the river. The dogs had remained perfectly steady at heel, though fully aware of what was happening. Without the slightest hesitation she plunged boldly out into the stream, swam rapidly across, and scampered up the bank, where, seeing my wife, who had been watching the performance, she turned aside and bolted away through the garden. It was strange that she should have elected to swim so broad a river in preference to making her escape by either of the two sides of the field which lay open to her, more especially since she had not been chased or unduly disturbed in any way. The meadow is a very large one, bounded on one side by the river in question, and on another by a small tributary stream. The animal did not appear particularly frightened either before or after her voyage. Perhaps she was suffering from the insanity to which March hares are proverbially supposed to be addicted. It was, certainly, a somewhat eccentric and unaccountable performance.
In the summer of 1915—when fishing—a hare started up from the opposite side of the river, and swam across not very many yards from where I was, and, in that instance also, it had not been scared or startled in any way, and there was nothing else in the field she started from but an old piebald pony placidly feeding at some distance away. What made it a still more curious performance was that I had a small terrier with me which was nosing about the bank on my side of the river, and the hare passed only a few yards above him.
CHAPTER II.
KENNEL MANAGEMENT.
By H. H. Howard-Vyse.
Kennel management falls under three headings, the arrangement of the kennels themselves, feeding, and exercise. It may be said at once that the management of beagles should be on precisely the same lines as that of any other hounds; and the best way of learning to build up and maintain a good pack of beagles is without doubt to study closely the methods which obtain in any of the first class foxhound kennels. The only differences to bear in mind, apart from the obvious one of size, are that beagles are more delicate and are more apt to be nervous. The latter point needs especially to be remembered in dealing with brood bitches and young entry.
The kennels themselves should be like foxhound kennels in miniature, well ventilated and adequately drained, but warm. The benches should be raised about one foot off the ground, and there should be a raised edge, eight inches higher, to prevent the bedding from slipping off on to the floor. The benches should be hinged and fitted with a short chain which can be hooked on to a staple in the wall. The object of this is to enable the bench to be raised while the kennelman swills or sweeps out underneath it. It need hardly be said that cleanliness is all-important. In order to ensure fresh water the kennel should be fitted with a tap running into a trough about ten inches from the ground. On hunting days an extra liberal amount of clean straw should be provided, to enable hounds to dry themselves quickly. As for foxhounds, an open air yard must be attached to the kennel.
Separate small enclosed kennels are of course necessary for brood bitches and sick hounds. For the former, quiet is important. For sick hounds, which require to be kept particularly warm, these should be provided with wooden floors; and, if it can conveniently be done, a hot water pipe, brought possibly from the boiler house, will add greatly to the comfort. In sick kennels a liberal use of sawdust and of disinfectants is essential.
FEEDING TIME.
GEORGE CHAMPION.
DABBLER.
GIPSY AND RASPER.
During the summer hounds must be kept exercised, and it is a good thing to let them stand about in grass fields, when it will be found that they will eat a quantity of grass and of earth, both of which are admirable for their digestion. As the hunting season approaches, exercise must be increased up to twenty miles a day. Ponies or bicycles are useful for this, but the pace should not exceed seven miles an hour, except for sharp bursts of a few hundred yards to open the hounds’ pipes. It is more important that they should spend a long time out of kennel than that they should cover great distances.
A hunt servant should ride behind to keep hounds up and on one side of the road; they should be taught to come over quickly on to whichever side of the road the huntsman wants them. In these days of motors this is absolutely essential.
For feeding, the best oatmeal must be used, boiled the day before it is required to such an extent that when cold it almost forms the consistency of jelly. In cool weather it will keep for four or five days. Meat should be given in the form of broth with the meat left in it and chopped small, more being required in the hunting season than in summer. Raw meat every now and again is a good thing, especially for those hounds which have a tendency to eczema. To keep the blood cool the broth should contain, especially in summer, vegetables, or the young tops of nettles; mangolds too are beneficial, if well boiled. Hounds should be fed once a day only, and must be walked out for at least half an hour immediately afterwards.
Brood bitches require to be fed twice a day, and their rations should include milk and raw meat. They must not be allowed to get too fat, and must be given plenty of exercise. A dose of salts just before whelping is a good thing.
Whelps should be left on the dam as long as possible, but, to help her, they should be persuaded to begin to lap at about a month old; at about the same age they should be given a mild dose for worms—ruby syrup is recommended. Their food should be gradually thickened up with soaked bread crust or biscuit. At first they should be fed twice a day, then thrice, and finally, when they are weaned at about ten weeks, four times a day. Raw meat, very finely chopped, should be given as soon as they will eat it, about as much as will fill a tea spoon, once a day at first, and later double the quantity. At about three months old the feeds can be gradually reduced till, soon after four months, the young hounds can be fed like the rest of the pack.
For the benefit of their coats and skins all hounds should be dressed twice during the summer with oil and sulphur, which should be left on for at least forty-eight hours. If it is considered advisable to wash hounds for vermin, a weak solution of MacDougall’s sheep dip should be used. For the treatment of vermin Keating’s powder, and for cuts carbolic oil must always be on hand. For eczema, a dose of salts, a dressing of oil and sulphur, and a diet of raw meat are advised. For distemper, the most important things are to keep the hound warm and to treat him as an invalid for three weeks after he is apparently well. Every effort must be made to make him feed, the best diet being soup, milk and fish.
But the essence of kennel management is that the kennelman should be observant, so that he at once detects any symptoms of illness or lameness.
CHAPTER III.
BEAGLING.
By G. H. Longman.
Though perhaps it may be too much to say that hunting the hare on foot with a pack of 15-in. beagles is the most interesting method of pursuing the animal, still, if the evenness of the chances is to be the criterion of interest, certainly the contest between a good pack of beagles and a strong hare—the odds being slightly in favour of the latter—presents sport in its truest elements.
A good pack of these little hounds will no doubt on a good scenting day account for any hare, barring accidents; but these accidents are extremely numerous, the first and foremost being the rising up in the middle of the pack of a fresh hare just as the hunted animal is evidently sinking. This mishap occurs more frequently than any other, and is generally irremediable. Imagine a large ploughed field of stiff clay, the hunted hare down, and hounds just feathering on the line, scent having become a little weak. The huntsman is nearest (and all praise to him, as hounds have run hard for forty minutes!); he has pulled up to a walk, for the clay land clings to each boot with a tenacity which renders even walking a wearisome struggle. He knows well that the moment is critical, as there are probably fresh hares lying in the field; that scent may so far fail as to compel him to make a cast; and that this will certainly increase the already imminent danger of a change. He is just stopping, in order to keep well away from his hounds, when he almost treads on a fresh hare which gets up under his feet. She heads straight for the pack, but our huntsman stands still as death; puss, seeing hounds, swerves away without their catching a view, and the danger of a change is for the moment past. But our huntsman’s eyes are at work, and he presently observes a dark form stealing away about a hundred yards in front of the pack. He looks again, makes sure that it is his hare, and then, blowing his horn, has his hounds to him in a trice, while he gamely struggles through the clay at the best pace he can muster towards the spot where the hunted hare has disappeared over a brow, her arched back betraying her distressed condition, so that if only hounds can get a view they must kill her.
The game is well-nigh won; but unfortunately the hounds’ heads are up, and, a fresh hare rising in their very midst, away goes the whole pack, running the stranger in view. Really well under control as they are, no amount of rating or horn-blowing will stop them unless someone can get round them. Get round them! Alas, anyone who has run with beagles knows the impossibility of this until hounds check! It is, moreover, quite likely that they will run without checking for at least twenty minutes, and then what prospect will there be of recovering the line of the hunted hare? Some slight chance indeed there is, for a tired hare always stops, so that, if any vestige of a line can be shown, hounds may work up to and re-find her. Far oftener, however, all trace has vanished, when they are brought back to the spot where she was last seen.
But let us describe a day’s sport with beagles, starting with the supposition that the master is sufficiently energetic to be up and at it by six o’clock on a beautiful October morning; for not only are hares scarce in the district over which he proposes to hunt, the consequence being that he will have a better chance of a find by getting on the trail, but he also desires to give his young entry the lesson for which running a hare’s trail up to her form is so admirably adapted.
There has been rain, but it passed away on the previous afternoon, and after a brilliant night the ground is covered with a heavy dew. Our huntsman is wise to begin operations thus early, for now scent is probably good; whereas when the sun has reached any height the atmospheric conditions will, as a rule, become less favourable.
Let us linger for a moment by the gate, where hounds are clustered round their huntsman, some jumping up at him, and others making an unprofessional use of their tuneful voices, a transgression which, however, elicits but a faint-hearted rate, for our huntsman loves his hounds intensely, and feels almost inclined to encourage a breach of etiquette which only enhances his already keen sense of enjoyment.
It is a charming scene. A country roadside which forms the boundary between some rough grass meadows leading down to a stream on the one side, and a heather common on the other, gently undulating towards a piece of water, to which the wild duck are just coming in from the stream where they have spent the night. Even now a few duck are to be seen overhead, the whistle of their wings first making us aware of their presence. They are circling high above us, not daring to pitch, and will probably take a fresh flight to another and larger sheet of water about three miles further on.
We must, however, return to the pack. The Master is moving off, and as he waves the pack over a bank into the heather any hound throwing his tongue will be severely dealt with if the whipper-in can only get near enough to administer one cut, accompanied by “Ware riot, Melody!” for business has begun.
Ten couple of hounds there are in all, and two couple of them are unentered. Melody is one of these, and while there must be no question of sparing the rod, we have a fellow-feeling for her exuberance of spirits. The delinquent already has her stern up once more (it was momentarily lowered on receipt of the whipper-in’s practical rebuke), and is as busy as any of them, flinging here and there, and pushing her way into a cluster of hounds which look remarkably busy, for, yes! they have already struck a line, no doubt of a hare returning from feeding in the grass meadows adjoining the common.
The huntsman maintains a masterly inactivity, merely rating any hound which shows an inclination to dwell on the line. Now they are running quite merrily across the heather, but come to a stop where the hare has taken to one of the paths which abound hereabouts. She has run the path for quite eighty yards, and only the older hounds can carry the line along it, the body of the pack casting about, and showing a slight inclination to run heel. The huntsman, however, holds them forward, walking quietly along the path, well in rear of those hounds who are carrying the line.
These tactics result in a pretty hit, for, although the hare has run the road for eighty yards, she has run her foil for at least twenty-five before flinging off, so that the body hit the line out of the path while the old hounds are still picking out the scent further along; but these at once go to cry, and the whole pack flings briskly forward. The huntsman allows them very ample room, knowing that puss has very likely made her form not far away. See! they have overrun the scent, and, as they spread back fan-like to recover the line, up jumps the hare and off they go, running in view for a short distance, and then taking up the line with a chorus which at once proclaims a scent.
The whipper-in is lying wide, and succeeds in turning the hare out of a broad sandy path which would otherwise undoubtedly have caused a check; and away they go over the open heather at a pace which tries our wind terribly. The pack head straight for a sort of island farm which lies on a hill side in the middle of the heather, cross it, and, emerging once more at the top of the hill, run beautifully over the heathery flat until they come to a main road, where they check long enough to enable the huntsman to get up to them.
A pretty picture is displayed! A fine stretch of heather extending for some miles, through which the old main road from London to Portsmouth runs, with now and again considerable stretches of fir woods forming a dark fringe to the view, whilst over the fir tops the sun, just emerging, adds a sparkling brightness to the landscape, which would be alone sufficient to repay the early start. The busy pack makes a beautiful foreground, flinging here and there in search of the momentarily vanished clue. Mark that veteran of the pack, well known for his wide and independent casts; the huntsman’s eye is on him, and he moves quietly in his direction, without, however, so much as whistling to his hounds.
He has judged wisely, for Challenger unmistakably has the line and speaks to it confidently, just as the huntsman gets near enough to put in with good effect, “Hark to Challenger!” and hounds, flying to cry, take up the running with a chorus which it does one’s heart good to hear. They have, however, only run about a hundred yards when they check quite suddenly, once more spreading out like a fan. But they are only momentarily at fault. Poor puss is down, her heart having failed her after coming about two miles straight, and she is up and off in view as soon as the hounds, who have slightly overrun the scent, spread back to where she has clapped. She heads for home, and hounds run fast for another fifteen minutes before checking on the island farm which they crossed in the first burst.
The sun is getting strong by this time, and scent does not serve so well on the arable land. Hounds slowly carry the line into the middle of a newly ploughed hillside field, and gradually come to a stop. Evidently the hare is forward, so, after leaving his hounds alone sufficiently long to enable them to recover the line, unassisted if they can, the huntsman resolves on a cast “forrard.” He whistles his hounds to him, and at a gentle double casts them round the fence from about opposite to where they checked, keeping his hounds in front of him, and giving them time to try as they go. Almost immediately one of the puppies speaks, and out pops a rabbit right under his nose. The huntsman rates “Ware rabbit!” and, very much to their credit, none of the old hounds break away. It is, however, altogether too much for the puppies, who every one of them courses the rabbit for about a hundred yards in full cry.
Luckily the interloper runs up hill along the fence, so the delinquents are easily stopped by the whipper-in, who is lying back, and turned to the master’s horn. It may here be remarked that it is comparatively easy to stop beagles from rabbits in the open. The pack the writer has in mind would always stop if rated when a rabbit got up in an open field; but in covert, where one could not easily get at them, the case was very different, and you might holloa yourself hoarse without producing much effect. Master Bunny, however, only caused a momentary diversion, and hounds, having struck the line in the bottom corner of the fence, are once more chiming away merrily over the heather in the direction of puss’s original form.
Will they catch her? Well, if she is a leveret her bolt must be nearly shot, but if she is an old hare—and she is big enough!—she will lead the pack a merry dance for another good half-hour before giving in. So is the fight fought between poor puss and her enemies the beagles. Sometimes a circle; sometimes a straight bolt and then as a rule clapping till hounds are over her, and getting up behind them, making her way home again; sometimes, though not often, making a long point and dying some five miles from home. I once recollect a hare being found close to the brook near which hounds were thrown off, as above described, making a point of five miles over the heather, and being eventually killed in the grounds of a well-known public school situated in that district. This is, however, an exceptional occurrence.
Many and varied are the incidents which occur during the chase of a hare. Often have we been hopelessly at fault on that common, when, to our joy, we have beheld a hat held aloft on some neighbouring hill. We know that hat well. It belongs to the most arrant poacher in the neighbourhood; he is the best hand at seeing a hare sitting in the whole countryside, and he knows a hunted hare when he sees her. We tried at one time to reclaim him by paying him more for every hare he found for us than he could get for one dead in the public-house. No use! the instinct was far too strong, and only a week or two after the beginning of the compact “the Long ’un,” as he was called—for he was a tall fellow—was caught setting a snare one Sunday morning.
When we were drawing for a hare he would walk with his hands behind him, and, turning his head slowly from side to side, would cover all ground within fifty yards as well as any setter. Probably before very long he would suddenly stop, and, indicating a certain spot perhaps twenty yards away, would quite quietly remark, “There she sets!” Surely enough there she did sit; though as often as not his eye alone could discern Madam Puss crouched in her heathery form. A wonderfully observant man he must have been, and great fun we used to have about him; but as to reclaiming him, you might as well have asked him not to eat—or drink, for it must be regretfully admitted he was at least as fond of liquid as of solid nourishment.
He was often in gaol—always for poaching—and, as the keeper used to say, “The Long ’un always came out fatter than he went in!” so his home fare was probably neither plentiful in quantity nor of an Epicurean quality. He never bore malice, as the following incident shows. He had been in gaol for poaching on the common above described. His sentence expired on a Saturday, and as a party of us were walking on the following Sunday afternoon along one of the footpaths which thread the common, who should appear round a corner but our friend, just fresh from gaol?
What did he do? Why, he lifted his hat, and wished us good-day in the cheeriest manner possible, just as if he had met us by appointment to help find a hare for the beagles.
Probably he was there for no very legitimate purpose, but at the moment he was, of course, on the footpath, where he had as much right to be as anyone else; and one could hardly help sympathising with the love of sporting adventure which was doubtless the main cause of his poaching proclivities. At any rate, he found us many a hare, and was an important factor in bringing not a few to hand.
No attempt has been made to describe in detail the different methods of hunting beagles, or the different stamp of beagle which is suitable for different countries, as all these points have been dealt with in the Hunting volume of the “Badminton Library.” The writer has merely attempted to place before the reader a picture (very imperfect, doubtless) of such leading episodes in this sport as he has himself witnessed many and many a time; and if the picture should by any lucky chance induce any reader of these pages to be “up and at it” by six o’clock in the morning, and test for himself the enjoyment of watching a good pack of beagles at work, he will, if he has any hunting instinct at all in him, assuredly be well repaid, and the writer will not have written in vain.
CHAPTER IV.
THE HUMANITARIAN ASPECT.
By Col. Robertson-Aikman.
I have been asked to contribute some remarks on the humanitarian aspect of hare hunting, much having been written to the Press on its cruelty, especially in reference to the E.C.H.—a hunt that has been singled out for opprobrium by people to whom must no doubt be attributed well-meaning and humanitarian feelings, but who it seems to me fail to recognise natural laws or to take a broad-minded or unbiased view of sport in general or to realise that they have not the monopoly of humane feelings.
To commence with, what is cruelty? The infliction of pain need not necessarily constitute cruelty, else many things besides sport must be condemned. The infliction of unnecessary pain is where cruelty begins, and this is reprehensible and inexcusable. I think the subject must be approached with a sense of proportion, and must be treated comparatively. All animals have to meet their death, and those that are used for human food an untimely death at the hand of man, and the chief object to be kept in view is the avoidance of inflicting unnecessary pain. This should be every true sportsman’s aim.
Nature herself is cruel, beasts and birds of prey being the worst offenders. Who that has seen a cat with a mouse but is not moved with pity and made to wonder why things have been so ordained?
Venery has been in vogue since the days of primitive man, when he hunted for the means of subsistence; and nowadays, when it is practised as a manly pastime for exercise, health, and pleasure, every true sportsman who indulges in it makes it his endeavour to minimise the sufferings of his quarry, and will always give it a fair chance for its life. Contrast this with the everyday occurrence of a calf or a pig being taken to have its throat cut and bled to death with no possible chance of escape. My sympathy is stronger for these than for any hunted animal. Have those who decry the sport never eaten veal and ham pie?
I said before that the question is comparative, and I should like to follow that up by saying that the sport of hunting compares very favourably with other sports from a humanitarian view. Take shooting; how many animals and birds in a day’s shooting get away wounded, many to die a lingering death? Quite a considerable percentage. In hunting it is certain death or escape, and, though cases are known of hunted animals being picked up afterwards having died of exhaustion, these cases are exceptional. They never get away wounded, and their end when killed by hounds is as quick as it is certain. I imagine there are more things mortally wounded in a big day’s covert shoot than any one pack of hounds kills in a season, and I venture to think that taking the country as a whole there are more wounded in one day’s shooting than all the packs in the kingdom kill in a whole season.
I recall an incident when hunting in Lanarkshire which illustrates the often mistaken ideas of humanitarians. I had a beaten hare in front of me that took to the roads. I came to a cross road where hounds checked, and met a lady whom I asked if she had viewed my hare. She said yes, but she would rather not tell me where she had gone, as she looked on hunting as cruel. I told her I respected her feelings of humanity, and if I were of her opinion I would give up hunting. I asked her her views on shooting and whether she did not think it was cruel that so many things died from wounds. She replied, “No good sportsmen ever wound things, they always kill them dead.” How many of us, I wonder, could under this definition claim to be good sportsmen?
An officer of that excellent Society the S.P.C.A. once met me returning home with hounds from hunting, and, noticing a lame hound, was going to run me in for cruelty. I told him if he could insure prevention of such cruelty I hoped he would come and stay with me for the winter.
Some people would have us believe that a hunted animal suffers agonies of mind (vide Modern Society, 18th February, 1899), and Somervile’s Chace conveys that impression. This no one who has had much experience of hunting believes. Many of these animals spend their lives in a state of being hunted by others, dogs, cats, vermin, etc., and they are chiefly occupied in avoiding their natural enemies. Fright they may feel, as a hare will if put up by a person walking across a field, but their attempts at escape are their only thought, and they do not realise the penalty of being caught. I don’t think they are at all distressed until they are dead beat, when the end generally comes quickly and surely.
Objection has been taken to certain terms used in hunting, such as “pulled her down,” “ran into her,” “rolled her over,” “dead beat,” “breaking her up,” “blooding the hounds.” The first three, critics may not know, simply imply catching the hare. “Dead beat”—this feeling is also experienced by any Eton boy in the School Steeplechase when he reaches the School Jump. The last two taking place after the death of the hare can scarcely be urged as cruel.
Do these humanitarians inveigh against poisoning rats, destroying wasps’ nests, burning these insects alive, using fly-papers, or mouse-traps? Do they eat game, fish, meat, or have they ever tasted foie gras or lobster?
The Humanitarian Society claim to have accomplished the abolition of the Royal Buckhounds by appealing to Queen Victoria’s tender feelings. I think there were other and more cogent reasons.
The late Provost, the late Head Master, the late Vice-Provost, the late Mr. R. S. de Havilland and others have been accused of brutality and callousness. All who knew them and who understand the subject resent such baseless attacks on men of kindly disposition and balanced judgment.
The Spectator says, “These Eton brutalities are condemned by the modern spirit of humaneness,” and quotes the rules of the Founder as follows, “No scholar, fellow, chaplain, or other minister, or servant of the College, shall keep or have hunting dogs, nets for hunting, ferrets, falcons or hawks,” urging that the Founder’s intention was humanitarian. There is no doubt, however, that this was simply the reservation of sporting rights. A similar clause is common in leases to this day.
The arguments I have read or heard show a deplorable ignorance of the subject.
I have been asked to give my views on the date on which hare hunting should stop, and on the killing of heavy does, a subject made much of by an ephemeral called the Beagler Boy. In 1906, in consequence of correspondence between Mr. Fitzroy Stewart and the Head Master of Eton on the subject of the School Beagles, and which mainly referred to the date on which hare hunting should cease, the County Gentleman asked for the opinion of some of the leading masters of harriers and beagles on this point, three questions being asked, viz.:
1. Do you think it advisable to fix the date for the end of the hare-hunting season, and if so what date would you fix?
2. Do you subscribe to the opinion that a heavy hare has no scent?
3. Have you known in your experience heavy hares to be either run or chopped by hounds?
Among the replies sent was the following from Mr. George Race (of Road Farm, Biggleswade), than whom no one was more qualified to give an opinion, he having been M.H. for seventy years:
“Dear Sir,—In answer to your questions I can only tell you I do not consider it advisable to fix any date for discontinuing hare hunting; and for this reason. In the south of England hares get heavy two or three weeks earlier than they do in the north, and also in an extensive country well stocked with hares you can of course go on longer than in a small country not well stocked.
As to the second question I am quite sure that a heavy hare emits little or no scent.
As to your last question, I certainly have known heavy hares chopped by hounds and also run by hounds.”
My own letter written from the High Peak country at that time was as follows, viz.:
“Dear Sir,—In reply to your letter and the special questions:
1. I am not certain that a fixed date for closing the hare-hunting season is advisable. There is no doubt that in some countries such as this hunting can be carried on a week or two later than in many others. If a date were fixed I agree that the middle (16th) of March would be the best date, all things considered, though it would not be early enough to obviate the occasional killing of heavy does.
2. No; but I am certain that a heavy hare has comparatively little scent.
3. Yes, of course, but owing to her carrying less scent and to her short running, a doe hare is seldom killed when heavy. I have been particular to observe when hunting in March for years past whether a heavy hare is often killed, and have found it not to be the case. I doubt if my hounds kill on an average more than one each season. This year a brace have been killed—one in February.”
On the first point Beckford says, “It is a question which I know not how to answer, as it depends as well on the quantity of game that you have as on the country you hunt.”
In conclusion, I think that without doubt, when looking back on the Great War, the country owes a deep debt of gratitude to all sports which tend to make a man manly (I am afraid I do not include such sports as coursing or pigeon shooting among them, as I am of opinion that woodcraft is a sine qua non to a manly sport). Of all sports hunting most engenders initiative, close observation, quick decision, and courage, qualities essential to all leaders in the several branches of the Forces of the Crown, and which were conspicuous during the late War in the cases of men who had been entered to hunting. The horses too were a great national asset in that crisis. There could be no better initial training for the hunting field than running with beagles. I can look back on five years as M.F.H. and twenty-two seasons with harriers, but my initiation was with the Eton beagles, and I did not follow them without learning many useful lessons in the noble art. I hope many future generations of Etonians will profit by them. I still have a hare’s pad set up killed by them on 18th February, 1879. I have a warm feeling for the hare, and never quite like shooting one: she has afforded me much sport, much pleasure, and much benefit, and if I could forget the fox—and, of course, the hound and the horse—I could agree with Martial that
“Inter quadrupedes gloria prima lepus.”
APPENDIX I.
LIST OF MASTERS AND WHIPS.
APPENDIX II.
RECORD OF SPORT.
| Amalgamated Hunt. | |
| 1867 | |
| Hunting days | 27 |
| Hares killed | 3 |
| 1868 | |
| Hunting days | 29 |
| Hares killed | 2 |
| 1869 | |
| Hunting days | 26 |
| Hares killed | 7 |
| 1870 | |
| Hunting days | 18 |
| Hares killed | 3 |
| 1871 | |
| Hunting days | 24 |
| Hares killed | 4 |
| 1872 | |
| Hunting days | 29 |
| Hares killed | 6 |
| 1873 | |
| Hunting days | 22 |
| Hares killed | 5 |
| 1874 | |
| Hunting days | 22 |
| Hares killed | 4 |
| 1875 | |
| Hunting days | 22 |
| Hares killed | 4 |
| 1876 | |
| Hunting days | 34 |
| Hares killed | 15 |
| 1877 | |
| Hunting days | 27 |
| Hares killed | 17 |
| 1878 | |
| Hunting days | 26 |
| Hares killed | 11 |
| 1879 | |
| Hunting days | 25 |
| Hares killed | 13 |
| 1880 | |
| Hunting days | 25 |
| Hares killed | 9 |
| 1881 | |
| Hunting days | 25 |
| Hares killed | 13 |
| 1882 | |
| Hunting days | 27 |
| Hares killed | 12 |
| 1883 | |
| Hunting days | 26 |
| Hares killed | 7 |
| 1884 | |
| Hunting days | 28 |
| Hares killed | 11 |
| 1885 | |
| Hunting days | 24 |
| Hares killed | 8 |
| 1886 | |
| Hunting days | 37 |
| Hares killed | 17 |
| 1887 | |
| Hunting days | 30 |
| Hares killed | 11 |
| 1888 | |
| Hunting days | 25 |
| Hares killed | 5 |
| 1889 | |
| Hunting days | 30 |
| Hares killed | 11 |
| 1890 | |
| Hunting days | 26 |
| Hares killed | 12 |
| 1891 | |
| Hunting days | 27 |
| Hares killed | 6 |
| 1892 | |
| Hunting days | 26 |
| Hares killed | 14 |
| 1893 | |
| Hunting days | 31 |
| Hares killed | 8 |
| 1894 | |
| Hunting days | 22 |
| Hares killed | 11 |
| 1895 | |
| Hunting days | 21 |
| Hares killed | 7 |
| 1896 | |
| Hunting days | 29 |
| Hares killed | 3 |
| 1897 | |
| Hunting days | 30 |
| Hares killed | 15 |
| 1898 | |
| Hunting days | 30 |
| Hares killed | 7 |
| 1899 | |
| Hunting days | 31 |
| Hares killed | 13 |
| 1900 | |
| Hunting days | 24 |
| Hares killed | 5 |
| 1900-1901 | |
| Hunting days | 28 |
| Hares killed | 5 |
| 1901-1902 | |
| Hunting days | 37 |
| Hares killed | 11 |
| 1903 | |
| Hunting days | 30 |
| Hares killed | 9 |
| 1903-1904 | |
| Hunting days | 42 |
| Hares killed | 25 |
| 1904-1905 | |
| Hunting days | 40 |
| Hares killed | 20 |
| 1905-1906 | |
| Hunting days | 48 |
| Hares killed | 22 |
| 1906-1907 | |
| Hunting days | 37 |
| Hares killed | 10 |
| 1907-1908 | |
| Hunting days | 42 |
| Hares killed | 24 |
| 1908-1909 | |
| Hunting days | 43 |
| Hares killed | 25 |
| 1909-1910 | |
| Hunting days | 36 |
| Hares killed | 19 |
| 1910-1911 | |
| Hunting days | 36 |
| Hares killed | 27 |
| 1911-1912 | |
| Hunting days | 43 |
| Hares killed | 28 |
| 1912-1913 | |
| Hunting days | 45 |
| Hares killed | 33 |
| 1913-1914 | |
| Hunting days | 49 |
| Hares killed | [12]38 |
| 1914-1915 | |
| Hunting days | 31 |
| Hares killed | 22 |
| 1915-1916 | |
| Hunting days | 34 |
| Hares killed | 9 |
| 1916-1917 | |
| Hunting days | 31 |
| Hares killed | 12 |
| 1917. Winter Half. | |
| Hunting days | 16 |
| Hares killed | 9 |
| 1918-1919. No hunting. | |
| 1920 | |
| Hunting days | 19 |
| Hares killed | 3 |
| 1920-1921 | |
| Hunting days | 49 |
| Hares killed | 36 |
APPENDIX III.
LETTER FROM F. GRENFELL TO Eton College Chronicle, DEC. 1899.
The existing arrangements for the keeping of the Eton beagles having proved extravagant and not altogether satisfactory, I now propose to try and form a plan which will in the future put the Hunt on a sound basis. The first step is to build our own kennels, and it is with much satisfaction I am able to state that the Governing Body see no objection to the plan, and have appointed the Building Committee to consider it. Should kennels be built, the E.C.H. will benefit in four ways:
(i) The kennels would belong exclusively to the College.
(ii) The kennel huntsman would be a College Servant.
(iii) A valuable pack might be got together.
(iv) All at a less expense than it has cost in the past.
In regard to No. (iii) there is much to be said, discussed, agreed to and disagreed from.
We will suppose that the E.C.H. be a beagle pack—as in years past it has been a beagle-harrier pack of all sizes. If it be a beagle pack, it must have no hounds over 16 inches, as 16 inches is the limit of a beagle. The pack should not be smaller than 15½ inches to 16 inches, as there are several reasons to object to in having smaller hounds.
1. The enormous field which turns out, numbering often 200 people, and a small, and therefore slow, pack is almost impossible, as some of the 200 would be overrunning the hounds all the time.
2. We only hunt for two or three hours in the afternoon.
3. The country that is hunted consists almost entirely of plough, which, of course, stops hounds to a great extent.
Perhaps the plan that W. B. H. proposes in E.C.C. of Nov. 17th could be brought into consideration: (1) “That the Master of the Beagles should summon a meeting of present and old Etonians interested in the subject (I think old Masters might be added to the list) to decide, now and for ever, upon a standard height of the Eton Beagles.” (2) “That the standard should be fixed with a view to showing as much sport to their followers as possible in the limited number of hours at their disposal.” (3) “That the matter should be thoroughly thrashed out, and that it should not be in the power of succeeding Masters to change either the standard of height or type fixed for their benefit by their predecessors on due consideration.”
Having disposed of all last year’s pack I have bought an entirely new pack of hounds, 15½ inches and very level. Though some hounds are rather lacking in good looks, the pack in itself are a level lot, and very good workers. As we hope to have the new kennels, a very great improvement will be made, namely “walk” will be done away with. It is impossible to have a good pack, i.e. a pack that works well together, and several new hounds, drafts from other packs, bought, and for the remaining ten months are at walk, which in several cases means that a boy at the College takes them home, and gets his moneyworth out of them by hunting drags, rabbits and sometimes hares; and in other cases they are taken home, forgotten, neglected, and sent back in January, so as to hunt at once, in a most disgraceful condition. Can this pack, then, be expected to hunt when they are all collected as well as a pack kept and hunted from year to year, doing daily exercise in the summer, and good fifteen miles’ road exercise three days a week in October, November and December, with, if possible, an occasional hunt in between?
And therefore a pack, 16 inches, having been hunted year by year together, and got fit and properly kept, will go far faster than a pack straying for 50 yards or so, with a hound 20 yards or so ahead of the rest, etc., of 18, 17, 16, 15 and 14 inch hounds. These heights are no exaggeration, one year there being two hounds 19½ and two 12 inches. And if “walk” continues, these heights must be varied like this, as it is impossible to get a level pack in January.
Now we will suppose that the hounds are kept in their kennels always throughout the summer; then the new Master can be with his hounds all the summer and good blood can be got in the pack by sending bitches to well-known beagle packs, and in time a very good strain could be got. All the puppies would be sent out to walk till they are twelve months old and fit to join the pack. I don’t think there would be any difficulty in finding either boys or farmers to walk the puppies, and a small challenge cup could be given, as in other packs, for the hound best walked. Thus a good entry could be made, and the old hounds drafted. Of course, to get a good and well-bred pack would take about twelve years; but we all hope at some future time or other to see the E.C.H. entered in the stud book, and to see the first prize at Peterborough won by a hound belonging to the E.C.H. There is no reason why all this should not take place, provided a good kennelman is kept, and the Master devotes heart and soul to his hounds, and is careful to get good fresh blood in the pack.
If all this be taken into consideration, I am sure you will find that as good sport is shown by the smaller and level pack, and as many hares killed.
Beckford says: “You will find nothing so essential to your sport as that your hounds should run well together; nor can this end be better attained than by confining yourself, as near as you can, to those of the same sort, viz. size and shape. A great excellence in a pack of hounds is the head they carry; and that pack be said to go the fastest that can run 10 miles with the fewest checks. As a good level pack at a check should spread like a rocket, what can be finer than a pack like the horses of the sun, ‘all abreast’?”
I hope you will excuse me, Mr. Editor, for trespassing on your valuable space at such a length, but these are only suggestions on my part, and I hope the matter will be thoroughly sifted and discussed; and let us hope that some authority on the subject will put forth his views. Let your hounds be
“Facies non omnibus una,
Nec diversa tamen, qualem decet esse sonorum.”
APPENDIX IV.
LETTER FROM A MASTER OF HOUNDS OF FORTY YEARS’ EXPERIENCE.
Behaviour and Control of Field.
When a Master is hunting his own hounds it is very advisable to have either a joint Master, or a field Master, whose business it is to keep the field well away from huntsman and hounds when they come to a check. The field should remember that to press hounds at a check is most disastrous to sport, and they should keep well away and wait till hounds hit off the line, and certainly not follow the huntsman about when he is making a cast. In hare hunting this is most essential, as a hare will often run back on its own line or squat; if the field is walking about on the line it is impossible for hounds to pick it up. The huntsman should know to a few yards where the hounds last had the line, and the moment that he says “Hold hard” everyone should stop and stand perfectly still and not talk: the least thing will get hounds’ heads up, and once up it takes time to get them down again. Another thing, never halloo a hare; if any one sees a hare, hold up his cap at the place where he has seen the hare; if the huntsman does not see him, go to the huntsman and tell him, 1st where the hare was seen, 2nd how long it had been gone, 3rd which direction it was going in; a minute lost in giving correct information will often save many minutes in getting hounds properly on the line.
APPENDIX V.
THE USE OF THE HORN.
By H. H. Howard-Vyse.
With beagles the horn should be used sparingly, and, except at a kill, for one purpose only, to call hounds to one. There is little more to be said except that the sound of the horn carries a very short distance, and that it should therefore be blown with all the strength that the huntsman’s lungs permit. To call hounds to one when drawing or casting, a short blast is usually employed; to bring them on to the line of a viewed hare, the note should be a longer one causing more excitement; the same applies to the occasion of a kill; and, in calling hounds together at the end of the day, it is well to use a long-drawn-out note with a die-away tinge in it.