Parson Chowne was a marrying man—having, it will be recollected, three wives in succession; Froude was twice married, his second wife being Miss Halse, daughter of “Squire” Halse, a yeoman farmer of Pulworthy. Tradition says that he officiated at the lady’s christening, and, at the convivial party given in honour of the event, observed that, if the girl baby lived to grow up, he would marry her. From another source I have heard that, when he was courting her, he and her father would stay up late, drinking, and Froude, by no means so abstinent as the terrible Chowne, generally got into a condition which rendered it necessary for him to be “personally conducted” to Knowstone by one of the men, who would ride behind him, buoy him up in the saddle, and lift him from his horse at the end of the journey, and make himself responsible for his safety. Sad to say, Froude was neither civil nor grateful, and although consciously incapable, heaped all kinds of profane and opprobrious epithets on his companion. “You only do it for your guts’ sake. Go back—go back, or I’ll yaw (thrash) tha.” Bragg did not dare to dismount, knowing that if he showed signs of fear Froude would be as good as his word, and give him a good horse-whipping.
Froude could be a perfect gentleman if he chose, and, when in his capacity as master of hounds, he entertained sportsmen like Lord Portsmouth to dinner, he acquitted himself with surprising ease and some amount of refinement. But he was always relieved when such ordeals were over and he had attended the last of his guests to the door. He would then turn to a boon companion with the remark, “Thank Heaven, George; I’ve been a gentleman long enough. Come into the kitchen, and have some grog.”
Radford was nothing like so prominent a character as Froude, but he was, if possible, even more disreputable. He was tall and well built, and his favourite recreation was fighting. As to time and place, he was not at all particular, and was often seen in the boxing booths at Southmolton Fair giving an exhibition of his powers. Radford seems to have had quite a mania for pugilism. Once he invaded a gipsy encampment, and offered a sovereign to any of them who could beat him. The best man was picked, but proved of no use against the parson, who thereupon offered to fight the next, and eventually went through about a dozen of them, each new opponent being buoyed up with the hope that Radford was getting worn out with his exertions. But the hope turned out delusive.
In the same way, when the railway was being cut between Exeter and Barnstaple, Radford appeared among the navvies, issuing challenges
right and left, and, as they were accompanied with offers of money, his gages of battle were eagerly taken up. The navvies, as a rule, fared no better than the gipsies, but one man named Tolly, who was afterwards a stationmaster on the line, was credited with the proud distinction of having beaten the redoubtable rector.
The Hon. Newton Fellowes, afterwards Lord Portsmouth, used to drive a four-in-hand, and occasionally experienced trouble with lazy carters, who did not make room for him as fast as he could wish, and whom he punished with a slash of his whip. One day Radford got himself up as a carter, and, lying down inside the cart, pretended to be asleep. On came Newton Fellowes, who, finding the carter deaf to his commands, flew into a perfect fury and began to flourish his whip. At the first touch up jumped Radford, and administered to his lordship the worst drubbing he ever had in his life.
As I have said, however, Radford was by no means Froude’s equal, and as the Parson Rambone of the romance, rightly holds a secondary place. Radford, not Russell, was the original of the character, since Blackmore himself told Mr Bryan, of Southmolton, that the former was his model. Froude’s redeeming virtue was his success as a sportsman, and the following article from the Sporting Magazine for 1821 shows in what esteem he was held by the hunting community.