“‘From Topley Banks!’ I answered, taking the fox from the hounds, and putting him across the branch of a tree in the shrubbery, whilst I kept a sharp look-out for the Earl and the huntsman, and the whips and the rest of the field.
“‘Why, it’s scarcely gone eleven?’ said the Squire, looking at his watch; ‘you haven’t wasted much time this morning. When did they put the hounds in?’
“‘At half-past ten to a minute,’ I replied, ‘and we found and came away directly. But I haven’t kept much of a dead reckoning since, and they never checked nor hovered once to give me a chance of looking at my watch.’
“‘And how did the ground ride?’ said two or three in a breath.
“‘Faith! you must ask Supple-Jack that question,’ was my answer; ‘for indeed I hadn’t much time to inquire.’
“Now, the flashiest hounds alive couldn’t have done such a distance as that, in a shorter time. And mark you, Mr. Softly, we had no tearing along, heads up and sterns down, and hounds tailing for a mile because they were all racing with each other. Far from it; they kept well together, and threw their tongues merrily enough every now and then, when they were ‘smeusing’ through a fence, or shaking themselves dry after a plunge into the Sludge; but they kept always driving on. That was what did it. No hesitation, no uncertainty, no getting their heads up, and looking about for assistance. There was nobody to interfere with them if they had wanted it, for the huntsman was a mile behind, and dropping further and further astern every yard they went, and the Earl had left his horn at home, and had little breath to spare besides.
“They ran their fox unassisted, and they killed him unassisted; but then, you observe, these hounds had been trained for many a long season to put down their noses and hunt; and it’s my opinion that they used to run so fast for the very reason that they were what superficial people call slow.”
The old gentleman here filled his glass, and took a good solemn gulp at the dry port, before proceeding to the demonstration of the proposition he had laid down. “Jovial Jem” and myself followed his example, the latter giving me to understand, by the expression of his countenance, that the governor was now mounted on his hobby, and had better not be interrupted in the process of riding it to a standstill.
“It’s all nonsense about hounds carrying such a head,” said the Squire. “It may look very fine to see them charging in line, like a squadron of dragoons, or a flock of sheep when they’ve been turned by a dog; but what’s the consequence? If they once get ten yards over the scent, it’s all up. Jealous and flashy, each tries to get ahead of his comrade; and the further they go the further they get from their fox, till they’re forced to stop and stare about them like a pack of fools, and have recourse to their huntsman after all. Then, what a pretty business they make of it! To my thinking, it’s enough to disgust any man with hunting, to see hounds cast, except of course under very peculiar circumstances—such as ground stained with stock, sudden storm coming on when a fox is sinking, or what not. It’s no pleasure to me, nor to you either, I should suppose, to see them tearing along at the heels of their huntsman’s horse, neither knowing nor caring apparently where they go, so long as they can keep out of reach of the whipper-in, who is flogging and shouting behind them. Then they don’t half run, after all, even if they should be so lucky as to get on the line of their fox again. He is mobbed to death, in all probability, rather than fairly killed; and half the hounds don’t seem to care about eating him when they’ve got him, instead of raging and tearing like so many wolves, as they do when they know they’ve caught him for themselves. No, sir; give me a good line-hunting pack that stick close to their work, though perhaps they do make a little noise over it. If the leaders should chance to over-run the scent a bit, why the others take it up, and there is no perceptible delay. I have seen these Castle-Cropper hounds hunt through sheep or oxen, just as steadily, though not quite so fast, perhaps, as if they were running in a good scenting woodland. The present Earl, though, is breeding them too fast. I always tell him so. He’s breeding them too fast. And I think Will Hawke is of the same opinion as myself.”
“You consider Will an excellent huntsman, do you not?” I hazarded as a safe remark.