The rail, though not high, was strong and ugly. There was a nasty deep blind ditch on the taking-off side, and nothing but gorse-bushes to land in. I did not seem to care much about entering the covert at this point; but whilst I was deliberating the matter in my own mind, and Tipple Cider was doing all he could to get at the rail, tail first or anyhow, a horn resounded from the opposite side of the covert; the music of the hounds running, which had greeted us ever since we got within ear-shot, suddenly ceased: though I could see nothing of them, I could distinctly hear the rush of horses galloping up the adjacent pasture. It was evident they had gone away; and equally incontestable that we had lost our start. Tips blazed up into excitement at once; he made no more ado, but caught the four-year-old short by the head, rammed both spurs in, and, notwithstanding an abortive kick or two, forced him over the rail, striking it hard with fore and hind legs. Tipple Cider, fired with emulation, took the bit in his teeth, and had me over it, clear and clean, before I was aware. The next instant, leaping and plunging through the gorse-bushes, I was following Tips at the best pace I could muster, to get after the hounds.
My blood rose with the motion, my horse dropped to his bit, my pilot chose an easy, though devious path; if everything had gone right, I think at that moment I could have ridden fairly and boldly enough.
As we rounded the slight acclivity on which the gorse was planted, a beautiful panorama was spread out before us. Already two fields ahead, the hounds were running hard, evidently with a capital scent, followed at different intervals by the scattering field, all fresh as fire, and every man taking the place to which he felt his skill and daring entitled him. Nearest ourselves I recognised Mr. Naggett, striding away on the mealy chestnut with a great display of enthusiasm and hard riding, his feet stuck out, his elbows up to his ears, and his blue coat-tails flying in the wind. He was diverging, nevertheless, slightly from the line of chase, and making vigorously for the gate, which old Ike, whose active feet had already taken him there, was hurriedly unfastening. Two or three dark coats and the second whip seemed also inclined to avail themselves of this convenient egress; the body of the field, however, were charging the fence boldly (a fair hedge and ditch), making for the places that had been leaped by their leaders in the first flight. I saw Plumtree jump it on his steady hunter; but I observed by the way in which he pulled the old horse out of his stride, upsetting the equanimity even of that experienced animal, that his nerves were by no means up to the mark. The Earl and Will Hawke, a hundred yards or so ahead of these, were close to the hounds. “Pop,” too, on the white horse, had got a capital start, and was blazing away as if he had a second horse in every field, and a spare neck in his pocket. Rather in front of him, and alongside the hounds, rode the dauntless Miss Merlin, sailing away on “Lady-Killer.” I recognised his long swish-tail even at that distance; taking everything as it came in his stride, and diverging neither to right nor left.
Even at the pace I was going, my heart beat faster at the sight. If such were wanting, this was indeed an additional inducement to catch them at any price. I caught hold of Tipple Cider’s head, and for a few resolute minutes I do believe the deluded animal thought he had got a regular “out-and-outer” on his back.
The hounds bent somewhat to the right. Tips, who had an eye like a hawk, perceived it in a moment; and turning round on the saddle, good-naturedly motioned me to follow him. By diverging a little, we got upon a succession of sound headlands, with fair easy fences; the hounds kept turning towards us, and we began to overhaul them rapidly. Excited as I was, I could not but admire the masterly manner in which the rough-rider handled the young one at his leaps. We were getting on gloriously. The first flight, including Miss Merlin, although a couple of fields distant, were scarcely nearer the hounds than ourselves. I rejoiced to think that I should drop amongst them, as it were, from the clouds, and assume my place in the front rank.
A momentary hesitation, another down-wind turn of the hounds, and there was but one fence between ourselves and the pack. My leader charged it resolutely; I prepared to follow him. It was an ugly place—a downhill gallop at it, a high straggling fence, sedgy banks, and something that was more of a watercourse than a ditch running on the far side. Tips was as eager as a glutton, but the young one’s heart failed him the last stride; and, although his rider had him in such a grasp that he could not refuse, the powder was out of him, and he jumped short, dropping his hind legs, and rolling into the next field. Tips was hardly clear of his horse before he was on him again; and I do not believe he lost half-a-dozen strides by the fall. Why did I not follow? My heart failed me. I thought it would be rash to go where another horse had fallen, though I had seen exactly how it happened; and Tipple Cider was shaking his head, as much as to say, “Why won’t you let me have a drive?” So I went to look for another place.
That sentence explains everything. Need I say how, the further I rode along the fence, the deeper and wider it became? Need I confess that I was eventually compelled to creep ignominiously through a gap in a green lane, the disappointed Tipple Cider grinding my leg against a tree and crushing my hat amongst its branches, in his disgust; or that I proceeded along this convenient alley as far as it lasted with renewed hopes, dashed by a bitter sense of vexation and shame? A stern chase is a long chase, by land as well as by sea; and there is no process, in my opinion, so utterly disheartening as that of trying to catch hounds in a run.
Sometimes I heard their notes, borne by the westerly breeze in tantalising harmony on my longing ears. Sometimes I caught sight of a few scattered riders in the distance, a lot of cattle herded together in a corner, or a flock of sheep formed up in military line, and not yet recovered from their panic. I rode on like a man in a dream; minutes seemed to lengthen themselves into hours, and I was surprised to find my horse so fresh after such prolonged exertions. At last, rounding the corner of the well-known Tangler’s Copse, and speculating vaguely how I should ever cross the Sludge, supposing the chase to be still forward in the same direction, I caught a view of the whole assemblage, not a quarter of a mile off, on the opposite side of the brook. It was obvious they had killed their fox, after a capital run. Horses were being led about, men on foot were standing in groups, some were in the act of remounting—it was probable that the run had been over some little time. Distinct against the sky stood out Miss Merlin’s graceful figure, leaning forward to caress the redoubtable Lady-Killer, who had carried her so well. In close attendance, I made out the white hunter of the exquisite “Pop.” I should think that poor beast must have had enough of it.
I was deliberating in my own mind whether I should not be fool enough to ride at the Sludge in cold blood, when my motions were decided for me by a general break-up of the distant party; Miss Merlin and her attendant cavaliers taking the direct road for the castle. It was evident she did not at present mean to return to the Haycock. Moodily and dejectedly, I too took my homeward way. I was disgusted with myself—disgusted with hunting—disgusted with life. I should have liked to know what the hounds had done, too; but I felt I could not have brooked the good-humoured curiosity of Mr. Tips, nor the self-sufficient pity of Mr. Naggett, who would be sure to swear he had gone better than he really did.
Espying these two sportsmen at a turn in the road gradually overtaking me, I set spurs to Tipple Cider, and rattled back to the Haycock as fast as I could trot. Arrived there, I found the dapper groom in marching order, getting out his horses for a journey. He had received orders that morning to move them on to Melton; and I have never set eyes on Miss Merlin from that day to this.