One who knew him intimately writes: “Russell was an iron man. I have known other specimens, but Russell was the hardest of all in constitution. He was kindly enough and liberal in his dealings with his people; but if it came to selling him, or even to lending him, a horse, or buying what he was pleased to call his famous terriers, the case was different—it was after the morality of North Devon. He was a wonderful courtier where ladies were concerned, and with them he was very popular. He was no fool, but very capable, only a man who was too much given to outdoor sports to read, or even to keep himself currently informed.
“His voice was not unmusical, but tremendous. He was far too shrewd to be ever foolish in church. I was in the county somewhere about 1848–9, and there was a Bishop’s Visitation at Southmolton, and Russell was asked to preach. Then the clergy, churchwardens, etc., dined together at the ‘George,’ and after dinner the Bishop rose, and, with his silvery voice, thanked the preacher of the day, and, in the name of all those present, begged him to publish his admirable discourse for their benefit.
“Bishop Phillpotts, I may say, was diabolically astute and well-informed, and dangerous to match.
“Then up rose Russell, with head thrown back, and said: ‘My lord, I rejoice that so good a judge should pronounce my performance profitable. But I cannot oblige your lordship and publish, because that discourse is already in print. My lord, when I was requested to preach to-day I naturally turned to see what others before me had thought it advisable to say on similar occasions; and, chancing on a discourse by an Irish clergyman of long ago, I shared your lordship’s sentiments of admiration, and feeling myself incapable of doing better than the author, I was determined, my lord, that if, to-day, I could give no better fare, at least my audience should have no worse. My lord, the sermon is not original.’
“There was not a man in the room but knew that the Bishop had endeavoured to trap their man. And that he had extricated himself gave vast delight, manifested by the way in which the glasses leaped from the tables, as the churchwardens banged the boards.”
Russell was not a heavy drinker. No one ever saw him drunk. Usually he only brought out a bottle of port after he had killed his fox. On all other occasions gin and water was produced before going to bed. But if not intemperate in that way, he could and did use strong language in the hunting-field—as strong as any of the yeomen and farmers.
He was ubiquitous. Whenever there was a wrestling match, distance was nothing to him, or a horse fair, or a stag-hunt. Mentioning stag-hunts recalls the story of a parson on the fringe of Exmoor, who had been out with the hounds, and had the hunters in his church on Sunday morning. The Psalm given out was “As pants the hart for cooling streams,” and his text was “Lo, we heard of it at Ephratah, and we found it in the wood.”
From Southmolton John Russell moved to Iddesleigh, appointed there by his father, who surrendered to him the income of the living.
He was now somewhat out of the ring of his former associates, and had to make, and contrived to make, fresh friends in the neighbourhood of Hatherleigh. But it was not one where there were many squires, and the clergy were too poor to keep packs. Moreover, that tract of country was rarely hunted at all, and Russell determined to make it his own special happy hunting ground. There were, however, difficulties in the way. The people did not sympathize. The farmers were indisposed to favour his scheme, and of resident sporting squires there were none at all.
It had long been the practice of the natives to kill a fox whenever and however they could catch him; and Russell had not been long at Iddesleigh when one day his ear caught the sound of a church bell, rung in a jangling fashion and with more than usual clamour. It was the signal that a fox had been tracked to ground or balled into a brake; and the bell summoned every man who possessed a pickaxe, a gun, or a terrier to hasten to the spot and lend a hand in destroying the noxious animal. This practice he had to interrupt and put an end to.