Bagging the Fox. By C. Loraine Smith.
Lent by Basil Dighton.
I now made the best of my way straight to the large woods which I had passed through when hunted by the other pack, and luckily made good use of my time, for they came after me as if their feet had been winged, neither road nor wall delaying them. I had enough to do to keep out of their way through these large woods, which they traversed nearly as fast as if in the open country. At the extremity of the woods, to my surprise, I met the noble master of the pack, who had succeeded in getting to that point before me, the result of which was that I turned back into the covert before he saw me, and caused a slight check, after which they again approached me, just as I had reached the wall which surrounded the wood, at the top of the hill looking into the vale, where I descended, and looking back saw the hounds for a short time again at a check, owing to that high ground being slightly covered with snow. I dreaded lest they should take the hounds on beyond the snow towards the vale where I was; but they soon turned back, and I heard no more. It was nearly three o’clock, which some think time to go homeward rather than from home, as would have been the case if they had followed me, when probably I should not have lived to tell my tale. The scent in the vale is always so much greater than on the hills from which they had hunted me, that I must have fallen a prey to this pack. Although we are endowed with so large a share of wisdom, it is not all-sufficient; or else we should be aware that when pursued by hounds and nearly beaten by them, it must be all but certain death to us to run from a bad scenting country into a good one.
Having now openly defeated the enemies who had conspired against me, I remained in the vale until I was tempted to move into a finer and fairer country. Great changes are going on in the hunting of the country which I left; and should we ever meet again there may be much for me to tell. For the present I have done.
“We now look to thee, Warwick, to give us something good; thy country has produced one of the most extraordinary men that ever lived. He knew all the wiles of the wiliest creature that walks the earth. Dost thou think that Shakespeare would have been a good huntsman?”
“By the faith of a fox I should have been most loath to try him. Did he possess the following qualities: boldness, perseverance, activity, enterprise, temper, and decision? Had he a keen perception of relative place? Had he a good eye and ear? If he had all these, and more, then might Shakespeare have been an immortal fox-hunter.
“It is little that I have seen in this country, and I have little to tell; but I will at once proceed and state to what cause I attribute my escape on one or two occasions lately.”
WARWICK’S STORY
In the month of March last I was lying in a strong gorse-covert, not far from Nuneham, when after hearing the voice of Stephens, the huntsman to the Atherstone[4] hounds, I heard the following remarks by one sportsman to another, both being on horseback and waiting close to where I was in my kennel.
“Well, I do hate that silent system; had Robert not been so sparing of his voice, or had he only given one blast of his horn when he began drawing the small spinney just now, the hounds would not have chopped that vixen in cub; for vixens in that state are unable to run far, and are unapt to move till pressed to do so by the approach of danger. She probably had been so much used to see the keeper and his dogs pass, that, not hearing the huntsman’s voice or horn, she was taken by surprise when the hounds got round her; if she had moved before, she might have been seen, and the hounds stopped in time to save her. No doubt she had been there some weeks before, and, in consequence of having a good friend at the great house not being ever disturbed, she believed that she was safe.”