FOOTNOTES:
[2] Near Ilfracombe.—Ed.
[3] Mr. C. H. Basset, then Master of the Devon and Somerset Staghounds.—Ed.
[THE CHASE OF THE CARTED DEER.]
NOTE.—This article has been kindly read and approved by Mrs. Culpeper Clarke, who was unfortunately prevented from undertaking the task of writing it herself. In several cases the valuable suggestions she has made will be found embodied in the paper, marked by the initials C.F.C.C. At the special request of the writer of the paper, Mrs. Culpeper Clarke has consented to allow her photograph to appear.
Of all forms of the chase, that of the carted deer, has the unenviable distinction of having been followed, discussed and written about, by a greater number of people ignorant of the first elements of sport, than any other. It has too the disadvantage of being scorned by some of the boldest followers of the fox and the red deer, and thus while "crabbed" by those incompetent to judge, it is a "thing of naught" in the hunting calendar of some of the best sportsmen and women of the day. In spite of this, however, the hunt of the carted deer is the source of pleasure and health to many who otherwise would seldom or never be seen in the hunting-field, and as such it deserves to be chronicled.
That certain objections have always been urged with more or less weight against this particular form of sport, I am well aware, but I will leave its defence to abler hands than mine, and while ready to give help, if it may be, to any sister-sportswoman who would take it up, I must say boldly that a day with fox or hare is in my opinion, worth more than a dozen brilliant gallops after an enlarged deer. On the score of humanity, however, there is undoubtedly nothing to be said in its disfavour. The deer is well fed and cared for, and rarely comes to harm when before the hounds, and though there are nervous deer as nervous people, who will in the one case "funk" a possible fence, and in the other show signs of extreme fear at the pursuit of hounds, I do not believe in the agonies of terror of which the so-called humanitarians are pleased to make so much. On this point, however, let those who like Lord Ribblesdale, can wield the pen with as skilful a hand as they can steer a horse across country, speak with the authority which is theirs by right of profound knowledge, and long and unusual experience. And if we should find that other forms of sport are for whatever reason out of our reach, we may well be content to ride after the carted deer with such sisters of the chase as Lady Julia Follett, Lady Georgiana Curzon, Lady Downshire, and the brilliant horsewomen who week after week are among the followers of the Wards over the stiffest part of the Meath country. Can we go far wrong either in following such sportsmen as Lord Coventry and Lord Ribblesdale, with the spirit of Whyte-Melville inspiring us?
Let us then turn for a few words about the quarry of the Stag-hunt. The animal pursued, whether it be Stag, Havier, or Hind, has been carefully selected and most heedfully cared for, so that when it comes out for a gallop it is in the very height of condition. It is not often that it is asked to exert itself, for it comes out only in its proper turn, and this in the larger hunting establishments would not be more than three or four times in the course of the season. A Stag, fed on the choicest oats and the best old hay is not easily fatigued, and probably at the close of the day's proceedings, will not be nearly so "done" as the horses that have ridden in its pursuit, or the men and women to whom it has been giving pleasure. We all know the old history of Mr. Henry Nevill's deer, which lived on terms of perfect amity with the hounds kept for their chase, and I have myself seen a stag deliberately trot down a road and look over the hedge at the pack, which had considerately been stopped till his Lordship should get his second wind. The exploits of a celebrated old hind too, which was on the best of terms with all connected with her hunt, are still remembered in the country in which she afforded sport. As soon as she was released she would speed away, often for twenty miles or so, and when weary would take refuge in a wood. Recognising the sign that the hunt was at an end, the huntsman then stopped his hounds, leaving the hind in peace till the deer-cart came up. When this had been backed to the boundary fence of the covert where the deer was waiting, and the old driver had given a low peculiar whistle, the keen ears and soft eyes of the hind would appear through the bushes. If no enemy was in sight, she would then jump lightly in the cart and be driven home. Let us hope she would have a more comfortable journey than many a sportswoman, with weary limbs and a weary horse to carry her, and many long miles stretching between her and her abode.