A few moments after our arrival a gentleman who had volunteered to act as runner or quarry started over the slope, and sprinted quickly across the valley on to the opposite hillside. His destination had been previously decided, and with the aid of a glass we could distinctly see him crouching behind the bushes.
A short time after he had concealed himself, the hounds, which had been held in check out of sight, were brought through the gate and laid on scent. The laying on was done by the kennel man, who simply ran his hand along the line or lines of scent to give the hounds a start. A moment later they were rapidly casting round on the trail. Then, before you could say "Jack Robinson," there was a deep sonorous bay, more like the roar of the sea-lion echoing in the roof of Brighton Aquarium than anything else I know, but sweet and resonant as the note of a bell. They had found the scent, and were off like streaked lightning.
FINDING THE QUARRY—INSTANTANEOUS PHOTOGRAPH.
FINDING THE QUARRY—INSTANTANEOUS PHOTOGRAPH.
Down the hill they flew, three in a bunch, the fourth perhaps a yard behind, their noses almost scraping the ground, and the long graceful ears trailing noiselessly in the short grass. A couple of minutes later a deep-bayed quartette echoed away on the further hillside. They had found their man, and were jumping and licking him delightedly. So much for the tearing limb from limb theory.
As a matter of fact, the bloodhound never hurts his quarry when found. He is the gentlest and most lovable of hounds, and vice of any description is utterly foreign to his character. If he is required to hold his man at bay it is necessary to specially train him for the purpose.
"Strong scent," said Mr. Brough. "They went right away." And, in truth, they travelled like racehorses. So fast, indeed, that one forgot for the moment that they were not pursuing a visible object, or racing to a pre-arranged goal.