Ernest Bracebridge: School Days

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The Doctor held his watch in his hand. The hounds meantime were getting ready to start; one pressing before the other, taking a last look at shoe-strings, tightening in their belts, rubbing their hands, in their eagerness to rush out of the wood and commence the pursuit. They kept looking up at the Doctor’s countenance, to endeavour to ascertain by the expression it wore whether time was nearly up. Those who had watches were continually pulling them out for the same object. At last the Doctor was seen to put his into his pocket. Lemon gave a cheerful sound with his horn.

“Away, lads, away!” cried the Doctor, full of animation. The instant the order was issued, the hounds made a magnificent burst out of the wood, in full cry, led on by the huntsman, waving his flag, and followed by Tom Bouldon, as whipper-in; an office he performed most effectually. The Doctor stalked after them, enjoying the sport as much as anybody; and, I have no doubt, longing to enter more fully into it, and to run along with them.

Away went the pack, cheering each other on, across a field in which they had found the scent. At the bottom of it ran a rapid brook, as they all well knew. There were stepping-stones across it. It required a firm foot and a steady eye not to fall in. It was a clever dodge of the hare to gain time, for only one could cross at a time. There was scent on each stone, to show he had crossed. Two or three slipped in, but were speedily picked out again by their companions; and forming rapidly, continued the chase on the other side, up a long green lane, with high hedges on either side. They had to keep their eyes about them to ascertain whether he had gone through the hedge, or kept up the lane. On, on they went! at last a pathway, over a stile, appeared on the right, leading through a thick copse. They dashed into it, but soon found that the pathway had not been kept; and through briar and underwood they had to force a passage; now losing the scent, now catching it again; a wide, dry, sunny field lay before them; along it, and two or three others of a similar character they had to go; and then across another brook, over which, one after the other, they boldly leapt. Once more they were in a green lane, with deep cart ruts in it. Before them was a mud cottage, with thatched roof, and a small, fully cultivated garden, enclosed by rough palings, in front of it.

An old couple looked out, surprised at the noise. “Oh, they be the young gentlemen from Grafton Hall. What can they be after?” they observed to one another.

“I say, good dame, have you seen a couple of hares running along this way?” exclaimed Tom Bouldon, striking his staff into the ground, for the hounds had lost the scent.

“No; but we seed two young gentlemen a scampering along here, and up that there lane. Bees they demented? We didn’t like to stop them, though somehow we thought as how we ought.”

“Lucky you didn’t; they’d have kicked up a great row, let me tell you,” answered Tommy, laughing heartily. He had not time to say more. The shout of “Tally ho!” and the merry sound of the huntsman’s horn, put all the pack in motion. The lane led up hill, and then widened out on some wild open rounded downs, with here and there a white chalk-pit, showing the character of the soil. Up it they tore—for the scent was strong, and they were eager to make up for the time they had lost.

Every one was well warmed up now, and would have leaped across a chasm or down a precipice, or performed any other desperate achievement which they would not have attempted to do in their cooler moments. They breasted the steep downs in magnificent style. The scent led up some of the most difficult parts. For half a mile or more it led along the very summit of the ridge, but a fresh sweet breeze came playing around them, invigorating their muscles, and making them insensible to fatigue. The scent led over a high mound, along the edge of a chalk cliff. As they reached the summit, two figures were seen on the top of a similar height. All were of opinion that they were Ernest and Buttar. They looked scarcely half a mile off. The figures took off their caps, and waved them: this act dispelled all doubts on the subject. Some began to fear that they should catch the hares too easily, but Lemon assured them that there was no fear of that, and so they soon found. Down the steep they dashed, till he shouted to them to stop, and to turn off to the left. A long line of chalk cliffs intervened between them and the opposite height, and the scent led along their edge. Ernest and Buttar had, in the meantime, disappeared; after a run of a quarter of a mile, once more the scent was lost.

“Lost, lost!” shouted Lemon; and the hounds as they came up, went off in every direction to try and find it. In vain, for a long time, they hunted about, till a white spot was seen at the edge of the cliff, a little farther on. The cliff was here more practicable. They looked over; several pieces of paper appeared scattered on little green patches down the precipice. Fearlessly they began to descend, though to some people it would have been nervous work. The difficulty they found showed that Ernest and his companion had in no way lost ground, but had probably gained on them. Now they all reached a ledge, beyond which the descent seemed utterly impracticable. Still Ernest and Buttar evidently had got down.

“Where the hares have gone, we must follow,” cried Lemon, to encourage his party. “Hunt about for a path—where there’s a will there’s a way! Hurra, now!”