CHAPTER VII
Let us now imagine that all has gone merrily for a mile or two. It may be one of those pet days on which Hounds can burst their Fox and run into him in about half-an-hour, the ladies and gentlemen having had their work cut out to keep with them. To all who take part in it, an affair of this kind is the very elixir of Fox-hunting, probably of all sport. To the Huntsman it is the quintessence of his ambition. Sometimes it is suggested that, inasmuch as the weather and the Hounds and a certain amount of luck are the only factors, the Huntsman is merely a passenger. Do not believe it. The victorious burst is the concentrated result of weeks and months of careful training, feeding, and conditioning, and reflects the highest credit on the man who has been responsible for these things, to say nothing of his skilful performance in getting all his Hounds away together on the back of his Fox. The late Lord Henry Bentinck, in his own inimitable manner, puts it so well that it is impossible not to quote him:
“The highest praise that can be given to a Huntsman is for a fool to say, ‘We had a great run, and killed our fox; as for the Huntsman, he might have BEEN IN BED.’ ”
Or the day may be one of those rare days, almost as delightful as that described, when, although the pace is not so good, Hounds are able to follow their Fox without any help wherever he goes, and if they do not change on to another, to wear him down in about an hour, or perhaps longer. But on nine days out of ten, they will be brought to their noses in less than twenty minutes. In the meantime, the ideal place for the Huntsman to ride should have been about a hundred yards to the right or left rear of the pack, whichever is down wind of them. He should as far as possible look ahead, so as to anticipate difficulties, but his attention should be mainly concentrated on the leading Hounds, so as to mark the magic spot where they lose the scent. This faculty is by no means so easy as it sounds, and to exercise it correctly requires a practised eye. For instance, a party of young Hounds, rejoicing in the lead, sometimes seem to think that the fun is going to last for ever, and in their exuberance will often drive on, and even throw their tongues for several yards past the place where the Fox has turned, before they will admit their mistake. There is no animal so masterful and cocksure as a young dog Hound who has raced for the lead and won it. The head, therefore, cannot be too carefully watched, so that if, in the last resort, a cast has to be made, the Huntsman should always have in the back of his mind the exact spot where the scent was actually lost. He also ought to have in the map of his mind Mr. Thomas Smith’s invaluable sketch of a cast in his Diary of a Huntsman, published in 1838. This sketch as a general guide for recovering the line after the Hounds have done trying for themselves, and when there is nothing to indicate where the Fox has gone, cannot be beaten; it is hardly too much to say that it ought to be hung up on the wall over every Huntsman’s bed. A Huntsman who will be content to follow the principle of it, and set his face against fancy casts, will be surprised how his Foxes will come to hand, provided always that he knows to a yard where the scent failed. It is here reproduced, and the explanation of it cannot be better given than in Mr. Smith’s own words. It should be observed that Mr. Smith cannot be very far wrong, because, in the Craven country—not the best scenting country in England—he hunted his own Hounds, and in one season killed ninety Foxes in ninety-one days. “The principle of it,” says Mr. Smith, “at starting, is startling, yet few succeed better, namely, that of first holding the hounds the way he does not think the fox is gone. Thus, when at a check, and the pack have made their own swing, he then holds them round to the right or left, whichever is most up wind; consequently this side would have been the most unlikely; for they probably would not have checked at first had it been right, owing to its being rather up wind, when, if it does happen to be right, they hit it off directly, so that it takes scarcely a minute to hold them round back, behind the spot where they checked, about a hundred yards or so. He then turns and takes a little wider circle back, to the left the same distance, till he reaches, or nearly so, the line he came to behind the check at first. Now having ascertained for certain that his fox is not gone back, or short to the right or left, he can with confidence begin a wider cast than he would have ventured to make otherwise, owing to a fear that the fox had headed back, or to the right or left. The wide cast he commences on the left from behind, progressing, according to his judgement, and selecting the best scenting ground forward, beyond any fallow or bad scenting ground. As he now knows that the fox must be gone on, this cast is continued all round in front, and to the right, till he again reaches the line behind; he then takes a wider cast either way, and is guided by circumstances: but nineteen times out of twenty this last is not required, except the fox is headed some distance back, and the steam and stain of the horses prevents the hounds feeling the scent, the quick first cast back. If there is no wind to guide him, there may be a cover to which the fox is gone, on the left; but still he holds them first the unlikely side.”
The one contingency that Mr. Smith would seem to omit is that of the Fox having gone to ground and the Hounds having failed to mark him. Those who have studied and applied this plan can give numerous instances of its success. Some years ago, on a very cold day in January, with a steady north wind blowing, a pack of Fox-hounds had hunted their Fox due west for about five miles at a fair hunting pace with little or no help. The first real check then occurred one field short of a turnpike road running almost due north and south. Hardly a mile away, straight down wind on the left or southern flank, was a well-known stronghold. A man in a one-horse trap was halted in the road, having heard the Hounds. He had not seen the Fox, though the Fox might have seen him. It looked like a thousand to one that the Fox had turned down the wind to gain the friendly stronghold, and a very strong temptation arose to hold them that way. But not forgetting Mr. Thomas Smith, the short up-wind cast was tried, nearly back to the original line; in less than two minutes they hit him off and raced into him in the middle of a grass field three miles farther on, over the road. What had probably happened was that the Fox had seen the man in the trap, turned three-quarters right about, and then crossed the road to make his original point,—an eightmile point, and with the exception of the sharp turn just described, nearly straight all the way. The seemingly obvious down-wind cast would no doubt have saved the Fox, while Mr. Smith’s recipe undoubtedly killed him.
On another day Mr. Smith was almost forgotten, and yet in spite of the fact that he was only tried as an afterthought, the Fox was killed in a neighbouring country after a fine run. The Hounds had thrown up at a point marked X on the map, at the end of a grass lane which was crossed by a field road making a T-shaped junction of roads. In the corner of a field, at the top of the T on the left front, a flock of sheep had run together at a point marked C on the map. The wind was blowing from the west, or left of the line. The Huntsman naturally held the Hounds beyond the sheep to point C, but with no response. He should now have held them up wind to the left nearly back to the original line, and then have held them round the front as far as the right rear to point B on the map, so as to draw a complete cordon round X, the spot where they last had the scent. Instead of that he began with a down-wind cast only as far as the point A on the map, and announced that he had lost his Fox. To get back up wind through the horses was a matter of some difficulty. As a last resort, therefore, he was asked at least to complete his down-wind circle. Luckily the Fox had not turned up wind, so he hit him off when he had got nearly back to the right of the original line at point B on the map. The Hounds hunted slowly into a long covert on the side of a hill a mile down wind, from which the hunted Fox was luckily viewed away. This gave the Hounds a new chance, and they got on to terms with him and killed him in a patch of gorse bushes after another three miles, the pace quickening every minute. At the place where the check occurred the Fox had probably been headed, turned back on his own line, and eventually re-made his point.
This is a valuable concrete example of the vital necessity of completing the circle and covering all the ground when making a cast. When a cast has to be made, it must be scientific, and not sketchy. Nothing can be worse for a young Huntsman than to make a vague drift down wind and then to have the luck to hit off either his own Fox or another one. He will be lauded to the skies for having made what is called a “bold forward cast,” and will think he is going to do the same thing every time. Deluded Huntsman! The next time, and the next, he will get farther and farther from his Fox, and those who were foremost in praising him on the ruinously lucky day will now become his most mordant detractors. “A nice fellow, but he never kills his Foxes. It is all over with him at the first check.” If he had followed the Thomas Smith principle, the worst that the most inveterate crabber could say would be, “Oh! he is a bit slow; I can’t make out how he does it, as he often seems to cast back; but somehow or other he kills his Foxes.” To sum up, then, the things to be remembered by the Huntsman in making a cast are, first, the place where the leading Hounds last had the scent; second, to follow the general direction of circles up and down wind already described; third, to keep every Hound either in front of him or well away on his flank; fourth, never to force the pace, but to regulate it by the pace of the Hounds, bearing in mind that, with a burning scent, they can be cast almost at a gallop, and that with a poor scent they can only be cast at a walk. (It may here be remarked that some Huntsmen always make their casts at the same pace, usually the trot, which must surely be a mistake, resulting in either casting over the line or else in causing the pack to straggle when they should all be together; the cast should be made at the highest speed at which cohesion can be maintained); and fifth, to keep his whipper-in inside, and not outside the circle. The Hounds will always revolve on the circle of which their Huntsman is the pivot, if he will say a word to them from time to time when they lose sight of him owing to the fences or formation of the ground. They should need no whipper-in to turn their heads, if the Huntsman knows how to handle them; to say nothing of the fact that in most countries the fences will not allow the whipper-in to ride round the outside of the circle. He had far better, while the cast is being made, ride behind the Huntsman, save his horse, and make himself useful by getting the gates open; though, if both men are there, the second whipper-in might profitably sink the wind and perhaps give the Huntsman a good lift. Should he be lucky enough to get a view, or obtain sound information, he should let the Huntsman know as quietly as he can, point with his cap the direction of the Fox, and, if possible, meet the Huntsman so as to tell him all about it on his way to the holloa. The Huntsman, even if he views the Fox himself, should take hold of his Hounds quite quietly and canter them up to the place where the Fox was last seen.
One more maxim about casting and we have done. It is indeed contained in Mr. Thomas Smith’s advice, though not explicitly stated. It is, always to try to recover the line at the nearest possible point to where it was lost, and never to yield to the temptation to get nearer the Fox by getting ahead of this point, and trust to striking the line farther on, however strong the probability of success may appear. This maxim also applies in going to a holloa. One fine day a Fox was found in a small covert on the north side of a road that runs from Bristol to Hull. The Fox went away up wind, and ran for three fields parallel to the road in the direction of Hull. He then made a sharp turn to the right, and the Hounds overran the scent, flashing rather wildly for a hundred yards or so. One of the Staff who had not left the road saw the Fox cross the road, but could not see him beyond it. He held up his cap, and as the Huntsman approached gave him full information. The Huntsman jumped in and out of the road, carried his Hounds with him, made a wide circle round the open fields, expecting to pick up the scent every second, but never crossed the line at all. Being anxious to show sport to an eager Field, he no doubt thought that this risk was worth taking in order to save time. What he ought to have done was to have laid on his Hounds at the exact place in the fence where his man saw the Fox leave the road. No one, indeed, could have reasonably found fault with him even if he had made assurance doubly sure and laid them on at the place in the fence where the Fox had been seen to enter the road, and let them hunt him out of it. Either of these courses was a certainty; the course he actually took was a speculation, which spoilt the run.
Let us now suppose that the check has been successfully dealt with. Unless the Fox has turned up wind, or his line has been quickly recovered on the first short down-wind cast, he will have gained some ground, and the pace will now very likely become slower, until he begins to tire and the Hounds begin to work up to him. So far we have imagined the chase to have taken place over the open country; but few runs of any length are recorded in which no coverts are touched. If the Fox goes into a small covert the Hounds should be allowed to hunt his line into it. It is tempting to take them off their noses and try to hit the line on the other side. But the danger of hitting off the line of a fresh Fox who has moved on hearing the cry is too great to warrant this speculative practice, while, if no Fox has left the covert, the Hounds will have been taken off their noses and deceived, with nothing to show for it; though, if a clever whipper-in has seen the beaten Fox go away, the manœuvre can be, and probably ought to be, tried. If the hunted Fox goes into a woodland or chain of coverts, say in a park, the Huntsman should keep as near the leading Hounds as he can, and constantly sound his horn and voice. This lets his men and his field know the direction of the chase, holds the pack together, and tends to keep the Fox’s head straight. Some say that this also tends to move fresh Foxes out of the way and thus reduce the risk of changing Foxes. An acute observer once said that from time to time a hunted Fox will stop to listen, and if he hears nothing will often turn. If he hears his pursuers, either human or animal, he will usually go straight on. At this phase of the run it is of no avail for either whipper-in to get too far ahead for a view. If the Fox keeps fairly straight the Hounds will hunt his line. If he turns right or left, the man who has posted on will very likely be thrown out, and therefore not be available at the very moment when his Huntsman most wants his help to concentrate on a sinking Fox. The right place on these occasions for the first whipper-in is on a ride, or on the outside of the covert not far away from, and parallel to, the Huntsman. The second whipper-in should be back, and never go on to the next covert or quarter in a woodland until the whole chase is thoroughly well committed to fresh ground, because a sinking Fox, or a Fox who is even beginning to be tired, will so often try to shake off his enemies by turning short back in covert. Then when the Hounds throw up, the timely holloa from the wise man who is looking back is worth anything and has killed many a Fox, while the noses of the Foxes whose lives have been saved by the whole establishment posting forward would cover all the kennel doors in the British Isles.
