CHAPTER VIII
In the foregoing chapters some suggestions have been offered as to how the Huntsman should act at various phases of the run. Every one who knows anything about Fox-hunting will say with truth that the exact application of the teachings of science cannot always be carried out in the hunting-field, any more than a Cavalry operation can on all occasions, even on peace manœuvres, minutely follow the drill-book. Yet in either case ignorance or neglect of certain rules will generally bring its own punishment in the long run. Although on occasion these rules have to be thrown to the winds, the successful Huntsman will always have them in his mind and apply them nine times out of ten. On the tenth occasion his very knowledge of the rules of his art may give him the privilege and the power of attempting the brilliant coup. Some people would seem to think that the true Huntsman does everything by the light of nature. This proposition opens the door to the old question, “What is genius?” Whether or no it be really the “infinite capacity for taking pains” is a matter that will not be pursued here. But it can be asserted without fear of contradiction that no Huntsman has ever risen to eminence without understanding the science and art of Fox-hunting, and being fortified in his application of them by the never-varying use of an intelligent and intelligible technique. The method and style of handling Hounds both before and after finding the Fox have already been dealt with. The proper use of the horn and voice remain to be considered. These are of primary importance, being the instruments through which the Huntsman expresses himself to his Hounds, his men, and his Field. They should both be used with the same purpose and in the same manner. Their import should be clear beyond all manner of doubt to all parties concerned. Each phase of the Hunt has its appropriate dog-language and appropriate notes on the horn, which should always be used at the proper time—and on no other occasion. For instance, any one who understands Fox-hunting should be able to stand a mile down wind of the Huntsman and tell by the ear alone exactly what he is doing when he has unkennelled a Fox in covert. The horn need never be used as a general rule until the Fox is found, though, when approaching a small thick covert after the whipper-in has been posted to view him away, it is legitimate, and perhaps desirable, to blow a short blast to wake up the Fox before Hounds are put in, and save him from being chopped; and, in drawing a woodland, the Huntsman can with advantage blow the same short blast as a signal if he turns round to draw back, whilst he should also cry “Yo Hote back, Yooi over try back” two or three times. It is difficult to describe notes on the horn in writing; perhaps it will be understood if the note in question is described as being sober, consisting of two beats, and containing no element of pulsation or excitement; these should be reserved until the Fox is afoot. When the Fox is found in a small covert the Huntsman had better be silent, his object being to take no advantage of the Fox at this moment and to let him get away. Sometimes the unlucky chop is unavoidable, but if a Huntsman chops more than, say, two or three Foxes in the season, it is not too good a sign of chivalrous intentions. But in a woodland where the Fox can take care of himself, he can rattle his pack up to the leading Hounds, if he is near them, by a view holloa or two and a succession of short, sharp notes on the horn, not more than seven or nine in number. The same horn and holloa should be sounded when the chase crosses a ride, or when he gets a view in covert and wants his Hounds. A limited number of notes on the horn is advised in covert in order to form as great a contrast as possible to the long call, which must be sounded when the Fox breaks covert. Each Huntsman will probably have his own particular call to get his Hounds out of covert, but should have the imagination to make his horn speak in harmony to this thrilling moment.
Before sounding his horn the Huntsman should invariably holloa “Cop forrard away” as loudly and clearly as he can. This is the final and executive word of command, which should always be given by the great man himself. The pulsations of the long call on the horn that follows should be sustained as long as he has breath in his body, and should be renewed until every Hound is away and the great adventure in the open is definitely launched. The horn should now be returned to the horn case, and need not be taken out again until another covert is entered, or the Fox is killed, run to ground, or lost. The horn need hardly ever be blown in the open, and certainly never should be used when casting, because in the open the Hounds are, or ought to be, in front of the horses. A possible exception to this rule may occur when Hounds divide; when the whipper-in has stopped his lot, and their heads are up, a timely note or two may be invaluable in recalling them to the Huntsman’s lot. Do not forget that they can sometimes hear the horn when they cannot hear the cry of the other Hounds. When the Huntsman has his Fox in his hand or has run to ground, the same call may be used as in breaking covert.
When a covert is drawn blank, the appropriate call on the horn can best be described as a long-drawn wail. The same call can be used for going home, or for calling on stray Hounds. When all the Hounds are on, the Staff should be informed by two short, sharp notes sounded in quick succession.
The above are only general indications, as the method of sounding of the English hunting-horn cannot be expressed in terms of music, as is possible with the more elaborate French instrument. Yet our Huntsmen can, if they cultivate the art, make the short horn speak quite as humanly and clearly as the French Huntsmen can the long one, and can even put more individual character into it, not being tied and bound by an exact musical phrase. The horn recommended is the rather deep-noted “Goodall,” which seems to give forth a finer resonance and to be audible at a longer distance than any other horn. Its sound might be called a “twang” rather than a “tweet,” to use Mr. Surtees’ description that appears in most of his works. A description, however, on paper of the tones of the horn and voice is naturally imperfect, because the thrill that can be afforded by their melody is indeed indescribable. But whether the Huntsman be melodious or not, there is no excuse for his not being audible and explicit.
The horn and voice are organs that are given to him not only to inspire others, but also to make himself understood. In a woodland the unforgivable sin is to indulge in long periods of silence. One of the surest signs of incompetence is the sight of stray Hounds standing about and listening for their Huntsman, or running vaguely down the rides, probably in the opposite direction to where he is, trying to find him. It is not only waste of time for Hounds to be hunting the Huntsman instead of hunting the Fox, but also creates waste of time later on when the pack has to be called together to draw another covert. Two or more couple are wanting. If he has to abandon them altogether, he is exposing them to all sorts of bad habits and dangers. Nothing is worse for a Hound than to be “ungummed” and be left to his own devices. He becomes independent. He is at liberty to hunt hares, fill himself with garbage, or go home. If the Huntsman stands still and blows for the stray Hounds, valuable time is lost, and much noise made, which may disturb Foxes and so cause trouble. A man is sent back for them, the Staff is depleted of his services at the very moment when they may be most wanted.
All these things would be avoided by a clear and correct use of the horn and voice at an earlier phase. Prevention is better than cure. The Huntsman as a general rule ought to be able to produce all his pack at any given moment, and should be miserable if any of them are missing. Nor is it a good sign if you ride up to a whipper-in in a woodland and ask him where the Huntsman is, and he says, “I don’t know, I have not heard him for a long time.” This may be the boy’s own fault for getting too far up wind—a not uncommon failing— but as often as not it is due to vagueness and lack of thought on the part of the Huntsman; the Huntsman who is best served is he who makes himself the most intelligible to the Hounds, his men, and his Field.
So much for technique, or the control of the mechanical aids to the chase. What other qualities, besides the power to use these aids effectively, should distinguish the Huntsman with whom we should all like to hunt? Many pages have been written setting them forth. If, indeed, he enjoys the equipment of body and mind that Mr. Jorrocks demanded in his famous advertisement for a Huntsman at the head of the nineteenth chapter of Handley Cross, he should go very far. In accepting James Pigg, Mr. Jorrocks certainly had to dispense with a great many of the perfections that he postulated in the columns of the Handley Cross Paul Pry. No wonder that the advertisement produced “an immense sensation in the world of servitude.” But although we will not follow Mr. Jorrocks’ inimitable counsel of perfection, there are at least two mental qualities that are indispensable to a successful Huntsman. These are without doubt Patience and a Love of Foxhounds.
Now to hunt down a very wild animal with a pack of Foxhounds in the shortest possible time requires a good deal of what some people call dash, and others would call varmint or devil. It is perhaps not too much to say that no Huntsman will be really brilliant unless he has a certain excitability somewhere in his temperament, at least a latent capacity for getting his blood up. If he is wholly deficient in this regard, he may indeed be patient, but he will be so patient that he will get farther and farther behind his Fox every day he goes out, and never kill one at all above ground except by accident. But the power to combine patience with other elements of a somewhat opposite character is not given to every man. Yet it should be assiduously cultivated by the Huntsman. He certainly has every chance to learn it, because there is no school for patience more severe than that of hunting the Fox. The blanks are many and the prizes are few. If on coming home without his Fox he will fairly examine the causes of his failure, he will generally find he has lost more Foxes by being in a bad hurry than by being what some people call slow. In the pursuit of the Fox everything depends upon system; and without patience no sound system can be thoroughly carried out.
To begin with, it is obvious that the cover must be carefully drawn. In an earlier chapter an attempt has been made to explain that a momentary exercise of patience is essential to getting all the Hounds out of covert together when the Fox is holloaed away. Even more important is the period of patience when they throw up their heads at a check.
But more telling than all is the patient self-control that must be used when the Fox is nearly beaten. And more difficult, because the blood is up and the moment of victory would seem to be at hand. Strange as it may seem, it may sometimes be a hindrance rather than a help for some one to catch sight of the beaten Fox a field or two away at the moment when the Hounds are slowly but surely hunting up to him. The temptation to give them a lift is wellnigh irresistible. The Huntsman will have shown the Hounds by his manner that he has got a view, and, by the time he gets them to the place where the Fox was last seen, the Fox will have got through the next fence, or very likely lain down in it. The Hounds will have their heads up expecting to be shown their Fox, and will not readily put them down again. In the meantime the riders will have carried the Huntsman and Hounds clean past the Fox, who, if he has the luck not to be seen lying down, and the sense not to get up until his enemies are out of sight, will save his brush. The golden rule on these occasions is never to take Hounds off their noses unless it is absolutely certain that they can get a view, as when the Fox is crawling across the middle of a hundred-acre field. Of course if the Fox is heading for a covert known to be full of fresh Foxes, or for an open earth, the tour de force of lifting the Hounds must be tried. This was done with success one evening when Hounds had been hunting a ringing Fox for two hours with a poor scent. The first whipper-in viewed him dead-beat making his way straight for a large woodland, where he was nearly sure to put up a fresh one. The orthodox practice had to be abandoned, because, with failing light and scent, the Hounds could not have hunted up to him before he gained the stronghold for which he was heading. The whipper-in was sent on to keep the Fox in view and to try to head him off from the covert which lay about a mile away. The Huntsman took the Hounds off the line, galloped them on, and these two men played into each other’s hands so cleverly that the dog Hounds knocked their Fox over just outside the wood—and came home happy. On another occasion the lift was tried, but failure was only averted by the intelligence of one of the Staff, who did not forget to look back. The bitch pack had brought their Fox across the vale at a good pace for fifty minutes, and came to a check in a turnpike road—no doubt owing to the Fox having turned right or left in the road before crossing it. The Huntsman, seeing him creeping up the side of a fence about three hundred yards ahead, caught hold of the Hounds and tried to lay them on at the spot where he last saw the Fox, near a haystack close to the fence. No response. He then held them vaguely on without a line for nearly half a mile, followed by the whole Field. In the meantime one of the Staff wisely reconnoitred the ground where the Fox was last seen, and marked him lying closely tucked under the haystack. He was luckily able to send a friend to bring the Huntsman back while he stayed and watched the Fox. On this occasion it is clear that only by a clever piece of staff work was the view prevented from being fatal to the Huntsman. Had he not caught sight of the Fox and yielded to the natural temptation to lift his Hounds, they would soon have hit the line out of the road and worked up to their Fox by themselves.
Experience should tend to cultivate the faculty of patience. Patience in the face of a persistent run of bad luck: patience at critical moments in the hunting-field.
Add to Patience the Love of Foxhounds.
It is often said that some men are “doggy” by nature, and possess some charm that makes all dogs love and obey them. Whether this is true or not is incapable of proof. But there is no manner of doubt that the practice of common sense and the cultivation of sympathy will go a very long way in the art of dealing with a pack of Foxhounds in the field.
The first essential for the Huntsman to bear in mind is never to lose his temper with the Hounds, nor even to speak harshly to them. He may lose his temper with his Field, his men, or his horse, though he had much better keep smiling with all three. But once he loses his temper with his Hounds he gets out of tune with them, and his whole influence over them has vanished.
A pack of Foxhounds is seldom in quite the same mood two days running, being keenly influenced by the scent and the weather. On some days they appear to be wild and headstrong, on other days listless and slack. But whatever they do, the Huntsman should always place the most favourable construction on their proceedings, and be ready to take all the blame for himself; he should never be in such a frame of mind as to blame his Hounds. Of course it is a fatal mistake to be overcome by sentiment to the extent of being lenient to rogues, especially if they are mute. A mute Hound should always be put down at once. Some Huntsmen are apt to get too fond of old Hounds, or to spoil certain Hounds who have made a lucky hit and so got them out of a difficulty. A certain dog Hound once puzzled out the line of a Fox down the middle of a road and put everybody right. The Huntsman was so pleased at this that, whenever his Fox had run down a road, he relied exclusively on this dog, who soon found this out and from that moment had the poor man completely at his mercy. He would put his nose down whenever he got on a road, travel down the road with or without a line, and even look back from time to time as if to invite the Huntsman to follow him, and so caused the loss of Fox after Fox by drawing the whole establishment after him long past the place where the Fox had turned out of the road. No. A pack of Hounds should be hunted collectively and not individually; the love of Hounds should never degenerate into favouritism.
