Part 10
After office hours he acted as accountant for certain butchers in Clare Market, who paid him in kind. The best of the meat provided the daily dinner for himself and his family, and the scraps and offal fed the hounds which he kept in his garret. Having saved up sufficient to buy his horses, he stabled them in a cellar, fed them on grains from a brew house close by and damaged corn from a chandler’s—writing letters, correcting bills, keeping books, and assisting with legal information the proprietors, and so saving all expenditure of coin. Down in the country where he hunted in the season he gained the good-will of the farmers by giving them a hare now and then and tipping them a legal hint, while the gentlemen over whose manors he rode were so delighted with his enthusiasm for sport that he could go almost where he pleased. If any poor hunting enthusiast of to-day were to keep hounds in a garret and horses in a cellar, he would meet with a very different fate; he would promptly be indicted as a nuisance and summarily be suppressed by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Times are indeed changed!
The poet of “The Chase,” whom I have already quoted, describes hunting as the “image of war without its guilt.” It is not only the “image of war,” but it is the finest possible training for facing the perils and confronting the crises of actual warfare. The following anecdote of a once famous Leicestershire hunting-man, “Tommy” Yule, is one of the best illustrations of this truth that I have ever come across.
On the night of December 5th, 1857, the 11th Native Cavalry, stationed at Jalpaiguri, 650 strong, mutinied during the night, slew their English officers, and galloped off to meet the other portion of the regiment, then encamped some thirty miles off. Next day, having effected a junction with their comrades, they started to join the revolted Sepoys at Dacca. They rode in the direction of Purneah, with the intention of plundering that station on their way to the North-West. But they left out of their calculations a little man who was John Company’s Commissioner at Bhagalpur. Mr. Yule was an old Leicestershire hunting man, and was one of the most daring riders to hounds ever seen even in the Shires. He had ridden at both Newmarket and Liverpool as a gentleman jockey; he could box, shoot, fence, and play cricket in brilliant style—in fact, was a first-rate all-round man. He knew very little about soldiering, but he knew too much for the Pandies.
Well, to “Tommy” Yule the news was brought that the mutineers were “on the rampage.” At Bhagalpur he had with him fifty of Her Majesty’s 5th Regiment, 100 sailors, and two guns. As Commissioner of the district he was in command. Off he started without a moment’s delay to stop the game of murder, plunder, and ravishment. He came up with the rebels just outside Purneah, and dashed at them at once. They, however, had no heart for fighting, bolted, got round the station and made off for Dacca. But Yule’s blood was up. He had brought his stud of hunting elephants with him. He mounted fifty sailors and forty soldiers on them, and pounded after the flying foe. The little party marched all day and night, and got in front of their quarry the following morning. Then the rascals _had_ to fight; ten Pandies to one Englishman, these were odds that even a modern Greek would face. They could not charge; their horses were fagged out. But Yule charged _them_, with some of his men on the elephants and some on foot, and killed 111 _without losing a man_. And the nerve, the pluck, the dash which achieved that brilliant success had been fostered and trained by hard riding over the pastures and bullfinches of Leicestershire.
I remember hearing Lord Wolseley tell the following story, which is a further proof of my assertion that hunting develops a man’s pluck and confidence.
“I once saw,” he said, “a Staff officer, a man well known in the hunting field, gallop with an order to a column of cavalry which had been drawn up in a sheltered position behind the village to be screened from the enemy’s fire. As he drew near the column, a round shot struck the ground under his horse’s belly. The horse made an effort to swerve, which was checked by its rider, without taking the cigar out of his mouth. He galloped up to the column, coolly gave his orders, and cantered back over the open ground, where the round shot were striking pretty thickly, still smoking his cigar as if he were taking his morning exercise. A few shots had previously plunged into the column, causing some excitement, which always happens when horses get knocked over; but the jolly indifference of this officer, and the manner in which he appeared altogether to ignore the existence of danger, had a capital effect upon the men.”
Lord Wolseley did not give the name of the officer, but I have been told that it was “Bob” Wood, sometime Colonel of the 8th Hussars.
Lord Roberts, too, paid a high tribute to a noted foxhunter when he declared, after his great campaign in Afghanistan, that one of the most valuable Staff officers in the British Army was Lord Melgund (the present Earl of Minto) who had few equals in those days as a cross-country rider.
The late Earl of Wilton, himself one of the finest horsemen and most enthusiastic followers of the chase the Shires have ever seen, used to say that he “had often heard the great Duke of Wellington remark that England would rue the day when her field sports were abandoned,” and that “amongst his best Peninsular officers were those who had most distinguished themselves in the hunting field,” courage and decision being the necessary attributes of success in the chase.
The “Iron Duke” himself was a keen lover of the sport. Mr. Larpent, who was Judge-Advocate of the British forces during the Peninsular War, relates, in his private journal, some anecdotes which prove how hard a rider and good a sportsman the conqueror of Napoleon was. For his own personal service Wellington kept fifteen horses, and paid high prices for them; and when one reads of such galloping to and fro as Mr. Larpent records, one is not surprised at the number of the Duke’s stud.
Here is an extract from the journal which illustrates both the tireless energy and the keen sportsmanship of the Duke:—
“Lord Wellington is quite well again; was out hunting on Thursday, and being kept in by rain all yesterday, is making up for it to-day by persisting in his expedition to the Fourth Division. He was to set out at seven this morning for the review of General Cole’s division, on a plain beyond Castel Rodriques, about twenty-eight miles from hence; was to be on the ground about ten, and was to be back to dinner to-day by four or five o’clock. This is something like vigour, and yet I think he overdoes it a little; he has, however, a notion that it is exercise makes headquarters more healthy than the rest of the Army generally is, and that the hounds are one great cause of this.”
Of these hounds Mr. Larpent gives the following details: “We have three odd sorts of packs of hounds here, and the men hunt desperately. Firstly, Lord Wellington’s, or as he is called here, ‘the Peer’s’; these are foxhounds, about sixteen couples; they have only killed one fox this year, and that was what is called mobbed. These hounds, from want of a huntsman, straggle about and run very ill, and the foxes run off to their holes in the rocks on the Coa. Captain Wright goes out, stops the holes overnight, halloes, and rides away violently. From a hard rock sometimes the horse gets up to his belly in wet gravelly sand; thus we have many horses lamed and some bad falls. The next set of hounds are numerous. The Commissary-General, Sir R. Kennedy, is a great man in this way, and several others. And thirdly, Captain Morherre, that is, the principal man of this place, has an old poacher in his establishment, with a dozen terriers, mongrels and ferrets, and he goes out with the officers to get rabbits. Lord Wellington has a good stud of about eight hunters. He rides hard, and only wants a good gallop, but I understand knows nothing of the sport, though very fond of it in his own way.”
[Illustration:
MONAUL PHEASANTS. ]
[Illustration:
KOKLASS PHEASANTS. ]
The Duke, as most readers of BAILY are no doubt aware, was a warm friend and admirer of that great king of the hunting field, Thomas Assheton Smith, whom Napoleon introduced to his officers as “le premier chasseur d’Angleterre.” And it was always a subject of regret to the hero of Waterloo that Assheton Smith had not joined the Army; “For,” said the Duke, “he would have made one of the best cavalry officers in Europe,” and he frequently remarked that many of his own distinguished cavalry officers in the Peninsular War owed their horsemanship to the example of Assheton Smith.
I have said that the Duke took a keen interest in hunting, and I may add that he gave practical proof of his genuine love of the sport; for when he was once asked to subscribe to a pack which was in financial difficulties, he said, “Get what you can and put my name down for the difference.” The “difference” was £600 a year, which the Duke cheerfully paid for many years.
THORMANBY.
Pheasant Shooting in the Himalayas.
There is grand sport to be had in certain parts of the Himalayas in the glorious autumn weather peculiar to those mountain ranges.
For beauty of plumage and dashing flight few game-birds can compare to the monaul (_Lophophorus impeyanus_), and his haunts are among the wildest and most magnificent scenery.
In the Himalayan districts I am acquainted with, Kumaon and Garhwal, monaul are seldom found much below 8,000 feet altitude, but from that elevation up to about 12,000 feet are fairly plentiful. On the southern and western sides of the mountains, the forests monaul inhabit are usually evergreen oak, with a few spruce and cypress trees scattered about. On the northern and eastern slopes, which are clothed with forests to higher altitudes, monaul are found in woods of pine, deodar, spruce and birch. From the middle of October till end of December the weather is nearly always bright and clear in the Himalayas. The sun is not too powerful, and the nights cold and frosty. The best way to have sport with monaul is for two shooters, who know each other well, to go together, and beaters from six to a dozen, according to the nature of the ground. The beaters should be in charge of an experienced shikari, who is also a “master in language.” A local shikari will point out the best places for monaul, and the guns, one behind the other, about fifty yards apart, will walk slowly along the hillside, on a path if possible. One gun should be about sixty yards ahead of the beaters, and the other in line with them. The foremost gun, in most cases, will get the greatest number of shots.
The tactics of the beat, however, must vary according to the nature of the country, as ravines are usually beaten straight downwards, but in some cases, where a path leads zigzag up a long ravine, the beaters should get well ahead of the guns, and beat upwards. Monaul are exceptionally strong fliers, and about the toughest birds I know. If not hit well forward they will not come down, and the gun to use is a 12-bore cylinder with a charge of 1–3/16 oz. of No. 5, or 1¼ oz. No. 4 shot. I always use Ballistite powder and have never had a bad cartridge, always finding this powder equally good, whether in hot valleys at low elevations, or up in the cold at over 12,000 feet above sea level.
A mature cock monaul, with his plumage glistening in the sun, is a grand sight, and sometimes, especially early in the morning, he will fly with a kind of soaring motion, wings extended, as if to show himself off, and come sailing proudly overhead; at these times they are comparatively easy to shoot. Generally, however, they give really good rocketting shots, but at times will fly at a terrific pace straight down the hillside, keeping about the same distance from the ground all the way. These are difficult shots. A good dog is required to retrieve—a big dog—as monaul are heavy birds, full-grown cocks often weighing 5 pounds and more.
Another grand bird is the koklass (_Pucrasia macrolopha_), a beautifully-marked, gamey-looking bird, with a very quick flight. I believe the koklass to be the fastest game-birds that fly, and they get into their flight as quickly as partridges. Like monaul, too, they often dash straight down a hillside, keeping a few feet from the ground, and with a curve in their flight. They are found in the same forests as monaul, but also at lower elevations. In size they are about half the weight of monaul and much the same in shape. They are the best of all birds for the table.
The cheer (_Phasianus wallichii_) is, I believe, the only true pheasant found in India. They do not give as good sport as monaul and koklass, but I have often enjoyed myself with them. They frequent very steep pine-covered slopes, landslips, rocky scrub near precipices, and uninviting-looking places. Cheer shooting is about the hardest work I know, toiling about the steep hillsides among long grass and scrub. These birds lie very close, and after being flushed and marked down, often take a long time to rouse again. Wounded birds are extremely difficult to find, and your dog should be a steady and persevering retriever. Cheer are not found at very high elevations, from about 4,000 to 7,000 feet being their usual haunt, but occasionally, when the grass on the pine-covered slopes has been burnt, they will go into the oak forests above, where there is a thick undergrowth of ringalls. At these times they are harder to find than ever, and unless the beaters keep well in line, or you have a bustling spaniel to make them get up, it is almost impossible to bring any to bag.
Other so-called pheasants are the hubwaul or snow-cock (_Tetrogallus himalayensis_), the white-crested kalij (_Euplocamus albocristatus_), and the crimson tragopan (_Ceriornis satyra_).
The hubwaul is a fine bird, in shape like a gigantic partridge, found in coveys on the higher ranges above the forest limit. They are very wary and hard to circumvent, as they run long distances, and when put up often fly in a different direction to that expected. I have, however, often got at them in big ravines by sending a man to out-flank them on each side, myself keeping well out of sight behind boulders. I have also defeated them with the aid of a good bustling dog, and when they do come over one’s head give as good shots as any birds I know. In the winter they will come into wooded crags and precipitous ground, when the higher ranges are covered with deep snow.
The kalij pheasants are really more like jungle fowl than pheasants, frequenting thick scrub and undergrowth, near villages and in the vicinity of cattle sheds. They are great runners and fond of flying up into trees when bustled by dogs, but when they do fly put on a good pace and nearly always fly down hill. Plenty of beaters are required to put them up. Their flight is not high and bold like that of the monaul and koklass, and they are not found at high altitudes; from 4,000 feet to 8,000 feet being about the elevations at which they occur.
The tragopan is a very handsome bird, and rare, few being shot. He is the hardest bird of all to bring to bag, being a tremendous runner and keeping to the densest thickets, usually in ringalls and creeping rhododendrons, which are almost impenetrable to man. A good dog will flush them, when they will fly downwards a few feet over the undergrowth, taking long flights and running again immediately they alight.
In the autumn a varied bag can be made, either singly or with a boon companion. There is the friendly rivalry, the jolly fellowship of sportsmen, the chaff, the mid-day lunch by some brawling stream, the laze and smoke in the sunshine and clear mountain air, and the beat back to camp again in the evening. _Scolopax rusticola_ is often to be found when beating for pheasants, also a solitary snipe or two; and two sportsmen who pull well together can have a rare time in the mountains, as besides shooting birds together they can often find room to separate and go after big game in different directions. Then there are the yarns to be told round the campfire after dinner, “sublime tobacco” to refresh the memory, and just “a dash” of good old Scotch to lubricate the throat and loosen the tongue.
A. P. DAVIS.
“Our Van.”
RACING.
Reading about the Derby autumn meeting in mid-winter is not so inappropriate as it might appear to be, for with sleet and snow falling on the first day the elements were more wintry than autumnal. I have seen this meeting celebrated with much more go than on the present occasion. It is essentially a meeting for hunting folk, so far as the county stand is concerned, and one seemed to miss far too many of the familiar faces. The impression conveyed by the gathering was of the lack-lustre order. Large fields of nurseries have long been a feature of the meeting, but of course the winning or losing of them conveys little merit or demerit. The fields for them have been larger; but I am not a worshipper of large fields, not being a clerk of the course or a holder of racecourse shares. From one point of view the field of twenty for the Gold Cup was very satisfactory, for it meant that twenty horses were thought to have a chance in a race of a mile and three-quarters. Fields for distance races undoubtedly have been looking up of late years. Yet few of our courses are less suitable for a race over such a distance as that at Derby—a parallelogram with rounded corners. So soon as horses have begun to stretch out along either of the longer sides—long only in comparison with the extreme shortness of the other two—than they have to steady for a corner. In such circumstances a mare like Hammerkop, who was carrying 9st. 3lb., could stand but little chance. At Newmarket she would have been well fancied. Yet there are people who grumble at those fine, straightaway stretches of turf, because the horses start so far away. These prefer courses of the circus order, for the sake of the spectacle. Although the regulation straight mile has by no means met with universal approbation, its introduction has more method than madness about it. In the formation of a new course the laying out of a straight mile must be associated with a good deal of luck, for, run in one direction, it might prove popular and the reverse if run the other way. At Gatwick there is a rise of some 6 ft. from start to finish of the straight mile, and at Newbury, I understand, the rise is much more than this. Experience has taught us that rising straight miles are not so popular as falling ones, which may be argued to show a tendency to weakness in horse-flesh, the qualities which take horses successfully up the long hill at Sandown being not often met with. Here we have a hint at a clashing of interests between such as like to have things made easy for them and those which may be regarded as making for the higher interests of the turf. This clashing of interests we shall always have with us, so we may take it by way of our daily salt, with equanimity.
The Derby Gold Cup, as a trophy, was a perfectly delightful production, it being a gold tankard in the 16th century style, and no one would appreciate it more than the owner, whose sideboard it was destined to adorn, for the race was won by Lord Rosebery’s Catscradle. Her starting price of 20 to 1 was justified by her previous running and when she made the first bend nearly last of all 40 to 1 would not have been taken. However, it was her day, and she came through her field to win in comfortable fashion by a couple of lengths from Airship. She ran practically unbacked by her connections. The race for the King’s Cup of two miles “did not fill.” Bachelor’s Button, who had acted as a spoil-sport at Lincoln, by frightening away opposition for the Jockey Club Plate, and walking over for the £300 given by the Jockey Club for the express purpose of furthering sport at meetings where such assistance would be welcome, had not been started for the Gold Cup. He was in reserve for the King’s Plate, but the race “did not fill,” so the meeting saved their £200 instead of increasing the winning account of Bachelor’s Button by that amount.