Part 9

3. Bajazet, by Milton Bajazet, out of their Scornful, was 6 years old.

4. Rascal, by the Milton Ransack, out of Lord Zetland’s Careless, was 5 years old.

5. Statesman, by the Belvoir Saffron, out of their Redcap, was 6 years old.

The following were the remainder of the leading bunch as they ran into the darkness:--

6. General, by Major Brown’s Chorister, out of his Gracious, 7 years old.

7. Songstress, by Cleveland Jovial, out of Cleveland Symmetry, 7 years old.

8. Arthur, by Lord Yarborough’s Ranger, out of his South Durham Actress, 5 years old.

9. Gertrude, by Cleveland General, out of Cleveland Careless, 5 years old.

10. Novelty, by Cleveland Nelson, out of Cleveland Friendly, 3 years old.

11. Merryman, by Cleveland Senator, out of Cleveland Maypole, 3 years old.

The surviving hounds were thus--

Hounds 7 years old 3 " 6 " " 2 " 5 " " 4 " 3 " " 2 ―― 5½ couple. ――

It is a little painful to confess that other blood than Cleveland made this run the memorable one it is. But so it was that in a chase that tested the pace, stamina, and endurance of hounds to their utmost limit, the Milton blood showed best in front. I have placed the ages of these hounds on record as being evidence of the value of mature-seasoned hounds, and in the hope that it may discourage the tendency of many M.F.H.’s, in these days, when stoutness is so often sacrificed for appearance, to yield to the temptation of replacing hounds in their prime by a big entry of promising and shapely puppies. I shall ever maintain that the proved hounds of from 4 to 6, or even 7 years old, should form the main body of a pack, and I firmly believe that there would be more straight-necked foxes and good runs satisfactorily finished were this the rule. As it is, there are generally twice, or even three times, the number of hounds 1, 2, or 3 years, than of older ones.

Since this day I have seen many a good run, over every variety of country, and each hunting morning that I ride out I start hoping for such another; but as the seasons slip away and years roll on, the hope grows fainter and fainter, and I begin to think that as long as life lasts I shall never again see anything like it. Like others, as they begin to get grey, I become laudator temporis acti, and ask, Where are now the hounds that could do this? Where is there another fox like old Cæsar? And, worst of all, I doubt if I or any horse of mine could struggle to the end if such an opportunity should ever return.

There have, of course, been many more remarkable runs than this one recorded. One of my father’s tenants, who recently died, told me he remembered, when a boy, Ralph Lambton coming into Bishop Auckland on foot, with one and a half couple of hounds and a fox dead beat a few yards in front, calling through the streets, “Hoick to Jingler!” The fox lay down in the main street, and the hounds, quite done and unable to tackle him, lay down beside him. The master gave them a few minutes to kill him, but as they could not, he had the fox attended to, and turned down again in his native covert in the Sedgefield country.

BADGER-HUNTING

THE badger is of such a shy and self-effacing disposition that he seems likely to retire altogether from amongst us, unless the sportsman’s interest in him can be revived. The badger’s love of seclusion and natural instinct to avoid observation will become more and more difficult for him to gratify, unless his kind receive special protection in most parts of England. The humane Act that rendered the brutal pastime of badger-baiting illegal no doubt has encouraged his destruction and extinction in many districts. The demand for badgers ceased; the supply diminished. We would gladly believe, in a more merciful age, that, apart from legality or illegality, men nowadays do not generally regard badger-drawing out of boxes or tubs as a reputable sport. All genuine sportsmen have something of the naturalist in their composition, but where this instinct is not developed, the average sportsman is unlikely to trouble himself about an animal that is seldom en evidence, who selects the night for his appearance, and whose invasions into man’s sphere are of so unobtrusive a character. The fox, the otter, and other beasts of chase keep themselves before the public by their crimes, but the self-renouncing modesty of the badger has led him to be neglected or despised. Yet, apart from shaving brushes, a badger has his uses. He is a destroyer of wasps and small vermin, and an excellent maker of fox-earths. In countries where mange in foxes has become a scourge, the preservation of badgers would do much to rid fox-hunters of this plague--for they are wonderful cleansers of earths, cleaning those they frequent in the most thorough manner; and, unless very numerous, they encourage foxes, as their “sets” are the fox’s favourite resort. The badger may live in our midst, almost at the threshold of our doors, and yet leave us ignorant of his presence. I once asked a Cornish farmer if there were badgers about his place; he not only answered there were none, but that he had never heard of or seen any during the many years he had lived on the farm. Within ten minutes from receiving this information, one of my terriers had “found” in a culvert that ran at the back of his barn, causing intense astonishment. His scepticism, however, did not finally give way to conviction till two badgers were unearthed, after a night of toil, at five o’clock in the morning. Once, when travelling on the Great Western Railway, I overheard the following conversation between two gentlemen:--

First well-informed gent: “Seen this in the papers about badgers being caught in Essex?”

Second: “No. How interesting!”

First: “Yes. Very curious, isn’t it?”

Second: “By the way, what is a badger like?”

First: “Oh--er--a badger is an animal that lives in the water, something like a seal.”

Second: “No, no! That’s an otter. I know what an otter is. A badger is more like a ferret or weasel.”

First: “Yes, I believe you’re right, but I fancy it’s larger than that.”

Second: “How big would you say?”

First: “Oh, I don’t know exactly, but nearly as big as a hare.”

Second: “Oh, of course! They used to bait badgers with dogs; they must be larger than a ferret.”

And so they went on, much to my amusement; and when they had set up their badger, I rather cruelly knocked it over, and gave them a little elementary education on the badger and his ways. Now, these two persons had both of them a natural disposition to be interested in badgers, and, astounding as is the ignorance of thousands who are fond of animal life, it requires but a very few words to arouse their interest in the rarer species of wild animals that we can still boast of as British.