CHAPTER VREMINISCENCES

ULLSWATER FOXHOUNDS: OPENING MEET AT BROTHERSWATER, OCT. 11TH, 1919.

A faint note sounds, and then another, and gradually the music swells and grows louder. Hounds have struck a drag, and are making their way towards a frowning crag which juts out fromthe rough breast beneath you. Your companion, a hill-shepherd, moves off a few paces in order to get a better view, then suddenly turns and points with his stick, exclaiming, “Sista, yonder he gars!” You look quickly towards the point indicated, and there you see him, a fine fell fox, his brush held stiff and straight behind him, moving along with the smooth gliding action peculiar to his kind. Once he halts and looks back, then he resumes his easy pace. Your companion runs a few yards down the breast, and you are treated to a sample of a dalesman’s view-halloa. Scream after scream rings out, echoing from the crags. The fox, still in view, and unhurried, stops at the sound, glances back, then mends his pace and disappears round the end of a jutting crag. Hounds come like mad to the halloa, scrambling up the steep ground at a wonderful pace. The leaders strike the line, and there is a burst of music as the remainder of the pack settle to it, and go racing through the breast. You watch them until hidden by a shoulder of the hill, then scan the fell head anxiously for their reappearance. They are almost out of hearing, but suddenly the cry is carried back to you clear and distinct, and you see them climbing out at the fell head, looking like white ants in the distance. One glimpse you get, and they are gone over the fell top, heading for the rough ground beyond.

Although you meditate following them, your better judgment prevails, for this dale has not been previously disturbed, and you know that a litter has been bred there. It is more than likely that the fox will return ere long, so you walk a short distance up the narrow trod leading to the tops, and sit down to listen. Scattered about the fell slopes are the little Herdwick sheep, tiny things in comparison with a Southdown, but famed for their quality as mutton. Overhead, wheeling in wide spirals, a buzzard is rising to a dizzy height, his shrill “whee-u, whee-u,” sounding clear and distinct. Over the fell head you hear the raucous cry of a raven, and catch sight of a black speck floating into the distance. A stoat, not yet in his winter coat of white, darts in and out amongst the rocks below you, and you watch his antics until a distant sound catches your ear. You listen intently, yes, there it is again, surely the cry of a hound, although still a long way off. They must be coming back, for the sounds are nearer now, and louder. You take the glasses from their case, and scan the fell head. Yes, there they come, running fast, and their fox cannot be very far in front at that pace. Quickly you scan the ground between, and at last you see him coming gamely along, but far from fresh. Below you is a well-known earth, which is no doubt his refuge, but to-day thereare figures standing about it, so his entrance will be barred.

You lose sight of him, then a view-halloa rings out, and a whip cracks sharply. He has swerved from the figures on the earth and hounds are gaining fast. Gradually they edge him lower and lower, until the last rock left behind, he is threading a narrow trod amongst the bracken. It is “all over bar the shouting,” as you dash down the long grass slope, clear the intervening wall, and drop panting into the allotment on the other side. A scramble through a stony beck, ending with a sharp run, brings you in sight of hounds, racing from scent to view. A sharp turn, a gleam of white fangs, and Stormer rolls him over, to be buried beneath a living avalanche of white, and black and tan. Who-hoop! Who-hoop!

Such is a day worth living for with a fell pack. A quick find, a fast hunt, a good place to see it from, and a kill in the open; what more could the heart of hunter desire? The man who does much fell hunting will get his share of such days, and when they come they amply repay him for any past disappointments.

The regular followers of the fell packs consist chiefly of shepherds, dalesmen and the like, comparatively few of the local “gentry” being sufficiently keen to take more than a passing interest in the sport. The fine air on the tops, and thestrenuous exercise, beat all your doctor’s medicine, but I am afraid in these modern days people believe more in the latter than the former. The working men in the dales are the keenest of hunters. No matter on what task they are engaged, when hounds come near, they down tools and join in the chase. They work hard, too, at unearthing a fox which has got to ground amongst the rocks, where crowbar and hammer are often required to loosen up the huge boulders.

On the fells the huntsman is the only man who wears a scarlet coat, and he is assisted by a whipper-in, who may perhaps wear hunting-cap and dark grey jacket, relieved by a touch of red on the collar and a scarlet waistcoat.

The huntsman is followed by three or four fell terriers in couples, and generally a hound or two as well. These last are usually young hounds, or older members of the pack which he is prepared to let go when occasion warrants. Usually the whipper-in will take the highest ground, leaving the huntsman to go below. He often takes more coupled hounds with him to the tops, to “louse” them at some convenient moment. The terriers form a most important item of the Hunt. Without them it would be impossible to locate and evict a fox after he had got to ground.

ULLSWATER FOXHOUNDS: JOE BOWMAN, HUNTSMAN (SINCE 1879).

Most of these terriers are cross-bred, showing more or less Bedlington blood, as evinced by thelight-coloured, silky hair on their heads. Silky body covering is not wanted on a fell terrier, for if the coat is too fine, the dog is unable to withstand wet and cold properly. These terriers vary considerably in size, but a very short-legged dog is handicapped on rough ground or in the snow. A biggish terrier is decidedly useful in places where he can work up to his fox, but in the majority of Lakeland borrans or earths, a smaller dog is to be preferred. A fox always takes good care to choose his defensive position underground, and a terrier has to attack him from below, and is thus at a disadvantage. Sometimes the positions are reversed, and the fox squeezes himself into a narrow crack, where he is unable to turn, thus exposing himself to a rear attack. As a rule, however, he is “head on” to his canine enemy, and then if he refuses to bolt, a battle royal ensues. A big dog-fox is no mean foe, and the combatants on both sides often get severely mauled. A sure sign that a fox is shifting his quarters underground is when the terriers cease marking, and the hounds begin to rush about the borran. It is surprising how a fox will bolt and escape his foes on such occasions. He creeps quietly to some convenient outlet, pauses an instant, then slips away, often unseen until he has placed some distance between himself and the hounds. Even after a mauling he will often beat hounds uphill on roughground, and end by getting to earth somewhere else.

Some of the Lakeland borrans are very deep places. It sometimes happens that although the terriers reach and possibly account for the fox, they are unable to return, and it may mean days of strenuous work ere the men can extricate them. At long intervals, more serious events occur, and despite all that can be done by willing hands, a rescue is impossible. Certain stone quarries and other places in Lakeland hold sinister reputations in this respect.

Some of the quarry “rubbish heaps” are composed of “big stuff” in the way of rocks, and are dangerous to open up, as the excavating process causes the upper material to unexpectedly rush in. In addition to shutting off the terriers, such a rush may easily bury or severely injure the men who are at work. I have seen one or two very narrow escapes of this kind, and they are decidedly unpleasant experiences.

It is, of course, usual for a man or two to mount guard at such borrans when hounds are advertised to meet in the neighbourhood, but even the keenest hunter becomes fed-up waiting perhaps for hours on a cold day, with only an occasional and distant sound of hounds to cheer his watch.

CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: “GONE TO GROUND.”

ULLSWATER FOXHOUNDS: B. WILSON, THE WHIPPER-IN.

Some foxes are almost impossible to keep out of such places. Despite halloing and whip-crackingtheywillbe in, no matter what you do. Others, again, sheer off at the slightest hint, and seek refuge elsewhere. Sometimes a fox has to get to ground where he can, and I have seen one get into what on the surface appeared to be quite a simple spot, defy all the best efforts of terriers and men to dislodge him.

As may be imagined, the huntsman to a fell pack must be a hard and tireless walker, for he has many miles of rough ground to cover from the time he leaves kennels in the morning until his return at dusk or later. Even he gets tired at times, but if it is humanly possible he will get all his hounds back to kennels before dark, or, at any rate, the same night.

Sometimes hounds have to be left out, but by the following day most of them will have found their way home again. On these occasions one or two of them may visit the farms or other places where they spend the summer, if anywhere near them; and after a feed or a sleep, resume their journey.

It is surprising how hungry one gets on the fells. I remember on one occasion following hounds from the Scandale valley, near Ambleside, over Fairfield, across Deepdale, and out again to the summit of Helvellyn. I was with the huntsman, and both of us had eaten our lunch some hours previously. On the summit of Helvellyn is a seat, and round it that afternoon were scattereda lot of banana peelings. We were so hungry that we barely refrained from eating the latter. We have often laughed over it since, and I remember I made up for it with bread and cheese and beer when we got down off the mountain at dusk.

It is always advisable to take sufficient food with you on these occasions, for you are never quite certain when you are going to get the next meal.

Although some of the best sport is experienced in the cold weather, I have enjoyed some very good hunts in October, as well as spring. When foxes begin to bother the lambs, hounds are called upon to account for the offenders. It is, of course, necessary to meet very early at this time of year, as the sun soon dispels the dew, and scent is then often conspicuous by its absence. It well repays one for leaving one’s bed at an unearthly hour, however, when houndsdoget away with their fox, for the temperature is such that one can sit about the tops in comfort, and thoroughly enjoy both the magnificent views and the sport. Many a May fox is rolled over by the fell packs, for the dalesmen’s flocks have to be made safe from any marauding vixen which takes toll of them for her cubs.

Harking back for a moment to fell terriers, people’s ideas appear to differ very considerablyas regards the make and shape of a dog used solely for sport.

A terrier for work on the fells must be able to squeeze through very narrow places, be active withal, and sufficiently high on the leg to enable him to follow the huntsman through snow or rough ground without tiring. Some people imagine that a terrier when creeping through a narrow place works himself along on his chest, and they conclude that a wide-chested, short-legged dog is the best for the purpose. As a matter of fact, the dog lies on his side, and works himself ahead with his legs. For this reason, an apparently big dog, that is, one fairly high on the leg, narrow, but deep through the heart, can get into some remarkably tight places. Terriers of the Sealyham type, short-legged, and broad-chested, whilst able to work in big badger earths, or wide drains, fail when it comes to negotiating narrow cracks and crevices in the rocks, such as foxes are so fond of taking refuge in, on the fells. It matters not how a terrier is bred, or what sort of a mongrel he is, so long as he is a worker, game and courageous to go up to his fox, bolt him, or make an end of him. “Handsome is as handsome does” is the motto on the fells, where nothing but real hard workers are tolerated for a moment.

Once a year there are certain shepherds’ meetings held in the Lake country, for the exchangeof sheep which have strayed. The two best known of these are held at the “Traveller’s Rest” inn on top of the Kirkstone Pass, and at the “Dun Bull” inn in Mardale.

On these occasions the foxhounds grace the meetings with their presence. The Coniston Foxhounds, and the Windermere Harriers attend the Kirkstone gathering, while the Ullswater provide sport at Mardale. This year (1919) the “Victory Meet” of the shepherds took place in Mardale on November 22nd. This gathering is one of the oldest of its kind in the country, and has been kept going for generations. How regular has been the attendance of some of the old-time dalesmen and shepherds may be gathered from the fact that a few years ago, one Thomas Fishwick put in his sixty-sixth annual appearance, and there are many others who have attended this meet for a score of years or more.

Special interest was attached to the “Victory Meet” in Mardale, as it was rumoured that it might be the last, owing to the acquisition of Haweswater by the Manchester Corporation. When the proposed scheme is completed, the famous “Dun Bull” and Mardale Church will be inundated.

“PINCHER” AND “MYRTLE.” Two Coniston Hunt terriers.“JUMMY.” A terrier which did much good work for the Coniston Hunt.

“PINCHER” AND “MYRTLE.” Two Coniston Hunt terriers.

“JUMMY.” A terrier which did much good work for the Coniston Hunt.

In addition to a hunt, a hound-trail is held at Mardale. Some of the upholders of the fashionable hounds in the Shires, who believe that thistype is second to none for pace, would, I think, be inclined to change their opinion, if they timed one of these trails. The hounds entered are nothing more than fell foxhounds. Sometimes one of a litter bred at the kennels goes as a trail hound, andvice versâ. Yet, with all their pace, these hounds can hunt a cold line with the best, and will let you know all about it whilst they are doing it.

I have already mentioned the fact that the fell hounds pick up the drag of their fox, and work this out until they reach his hiding-place and unkennel him.

Sometimes the drag covers a long distance. When the Rev. E. M. Reynolds was Master of the Coniston Hounds, the latter picked up a drag near Rydal Park, carried it over High Pike up to Hart Crag, and down the ridge into Hartsop, where they unkennelled their fox in Low Wood overlooking Brothers’ Water. On another occasion the same pack struck a drag in Skelghyll Wood, near Windermere Lake, carried it forward the entire length of the Troutbeck valley, and out at Threshwaite Mouth at the fell head, unkennelling their fox about a mile beyond the last-mentioned point. As a rule, it is pretty safe to say that a drag which leads towards the high ground, is right, though on occasion such a linemayprove to be heel-way. Even old and experienced hounds are notinfallible when it comes to differentiating between the right way and heel, despite the fact that one meets people who swear their hounds won’t run heel. After covering a lot of rough ground on the drag, and having at last unkennelled your fox, the real business of the day has only just begun. Before night, if you are in pursuit of an old stager, you may find yourself many miles from home, with darkness coming on, and a rough track to follow.

One of the longest, if notthelongest, hunt I ever took part in occurred on January 15th, 1914. The Coniston Hounds met that day at Strawberry Bank, in the Winster valley. They found their fox at 10 o’clock, and the last followers of the field which started out in the morning, acknowledged themselves beaten at 5 p.m. Hounds ran for several hours longer, until darkness enabled the fox to finally shake off his pursuers. From the time hounds unkennelled their fox, until they were run out of scent, was 9½ hours, sufficient, I think, to constitute a record.

Such a day is one to be set down in red ink in the hunting diary.

ULLSWATER FOXHOUNDS: GONE TO GROUND BELOW HIGH PIKE IN THE SCANDALE VALLEY.

Taking it all through, the fell country carries a good scent, except in early autumn and spring, when the sun exerts considerable power, and the bracken and dead leaves get very dry. There is little limestone in the district, but now and thenhounds run a fox to such places as Whitbarrow, where, unless the atmosphere is very damp, they often experience considerable difficulty in sticking to the line. “There’s nowt sae queer as scent,” and though we sometimes think we know a good deal about it, there generally comes a time when all our prophecies prove wrong. Now and then in the fell country there comes a day when the atmosphere is very clear, and there is an absence of wind. Overhead the clouds look heavy, and the day may be described as “dark.” The colour of the distant hills tones off from indigo to mauve; but for all the general effect of darkness, every stone and crag shows up distinctly. On such a day I have often known a screaming scent, while hounds could be both easily seen and heard.

Jorrocks, wise old bird, said, “Take not out your ’ounds upon a werry windy day,” and his advice is good, but for all that I have seen hounds run like mad in a gale, screaming along yards wide of the line, the scent drifting with the wind.

There are, of course, several factors that have an influence on scent. There is the fox himself, the nature of the soil (clay, gravel, etc.), the condition of the surface, such as grass, plough, moorland or woodland; the temporary state of the surface, wet, dry, dusty, etc.; and the state of the weather.

As far as the fox is concerned, there is little doubt that he and his relations vary considerably in the amount of scent they give off. Much depends too, upon the behaviour of a fox, as to whether hounds can make the best use of his line. A straight-running fox is easier to hunt than a twisting one, while the body-scent—i.e.scent retained by the atmosphere—allows hounds to run with their heads up, the scent being “breast high.” That scent is often far too high I have proved over and over again. Many a time I have been walking to a meet, and at some favourite crossing place for foxes on a road, or elsewhere, I have caught the scent of a fox quite strongly. Whenever scent has thus been retained high in the atmosphere, I have never seen hounds able to run fast, for it is over their heads, and they cannot reach it. In the case of foot-scent, such as is left on a cold drag, hounds have to get their noses right down to it, and work it out patiently. Foot-scent will lead hounds to the exact spot where a fox jumps a wall, or creeps through a hedge, whereas with body-scent they may run fast, but quite wide of the exact line of their fox, the distance varying with the amount of wind. On a real good scenting day the scent appears to remain “breast high,” whereas on a bad scenting day, it disappears quickly, or rises too high for hounds.

Whenever a hunted fox is coursed by a shepherd’s dog, hounds invariably have great difficulty in owning the line afterwards. It seems as if the sudden fright contracts the glands, or whatever it is that permits scent to exude from the fox, and the scent never again appears to regain its original strength.

Water often saves a hunted fox, for I have known many a one practically beaten, be completely lost after it had entered a stream. As the fox’s strength fails, scent becomes weaker to some extent, and it only needs a sudden fright, like the appearance of a cur dog, or an unexpected halloa, to cause it to fade altogether. For this reason one cannot keep too quiet when hounds are running almost in view of their beaten fox. An injudicious halloa at such a time gets their heads up, and it is ten to one that the fox makes good his escape. Hounds know very well when they are closing up to their fox, and they require no outside assistance to expedite matters.

If hounds get away on top of their fox on a good scenting day, his doom is very likely to be sealed, no matter how fast he runs. If, however, he kept up the same pace for the same length of time on a moderate or bad scenting day, he would outrun them, especially if he put in a few sharpish turns.

Luckily for hounds, a fox never goes far athis best pace unless hard pressed, instead he places a convenient distance between himself and the pack, and accommodates his pace to theirs. If he ran his hardest on a bad scenting day he would be liable to run into other dangers ahead, for, for all he knows, there may be other hounds in front of him, so he travels as slowly as he dare, while keeping a good look out.

Very high wind is not, as a rule, conducive to scent, but I have seen hounds run fast in such wind, which, in addition to being strong, was exceedingly cold. In December of this year (1919) one of the fell packs ran a fox up-wind against an icy gale on the tops, when the wind was so strong that we who were following them had more than once to lie down or be blown over the edge of the fell.

Rain, wind, and sun are responsible for the state of the ground, and exert their influence on scent. Too much rain is bad for scent, as the land gets waterlogged. Roughly speaking, scent appears to lie best when the ground is in good riding condition. Wind and sun dry out the ground and harden it, and frost does likewise. Hounds will always run better when it is hard with drought or frost than when it is very wet and holding. Grass generally carries a better scent than plough, though the latter in some districts appears very favourable to it.

CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: WATCHING A HUNT FROM BROAD HOWE “BORRAN.”

The nature of the soil, being permanent, has much to do with scent. I am inclined to think that poor land carries a better scent than good land, while heather and moorland are more conducive to it than cold grass fields.

I know a district, all grass and moorland, in a limestone country, where scent lies very well indeed, except actually on the bare limestone. On the extensive outcrops of this kind of stone hounds are generally brought to their noses, unless the limestone is damp with rain.

A white frost is often bad for scent, and almost always so if the sun gets out at all warm. In the afternoon, should the ground harden again, hounds may be able to run quite well. I have noticed that towards evening, under varied conditions of weather, scent is often better than earlier in the day. Snow, if damp, and not too deep, often carries a good scent. In deep, soft snow, hounds can soon account for their fox if they get away close to him, as their greater length of leg gives them the advantage in such “going.”

When all is said and done, there appears to be no absolute rule to go by regarding scent. The “dark” day previously mentioned comes pretty near to it, however, and I always expect good scenting conditions on such a day.

Seeing that the true charm of all field sport is its “glorious uncertainty,” it is perhaps just aswell that we cannot pick and choose our hunting days, but must take the good with the bad, and be thankful for them.

“So I wish you good speed, a good line, and a lead,With the luck of each fence where it’s low,Not the last of the troop, may you hear the Who—whoop,Well pleased as you heard Tally-Ho!”

“So I wish you good speed, a good line, and a lead,

With the luck of each fence where it’s low,

Not the last of the troop, may you hear the Who—whoop,

Well pleased as you heard Tally-Ho!”

“O’er the bottle at eve, of our pleasures we’ll tell,For no pastime on earth can foxhunting excel;It brightens our thoughts for philosophy’s page,Gives strength to our youth, and new vigour to age.”

“O’er the bottle at eve, of our pleasures we’ll tell,

For no pastime on earth can foxhunting excel;

It brightens our thoughts for philosophy’s page,

Gives strength to our youth, and new vigour to age.”

After unkennelling a fox on a very windy day, I have heard people exclaim, “Oh! he’ll never face this wind on the top.” Despite such opinions the fox generallydoesface even the strongest wind, if he has made up his mind to reach some particular point.

It should be remembered that a fox stands a great deal lower than a man, and offers much less resistance to the wind.

I once remember sheltering on Wetherlam behind a boulder, my companion being the huntsman of the Coniston Hounds. It was a wild, windy day, in fact, the wind was so strong that when facing it we could scarcely breathe. There was snow on the ground at the time, and hounds were running on the breast far below us. We were just about to leave our shelter when weespied a fox coming towards us. He was travelling right in the teeth of the gale, which did not appear to trouble him much. He never saw us till we ran in and loosed two couples of hounds at him, when he quickened his pace, and was soon out of sight.

I have, in a previous chapter, mentioned the fact of a fox lying on a ledge and refusing to move until a well-aimed stone dropped almost on top of him. That reminds me of another occasion when I was blackgame shooting on some rough ground on the fell. I fired at a blackcock which flew over me from above, missing him with the first barrel, but stopping him with the second. As I was reloading, I happened to glance downhill, and much to my surprise saw a fox curled up, apparently asleep, on top of a big flat rock. I threw a stone at him, which caused him to raise his head, and a second missile made him get off the rock, and take refuge underneath it. I waited a minute or two, but as he did not appear I rolled a big stone down the slope. It happened to land square on top of the fox’s shelter, and out he shot, jumping into a thick bracken bed, from the harbour of which he kept stopping to look back at me. It seemed strange that a fox should lie curled up on a rock, and allow me to make a noisy approach, in addition to firing the gun, without his showing the least sign of uneasiness.

On another occasion, near the same place, I was shooting with a companion. The snow was deep and the going very bad. I was well up the hill-side when I heard my companion exclaim, “Look out!” Expecting a hare, I got ready to shoot, when over a knoll appeared a fine big fox. I could have blown his head off, but instead I saluted him with a halloa, and away he went towards the high ground. Evidently he, too, found it bad travelling, as I saw him flounder and slip several times before he went out of sight.

As an example of the pace of a fell hound on rough ground, I will relate the following. The Coniston Hounds found a fox in a ghyll on Roughsides, overlooking the Kirkstone Pass. A very fast hound named Chanter, gained a long start with this fox, and crossed the Kirkstone road not far behind him. The fox made straight up the steep side of Dod End, when it suddenly dawned on us that the hound was fast gaining. In a very short time he overhauled his fox, and I expected to see the latter rolled over. Instead, the fox whirled round and “set” the hound, and there they stood, fangs bared, grinning at each other. I was watching the scene through field-glasses, and not till the remainder of the pack arrived on the scene did Reynard make a bolt for liberty. They turned him in very quickly, however, and rolledhim over close to the road. It is only fair to add that this fox was slightly mangy, which probably accounted for his not being able to get clear. I have his mask on the wall now, and never saw one armed with bigger fangs.

Railways are seldom a danger to the fell hounds, though occasionally the latter run foul of them. On March 9th, 1911, the Blencathra Hounds were running their fox between the metals of the Cockermouth, Keswick and Penrith Railway. Neither fox nor hounds noticed the approach of a passenger train on its way to West Cumberland. Luckily, however, the engine-driver managed to bring the train to a standstill, when the fox was only a few yards from the engine. A few minutes later hounds accounted for their fox close to Bassenthwaite Lake.

A rather amusing incident occurred on one occasion at Wythburn, near the head of Thirlmere Lake. Two of the Blencathra hounds got well away with their fox, and were not caught by the rest of the pack until after they had rolled him over in the fields bordering the Lake. A zealous youth, instead of leaving the fox for the pack to run up to, ran in, and thinking Reynard was dead, picked him up. He quickly dropped the supposedly defunct carcass, however, when two rows of remarkably sharp white teeth met in his hand.

CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: ROUGH GOING NEAR DOVE CRAG.

Nothing stops a really keen fell hunter from enjoying the sport he loves best. I know at least two men with wooden legs who regularly follow hounds, and would shame many a sound person when it comes to travelling on the hills.

There is a story concerning two hunters who used to follow hounds above Dockray. I believe one of them was a relation of Joe Bowman, the well-known huntsman of the Ullswater. Anyway, this ancestor of Joe’s was deaf and dumb, while his friend and hunting partner was blind.

The latter’s stock saying to his mate, when hounds were out, was, “Thou mun lissen, an’ I’ll leak (look).”

That big foxes are not altogether confined to the fell country is attested to in Frank Gillard’s “Reminiscences.” Gillard mentions a big, mangy dog-fox which the Belvoir Hounds killed at Aswarby. Had this fox been in good condition he would have weighed over eighteen pounds; as it was he turned the scale at seventeen and a half pounds.

Apropos of the famous “Dun Bull” inn, in Mardale, mentioned in a previous chapter in connection with the shepherds’ “Victory Meet,” is the following yarn.

The Ullswater had a good hunt in Longsleddale, eventually running their fox to ground in Mardale.A terrier was put in, and the fox bolted, affording another scurry before he was killed.

At the finish of the hunt a youth approached Mr. Farrer, of Howtown, the owner of the terrier, “Lucky Jim,” which had bolted the fox; and the following conversation ensued:

Youth: “Did your Jim worry the fox?”

Mr. F.: “No, my lad, he bolted.”

Youth: “Ay, an’ thou’ll bolt summat when thoo gits to t’ Dunny (Dun Bull).”

CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: GEORGE CHAPMAN, THE HUNTSMAN, WITH FOX, AFTER A KILL IN GREENBURN.

BLENCATHRA FOXHOUNDS: ERNEST PARKER, THE WHIPPER-IN.

That a promising day may finish in gloom, the following experience will prove. In the last week of October, 1910, the Coniston Hounds found a fox at Pinch Crags, in Scandale. After a short but fast hunt, they rolled him over in the open. The day being still young, hounds were taken to High Pike, where a second fox was soon unkennelled. After a fast hunt this fox took refuge on the face of Dove Crag, dropping from ledge to ledge, with three hounds, Crafty, Rally and Ringwood in pursuit. Eventually the fox, in attempting to cross an impassable ghyll, owing to pressure from the young hound, Crafty, slipped and fell several hundred feet, and met its death on the rocks far below. Unfortunately, the hound shared the same fate, whilst Rally and Ringwood became hopelessly crag-fast on one of the numerous ledges. A rope and willing assistants were brought from the quarry on Red Screes, and eventually thehounds were rescued from their precarious position. It was an exciting adventure, and one which, thank goodness, does not often happen.

It was a coincidence that another fell pack, the Eskdale and Ennerdale, should have got some of their hounds crag-fast on Scawfell during the same week. Charmer, one of the best hounds in the pack, was found lying dead at the foot of the crags, and another hound, Melody, was badly injured. Ropes were secured at Wastdale Head, and J. Gaspard, a French guide, with two others, roped themselves together, and went 180 feet down the crag face. They rescued the remaining hounds, despite a continuous downpour of rain and severe cold.

Occasionally a fox ends his life in one of the many lakes scattered about the fell country. On New Year’s day, 1912, the Mellbrake Hounds got on to a fox which had stolen away near Foulsyke. They had a screaming hunt, towards the end of which hounds raced through the shrubbery at Loweswater Hall, and forward across the Lamplugh road to the lake. At the edge of the water one of the hounds “clicked” the fox, but could not hold him, Reynard plunged in, but sank when a few yards out from shore.

On one occasion the Blencathra Hounds ran a fox from Wanthwaite Crag to Grasmere village, where he “benked” on the window-sill of acottage. A woman rushed out of the latter, armed with a broom, and forbade either huntsman or hounds to enter the garden, which was well fenced in. Eventually, however, she was persuaded, and after fair law had been allowed the fox, the hunt continued.

At another time a certain pack ran a fox into a crag where it “benked” in rather a difficult place. Hounds could not get to it, so a man was lowered in on a rope. He succeeded in shifting Reynard “out of that,” and away went hounds in hot pursuit. Oblivious to all else but the hunt, the men on the top utterly forgot their mate dangling in mid-air below them, and not until his frantic yells reached their ears did they set about the business of hauling him up.

It is not often one has the chance of seeing the finish of a hunt from a motor-car, but on one occasion I remember doing so. Hounds were running hard on Gummershow, overlooking the lower end of Windermere Lake. I was heading towards the lake when a friend’s car overtook me. Jumping in, we careered down a side-lane, and turned sharp into the main road, just as hounds forced their fox across it, and killed him near the lake shore.

ULLSWATER FOXHOUNDS: OPENING MEET, OCT. 11TH, 1919.

On one occasion the Windermere Harriers brought a fox to hand at Blakerigg at the head of the Easedale valley. Anthony Chapman, nowlandlord of the famous “Mortal Man” hotel in Troutbeck, was huntsman at the time, and that day the only follower was one Isaac Thompson. The carcass of the fox was laid upon a flat rock when Anthony turned to his friend and exclaimed, “Why, Isaac, we’ve never halloed!”

To kill a fox without a death halloa was a sad omission, so a combined who-whoop rent the air, and awoke the echoes amongst the crags. In fact, it did more than that, it brought the supposedly dead fox to life, and sent him helter-skelter down the rough fell breast in a final dash for liberty. Hounds viewed him and flew in hot pursuit, and after a smart burst, rolled him over in the bottom near the tarn. To this day Anthony delights to tell the tale of the fox which was “killed twice over.”

On another occasion the same pack had a good run, which ended with a check near a gateway in a lane. After casting round with no result, a boy suddenly appeared on the scene, and exclaimed:

“What are you laiting?” (looking for).

“I’se laiting a fox!” replied Anthony.

“What, So-and-so (giving the name) has it tied up i’ t’ barn,” said the youth.

On making investigation, sure enough there was the fox tied up with a collar and chain in one of the farm buildings.

The party responsible for the deed was a localof the “not quite sharp” persuasion, who had arrived at the gateway just as hounds ran into their fox; and had rescued the latter little or nothing the worse.

Anthony, determined to let hounds have their reward, bought the fox from its captor, and after giving it due law, the pack was laid on. Having received his money, the “not quite sharp” gentleman mounted a near-by wall and commenced to stone the huntsman for all he was worth. Anthony, to escape this fusillade, hurriedly departed in the wake of his hounds, the latter rolling their fox over in the open, after a sharp scurry.

The “twice killed fox” yarn reminds me of another incident that happened some years ago.

Hounds ran their fox to ground, and after a pitched battle with the terriers, Reynard’s carcass was secured and withdrawn. The body was placed on a rock out of reach of the pack, whilst the field held a heated discussion as to which of the nearest inns should be honoured with their presence for the “harvel,” or celebration.

After some haggling, the momentous question was settled, and a move was made, when it was discovered that the fox had disappeared. Reynard had revived sufficiently to get up and slink away, and though hounds were laid on, they never caught him, for he got to ground in a place where it was utterly impossible to reach him.

In November, 1919, the Blencathra Hounds, after a good hunt above St. John’s-in-the-Vale, put their fox to ground in a narrow fissure of rock near the summit of Wanthwaite. A terrier was put in, and after a pitched battle, the dog accounted for the fox, but refused to leave the carcass. Darkness was coming on, so huntsman and field had reluctantly to leave the spot in order to make the difficult descent to the dale. Next morning the huntsman and whipper-in returned to the place, and found the carcass of the fox, with the terrier lying dead beside it, outside the “borran.” The fox had inflicted severe, if not fatal, injuries on the game little dog, and the latter, having dragged the body of his foe from underground, had still refused to leave it, and had so perished from exposure during a bitterly cold night.

I was out one day when the Coniston Hounds ran a fox to ground near Dod Bields, in Caiston. A terrier was put in, and after a stiff fight, the fox was accounted for underground. Several hours’ hard work failed to secure the carcass, so as daylight had given place to moonlight, we made our way across the summit of Red Screes, and so down to the “Traveller’s Rest” at the head of the Kirkstone Pass. Next day several willing hunters returned to the place, and after much labour, unearthed notonedead fox, buttwo. Both foxes were jammed up close to the end of a narrowtunnel, and it was supposed that the one in the rear had been smothered to death.

On another occasion in the Troutbeck valley, hounds ran a fox to ground in a drain. A terrier was put in, and the fox bolted, giving hounds a very fast spin straight downhill. They practically never broke view, and rolled him over directly. Whilst the field were occupied in watching them, a second fox, which proved to be the hunted one, made his appearance from the drain, and going off rather stiffly, got to ground in a quarry “rubbish heap,” from which it was impossible to dislodge him.

Foxes will often lie extraordinarily close in long heather. I was out one day with the Ullswater, and we tried a lot of country without a sign of a drag or a line of any sort. Eventually we tried a heather-covered allotment between Kentmere and Troutbeck. Still there was no sign of a fox, and the field was beginning to get rather discouraged, when suddenly, right in the middle of hounds, a fox sprang out of the heather. How he ever escaped is a mystery, but get clear he did, giving a straight away hunt by way of Rainsbarrow and the head of the Kentmere valley, where hounds “laid him in,” and finally rolled him over at the edge of Kentmere reservoir, after a screaming thirty minutes’ hunt, without the semblance of a check from start to finish.

CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: HOUNDS AND THEIR HUNTSMAN IN THE SCANDALE VALLEY.CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: AFTER A KILL NEAR CONISTON.

CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: HOUNDS AND THEIR HUNTSMAN IN THE SCANDALE VALLEY.

CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: AFTER A KILL NEAR CONISTON.

CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: AFTER A KILL IN WOUNDALE.CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: AFTER A KILL ON NAB SCAR, RYDAL.

CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: AFTER A KILL IN WOUNDALE.

CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: AFTER A KILL ON NAB SCAR, RYDAL.

In a previous chapter I have mentioned the fact that occasionally some fell hound hunts, and finally kills or runs his fox to ground “on his own.” I remember the Ullswater Hounds threw off on one occasion at the quarry above Troutbeck Park, on the steep side of Ill Bell. Hounds struck a line which took them over the summit of the fell into the Kentmere valley. I was talking to Joe Bowman the huntsman, when we heard a single hound running very fast in our direction. It proved to be one of the lady members of the pack, a very fast bitch, and she was driving her fox at a tremendous pace. In a short time she ran him to ground on the Tongue, where Reynard crept in beneath a huge boulder on the fell side. A terrier was put in, and immediately got to the fox, but without tools it was impossible to reach them. Some quarrymen eventually came across with the necessary articles, including a fuse, and a charge of powder. It was found necessary to crack the boulder with the powder, after which the broken rock was removed, and terrier and fox were drawn out, fast locked together, from a very narrow and wet earth-hole. It was almost impossible to distinguish between them, so plastered were they with wet mud. The terrier was pried loose and the fox thrown down, when rather to our surprise he got on to his legs and made a bid for liberty. His race was soon run, however, asthe bitch and some young hounds the huntsman had with him, soon rolled him over. The terrier which had been nearly smothered in the earth, died the day after, despite all that could be done for it.

In December, 1919, the Coniston Hounds had a very fast hunt from a covert above Staveley village. Hounds finally drove their fox to the head of the Longsleddale valley, where it “benked” on a ledge on Goatscar. It had been a late find, and when the huntsman arrived on the scene, darkness was fast drawing in. The fox was at last made to vacate his dangerous resting-place, and he scrambled down a precipitous chimney on the face of the towering crag. Then ensued a wild and exciting scene, such as can only be experienced on the fells. The chimney was a dangerous place for hounds, with a fox dodging his way through them. Twice they had hold of him, but he wrenched free, and got clear at the chimney’s foot, where he soon outdistanced them across the rough scree-bed. One of the hounds fell a matter of fifty feet, but beyond being temporarily shaken appeared little the worse, and quickly resumed the chase. Snow was lying thickly on the tops, and it was just sufficiently light to see the fox climbing out for the summit of the crag again, where he ran through the roughest of the ground near the fell head, and finally disappeared on the wide top ofHarter Fell. Hounds followed him, and we saw them no more that night.

Many such incidents occur during the course of a season on the fells, and it is surprising that so few accidents happen, considering the dangerous nature of the country.

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