We were trotting leisurely to cover, one morning, when I remarked that Trimbush was more serious and silent than usual. “What are you thinking about?” said I. “We’ve got our work cut out to-day,” replied he, “and I was just turning a few matters over in my brain, to untie some of the knots and difficulties which always beset us when we draw Berry brake.” “Is that our first draw?” said I. “Yes,” returned my companion, “and a sure find. For the last four seasons we have challenged the same fox, and, as he lives, I need not say that he has, hitherto, beaten us.” “But how?” I asked. “He must be “He is,” added Trimbush: “but he must be more than that, even to live till sun-down to-day.” “Tell me all about him,” said I, “and what your plans are; for I see your mind is made up for mischief.” “Why, in the first place, then, I should tell you,” replied my friend, “that Berry brake is the strongest cover I ever was in. It cuts our chests and sterns, and makes our heads swell terribly, to get through at any pace. The scent, too, is very good in it, and from having given Old Charley some good dusting, he will not hang a moment now. This, in so far as the strength of the cover is concerned, is all the better for us; but he is so wary that he bolts at the slightest noise, and has taken to his pads long before Tom has been even able to occupy his station at the upper part of the cover. Whatever his tactics may be, however, he invariably breaks away fresh, and with a good start, and being as strong a fox as ever stood before hounds, he has managed to outrun and beat us up to this time.” “Is he a big one?” I inquired. “I have viewed many a one in my day,” replied Trimbush; “but never did I put eyes upon such a wolf-like looking animal. He’s as black as thunder, and as long as a rope-walk. You can’t mistake the devil’s own, as Will Sykes christened him, if you chance to view him; but we have not done so for the last six times of hunting him.” “View or no view,” rejoined I, “we’ll stick to him.” “For a month, if we can but hunt, yard by yard, inch by inch,” said the old hound, with fixed determination expressed in his proudly erected head and lashing stern. “You’ve got some manoeuvre or artful dodge in store for him, I know,” I remarked. “I have,” responded my companion, “and you shall not only hear what it is, but shall join in the scheme. As I told you a short time since, most foxes hang in cover as long as they dare or can. It is their nature to screen themselves as much as possible, and they face the open only when compelled and pressed. A fox that has been often hunted, however, is of course more shy than one who has not, and the devil’s own, having invariably met with a precious rattling whenever “Being so crafty,” returned I, “I’m surprised that they don’t depend more upon that which would save them, their speed.” “The reason is this,” added Trimbush. “Although much faster than we are, and with power of equal endurance, they cannot bear the heat of the day as well as we can. It should be recollected also, that we have rested the night before, and commence our work with empty bellies in the morning; but the fox has been on the pad foraging for food when we were asleep, and, perhaps, is gorged at the moment we unkennel him. He, therefore, At this moment Will Sykes glanced round, and hallooed, “Give them more room, Ned, and let them empty themselves.” “Ay, ay,” replied Ned, checking his horse to leave greater space between himself and the huntsman. “That’s right,” observed Trimbush. “There should always be plenty of room between the second whip and the huntsman, so that we may not be hurried when we want to stop.” “Then you intend,” said I, resuming the subject, “then you intend——” “To fly straight to the farthest end, or opposite side of every cover he points for,” interrupted he, “and especially the moment we are thrown into Berry brake, in order to be on good terms with him at the burst. It’s our only chance,” continued the old hound, “and if he beats us to-day, with the ground in the order that it is, and this mild velvety “Have you made known your plan to any of the others?” I inquired. “Yes,” replied my companion, “two couple and a half of the right sort stand in with us, and it will go hard but we’ll give a better account of him than he has met with yet.” We had not to travel far to the meet, and soon after Trimbush ceased speaking we came in sight of it. The Squire had just trotted up on his hack, and was dismounting at the moment of our arrival. “Well!” said he, addressing Will Sykes, “is the devil’s own to beat us again to-day?” “He may, sir,” replied the huntsman, giving a cursory glance at us, as if to direct his master’s attention to the draft; “but if he does, I shall think Tom’s suspicions are right.” “And what are they?” asked the Squire. “That he bears a charmed life,” replied Will, “and no hounds ever bred could run into him.” Our master laughed heartily at this, and I felt all on fire as the cover appeared, and could scarcely refrain from dashing after Tom when he trotted off to take his station. Trimbush, seeing my impatience, said, “Gently, my lad, gently. There’s nothing like spirit; but wait for orders, and never yield to the impulse of committing a breach of discipline.” Notwithstanding this reasoning, however, I could see that he had enough to do to keep a check upon his own inclination to break away. But our impatience was not kept long upon the stretch. Will was as anxious to begin as we were, and no sooner had the whips taken their places than he threw us into cover, but without the slightest noise being made. There was not so much even as the crack of a thong. “That’s right,” said Trimbush, going like a bullet through the furze, “although I should not wonder but he’s gone.” The hounds, instructed by Trimbush, and agreeing to adopt his proceedings, were Dashwood, Hector, Loyalty, Wildboy, and Rubicon, all old friends of his. We went together in a body full swing, more as if we were flying to a view halloo than drawing a “Tally-ho!” now rung from Tom Holt’s throat. “Shoot to the right,” said Trimbush, leading, and in a few strides we were outside the thick, almost impenetrable gorse. “Tally-ho, tally-ho!” again hallooed Tom. “Come along,” said the old hound, “we are close to his brush this time at any rate.” Racing to where the whipper-in stood with his cap in the air, we picked up the scent and found it sweeter than fresh-pulled flowers. Settling to him, and with a bunch of our companions, who likewise made play to the halloo as we did, away we rattled at the pace which only a burning scent and hounds bristling for a kill can show. For an hour-and-a-half we burst him along, and not one fox in a thousand could have stood before us for such a time and over such a country, in which there was not so much as a spinny to hide him; but he kept on at just the same rate, and a halloo, every now and then, told us that he was only just a-head. Several of us were tailed off, and some never “I begin to think,” said Trimbush, still the leader of the chosen few, “that his point’s Gretwith rock, and if so, there’s not a bush to hold him for fifteen miles as straight as the crow flies.” “He can’t last the distance,” replied Rubicon. “We shall run him from scent to view in less than another mile.” “So I think,” rejoined Wildboy. “His red rag’s hanging from his jaws worse than mine, I know, and that feels like dried chalk.” “We shall come to soil presently,” returned Loyalty. “There’s the Loam stream not far a-head.” “Egad!” added Dashwood, “but I wish it was in my next stride. I’m blistered with thirst.” “I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Trimbush, “to find him try an artful move at the Loam. Be careful, my hearts, and don’t flash forward on the opposite bank. Feel for Thus schooled, we took especial care, upon refreshing ourselves in the Loam, to follow the instructions given, and our first cast was along the verge down stream, which, also, chanced to be down wind. “This is his line,” said Trimbush, evidently puzzled, “and yet——” “Let us try up wind,” interrupted Dashwood, “he may have headed, as he’s a sinking one.” “You flatter yourself,” returned the old hound; “he has as much life in him as will serve to test your pluck and powers for an hour to come.” “But he may have headed back,” observed Wildboy. “He may,” quietly added Trimbush; “but make your work good as ye go. I think,” continued he, “that we have cast to the right, which was the probable line, far enough. Now let us try the left.” Will Sykes, Ned Adams, and the Squire, now came in sight; but their horses could not be spurred out of a trot. Their heads were “How beautifully they work,” I heard the Squire say as he threw himself from the saddle. “Let them alone; pray let them alone.” We had now made the cast as far to the left as we had done to the right, and yet we could not hit him off. “I’m sure he’s headed back,” said Wildboy, confidently. “We’ll try,” replied Trimbush; “but I doubt it.” “It’s now quite clear,” said the Squire, as we failed to touch the scent in our track, “that the hounds can make nothing of it. They have had a fair trial; now let me see what you can do, William.” Will threw his strong, keen eye forward, and his ears were pricked for any halloo or indication of the line of the fox; but nothing appeared to enlighten him. He then out with his horn, and was about making a wider and more forward cast than we had made down wind, when Trimbush sprang into the stream, and swam to a small patch of sedge and grass, not a great deal bigger than a man’s hat, and “A trick worthy of the devil’s own,” said Trimbush, laughing, “but I proved a match for him this time.” “How was it that we could not carry the scent down stream?” inquired I, as the devil’s own became lost to view over the brow of a short but steep hill. “Because,” replied my companion, “he reached the water some seconds before ourselves, and swimming so far down the stream, he gained the little bank of mud, where he squatted, with all the scent washed away from him. We could, therefore, carry it no further than where he took water, and as he did not break from it, the reason is obvious for our being unable to act otherwise than we did.” “I can’t think how you came to suspect that he had laid up there,” remarked I. “I never knew a fox to do so before,” We now came to a more enclosed country, and the fences greatly added to our momentarily increasing distress. The hounds dropped off one by one, and some, attempting to jump the steep and wide ditches, fell into them, and there laid, not having strength enough to crawl out again. It was fearful work, and how I managed to stagger forward is a mystery to me to this day. Trimbush did his best to cheer us on, and continually reminded us “that a kill was certain if we only stuck to him a little longer.” But this “little longer” appeared to be a very indefinite period. The winter day was waning fast. Objects at a short distance began to loom through the thickening shades, and the sun’s last rays had scarcely left a faint tinge of his glory in the west. Still the chase went on. There was no check, let, or stop. On, on, we flew: the pursuing and pursued. “He dies, by the Lord!” cried Trimbush, in perfect ecstacy, as we flashed a few yards over the scent, and then, turning, hit it off short to the right. “He dies, he dies!” cried he, throwing up his head, and waking a loud echo from his deep-toned tongue. “What do you mean?” inquired I, reeling with weakness, and certain that my remaining strength was all but spent. “His point was Gretwith rock, as I thought long since,” replied the old hound; “but he can’t live the distance. He has now turned short to run up wind, which proves him to be a sinking one, and if he reaches Quaffam wood it is as much as he can do.” Seeing that Trimbush was serious, this sage opinion lent fresh aid to our flagging energies, and the skeleton of his force, comprising only Dashwood, Wildboy, and myself, answered his cheer by redoubling our efforts to run into the devil’s own. The wood which Trimbush spoke of now appeared at the bottom of a deep valley, and into the underbush we dashed, confident that the fox must hang, and also in the hope that he would not live to leave it. I had no sooner, however, entered the cover than, losing the For a few minutes I heard my companions driving the devil’s own to the furthest end of the cover from where I laid, and then, as their cry approached, I knew they had headed him towards me. Putting my head close to the ground, I saw the fox creeping along with his back up, scarcely able to crawl. His tongue was drooping from his jaws, and his brush dragged along as if there was not strength enough in him even to lift that. Every now and then he stopped and turned his head, and, not perceiving me, continued to near the spot where I laid. Close and closer he came, and, at length, coming within springing distance, I made an effort which surprised myself, and fastened my teeth right across the middle of his loins before he had a chance of knowing from what quarter he was attacked. Catching me by the ear, however, he gave me a dying grip which made me remember the length of his teeth and the strength of his “We’ll break him up presently,” gasped Trimbush. “Let’s get a sob or two of wind first,” and forming a circle round the lifeless carcase of the devil’s own, we lay stretched upon the ground, panting and beaten to a crawl. At this moment something crashing through the brushwood was heard, and soon afterwards a labouring man came running up, and seizing the fox, lifted him above his head, and “who-whooped” most lustily. He then drew a great clasped knife from a sheath, and cut off the head, brush, and pads of the devil’s own. “Ah!” said he, “I heard ye, and thought there was something up more than common. I can guess all about it. You’ve beaten every one o’ the field, and tailed off all the rest o’ the pack.” “You’re right enough, old fellow,” observed Trimbush, “and I wish you could understand me as well as I can you. But what the deuce are ye about with the fox?” The astonishment of Trimbush was caused by seeing the man deliberately proceeding to skin the fox, as he might the body of a dead cat or rabbit. “I’ll soon whip off your jacket,” said the man, “and then they can eat ye nice and comfortably. Such a skin as this,” continued he, “must be terribly tough, I know.” “What a considerate Christian!” exclaimed Loyalty. “Old Mark could scarcely be more thoughtful.” “Besides,” resumed the labourer, finishing his job, “such a skin as this is worth half-a-crown, and it had much better go into my pocket than down your bellies.” “Ho, ho!” ejaculated Trimbush. “That’s the secret of your attention, is it?” “Who-whoop!” hallooed the man. “Who-whoop!” and throwing the dismembered carcase to us, we tore it into pieces and demolished, with more than ordinary relish, the devil’s own. “Now, what am I to do with ye?” observed the rustic, scratching the back part of his head. “Take us to the nearest best quarters,” said Trimbush; “give us a good supper, “It’s a long distance,” soliloquized the man; “but I shall get well paid for my trouble, I know. It can’t be done to-night, howsomever; and so I’ll get farmer Oatfield to give grub and lodgings, and journey home with ye to-morrow myself.” “A capital move,” said Trimbush, “and a sentiment after my own heart. Come along.” Most willingly we followed our conductor from the cover, and after proceeding about a mile, we came to one of those nests of comforts, a good farm-house. As we entered the yard, two rough and shaggy shepherd’s dogs ran barking towards us; but upon coming closer, they wagged their short stumpy tails by way of a welcome, and soon afterwards we had a famous supper of warm milk and meal, supplied to us by the hospitable Mr. Oatfield, who heard with infinite glee the rustic’s account of the way in which he discovered us; and then, by his orders, some bundles of fresh straw were shaken out, upon which we stretched ourselves, with that pleasure which only the wearied feel. |