Frances E. Slaughter

Books and Magazine articles dealing with the Chase and the habits of the Red deer, are so many and so excellent that I feel diffident about attempting to say anything on a subject that has been so thoroughly thrashed out. In old days, or at any rate twenty-five years ago, very few people wended their way Westward in the months of August and September, to see what has now become such a popular sport. The crowds at the present time are now enormous, often worse than the Quorn fields, and the riders all full of zeal and desperately anxious not to miss anything from find to finish, thus often causing the Master no little anxiety, and trying his patience sadly.

In case my readers are not acquainted with the method in which stag-hunting is conducted, I will try to give a brief history of a day's sport. In the first place the deer must be harboured, that is "slotted" or tracked into covert, and this requires great knowledge of woodcraft on the part of him to whom the business is entrusted. The harbourer's business is to find out that his deer is a warrantable, i.e., a runnable, stag, which he can tell by the size of the slot, or footprint on the ground, and he must also make sure that his quarry has not passed through the covert. To do this he must search carefully for a slot leading out of the wood, or if the covert be too large he must make good as many of the paths round where he thinks his deer is lying, as he can. The difference between the slot of a hind and a stag is almost imperceptible to the ordinary eye, but if closely observed it will be noticed that the slot of a stag is larger and has a wider heel and blunter toes, also that an old heavy deer has his toes frequently uneven in length, while a hind's toe is pointed, and she has a narrow heel. In an old deer there is generally also a little space open between her toes. The harbourer can tell whether a stag or hind has been feeding, and though the signs believed in by some are disputed, one infallible test is whether the ash shoots have been nibbled or not. For while the hinds and young deer do not affect them, stags have a perfect passion for them, and the delicacy seems to be as irresistible to them as oysters and caviare are to a human gourmet.

The harbourer generally goes to the scene of action the day before the meet, and gleans what information he can from those whose knowledge he can rely on. With regard however to the feeding ground of the deer, he will do well to depend entirely on his own eyes, and to form his own conclusions. Next morning he must be afoot in the small hours, and look for any fresh slot pointing towards the covert, made by the deer returning from feeding. Should he see what he thinks belongs to a warrantable deer, he must next make sure the animal has not gone through the covert, and if the woods be very large, he must try and localise him as much as possible. The late Miles, who was the harbourer in the Devon and Somerset country for so many years, was a marvel in doing this, for he seemed to know the habits of the deer as well as they did themselves. His loss to the hunt was irreparable, for apart from the harbouring, he was of unbounded assistance during the run, and often when the deer seemed hopelessly lost, and Master and huntsman were in despair, have I heard Miles's whistle and his cheery holloa, saving the day at the eleventh hour.

For the business of tufting, as finding the deer is called, four or five couples of the strongest hounds are required, as they will have to run with the pack afterwards. Also, it is well to select those hounds most inclined to throw their tongues, as their deep notes are more than welcome in the big coverts, where they get out of sight. If the deer has been well harboured and is inclined to leave covert quickly, so much the better, but patience is often sorely wanted in stag hunting, when a cunning old deer will double back into covert time after time, and turn out his younger relations to try and get hounds off his line. We will suppose, however, that the deer has chosen to break covert quickly, and the welcome sound of Anthony's horn means that the body of the pack, till now kennelled in a convenient barn or stable, will be laid on. If the deer has chosen a good line, that is over the forest, we must pull ourselves together and save our horses wherever possible, knowing that we may gallop for eighteen or twenty miles or more.

It is wonderful how two or three miles over holding ground will steady a field, and weed them to within reasonable bounds. I consider Exmoor the worst possible country for a stranger to take his own line, the best man to hounds on earth cannot tell some of the crossings by instinct, many of the combes having only one even decent crossing, and that has to be negotiated with care. Most people, however, seem to come down with the idea that Exmoor is one vast bog, which is all nonsense, for most of it is quite rideable, or at any rate you can pick your way over it. The crossings are the worst drawbacks to riding straight to hounds. A large majority of the field ride to points, and most annoying it is, after you have galloped your hardest at the tail of hounds, to see a batch of tourists who have been piloted by someone who knows every inch of the country, and who has guessed the stag's point, with comparatively fresh horses, while your own, no matter how carefully you have nursed him, has pretty nearly had enough.

A deer will nearly always soil once, if not oftener during a run, and it is marvellous how a plunge in one of the many streams, or a roll in a peat hole, will refresh him. Stags, especially the older and fatter ones, generally lie down after they have run for a time if not pressed, that is if hounds are not laid on at once, and the master generally gives a big heavy deer a little law. A fresh find is a beautiful sight, and the tricks and dodges of a wily old stag would fill many chapters. To anyone fond of seeing hounds work, and not only anxious for a gallop, the sight of hounds trying to pick out the line of their deer, when he has gone up or down stream, is alone worth going out for. It is extraordinary how long a deer's scent will hold on the moor. It is no uncommon thing for hounds to hunt up to, and kill their stag, after he has been two hours ahead of them.

HOUNDS OF THE DEVON AND SOMERSET PACK.

(From a Picture in the possession of C. H. Basset, Esq., of Watermouth Castle.)

One thing in hunting the red deer impresses people very strongly who have only seen foxhunting, and that is the way hounds tail on the moor. Several explanations of this are given. One is that the deer running in a straighter line than the fox, the fastest hound gets in front and stays there, others say that it is easier to get through the heather in a string, and again some hold that the scent of a deer being very sweet, hounds run one behind another to get it all. When they do carry a head, the sight of the big hounds, none under twenty-four-and-a-half inches [Pg 99]
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[Pg 101]and all unrounded, racing over the heather, is a very fine one. Deer almost invariably die in the water, either in one of the numerous streams or rivers, or going to sea. In the last case they have to be followed by boatmen, and are brought to shore and killed. This is the greatest drawback to stag hunting, but it is no good being sentimental about it. The deer do an immense amount of damage to the farmer's crops, and if they were not killed in the chase they would very soon be shot, and stag hunting would be no more, so that my advice to those who cry out about the cruelty to "the poor dear stag," when they see him being ignominiously towed to shore, is to stay at home, so that their feelings may not be hurt by the sight.

It is wonderful how the more ignorant portion of the large field of strangers, who condescend to honour Exmoor with their presence in the stag-hunting season, grumble unceasingly at the sport. The country, Master, hounds, and hunt servants, all come in for scathing criticism. One has a great longing to let them try and hunt a deer themselves, to convince them that it is not such A B C work as they seem to think. Also, should the Master persist in remaining in a covert to hunt the big deer he knows to be there, instead of laying on to the four-year-old which has just broken away over a tempting line on the forest, there is a chorus of discontented ones, "Oh, what rot this is; why can't he go after a decent deer?" The malcontents, either forgetting or not knowing that it is the fat old sinner now doing his utmost to save his skin by turning out his younger relations, which gorges himself nightly on the farmer's best turnips and corn, and that it will be a poor consolation to the latter if hounds pursue a young deer twenty odd miles and then lose him, while the author of the mischief is left, possibly with a keener appetite than ever, after his unwonted exertions.

There is always a hope that a big fat stag may be run up and killed, should his whereabouts be a certainty, in time to lay on to another, and I have often seen two deer killed in one day. A fat stag which is merely blown and not exhausted, will waste a lot of valuable time beating up and down the water, too out of breath to breast the hill and give a gallop, and too strong to be pulled down. This gentleman is a most unpleasant customer to tackle, as in fact is any deer at bay. A stag is a grand looking beast when he stands with his back against a rock, in one of the picturesque streams that abound on Exmoor, with his lovely head well up, and great, sad, frightened eyes, the pack baying round him and not daring to come within striking distance of those death-dealing horns. The sooner then the huntsman, or one of the willing farmers always at hand and ready to assist, can slip behind the beast and lasso him, the better for everyone.

The head and slots of stags are the Master's perquisite, the skin and inside and the hinds' heads belong to the huntsman, who generally shares the liver with the farmers. The carcase is distributed amongst the farmers on whose land the deer was found, and who highly appreciate a bit of venison. The Master alone never gets any, and to speak for myself I have only tasted hunted stag once. This was when my mother was sent, by a kind neighbour, a haunch of a five-year old deer, which had given us a run of nearly thirty miles, and very excellent it was. I have never seen a more vicious stag either than this one, for though he had run from Cloutsham to within five miles of my mother's home,[2] he fought desperately and severely injured two hounds before he was taken. I always remember that gallop too on account of the marvellous way the puppies worked, with hardly any old hounds to help them, my father[3] having saved the older hounds for the next day, when he was meeting in a close woodland country, where he thought the inevitable crowded field would work less havoc among the older and more sensible hounds than on the puppies, many of which were hardly way-wise.

There is one delusion that strangers labour under who meditate a few days with the Devon and Somerset Staghounds, and this is, that it is absolutely necessary to ride "the horse of the country," as they term it. I think this is quite a mistake. Any horse that looks where he is going, and doesn't go yawing about with his head in the air, will go well on Exmoor, at any rate after a time or two, but horses accustomed to the country certainly get less frightened in soft ground than strangers. In fact, a moor-bred animal wont go into a bog at all. I have ridden all sorts and conditions of horses, and I think I would choose animals that stand about 15.1 or 15.2., short-legged and strong backed and with good shoulders, for though I have seen a little straight-shouldered Exmoor pony canter down a hill without a false step, when most people have been leading down it, yet I never think it gives you a comfortable sensation to be sitting almost on your horse's ears. Two things are absolute necessities, blood and condition, without these one cannot hope to get to the end of a long moorland gallop with comfort to either man or beast. I know no more hopeless-looking objects than a poor underbred and underfed hireling, floundering through the wet ground, remorselessly urged on by an ambitious but ignorant tripper, whose pedigree will probably bear even less looking into than his unfortunate steed's. For a very light weight with extravagant ideas, polo ponies would be ideal mounts, being in the height of condition, after the close of the season at Hurlingham, and very fast and handy on their legs, but it is not everyone who can afford or would care to risk valuable animals on such broken ground. Some people hold that big horses are better than small ones, but I cannot say I agree with them. A large horse shakes himself and his rider to pieces galloping down the hills, and if you would see a long run well, you must gallop down hills, and take it easy up them; he also does not recover himself so quickly should he make a mistake over the rough ground, and is more liable to strains and over-reaches in the boggy land, to say nothing of the fact that he can frighten you to death in the tiny narrow paths through the woods, where a false step means rolling into the river many feet below. A small horse may be quite as dangerous, but I don't think he feels so clumsy, and again, a small horse undoubtedly comes to time again sooner after a hard day. One thing I specially dislike on the moor, and that is a hard puller. People say, "what does it matter, when there's heaps of room." This is all very well on a racecourse, but when you are on the verge of almost a precipice intersected with ruts, peat holes and other trifles, with either a bog or a river waiting for you at the bottom, it is very poor fun to be hardly able to steady your horse, much less hold him, and I have seen some very nasty falls resulting from the inability of an unhappy sportsman to control his mount.

You can also have a nasty fall if you try and descend the steep combes sideways. It is a golden rule to ride a horse straight down. At[Pg 107]
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[Pg 109] the worst then he can but sit down, but if you are half cantering, half shambling down a hill sideways, and your mount puts a foot wrong, a horrible fall is the probable result. It is a wonder to me, looking at the crowd of people riding, most of them ignorant of the first principles of horsemanship, why there are not more bad falls than there are on Exmoor. Now and then it is true a man gets his face cut, or a rib broken or something of that sort, but really bad accidents are most rare. I suppose that the sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, looks after the welfare of the bold tripper, or perhaps the softness of the ground has more to do with it.

I think Exford is the best centre for stag-hunting, that is if you do not mind having absolutely nothing to do on the off days, or have enough horses to go out with the foxhounds or harriers. Some people like Minehead, others prefer Dulverton. Personally I prefer Porlock, as it is quite close to the Moor meets, and is far and away the prettiest place to stop in. Accommodation is good and moderate, hirelings are to be obtained there and at Minehead, and are generally very good animals, though I would advise anyone with a couple or more well-bred horses in condition, to bring them down. The difference in comfort, especially in the long distances hacking home, is great.

Special care should be taken of saddles for this work, for there is no country where horses suffer so terribly from sore backs as Exmoor. The steep climbs up and down hill, the great heat, followed by standing still till a horse is chilled, then another gallop perhaps, and lastly a long ride home, horse and man, or oftener woman, dead beat, work absolute havoc in a stable full of otherwise sound horses. I would advise anyone hunting with the staghounds to have all saddles thoroughly fitted, if possible one for each horse, the horses' backs hardened a little, and above all to see that the saddle is left on the horse for some time after he is cool, whenever he comes in from hunting. Very few persons will take the trouble to do this, especially when a horse comes home about eleven o'clock at night, but it should always be insisted on.

Towards the end of September is to my mind the pleasantest time on Exmoor, and from the middle of the month to the time stag-hunting ends, about the tenth of October, sport is generally far better than earlier in the season. The deer break covert quicker, and run better, the weather is cooler, and Cloutsham which has in the earlier part of the season, been the happy picnic ground, to crowds of delighted strangers, now affords a sure find of a good Stag. This is, thanks to its kind owner and his son, who though not hunting-men themselves, are most desirous of showing sport to others. So much has been said about this opening function at Cloutsham and the beauty of the surrounding scenery, which in fact cannot be over-rated, that I will not allude to the "vast leafy combes," the "hazy outline of the Welsh coast," and the "stately purple-clad hill of Dunkerry," except to warn those who have never tried to gallop over the said Dunkerry that it is the most deceptive bit of going to my mind in the whole of the stag-hunting country. It is covered with rocks and stones, alternating with bogs, and is generally productive of a lame horse. I never saw it look so lovely as one day during hind-hunting.

It was a soft muggy day in November, and I was standing in a field behind Cloutsham farm, when a hind went away over Dunkerry. As I was riding a pony, I stood still and watched the proceedings. Anthony laid on, and the whole hunt swept away up the hill, and as they did so down came the fog like a curtain, but only covering half the hill. By and bye, back came the hind, and ran into Sweet Tree, as the extension of Cloutsham Wood on the Exford Road is called, and the hounds, huntsman and field all came one by one out of the mist. It was like a ghost hunt. Twice did that hind do the same thing, and then sent a young sister to take her place, but hounds were luckily stopped and the wily lady was captured, after a great deal of twisting and doubling up and down the water.

Very few people have any idea of the different aspect the country wears in the hind hunting season to what it does in stag-hunting time. In August on your way to the meet, you pass dozens of people, walking, riding, or driving, the latter with huge luncheon hampers, which are most welcome later on. The meet may be at Culbone Stables, in which case the Lynton road outside Lord Lovelace's plantation will be packed with carriages, etc., and people will idle about and stand in groups among the stunted fir trees, looking out on a calm blue sea. The stag may after some time "go to moor," and then away go the field after him, but for hours there will be carriages on the Lynton Road on the chance he may turn back and go to sea, which he may very likely do. In this case, those of the riders who have had enough, will turn round at the top of the hill and go home, but the majority will ride down through the Ashley Combe woods to the sea, and wait in the warm August afternoon till the stag is brought to land. The fishermen from Porlock Weir are always on the look out on a hunting day for a possible windfall in the shape of a deer going to sea, which means a sovereign in their pockets. The field meanwhile refresh themselves and their horses at the picturesque little hotel, the Anchor, and after the last rites of the chase have been gone through, ride home in the cool of the evening.

In hind hunting on a bitter December day, we have a very different picture. About four shivering women, or perhaps fewer, half a dozen sporting farmers, the Master and the hunt servants form the field. The women generally make a bolt for the little cottage at Culbone Stables, and sit round the fire there till Anthony comes for the pack. The wind is blowing half a gale, and sleet is falling, but once we are started no one cares for the weather. Deer, unlike foxes, will run in the teeth of the fiercest gale, and sometimes one is literally nearly blown out of the saddle. The hind which has probably left her calf lying in her bed, will run a big ring out to the Deer Park and back. With the ground at its heaviest, the small field has to gallop its fastest to keep the flying pack in sight. Back into Culbone the hind comes, and we stop and listen, and wonder if she will go to sea, trying in the meantime to get a little shelter from the icy wind under the larch trees. But our friend has not had half enough yet, and may take us over the same ground again, if she fails to induce another deer to take her place, or possibly we may go away after a fresh hind without knowing it; heart-rending work this for horses and hounds. Ultimately she will go to sea, either down the steep cliffs of Glenthorne, or from Porlock Weir, and the boatmen have to follow her, supposing it is not too rough for their safety, while the field, by this time of still smaller dimensions, wait patiently for the end. Then home we go. Porlock Weir was comparatively sheltered, but once on top of the hill again, the gale seems to have increased, and the sleet to be thicker, and by the time we [Pg 115]
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[Pg 117]get home we are nearly frozen, and it is pitch dark. Yet to my mind notwithstanding the horrible weather, hind hunting is a finer, wilder sport than stag-hunting, and a run after a straight-going hind in the spring when the weather is better, is hard to beat. Fog is the great enemy to hunting in the winter. Often the hounds have to go home from the meet, after waiting a couple of hours and more for it to lift.

I do not think casual visitors have any idea of the immense strain on hounds, horses and men that hunting from July to April entails, or they would not grumble as much as they do when they get a poor day's sport. Rather let them follow the example of one most genial tripper, who when a friend of mine remarked we had had a shocking bad day, nothing but wood work, said: "Well, I 'ear folks say they 'aven't 'ad a gallop, but I always 'as a gallop, and what I do is this. I watch one of them 'scarlet bounders' (presumably the huntsman), and when he lays on to the stag, I don't care where 'e is, I lays on to 'im. It takes a bit of doing too, and I always 'as a gallop!" Whether the "scarlet bounder" was equally pleased with a noisy follower, when he wanted to catch the slightest sound in covert, is another matter, but a jovial sportsman of this sort is far more welcome to the West Country than those people who go down and grumble at everything, and generally depart with the donation of a few shillings to the deer damage fund.

It is out of this fund the farmers are paid for the harm done to their crops by the deer, and richly they deserve some compensation, for without their help stag-hunting on Exmoor would soon be a thing of the past.

Edith Curzon.

THE TIVERTON STAGHOUNDS.

Though when Mr. Fenwick Bisset undertook to revive Stag-hunting on Exmoor in 1855, the attempt was regarded almost as a forlorn hope. It has now been found necessary to start a second pack in Devon, in order to keep down the herds of red deer. The last established pack is a private one belonging to Sir John Heathcoat Amory, and its popularity with all classes of the sport-loving West country is very great. Mr. Ian Amory hunts the hounds himself, and he is assisted by the Messrs. Las Casas, who act as his [Pg 119]
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[Pg 121]whippers-in, the important duties of the harbourer being also performed by an amateur. Everything in this establishment is carried out in the most sportsmanlike manner, and the time-honoured traditions of the hunt of the wild red deer are strictly adhered to. The sport shown by this pack, since its institution in 1897, has been excellent, and to the sportswoman who dares not brave the storm-swept expanse of Exmoor during the winter months, and yet loves to share in the grand sport of hind-hunting, the less exposed country hunted over by Sir John Amory's staghounds offers very great advantages. The picturesque little town on the Exe, indeed, is likely to take a high place among Western sporting centres, for it offers the triple attraction of the pursuit of the stag, the fox and the hare in its immediate neighbourhood.

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