Men We Meet in the Field; or, The Bullshire Hounds

ERRATUM.

For "Hollo!" read throughout "Holloa!"

MEN WE MEET IN THE FIELD.

INTRODUCTORY.

For those fond of studying character under various circumstances and in various positions, there is, perhaps, no medium affording so good an opportunity, or so vast a scope, as the hunting-field.

There more than in any other place do men's characters appear in their true lights. At the covert-side the irritable man, however well he may on ordinary occasions be able to conceal his irritability, will fret and fume if things do not go exactly as he wishes. The boaster, who in the safety of his armchair astonishes his friends with anecdotes of his own daring exploits, is, after a fast forty minutes, more often than not weighed in the balance and found wanting. The garrulous individual, who invariably knows where the fox has gone and what the huntsman ought to do, is in the field estimated at his proper value. There also the grumblers never fail to find a grievance, nor the elder generations of sportsmen to lament the "good old days gone by." In fact, the "bell-mouthed pack and tuneful horn" seem to act in some occult way in bringing out the idiosyncrasies of all their followers. This being so, a few sketches may not be uninteresting, and I shall endeavour to draw with my pen some portraits of those with whom we yearly ride, and who are so well known to most of us. To do this the more concisely, I propose to describe the field, subscribers, visitors, and others, who are to be found at the meets from the 1st of November to the end of April, and who go to make up the members of that justly celebrated pack--the Bullshire Hounds. Before individualising, however, it will be necessary to give a short history of the hunt, with a brief outline of the country, and its gradual growth.

The Bullshire country is one of the oldest in England, and was originally hunted on what is known as the "Trencher system," that is everybody, in lieu of paying a subscription, kept (according to his means) one or more hounds, which he was bound to bring with him to the spot selected by the Master (who was yearly elected as huntsman) for the meet. No sinecure was the office of M.F.H., carrying the horn, for as every hound recognised the rule of a different Master, and every Master considered himself entitled to an opinion in the case of his own hound, there was a good deal of jealousy among the latter and no small amount of "tail" among the former. The "tailing," however, was augmented by the different system of preparation and feeding the Bullshire Hounds received, for while Bellman before hunting was treated to no supper, Truelove had to deal with a sumptuous repast placed before her by the compassionate but ignorant goodwife, "who couldn't abear the idea of the old dog doing all that work on an empty stomach."

After a little the system proved unsatisfactory, and a step in the proper direction was taken. Old Gregory the Whip was sent round early in the morning the day before the meet to collect the pack, and it thus became his business to see that all fared alike--wisely, and not too well. From this it was an easy stage to kennels, and somehow, before the inhabitants knew how it happened, they found themselves paying their subscriptions with and without a murmur, and were able to point with pride to the Bullshire kennels. Once this an accomplished fact, everything went on smoothly; and from old Gregory and a Master whose office was the subject of an annual election, they now turn out a huntsman, two whips, and a second horseman, and, for a provincial pack, stand first on the list.

Their present Master is one of the right sort, who takes an interest in his hounds and his servants, perhaps at times a little free with his tongue, but only when absolutely necessary, and it is because of their large and varied field that I have selected the Bullshire for description. The country, though not a flying one, has a fair share of grass, and is acknowledged by all to hold a good scent. As there is every conceivable sort of obstacle, of every conceivable size, shape, and form, wet and dry, it requires a clever horse to get over it. Indeed, when some of the swells from the Shires condescend to patronise the Bullshire (no uncommon occurrence, by-the-way), there are generally two or three to be found, like water, at the bottom of a ditch.

I remember hearing a description of his day by a Meltonian, when he returned to his quarters with a battered head-piece and covered in mud. In reply to a question of "Where had he been?" he said: "Lord knows where I have not been. To the bottom of about ten ditches, three brooks, nearly into a gravel-pit, hung up in a bullfinch for five minutes, and almost broke my neck at the biggest post and rails I ever saw." "Well," continued his interlocutor, "did you have a good run?" "Run!" said he; "I believe you! Ran three miles after my horse and then nicked in, and was up at the finish. Blessed if ever I saw such a country. They think nothing of an hour and ten minutes, and they do stick to it, I can tell you; fox hasn't a chance with the Bullshire. It's for all the world like a stoat and a hare. Rare place to send creditor to; give him a mount on a green nag, he's bound to kill himself."

Added to these advantages, so ably set forth by the Leicestershire sportsman, foxes are plentiful, and, with one notable exception, of whom more anon, everybody looks after them, and does his best to demonstrate the fact that the fox and the pheasant can both be preserved, despite what Velveteens and his myrmidons may say. The man who rules the destinies of this sporting pack will form the subject of my first sketch.

THE MASTER.

"Morning, gentlemen," accompanied by a bow to the ladies, apprises us of the fact that Sir John Lappington has arrived, and as we turn round in our saddles we see a cheery face beaming with health and goodnature, and note what a thorough business look both man and horse present. The horse is one of those rare specimens of weight-carriers, known as "a good thing in a small parcel." Standing about fifteen hands two inches, with quarters fit to jump over a house, and shoulders of equal value when landing the other side, clean flat legs with plenty of bone, and excellent feet, well ribbed up, with a broad deep chest, it stands a living picture of the old-fashioned hunter that could and would go anywhere. And surely the man is not far behind in appearance. Riding about thirteen stone, or a little lighter, with somewhat a careless seat, one's first impression is that he is by no means smartly turned out, though the eye acknowledges at once the workman.

A second and more careful study shows us that, while there is an entire absence of gilt and gingerbread, of varnish and veneer, still, from the crown of his-well-brushed hat to the sole of his well-cleaned boot, everything is neatness itself. It may be that we take exception to the brown cords which Sir John always wears; but when one has tried to follow the clever cobby horse and his master through some of the roughest places in the day's work, and our leathers show plainly where we have been, we are fain to confess the wisdom of the said brown cords. Notwithstanding the cheery goodnature that beams from the Master's face, there is something in his eye and chin that warns instinctively against riding over the hounds or heading a fox, and shows a latent power of anathema and rebuke which, when once heard, is not in a hurry forgotten.

Sir John Lappington has been Master of the Bullshire for four seasons. He took the hounds at the request of the county on the death of Mr. Billington, who had hunted them for six-and-twenty years without hardly missing a day. Some few people urged that the new Master would not be found old enough to control so large a field, being but thirty years of age when he commenced his reign; but the first day dispelled their doubts, for on some of the "galloping-and-jumping" contingent trying to have things their own way, and paying no heed to repeated remonstrances to "give hounds a chance," the young Master astonished everyone by saying to the huntsman: "Stop 'em, Tom;" and when that was effected, turning to the offenders: "Now, gentlemen, when you have done your d----d steeplechasing we will go on hunting. If you want to break your necks you may put down my name for five pounds to bury the first who does so, provided you run it off at once, so that other people who prefer hunting to rough-riding may not be kept waiting."

This effectually stopped them, and from that day very little trouble has been shown, and when any have offended, it has generally required but one talking-to to bring them to a sense of what was required of them. Such is the man who now rides up punctual to the minute, and is greeted by all with a hearty welcome. The hunt servants, with old Tom the huntsman at their head, are as proud of being under him as they can be, and the hounds simply adore him. See how they fly, heedless of Harry's "Ware 'oss, ger away baik," clustering all round the cobby hunter, and leaving the marks of their affection on boot and saddle. "Eu leu, Minstrel, old boy; ay, Harbinger, good old man," says Sir John, a word for each by name; and back they go to the rule of Tom, who cannot for the life of him help feeling a twinge of jealousy, that "the hounds should be so 'nation fond of t' young Master, most as much as they are o' me, I'll be blessed if they ain't."

Five minutes of friendly chaff with the carriages, two more with old Farmer Simms, who, on being shown his wife's poultry bill, says: "Give it here, Sir John, give it here. The ould woman would take the money out of a man's breeches if he did not keep his hands in his pockets," and with a laugh Tom gets the signal to move off, Sir John stopping before he canters on to the hounds to say: "Never mind, Simms, I daresay we shall make it all right. The missus and I are old friends," and replying to Simms's loudly-expressed opinion that "The ould wench 'ull fleece you, I fear," with a deprecatory wave of the hand as he ranges up alongside the old huntsman.

The first draw is a gorse lying on the side of a hill, where there is always a little difficulty in restraining the impatience of the field, who, anxious for a start, are rather apt to override the hounds. There is a hunting-gate, beyond which no one is allowed to go until the hounds are well away, and here the Master posts himself, saying in a loud voice that can be heard by all: "If there is any stranger in the field to-day, he must understand that while hounds are drawing no one is allowed farther than this." At this moment his quick eye catches sight of a youngster who has jumped the rails lower down, and hopes he has escaped detection. "Come back, you sir," rings out; "come back; and as you are so fond of timber you can take the rails up hill. Dash your impudence, when I have just said no one is allowed to go for'ard! Come, at them--no funking;" and as, amid roars of laughter, the culprit, looking exceedingly foolish, rides at the rails, and gets a rattling fall, Sir John chuckles to himself: "Don't think he'll try that game on again." The hounds are by this time hard at work, and from the way they throw themselves out of the gorse there are evident signs of a speedy find. With keen enjoyment the Master watches the young entry, and as first one and then another of his favourites momentarily expose themselves to view, he thinks he would not exchange his empire for untold wealth.