89 ANECDOTE OF THE LATE MR. MUSTERS. BY ACTEON. DEAR MR. EDITOR, After the interesting and gentlemanly written memoir of the late Mr. Musters, from the able pen of Mr. Bruce Campbell, the only regretable part of which, saving the melancholy occasion, being that it was ten times too short, I almost fear that any allusion to that renowned sportsman by myself may by some be deemed de trop and unseasonable; but still I feel assured, that with the majority of your numerous readers a well authenticated anecdote of so accomplished and justly popular a master of hounds, especially when it is one that has never before seen the daylight in the shape of type, will not only be considered admissible, but hailed with welcome. And I feel convinced that if the whole of Mr. Musters' sporting prowess could be condensed by some of his intimate friends into a book, it would form one of the best practical guides to the rising generation of the admirers of our orthodox field sports that could possibly be offered for their perusal. Before, however, I proceed with the anecdote in question I must relate one little incident illustrative of Mr. Musters' extreme knowledge of the dispositions of his hounds, and the high confidence which at all times existed between him and his pack. The writer of these brief remarks, upon the occasion of a visit to Mr. Musters at Annesley, was talking, during breakfast, about the disgraceful wildness of another pack of hounds not a hundred miles from his own kennel. "Well, I don't wonder at it," said Mr. M., "for they flog and frighten the poor devils to death. Mine are seldom much flogged, and they are as steady as it is possible for hounds to be. Let us have a ride in the park together, and I will soon show you what a handy lot mine are." After breakfast all the hounds were ordered to be brought round to the lodge gate, and when we had mounted our horses, or rather ponies, we joined the two whippers-in who had brought out the whole lot, dogs, and bitches, young and old, in all about fifty couples. "Well, Will," he said to William Markwell, who now hunts the Cheshire, and was at that period his head man, "I shall not want you and Tom this morning; Mr.- can put 'em over to me, and you can go and wait for us at the kennel, as I shall go hunting after we have had a short ride." This was at the end of September, and it was one of those beautiful autumnal mornings, when after a little rain the atmosphere is cool; and it is just as proper, as well as more agreeable by far, to go out cub-hunting about ten o'clock than it is at day-break. Well, I really felt rather nervous as the squire moved off, making me a kind of burlesque bow, accompanied by one of his well-remembered goodhumoured chuckles, as he said, "Come along, we know you are as good as three whippers-in: I'll show you what my hounds are presently." I was never afraid of the wildest lot in my life-woodlands, or riot, or whatever might turn up; but to-day I did not much fancy being the only hand on a pony with fifty couples of strange hounds, about twelve couples of 'em young 'uns, and myself not knowing five couples in the H whole lot to speak to. Besides, upon looking at my whip, which I had picked up at hazard from the hall table as I came through, which was but little better than an old kennel whip, with a very moderate allowance of flax in the thong; and, moreover, considering that Annesley Park bore some resemblance to Noah's ark, on account of the variety of its inhabitants, I considered it a very insufficient tool to awe a pack of riotous hounds from hares and deer. Away trotted the squire all through the fern, and there were the "many coloured pack" spread out around him on both sides; and looking sharp out for expected mischief came your humble servant, a little in their rear, but keeping a wide berth to get to the head of 'em at once in case any misadventure occurred. Besides innumerable rabbits and hares, ever and anon bounced up an old doe or a fawn out of the fern and long grass; and occasionally a buck, which was cut off by the hounds surrounding him before he attempted to move away from his lair, rushed right in amongst them, but no notice was taken by either young or old; and although I have been hundreds of times in deer-parks with hounds when properly manned, I never saw a steadier pack in my life. Those who know what hounds are, well know that many packs, directly they can shake off their tormentors and get away into high and hollow covers where no horseman can follow them, will go it like devils, hares and deer being all one to them; but here it was quite a different thing; gentleness alone had made these animals as steady as they were, combined with the great advantage of almost daily exercise through the summer in one of the most beautiful and convenient places for breaking young hounds that I ever remember to have met with. After a delightful ride of about an hour, stopping every now and then to admire the beautifully rich woodland views from the various little eminences to be found in many parts of the park, we returned, without any mishap, to the kennels; and as soon as Mr. Musters had drawn a pack and we had changed our nags, we went a cub-hunting in the Annesley woods. Upon talking to Markwell afterwards upon the subject, he observed, "Our hounds are wonderfully free from riot, being always amongst it; but I never saw master try that before with any one, and I was rather anxious to know how you got on." Now, then, for the anecdote to which I at first alluded, and which is a story partly about a keeper, and nearly as good, if not quite, as the one Mr. Campbell has related as taking place on the Yorkshire moors; and although it does not savour quite so much as the other does of pugnacity, it is equally characteristic of the man. The whipper-in, who rode "the drag," lived with me afterwards, and besides hearing it first of all from him, Mr. Musters gave me the whole account of it himself upon a subsequent occasion. It is an old saying amongst huntsmen that a huntsman don't know half his business unless he knows as well how to lose a fox as he does how to kill him; and I am quite sure that all real houndsmen will appreciate what I say. Fancy yourself a hunts *In speaking of breaking hounds by gentleness, I have no wish to force upon my readers the belief that either Mr. Musters' hounds or any other foxhounds can be broken from riot, and properly educated, without the occasional but judicious application of a little whipcord. Punishment should be used with judgnient, and seasonably, and not according to the caprice and ill temper of a whipper-in, frequently more cruel and brutal than the poor hound he is chastising. man on a beaten horse, twenty miles from your kennel, with only a half beaten fox before you going into another country with earths open, big heavy woodlands, a certain change, and a hundred other disagreeable prospects presenting themselves more substantially than mere phantoms to your fancy. If you would not try to lose him, reader, you would never make a huntsman, nor be worthy to handle a determined and persevering pack of hounds, which although they never ought to be cheated of their well-earned blood, cannot have a much worse misfortune of common occurrence than the sort of disheartening, jading finish to a long day such as I have been describing. This, and a hundred other arcana-for I will not call them tricks--are only to be acquired by long and attentive practice with hounds. Without natural intuitive talent, no man, however long his experience, can ever make a brilliant huntsman; but however brilliant his talents may be, it is experience alone that can open his eyes and teach him how to use to the best advantage that talent with which he has been gifted. No master of hounds was ever more alive to all the little by-play of the craft than Mr. Musters, and no man ever knew better how to avail himself of the numerous little incidents that so frequently occur in hunting as that most consummate sportsman. I have forgotten the names of the coverts and the dates relative to the anecdote in question, but that is immaterial. If I remember right, it occurred on the Oxton Warren side of his country, and was as follows: Mr. Musters' hounds had killed a fox after a middling fair run, and as the horses had not had enough to take the pull out of them, and as there was no chance of finding a fresh fox, the squire put in practice the following ruse, not only to amuse and deceive the field, but also to lay a trap for a scoundrel of a keeper, who was known to be the most remorseless vulpecide in the country, and who had nearly extirpated the foxes throughout the covers where he was on that day hunting. When the hounds were breaking up their fox, he told the under-whip to put the head in his pocket, and, as soon as he had trotted on a bit, to go back to a certain spinny to the right of the place where they had killed the fox, fasten his whip-lash to it, and drag it to a cover in the neighbourhood of Oxton Warren, about five miles distant across the country, and where there was a well-known strong head of earths which belonged to the property over which this base fellow, the keeper, presided; and upon his arrival, to poke the head as far as he could down the main earth, and make himself invisible at the other end of the cover, and there wait for the arrival of the hounds. After Mr. Musters had loitered about for some time, and drawn a few covers where he well knew he should not find a fox, and when he thought the whipper-in had got nearly to his journey's end, he suddenly remembered a very likely spinny, from which place the hounds had formerly had a good run. He threw 'em in and began to draw, and then getting forward view-hallocd him away. Away they went, sterns down and bristles up, running frantic for blood. The pace was, of course, first-rate, and no check for one moment occurred. After a good eighteen or twenty minutes they ran to ground, and Mr. Musters was off his horse baying his hounds on the earth. As the field came up they one and all pronounced it the best thing since Christmas. One hard rider said it was by far the fastest of the season; another said it would have been perfect but for the death, and asked the squire if he would not dig him, as the hounds so richly deserved to taste his blood. "Why you see," said the Squire, "it is a dangerous thing to dig a fox in February, as it sometimes occurs that a heavy vixen is destroyed; we have had a capital day, the hounds have killed once, and I think we had better go home contented." Just as Mr. Musters was moving away from the earth with his hounds, as he had anticipated, up comes the keeper, who with a demoniac grin, and a most obsequious touch of the hat, makes his obeisance, hoping that his honour had had a good run, &c., and observing "I suppose, sir, you have run to ground." "Yes," said the squire, "he is gone under, keeper, and I hope he is safe; I am sure you will not allow him to be disturbed: now pray don't let anybody destroy him by a trap, or try to dig him out on any account. The villain assured him that the fox should be allowed to escape, and that no one should disturb him. "That's right, keeper," rejoined Mr. Musters; I can depend upon you, and I am sure you won't kill him; good night." And away they all went home, not a single soul being in the secret but the master and his whipper-in. As soon as the squire had arrived at home, changed his hunting-coat for a shooting-jacket and his hunter for a hack, he cantered back some ten miles to the earth, to see how it would all turn out. He arrived at the gate leading into the cover just at the close of day, when that beautiful and serene half-hour occurs between daylight and the first shades of evening coming on, and which during a fine February is peculiarly striking to the admirers of the beauties of nature. How changed is the scene from what it was but two short hours before, when the old oaks rang with the melody of the hounds, the notes of the horn, and the manly death-halloa of the master of the pack! But now all is as still as death, and as silent as that grave to which, poor man, he has so lately been consigned. Not a sound was to be heard, excepting perhaps, the rustling of the timid rabbit as it hopped out to feed in the wood-ride, or the well-known "chink, chink, chink of the blackbird as he mobbed the brown owl, or amorously wooed his newly mated partner to the sheltered roosting place. No other sound could be heard as he quietly walked his hack along the grassy ride of the sheltered woodland. In a short time he approaches the little knoll where the earths are situated, and pulls up his horse to listen and reconnoitre before he proceeds to the spot. A strange kind of subterranean sound is heard of voices and the moving of earth, and it is at once evident that matters are pretty much as he had expected to find them. In a second long and deep trench, resembling a sawpit, stripped to their shirts, and delving as if they were on a voyage of discovery to the antipodes, might be seen the vagabond keeper and his three assistants. They seemed mighty well pleased with their work. "We shall soon have hold of 'un," says one. "Dom him, but I can wind him down this spout as I have just opened," says another. "Wait a bit," says the keeper, "while I go and cut a long rose-briar poke down the hole and comb his jacket a bit, just to see where he is; for they were trying to dig the fox without a dog, as luck would have it; and suiting the action to the word, out of the trench he scrambles, and is at once confronted with him, whom of all others, his with satanic majesty not excepted, he not only would much rather not have met, but who he hoped and believed was safely ensconced by his own fireside at Colwick. He was quite taken aback. "Well, keeper," says Mr. Musters, "I see you are quite a man of your word; you promised to have the fox taken care of, and I see you are carrying out your intentions most honestly." Why, yes, sir," stammered out the confounded keeper; "there be so many fox-killers about here I was afeard some one would catch him, so I thought it better to dig 'un out and bring un over to you at the kennels." "But you are giving yourself a great deal of unnecessary trouble," says the squire, all this digging. I should have thought that a man, who had dug so many foxes as you have, knew better how to get one out of the ground than this. Bring your spade here, and I think I can throw a little light on the subject." And with these remarks he ordered the fellow to clear the main mouth of the earth, which had been carefully stopped up with soil to prevent poor reynard from bolting; and stooping down, with the hook of his hunting-whip he drew out the fox's head. "There, keeper," said the squire; "that is the fox you have been digging for, and that is the only fox within three miles of this place, for you have killed them all. I have always thought you the greatest rogue and liar in this part of the world, and to-day I have proved you to be so; I hope you will act more honestly to me for the future." And after making the men fill in the trenches and put the earth to rights, he galloped home to his dinner. Peace eternal to thy soul, rings again with a voice like The woodland breeze murmurs thy requiem chaunt their sad dirge o'er the tomb of Sobbing Echo falters in her voice as she repeats Thy name. howls in his kennel, as in vain he watches for the approach of Thy manly footstep. Thy Brothers in the Chase deplore thee, and stifle the uprising sigh as they record Thy sylvan exploits. All Nature Mourns JOHN MUSTERS IS NO MORE. Brighton, January 3rd, 1850. ACTEON. |