Part 10

The late Earl of Wilton, himself one of the finest horsemen and most enthusiastic followers of the chase the Shires have ever seen, used to say that he “had often heard the great Duke of Wellington remark that England would rue the day when her field sports were abandoned,” and that “amongst his best Peninsular officers were those who had most distinguished themselves in the hunting field,” courage and decision being the necessary attributes of success in the chase.

The “Iron Duke” himself was a keen lover of the sport. Mr. Larpent, who was Judge-Advocate of the British forces during the Peninsular War, relates, in his private journal, some anecdotes which prove how hard a rider and good a sportsman the conqueror of Napoleon was. For his own personal service Wellington kept fifteen horses, and paid high prices for them; and when one reads of such galloping to and fro as Mr. Larpent records, one is not surprised at the number of the Duke’s stud.

Here is an extract from the journal which illustrates both the tireless energy and the keen sportsmanship of the Duke:—

“Lord Wellington is quite well again; was out hunting on Thursday, and being kept in by rain all yesterday, is making up for it to-day by persisting in his expedition to the Fourth Division. He was to set out at seven this morning for the review of General Cole’s division, on a plain beyond Castel Rodriques, about twenty-eight miles from hence; was to be on the ground about ten, and was to be back to dinner to-day by four or five o’clock. This is something like vigour, and yet I think he overdoes it a little; he has, however, a notion that it is exercise makes headquarters more healthy than the rest of the Army generally is, and that the hounds are one great cause of this.”

Of these hounds Mr. Larpent gives the following details: “We have three odd sorts of packs of hounds here, and the men hunt desperately. Firstly, Lord Wellington’s, or as he is called here, ‘the Peer’s’; these are foxhounds, about sixteen couples; they have only killed one fox this year, and that was what is called mobbed. These hounds, from want of a huntsman, straggle about and run very ill, and the foxes run off to their holes in the rocks on the Coa. Captain Wright goes out, stops the holes overnight, halloes, and rides away violently. From a hard rock sometimes the horse gets up to his belly in wet gravelly sand; thus we have many horses lamed and some bad falls. The next set of hounds are numerous. The Commissary-General, Sir R. Kennedy, is a great man in this way, and several others. And thirdly, Captain Morherre, that is, the principal man of this place, has an old poacher in his establishment, with a dozen terriers, mongrels and ferrets, and he goes out with the officers to get rabbits. Lord Wellington has a good stud of about eight hunters. He rides hard, and only wants a good gallop, but I understand knows nothing of the sport, though very fond of it in his own way.”

The Duke, as most readers of BAILY are no doubt aware, was a warm friend and admirer of that great king of the hunting field, Thomas Assheton Smith, whom Napoleon introduced to his officers as “le premier chasseur d’Angleterre.” And it was always a subject of regret to the hero of Waterloo that Assheton Smith had not joined the Army; “For,” said the Duke, “he would have made one of the best cavalry officers in Europe,” and he frequently remarked that many of his own distinguished cavalry officers in the Peninsular War owed their horsemanship to the example of Assheton Smith.

I have said that the Duke took a keen interest in hunting, and I may add that he gave practical proof of his genuine love of the sport; for when he was once asked to subscribe to a pack which was in financial difficulties, he said, “Get what you can and put my name down for the difference.” The “difference” was £600 a year, which the Duke cheerfully paid for many years.

THORMANBY.

Pheasant Shooting in the Himalayas.

There is grand sport to be had in certain parts of the Himalayas in the glorious autumn weather peculiar to those mountain ranges.

For beauty of plumage and dashing flight few game-birds can compare to the monaul (_Lophophorus impeyanus_), and his haunts are among the wildest and most magnificent scenery.

In the Himalayan districts I am acquainted with, Kumaon and Garhwal, monaul are seldom found much below 8,000 feet altitude, but from that elevation up to about 12,000 feet are fairly plentiful. On the southern and western sides of the mountains, the forests monaul inhabit are usually evergreen oak, with a few spruce and cypress trees scattered about. On the northern and eastern slopes, which are clothed with forests to higher altitudes, monaul are found in woods of pine, deodar, spruce and birch. From the middle of October till end of December the weather is nearly always bright and clear in the Himalayas. The sun is not too powerful, and the nights cold and frosty. The best way to have sport with monaul is for two shooters, who know each other well, to go together, and beaters from six to a dozen, according to the nature of the ground. The beaters should be in charge of an experienced shikari, who is also a “master in language.” A local shikari will point out the best places for monaul, and the guns, one behind the other, about fifty yards apart, will walk slowly along the hillside, on a path if possible. One gun should be about sixty yards ahead of the beaters, and the other in line with them. The foremost gun, in most cases, will get the greatest number of shots.

The tactics of the beat, however, must vary according to the nature of the country, as ravines are usually beaten straight downwards, but in some cases, where a path leads zigzag up a long ravine, the beaters should get well ahead of the guns, and beat upwards. Monaul are exceptionally strong fliers, and about the toughest birds I know. If not hit well forward they will not come down, and the gun to use is a 12-bore cylinder with a charge of 1–3/16 oz. of No. 5, or 1¼ oz. No. 4 shot. I always use Ballistite powder and have never had a bad cartridge, always finding this powder equally good, whether in hot valleys at low elevations, or up in the cold at over 12,000 feet above sea level.

A mature cock monaul, with his plumage glistening in the sun, is a grand sight, and sometimes, especially early in the morning, he will fly with a kind of soaring motion, wings extended, as if to show himself off, and come sailing proudly overhead; at these times they are comparatively easy to shoot. Generally, however, they give really good rocketting shots, but at times will fly at a terrific pace straight down the hillside, keeping about the same distance from the ground all the way. These are difficult shots. A good dog is required to retrieve—a big dog—as monaul are heavy birds, full-grown cocks often weighing 5 pounds and more.

Another grand bird is the koklass (_Pucrasia macrolopha_), a beautifully-marked, gamey-looking bird, with a very quick flight. I believe the koklass to be the fastest game-birds that fly, and they get into their flight as quickly as partridges. Like monaul, too, they often dash straight down a hillside, keeping a few feet from the ground, and with a curve in their flight. They are found in the same forests as monaul, but also at lower elevations. In size they are about half the weight of monaul and much the same in shape. They are the best of all birds for the table.

The cheer (_Phasianus wallichii_) is, I believe, the only true pheasant found in India. They do not give as good sport as monaul and koklass, but I have often enjoyed myself with them. They frequent very steep pine-covered slopes, landslips, rocky scrub near precipices, and uninviting-looking places. Cheer shooting is about the hardest work I know, toiling about the steep hillsides among long grass and scrub. These birds lie very close, and after being flushed and marked down, often take a long time to rouse again. Wounded birds are extremely difficult to find, and your dog should be a steady and persevering retriever. Cheer are not found at very high elevations, from about 4,000 to 7,000 feet being their usual haunt, but occasionally, when the grass on the pine-covered slopes has been burnt, they will go into the oak forests above, where there is a thick undergrowth of ringalls. At these times they are harder to find than ever, and unless the beaters keep well in line, or you have a bustling spaniel to make them get up, it is almost impossible to bring any to bag.

Other so-called pheasants are the hubwaul or snow-cock (_Tetrogallus himalayensis_), the white-crested kalij (_Euplocamus albocristatus_), and the crimson tragopan (_Ceriornis satyra_).

The hubwaul is a fine bird, in shape like a gigantic partridge, found in coveys on the higher ranges above the forest limit. They are very wary and hard to circumvent, as they run long distances, and when put up often fly in a different direction to that expected. I have, however, often got at them in big ravines by sending a man to out-flank them on each side, myself keeping well out of sight behind boulders. I have also defeated them with the aid of a good bustling dog, and when they do come over one’s head give as good shots as any birds I know. In the winter they will come into wooded crags and precipitous ground, when the higher ranges are covered with deep snow.

The kalij pheasants are really more like jungle fowl than pheasants, frequenting thick scrub and undergrowth, near villages and in the vicinity of cattle sheds. They are great runners and fond of flying up into trees when bustled by dogs, but when they do fly put on a good pace and nearly always fly down hill. Plenty of beaters are required to put them up. Their flight is not high and bold like that of the monaul and koklass, and they are not found at high altitudes; from 4,000 feet to 8,000 feet being about the elevations at which they occur.

The tragopan is a very handsome bird, and rare, few being shot. He is the hardest bird of all to bring to bag, being a tremendous runner and keeping to the densest thickets, usually in ringalls and creeping rhododendrons, which are almost impenetrable to man. A good dog will flush them, when they will fly downwards a few feet over the undergrowth, taking long flights and running again immediately they alight.

In the autumn a varied bag can be made, either singly or with a boon companion. There is the friendly rivalry, the jolly fellowship of sportsmen, the chaff, the mid-day lunch by some brawling stream, the laze and smoke in the sunshine and clear mountain air, and the beat back to camp again in the evening. _Scolopax rusticola_ is often to be found when beating for pheasants, also a solitary snipe or two; and two sportsmen who pull well together can have a rare time in the mountains, as besides shooting birds together they can often find room to separate and go after big game in different directions. Then there are the yarns to be told round the campfire after dinner, “sublime tobacco” to refresh the memory, and just “a dash” of good old Scotch to lubricate the throat and loosen the tongue.

A. P. DAVIS.

“Our Van.”

RACING.

Reading about the Derby autumn meeting in mid-winter is not so inappropriate as it might appear to be, for with sleet and snow falling on the first day the elements were more wintry than autumnal. I have seen this meeting celebrated with much more go than on the present occasion. It is essentially a meeting for hunting folk, so far as the county stand is concerned, and one seemed to miss far too many of the familiar faces. The impression conveyed by the gathering was of the lack-lustre order. Large fields of nurseries have long been a feature of the meeting, but of course the winning or losing of them conveys little merit or demerit. The fields for them have been larger; but I am not a worshipper of large fields, not being a clerk of the course or a holder of racecourse shares. From one point of view the field of twenty for the Gold Cup was very satisfactory, for it meant that twenty horses were thought to have a chance in a race of a mile and three-quarters. Fields for distance races undoubtedly have been looking up of late years. Yet few of our courses are less suitable for a race over such a distance as that at Derby—a parallelogram with rounded corners. So soon as horses have begun to stretch out along either of the longer sides—long only in comparison with the extreme shortness of the other two—than they have to steady for a corner. In such circumstances a mare like Hammerkop, who was carrying 9st. 3lb., could stand but little chance. At Newmarket she would have been well fancied. Yet there are people who grumble at those fine, straightaway stretches of turf, because the horses start so far away. These prefer courses of the circus order, for the sake of the spectacle. Although the regulation straight mile has by no means met with universal approbation, its introduction has more method than madness about it. In the formation of a new course the laying out of a straight mile must be associated with a good deal of luck, for, run in one direction, it might prove popular and the reverse if run the other way. At Gatwick there is a rise of some 6 ft. from start to finish of the straight mile, and at Newbury, I understand, the rise is much more than this. Experience has taught us that rising straight miles are not so popular as falling ones, which may be argued to show a tendency to weakness in horse-flesh, the qualities which take horses successfully up the long hill at Sandown being not often met with. Here we have a hint at a clashing of interests between such as like to have things made easy for them and those which may be regarded as making for the higher interests of the turf. This clashing of interests we shall always have with us, so we may take it by way of our daily salt, with equanimity.

The Derby Gold Cup, as a trophy, was a perfectly delightful production, it being a gold tankard in the 16th century style, and no one would appreciate it more than the owner, whose sideboard it was destined to adorn, for the race was won by Lord Rosebery’s Catscradle. Her starting price of 20 to 1 was justified by her previous running and when she made the first bend nearly last of all 40 to 1 would not have been taken. However, it was her day, and she came through her field to win in comfortable fashion by a couple of lengths from Airship. She ran practically unbacked by her connections. The race for the King’s Cup of two miles “did not fill.” Bachelor’s Button, who had acted as a spoil-sport at Lincoln, by frightening away opposition for the Jockey Club Plate, and walking over for the £300 given by the Jockey Club for the express purpose of furthering sport at meetings where such assistance would be welcome, had not been started for the Gold Cup. He was in reserve for the King’s Plate, but the race “did not fill,” so the meeting saved their £200 instead of increasing the winning account of Bachelor’s Button by that amount.

As season follows season the Manchester meetings attract a diminishing amount of attention. It is a question of reaping what you have sown. Large sums of money were spent upon an unsuitable site, much of the money in the erection of buildings more adapted to municipal purposes than to racing. Except that the big turn is one of the finest in England, the course has proved unsatisfactory, in consequence of the rapidity with which the going goes wrong under wet. In this respect the course is not much better than the old one, which it will quite resemble when it has undergone a course of protection from frost by means of hay for the same number of years. “Disappeared in the main drain, I assure you,” explained the late Duchess of Montrose on the occasion of one of her horses coming to grief in the evil going of the old course. People of the Turf standing of the late Duchess do not find themselves at the new course. The better classes of Manchester firmly decline to be attracted by the races, despite the club stand, the contrast with Liverpool being remarkable. The weather rarely fails to make the November meeting a ghastly affair. In going back to Castle Irwell the management deliberately went to the home of fog, and, in consequence, most of the racing, as a spectacle, is a farce. We are all aware that the period at which the November meeting is decided is too late for good weather, but any attempt to move the fixture forward, supposing such a desire existed, of which I have no knowledge, would scarcely meet with success. If the Stewards of the Jockey Club regard the meeting as an unimportant one they can claim to take this impression from evidence supplied by the meeting itself, the average value of stakes not entitling it to any standing. Eight of the twenty races provide the minimum £100 allowed to the winner, for instance. There must be some significance in the reduction of the Whitsuntide meeting, at which all the money is made, from four days to three. This year’s November meeting was treated to continuous wet, the going of each succeeding day being worse than that preceding it. The November Handicap was run on the last day, and the field of nineteen included some good handicap horses. As at Derby, form was knocked into a cocked hat, the 25 to 1 Ferment gaining a decisive victory. It is a pity that the racing season is each year brought to a close in this uncomfortable manner, and if one cannot quite go with those who recognise no racing previous to that taking place at the Newmarket Craven meeting one can at least see some plausibility in ending it with the Houghton. If mudlarking is to be done, one may as well do it personally, to the tune of hound music.

Although racing ends for the year at Manchester, the curtain cannot be said to fall until the Gimcrack Club dinner has been held. The function to which custom has given such wholehearted recognition sits well on the shoulders of the York Race Committee, which, as the Chairman at the recent dinner very properly pointed out, gives back to the Turf everything that is earned by the races. There are not many race-meetings of which this can be said; and what a contrast to money-grabbing Doncaster! Of course it is not wholly and solely custom that assigns to the Gimcrack dinner the importance which attaches to it. We have a trenchant way nowadays of kicking overboard any custom, however hoary, which has outlived its utility. For the Gimcrack dinner there is much need, for it is the only occasion of the year upon which Turf topics may be publicly ventilated. As to the kind of topics touched upon and their treatment, those depend upon the particular person who may be called upon to ventilate. When we consider that the guest of the evening, to whom free rein is given if he wants it, is the owner of the winner of the Gimcrack Stakes, we realise how very uncertain must be the question of oratory. It is possible to conceive an owner of a Gimcrack winner taking but little stock in the higher interests of the Turf. Mr. Hall Walker, whose filly, Colonia, won him the Gimcrack Stakes of 1905, is, however, not a man of this sort. How it came about I do not know, but some people expected Mr. Hall Walker to say “straight things” to the Jockey Club; but nothing could have been more exemplary than his references to that body. He was full of anxiety for the welfare of the Turf as connected with the welfare of the horse, and his enthusiasm led him to propound schemes some of us, I fear, will be inclined to regard as Utopian. Taking as his text the statement that, “In all the leading Continental States the production and development of the horse is made a subject of governmental care and solicitude,” Mr. Hall Walker proposed that the British Government should grant, if not funds, at least power to the Jockey Club, who was to embody amongst its functions that of a society for the encouragement of horse-breeding. In order to accomplish the desired ends, the Jockey Club was to have the power to establish race-meetings over all or any common land free from interference by local councils and the freedom to acquire by purchase any existing race-meeting. I do not pause to consider the plausibility of such a project or the probability of the Jockey Club embarking upon it, for I have used the word Utopian; Mr. Hall Walker next referred to the means by which any shortage in funds was to be made good. They were to be provided by the introduction of the _pari-mutuel_. He added—“The advantages of the _pari-mutuel_ are clear and decided. In the first place, it would provide large sums of money for the end we have in view, and it would practically bring about the abolition of street betting.” The writer’s views on the subject differ from those advanced by Mr. Hall Walker, but space does not permit of a discussion of the question raised.

Lord Downe in a speech, the tone of which charmed every one, maintained that the only solution to the betting difficulty was to license bookmakers and making betting debts recoverable. Of course his lordship does not propose that the Jockey Club should take the initiative, remembering, as he does, that when the anti-gamblers were last at work, betting at Newmarket was disavowed. The Club could not well ask to have that legalised which they claim does not exist. That the licensing of bookmakers is a desirable thing all sensible men will gladly admit. Racing would be all the better for it, but unless the trend of thought takes an entirely new channel, I cannot see any form of Government legalising gambling in the shape of wagering on horse-races.

Viscount Helmsley, who added to the nice things said by Lord Downe about the Press, who came in for a rough handling at last year’s dinner, suggested the institution of races for ponies up to 14.2, for the encouragement of the breed. Racehorses in the past have not always been the 16 hands animals that are now so common. Two hundred years ago Mixbury, by Curwen’s Bay Barb, standing only 13.2, was the most famous galloway of his day. Pony and galloway racing is no new thing in the present generation, but it has not taken kindly to the sport. An experiment was made at Plumpton on Whit Monday, 1903, which resulted in complete failure, and it is not quite clear what racing under Jockey Club rules could do. A race here and there would not effect much, and it is an open question whether enough thoroughbreds of 14.2 and under exist to fill many races. There are at least a few clerks of the course who are enterprising enough to welcome any novelty, and if fields could be assured a first step would be taken. Without such assurance he would be a bold man to take the step of opening such a race. It might be worth the while of those interested in pony breeding to provide the stake in the first instance, and see how the suggestion took with others. Experience in India teaches us that good sport is to be had out of ponies.

STAGHOUNDS.