Part 2 (2/2)

But these operations are quite surpa.s.sed by those M. le Ma.s.son related in the following authentic story.

”An extraordinary _cha.s.se_ that lasted without interruption three days and three nights, took place lately in the neighbourhood of St. Omer, on some land in the picturesque commune of Wisques, in a wood attached to the chateau of Madame la douairiere Cauvet de Blanchonval.

”One morning two young sportsmen of St. Omer, MM. Theobald Cauvet and Charles d'Hallewyn, were told by the _garde forestier_ that on his beat he knew of several badgers near the place they call l'Ermitage.

”The little dogs being put on the scent soon found the earths, where they entered, and advanced with so much courage that they never stopped till they had reached the bottom of the earth, where they cornered the badgers, which held their ground in an att.i.tude of the most threatening defence.

”The a.s.sailants, thus powerless, made themselves heard by barking and baying incessantly, and with heroic pluck, the little fellows refused to retreat in spite of the repeated calls of their masters.

”Their perseverance being carried to this length, our young gentlemen formed a resolution worthy of their taste for great undertakings and adventures. Labourers were called from the field and commissioned at once to set to work to reach the badgers.

”The attempt was more than bold. The mouths of the set, three in number, were at the foot of a hill, and embraced between them a sort of triangular piece of land at the apex of which the pa.s.sages all united and formed a single underground gallery. The dogs having each entered by a separate hole made this clear.

”A shaft was sunk in order to start a tunnel at the opening of the lowest hole, but a depth of 7 to 8 metres (23 to 26 feet) had to be sunk before the pa.s.sage was reached; thence they followed the direction taken by the dogs, and enlarged the tunnel to reach them, making an underground roadway 5 feet high (1 metres) and nearly 6 feet wide (1 metres).

”Whilst the workmen were mining, the badgers on their part were also working ceaselessly, and kept blocking the road with the earth they threw back in front of the men who were pursuing them, whilst the latter worked in s.h.i.+fts (relieving parties). For three days and three nights these indomitable animals worked on, retreating all the time, during which they bored their way 49 feet whilst buried in this extension of their princ.i.p.al earth without air or food.

”At one time during this war _a outrance_ it was thought they had escaped by some means or other, but the game terriers, which had hardly left them since the beginning of the struggle, soon rea.s.sured the workers by their redoubled cries. The undertaking was pushed on with greater determination than ever, and when the tunnel had reached a length of more than 30 metres (100 feet) they came on three badgers, which were quickly popped into a sack by the keeper. One of them, however, in his struggles succeeded in escaping from the sack, and even tore the clothes of the man who was carrying him. MM. Cauvet and d'Hallewyn showed a persistent perseverance during the whole of this struggle. By day and by night each in turn directed the operations of a siege at which more than one other lover of the pleasures of the chase a.s.sisted.”

I have given one or two out of many examples I could relate of the arduous nature of badger-hunting. Discipline among the workmen is as necessary as determination in every attempt to dig out badgers. Nothing imperils success so much as divided or disputed authority, and whilst every attention should be given to the opinions expressed in the councils of war during the progress of the siege, there must be no hesitation in carrying out the plan of campaign when once decided on, or the day may be wasted in earthworks, in making trenches, and attempts to cut off subterranean ways which have been begun only to be abandoned.

The terriers are the most important requisite; they must be good, the right size, hardy, enduring, and reliable. No matter how game a dog is, if he cannot follow the badger he is useless. He must above all be full-mouthed, sharp-tongued, and ready to keep his voice going for hours together. He must be absolutely true, or he may make a fool of you, and lie fast in the earth baying an imaginary foe, or barking and scratching to get up a small rabbit-hole. Beware of a terrier that will think of such vermin when employed to fly at much higher game. They are worse indeed than useless, and often have I been driven nearly wild by being persuaded to allow some man proud of his terrier to let him go.

Nothing can be more exasperating than when, after several hours of heavy labour and straining effort, whilst the proud owner stands smiling by and boasting the merits of his nailing dog, you at length reach the scene of all the disturbance to see a dirty little brute scratching his feet to tatters, frothing at the mouth, and wow-wowing to get up a three-inch rabbit-hole.

An authority in the _Gentleman's Magazine_ recommends collars of bells being attached to the terriers to make the badger bolt, and states that broad collars of badger-skin save their necks. The former I do not believe to be efficacious, as fire, smoke, and crackers will not make a badger bolt while any one is about, and if it were efficacious it would be very easy to lose a bolting badger. A collar on a terrier is more likely to hang a dog on a root end than to save him from a bite. A terrier ninety-nine times out of a hundred is bitten through the muzzle, under the jaws, and about the skull and ears, and when inexperienced, about the fore-legs and shoulders. I never saw a terrier badly bitten in the neck, though I have seen a terrier's side torn, and one that turned tail punished severely in the rear. Whilst the terrier for badger should be game to the death, it is all-important that he should mingle discretion with his valour, and not drive his superior foe to desperation, but content himself with keeping him at bay, only using his teeth at a pinch and in extreme cases. Tell me, reader, how many terriers you know who can or will go to ground, stay there, tell the truth always, pa.s.s through every place a badger can, keep his head under the most exasperating circ.u.mstances, and come up smiling and eager after every round, no matter how much punished?

What thousands of little curs there are called terriers, and fox-terriers that will no more go down a fox-earth than go up a chimney!

How many thousands of the best of these, however finely shaped for the show-bench, that have no more idea of their profession and the duties for which nature made them, and from which they derive their name, than the man in the moon, and whose masters are satisfied if they can kill a few rats, and think them wonderfully game if they will tackle a cat!

From my boyhood I have had terriers, but I never thought one worth keeping that could not, or would not, go to ground and show himself or herself worthy of their honourable name. Appearance is nothing if the other qualities are not present. I have had a little wire-haired terrier b.i.t.c.h (with neat, golden-tanned marked head), pretty and gentle, and winning in all her ways, a companion that slept on my bed each night, and looked the picture of innocence lying by the hearth or even on a lady's lap; but within that bosom beat a courageous little heart, in her head throbbed a brain full of sagacious intelligence, and in that soft brown eye lurked hidden fire. She could give deep music long sustained, and she never winced before the enemy. I called her ”Worry,” a name that seemed most _mal a propos_ to her casual acquaintance. For twelve long years she was at my side in all the ups and downs of life, leading the drag when I was at Cambridge, following foxhounds and bolting foxes when I was hunting, and my constant and daily companion, accompanying me into every county when I made an expedition against the badger. I was once amused by the remarks made about Worry by an old shoemaker who sometimes accompanied us with a good terrier when we were ratting. ”Si'

the (see thee), lads, Worry's t' yan (the one) fer (for) pickin' t' wick (the life) out on 'em,” as she threw five or six big rats over her shoulder in half as many seconds. She died a terrible death, but game and uncomplaining to the last. She had a knack of squeezing herself through almost any kennel bars, and I had had to put her into a kennel for a time, and had the bars made narrower and covered with mesh wire netting. An hour after I had put her in I went to see her, and I was horror-struck to find that she was half through the bars nipped as in a vice, the wire torn with her teeth, and herself covered with blood and wounds, with one eye hanging out, blood flowing from her mouth, still fighting her way on--without a sound except her panting breath. She was delighted to see me, and with some trouble I liberated her, cut off her eye, staunched her wounds, and did all I could for her. She never even winced as I cut away the eye, and as she lay in her bed looked at me affectionately with her one eye and wagged her tail. The following day, though she did not even whine, I saw she was in terrible pain; and as she was at this time badly ruptured, and very lame owing to a carriage accident some years before which resulted in a broken thigh and a double fracture above the hock, I had her shot, and buried in a quiet corner of the orchard, with the inscription on her headstone ”_Sit tibi terra levis_.”

The terriers I have found the best and surest are amongst the Yorks.h.i.+re breed of hard, wire-haired fox-terriers, short in the leg and strong headed. All my own have been descended from a white, wire-haired terrier called Fuss, the best b.i.t.c.h I ever had, and a prize-winner. I bought her in 1870 or 1871 from a dealer called Wooton. She was bred by a man called Jack Ridd. Worry was out of her. My brother got a dog, Roger, a dead game one, at the same time from the same man, and nearly all the terriers I have had since are descended from these two, with out-crosses from local strains, including the Rev. Jack Russell's blood. I have seen smooth-coated terriers do equally well, but not often. The former is a harder and more enduring breed, though more difficult to keep clean in the coat, and taking time to get dry after wet in cold weather. The endurance of the wire-haired is remarkable. I have now a terrier, bred through many lines of my old favourites, which is twelve years old. His jolly face is scored with the marks of a thousand fights with fox and badger, and though lame in his shoulders, his eyes dim with age, and crippled with rheumatism, showing toothless gums when he smiles his welcome, he has twice this summer found alone the badger earths, and returned at evening, each time with his score of marks increased, and on the last occasion he left one of his ears behind him![4] A terrier that will go off to a badger earth on his own account, especially if a young one, will probably end his days and find his grave there. I have known several do so. Poor old Twig! Always happy, he seldom now wanders further than the stable-yard, and spends his declining days playing with the foxhound pup or sleeping in the sun, when in his dreams he fights his battles over again, and thrice he slays the slain. When we were young together he followed me every hunting morning to the meet, where he at once incorporated himself with the pack, greeting his friends in turn with a grin, a twist of his body, and a wag of his stump; and when the daylight faded, and the horn sounded for home, I had always to carry him off on my saddle, so reluctant was he, after the longest day, to leave his comrades of the chase. This became so troublesome that at last I yielded to the pressure of the huntsman, Will Nicholl, who then hunted the Cleveland hounds, to permit him to join the kennel establishment.

For three seasons he scarcely missed a day, and when a fox was run to ground, no matter after how long or fast a run, the question, ”Where is Twig?” was never asked twice. Always there when wanted, always dependable and perfect at his work, he s.h.i.+fted many a sulky fox that went to ground. Then Will Nicholl went to the Hurworth under Sir Reginald Graham, and took Twig with him. He did two seasons in the Hurworth country, from thence going to the Burton with Nicholl again.

After a season there I had a letter saying that Nicholl feared that the old dog would not follow hounds another season, and he sent him back with me. I summered him well; he did the next season with the Cleveland, and came out the following season when hounds were handy or when occasion required, making eight seasons with foxhounds, besides being hunted at badger in the summer months. He had learnt not to be hard on a fox, but I thought I detected him in an act of violence something more than a year ago. We had run to ground in a drain, and Twig, who had heard hounds, had come across country as fast as his old legs would carry him, and was in before I could say ”Knife.” No sooner was he in than the fox was out, with Twig at his brush. This was not at all what we wanted, as the whole pack was within fifteen yards. Twig collared the fox as he bolted, and as the hounds were making a dash at him. I was angry with Twig, lifted the fox and Twig, who I thought was holding the fox, above my head to save reynard from the hounds. Here I had to hold him for five minutes, but when I tried to choke the old dog off, I discovered that the fox was holding Twig through the upper jaw, and the dog was hanging with his whole weight suspended on the fox's teeth.

Having made the fox leave go Twig fell to the ground, and when all was clear I put the fox down, when we had a sharp ten minutes to ground again. I was there only just in time to prevent Twig from going in to take his revenge--the fox this time being left in peace. It is as well to have with you one bull-terrier, or a fox-terrier with a bit of bull about him. In cases of emergency, and when close up, such a dog comes in useful, but they are tiresome brutes as a rule to do with; they get so excited that they do not care what they go at, it may be the dogs or yourself, or I have seen them set to worry a big stone. They often go to ground well, but have several faults. They _will_ tackle the badger, get punished severely, and create all sorts of difficulties, and are generally nearly mute except when fighting.

[4] Dead since this was written.

I had a rare life of it on one expedition with a little bull-terrier called Nip that I bought from a Cornishman, after a long dig in which Nip had distinguished himself. He was a dirty white, ugly, undershot, crop-eared little brute, with a tail like a shaving-brush. Shy and nervous, he had a fiendish amount of pugnacity and pluck. When not otherwise employed, he wore his teeth to the gums in vain endeavours to get into the interior of large stones. In a railway-carriage, so delighted was he at all times to get to ground, that he would get under the seat, and refuse to be removed if he had not on a collar and chain, except with the badger-tongs. He had to be muzzled and chained when with other dogs, and even then would make an utter fool of himself in his attempts to fight on every occasion. He would, when he had lost a badger, sulk and refuse to come out, and as it was impossible to put in any other dog while he was there, he had to be dug to and drawn like a brock. Whilst at the end of a day, when every other animal had had more than enough, and was glad to get food and rest, he was ready to hold me by the leg, and it would take the tongs and a couple of men to get his collar on.

I have always had a great admiration for the short-coated, hard, Scotch terrier, and believe that they are admirably adapted for this chase, but I have had no experience of them. They seem cut out for it, being hardy, the right size, sharp-tongued, and amongst the most intelligent of the canine race. I knew of one who went to Craig Cluny in the edge of the Ballochbuie forest, and spent some hours in a vain attempt to dislodge a badger. He returned three miles to the inn at Braemar and found another terrier like himself; they trotted back together, and by their united efforts drew and killed an old badger! There is a spot near this place in the forest called Stra-na-brach--or the badger's crag--but the badger knows the place no more. The keeper has done his work with the trap throughout Aberdeens.h.i.+re.

Dandie Dinmont no doubt bred his dogs from these terriers, but I have no belief that the present race is fitted for badger-hunting. Those one sees on a show bench are too large to get to ground quickly and easily, and I doubt if there is one of the race, as at present known, that has ever exchanged civilities with the badger in his natural earth. Dandie Dinmont bred his terriers for badgers, but I am sure his never were the size they are now; and although Sir Walter Scott has surrounded Dandie with a halo of interest, and made him immortal by his eulogies, his fiendish cruelties have always made me hate his name, and prejudiced me against a breed that was developed under a hideous system. It makes my blood boil to read of his terriers trained to face the badger by taking alive young and old badgers, and sawing off the under jaws, and employing other indescribably cruel methods.

The dachshund and the small ba.s.set, when properly selected, are splendidly adapted for badger-hunting. In Germany the former, and in France the latter, are generally bred for this purpose. Full-voiced and throwing a tongue like a hound, deep-chested, short-legged, and strong-bodied, they are perhaps the best one can have, but I do not think that they possess the endurance and quickness of an English terrier.

There was a breed of wire-haired black-and-tan English terriers, but I imagine them to be nearly, if not altogether, extinct, that from all accounts must have been really good terriers in the true meaning of the term.

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