Part 6 (2/2)
More cleaning up for me to do.
What? Cry at dogs, great lumps like you?”
She licked her handkerchief and smeared Their faces where the dirt appeared.
The hunt trit-trotted to the meeting, Tom Dansey touching cap to greeting, Slow-lifting crop-thong to the rim, No hunter there got more from him Except some brightening of the eye.
He halted at the c.o.c.k and Pye, The hounds drew round him on the green, Arrogant, Daffodil and Queen, Closest, but all in little s.p.a.ce.
Some lolled their tongues, some made grimace, Yawning, or tilting nose in quest, All stood and looked about with zest, They were uneasy as they waited.
Their sires and dams had been well-mated, They were a lovely pack for looks; Their forelegs drumsticked without crooks, Straight, without overtread or bend, Muscled to gallop to the end, With neat feet round as any cat's.
Great chested, muscled in the slats, Bright, clean, short-coated, broad in shoulder, With stag-like eyes that seemed to smoulder.
The heads well-c.o.c.ked, the clean necks strong; Brows broad, ears close, the muzzles long; And all like racers in the thighs; Their noses exquisitely wise, Their minds being memories of smells; Their voices like a ring of bells; Their sterns all spirit, c.o.c.k and feather; Their colours like the English weather, Magpie and hare, and badger-pye, Like minglings in a double dye, Some s.m.u.tty-nosed, some tan, none bald; Their manners were to come when called, Their flesh was sinew knit to bone, Their courage like a banner blown.
Their joy, to push him out of cover, And hunt him till they rolled him over.
They were as game as Robert Dover.
THE WHIP
Tom Dansey was a famous whip Trained as a child in horsemans.h.i.+p.
Entered, as soon as he was able, As boy at Caunter's racing stable; There, like the other boys, he slept In stall beside the horse he kept, Snug in the straw; and Caunter's stick Brought morning to him all too quick.
He learned the high quick gingery ways Of thoroughbreds; his stable days Made him a rider, groom and vet.
He promised to be too thickset For jockeying, so left it soon.
Now he was whip and rode Maroon.
[Ill.u.s.tration: His chief delight Was hunting fox from noon to night.]
He was a small, lean, wiry man With sunk cheeks weathered to a tan Scarred by the spikes of hawthorn sprays Dashed thro', head down, on going days, In haste to see the line they took.
There was a beauty in his look, It was intent. His speech was plain.
Maroon's head, reaching to the rein, Had half his thought before he spoke.
His ”gone away,” when foxes broke, Was like a bell. His chief delight Was hunting fox from noon to night.
His pleasure lay in hounds and horses, He loved the Seven Springs water-courses, Those flas.h.i.+ng brooks (in good sound gra.s.s, Where scent would hang like breath on gla.s.s).
He loved the English countryside; The wine-leaved bramble in the ride, The lichen on the apple-trees, The poultry ranging on the lees, The farms, the moist earth-smelling cover, His wife's green grave at Mitcheldover, Where snowdrops pushed at the first thaw.
Under his hide his heart was raw With joy and pity of these things.
The second whip was Kitty Myngs, Still but a lad but keen and quick (Son of old Myngs who farmed the Wick), A horse-mouthed lad who knew his work.
He rode the big black horse, the Turk, And longed to be a huntsman bold.
He had the horse-look, sharp and old, With much good-nature in his face.
His pa.s.sion was to go the pace His blood was crying for a taming.
He was the Devil's chick for gaming, He was a rare good lad to box.
He sometimes had a main of c.o.c.ks Down at the Flags. His job with hounds At present kept his blood in bounds From rioting and running hare.
Tom Dansey made him have a care.
He wors.h.i.+pped Dansey heart and soul.
To be a huntsman was his goal.
To be with hounds, to charge full tilt Blackthorns that made the gentry wilt Was his ambition and his hope.
He was a hot colt needing rope, He was too quick to speak his pa.s.sion To suit his present huntsman's fas.h.i.+on.
THE HUNTSMAN
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