The Badger Part 2

"_White Badger at Overton, Hants._--While digging for badgers on April 30, we came across two dog badgers in the same earth, one of which was quite white, the colour of a white ferret, with pink eyes.

Unfortunately, the terriers punished him so much he had to be destroyed.

I have helped to dig out a great many of these animals, but never saw nor heard of a white one before."--T. P.

PART III

There are several methods by which the badger can be taken alive, or killed, with ease. I am familiar with several successful ways of trapping him. The reader, if he is not aware of these, must not expect me to enlighten him, as my object in writing is to arouse an interest in his preservation, not to facilitate his destruction. It may be as well to state, however, that the inhuman engine, the steel trap (by which so many of the birds and beasts that frequented the wild woods of England and Scotland have been exterminated) is an instrument that arouses the suspicion of a badger at once, and he is as clever in avoiding it as an old-fas.h.i.+oned rat. The badger if caught in a steel trap will frequently bite his leg or foot clean off. In my opinion there are two legitimate methods of hunting the badger. First, that of a straight-forward attack on his fortress; and should it be an old-established earth, it may be the end of the longest day will not see the battle ended. There are, of course, the fortunes of war--a lucky engagement, a wrong turn on the part of the defender, a successful trench quickly cutting off his retreat--which may deliver him unexpectedly into your hands; or the enemy may outwit you altogether, conducting a masterful retreat, with gallant sorties on the dogs, and by continually changing his front drive you to abandon works, trenches, and operations that have cost great labour and time; thus you may be left with a tired and wounded pack of terriers, exhausted sappers, and the badger, having blocked and barricaded his retreat with soil, stones, and sand, is lost. The war thus made is an equal one: you attack him on his own ground in his fortress where he is acquainted with every pa.s.sage, gallery, and cas.e.m.e.nt; he is armed to the teeth and armour-plated, and can drive a road forward, downward, or upward with extraordinary rapidity. It is true you may have many terriers, but he has an advantage over your forces. Only one of your dogs can engage at a time, and the badger has the advantage of weight, size, knowledge of the ground, and familiarity with the dark--in fact, in every respect except those of courage and endurance, which in some terriers may equal his own. The other method, less sure, depends on taking the badger off his guard, and is more in the character of an ambuscade under cover of night. When the badgers are away from home you block up their earths, placing sacks with running nooses in the mouth, in the most frequented holes. Station one of your party near the "set," and you may either take a small pack of hounds and draw the country for a few miles round, and hunt him like a fox, getting a run across country and a fine cry; or you may beat the neighbouring coverts with men and dogs of any description that are trained to hunt the badger.

In the following, taken from an article which appeared in a newspaper, there is a good account of night hunting.

"Owing to his shy and retiring habits, rather than to the scarcity of the animal, probably less is known about the badger than about any wild animal left in England at the present time. There is a prevalent notion that the badger is exceedingly rare, and also that he is harmless; neither of these ideas is quite correct. In the west especially the badger is fairly common, but escapes notice owing to his retiring disposition. Whether he does harm to feathered game or not is a moot point, but his tracks have been distinctly noticed round plundered nests; it is certain, however, that he does great damage to ground game by digging out 'stops' of young rabbits in the spring and summer.

"When hunted after the fas.h.i.+on generally adopted in the west, he affords excellent sport to those who are prepared to face a long tramp and the loss of some of their night's rest. The prosaic way of digging them out of the earth involves much labour, and has in it no element of sport; while attempting to catch badgers in traps is about as feasible as trying to catch birds by putting salt on their tails. Driving them into sacks fixed in the earth is unsatisfactory, as a good game dog is necessary to press the badger hard, or he will turn from the earth and seek shelter elsewhere; while, if you have a good dog, the sacks are unnecessary except for the reception of the badger when caught by the dog.

"The paraphernalia of the chase are simple, namely, a good dog, a pair of badger-tongs, and a sack. A really good dog is very difficult to obtain; the favourite kind is a cross-bred bull-terrier, about forty pounds in weight; pure-bred bull-terriers, for some reason or other, do not seem to give satisfaction. The 'tongs' have wooden handles, and iron heads with blunt teeth for grasping the badger when held by the dog. For a successful hunt it is necessary to observe which way the badger travels from the earth. A favourite spot is the slope of a hill, or high-lying fields, where they may be easily tracked by the 'roots,'

_i.e._ small holes which they scratch in the ground in search of beetles and roots of various kinds. They rarely descend into low-lying meadows, except to drink. Choose a starlight night with a slight breeze blowing, and approach the earth up the wind. Do not hurry your dog; if he knows his work, he will range freely, but he often takes a long time to puzzle out the track. If you miss him, go on slowly in the direction in which you last saw him, often stopping to listen.

"'What was that?' The dry sticks crack in a hedge far below you. 'Hark!

two sharp eager barks; what does it mean?' Why, that Grip is wheeling out in a half-circle to gain slightly on the badger, and then to dash in and get him by the head. Run now as you never ran before. Head over heels into a ditch; never mind, up and on again--the best dog can't hold a badger for ever. There they are out in the open, Grip with a tight hold of the badger by the side of the head, with his legs tucked back out of harm's way. Grasp him with the tongs as near the neck as possible. Take off the dog, some one. Hold the bag. Hoist our grey-coated friend into the air, and lower him into the sack; he weighs at least thirty pounds. The dog is hardly marked, and you haven't torn more than three rents in your nether garments getting through that last thorn hedge. Altogether, every one agrees that it was a satisfactory little run.

"The old English sheep-dog I have known do well for the other method.

The badger when pursued makes straight for home, blunders headlong into the hole, only to find that his efforts to get in are closing the mouth of the sack, that retreat or fighting are alike in vain, and that he is an imprisoned bagman, without having struck a blow in self-defence. It is not uncommon for a badger thus pursued to stand at bay, when a good dog may keep him in play, or hold on, till you come up and secure him.

No doubt there is amus.e.m.e.nt and excitement in this moonlight chase, and to some it is preferable to the arduous labour with pick, spade, axe, and terrier."

To my mind, however, there is something more interesting and exciting in the long-sustained conflict and labour of the latter, for which you require perseverance, wit, patience, and courage on the part of man and terrier. The courage and endurance that a good terrier will display when need requires before such a foe, will fill his owner's heart with joy and pride. A good terrier is a veritable treasure; the price of a sure, game, and determined one is far above rubies. Picture what it means for a small terrier to enter into the bowels of the earth to find, to cope with, and for long hours in dust and darkness in the tortuous maze to keep up an unequal fight with an enormously superior foe, whose grunts and clattering teeth add terror to his charges down the echoing ways.

Yet I have had not a few that, hour after hour, on their backs or their sides, would lie up to a badger, keeping him cornered, and continuously give tongue with no voice to direct them. Should the badger charge, such a terrier would rather die than let him leave the corner to which he has been driven, and will return fighting and facing his huge opponent, driving him inch by inch into the _cul de sac_, caring neither for bite nor wounds, and making noise enough to let you know where the battle rages. It is no part of his duty to tackle the badger. A good terrier knows this, and will only resort to his teeth should the badger attempt to force a pa.s.sage. If it comes to close quarters, such a terrier will draw back his fore-legs under his body, take the attack full in the face, and trust to seizing the badger by the neck. A badger when attacked generally bites upwards, _i. e._ he lowers his head and turns the back of his head downwards. Nothing makes the heart beat faster than, with head to the earth, to hear the din of this subterranean warfare carried along the dark galleries to the day. You have sent in one of your best terriers; he has tried by cajolery and caresses, by cries, by straining at his chain to be allowed the honourable distinction of first blood. You have dispatched him with your blessing, and he has quickly and silently started on his journey into the unknown.

You listen to him forcing his pa.s.sage, drawing himself round corners, scratching away some acc.u.mulation or fall from the roof, and hear his eager panting as he winds his foe. Presently you hear a low sharp bark, then another, then two or three more, next a b.u.mping, thumping noise; it is the badger, who has waited to see who the intruder is, and, rousing himself, is retreating. The terrier barks no more, but you can hear the thump-thump of the badger, followed by the efforts of the dog to keep up with him. They are now a long way in, and you can plainly hear the bark again. Soon the fight draws nearer, and the terrier's cry comes to your ear with regularity and clearness; but the badger is only disputing the way, he has not yet been driven with his back against the wall. The terrier redoubles his activity, you can hear him feinting at the badger, sharp give-and-take, but no foolish attempt to lay hold. After ten minutes the badger again retreats, probably up the hill, and you have to listen on the surface or at the higher holes of the set till you can hear them again. At last you catch a faint sound, they are still moving, now stationary, now further on; then they seem to stay in one place.

There is the steady yap-yap-yap of the dog just distinguishable to the ear.

Quick, every hand to work. A trench six feet deep, or deeper if necessary, must be cut across the set to cut off the badger from the pa.s.sages. With pick, spade, and shovel the work goes on, while some one listens to know whether the scene of battle moves. If it does, the badger may have found a side gallery, and gone far enough, or he may have charged the dog. He may have pa.s.sed by a different road beneath your feet in the trench; but if the terrier has succeeded in keeping him face to face and engaged, yet not driving him so hard as to make him charge, you may be successful in an hour or two, and find that your cutting intersects the pa.s.sage in which the badger and the terrier are engaged. If the badger suspects you are cutting off his only means of escape he will charge and fight, and the terrier will sometimes be unable to back fast enough; then there will be a meeting of teeth and jaws, the badger holding the dog through the head, jaw, or nose. The dog's smothered cries of anger and pain make you strain every nerve to get to his relief.

When the badger at last leaves go, the terrier's turn comes, and now with blood up he drives back the badger to his end of the hole with every determination to keep him there. After two or three turns like this, if the dog has been in an hour or two, he will probably come out for a breath of air for a moment. He should be immediately taken, fastened up, watered, and kept in reserve for future contingencies, and the best terrier for sticking up be sent in with the utmost haste. If a minute has been spent in doing this, every moment will have been used by the badger in barricading the pa.s.sage against the dog and burying himself. This once accomplished, you may as well whistle for your badger as continue digging, for he may have got down into some other gallery, or have buried himself so that neither dog nor man can find him. Of one thing you may be sure, that whilst you are speculating what has become of him, he is digging at a prodigious rate, or has already made his escape by some secret stair.

If, however, you are quick, terrier number two has interrupted master badger as he is at work and lets you know. "It's all right," "Come on,"

"He's here," "I've got him," "He's got me," "You beast," "Get back,"

"I'll hold him," and spade and shovel and pick are hard at work again.

Backs and arms are aching with lifting at high pressure out of the deep trench. You dig on, blocking the hole as the roof falls in, but every now and then the shovels clear it for a moment to give the dog air. And now the game has shown itself. A terrible charge down the hole sends out the terrier; and the badger, seeing the men at work, backs again, followed by the dog. Now all is excitement. Every snap, haunch, grunt, groan, and yell in the fight is heard. A favourite's life in the balance! The prize in view! The other terriers are tugging at their chains, frantic to join the fray, yelling fit to split their throats. It is maddening for them to see the dust and commotion in the trench, to hear the sound of battle so near, to wind the enemy, to hear the cry of their fighting and perhaps wounded companion, and not to be allowed to share in the glory of the final action. Now is the time if you have a terrier to enter to see what he is made of, but there is no time to waste on education. You are close up to the badger, he cannot be an arm's-length off. Draw your dog, the badger will then turn his tail to you to dig, or he will charge out. Be ready with the tongs, and a good dog in case he charges. But if he turns tail get hold of it with a good grip. A long pull and a steady pull will draw him out, bouncing, lunging, and snapping. Now, boys, ready with the sack! Dogs off. All want steady nerves now; three hands on the sack mouth to keep it open, and take care of your fingers! A twirl round and a quick plunge, and the badger is in the bag. Don't let go his tail till you have slipped the cord on his hind-leg, and made the other end of the cord fast to the bag mouth and to a tree. I have seen a badger go through a sack like a bullet through paper, and it is well to make all as safe as possible.

M. Edmond le Ma.s.son, in his book on hunting fox and badger, severely deprecates tailing a badger. He denounces the danger and folly of it, and gives an amusing account of his falling into a trench at the critical moment as follows:--

"One fine day, or rather one cursed day, when I was sweating blood and water to get a monster badger out of his earth, a venerable patriarch, white with years, who resisted my aching tired arms and weary back with all his strength, the earth gave way and I fell back, rolling over with the animal, and there I was at the bottom of the abyss in a veritable pandemonium. Bruised and breathless, I was conscious enough to know that I was in very bad company, with four more badgers, a furious mother and three young ones, and not so young either but that one of them was able to tear from me a large piece of the most indispensable part of my attire, which placed me in a position of cruel embarra.s.sment, and obliged me to wait till the shades of night enabled me to get home with decency. The most humiliating part of the adventure was that all these cursed brutes, father, mother, and children, made the most insolent retreat over my stomach to escape from their earth, and then took off straight across country and escaped. From this moment I have felt a ferocious malice against all badgers, whether big, middling, or little, and I never go down into the trench now without having a Lefaucheux revolver and a Devisme revolver, a long dagger knife, and a sharp Toledo colichemarde!"

But let not ingenuous youth think that to enjoy the sport all he has to do is to take a spade and any reputable terrier. He might as well try, like Dame Partington, to stop the rising tide with a mop! Before so serious an enterprise as a badger digging be undertaken, the wise man will see to it that all the materials are ready, and let him be sure that he has the first necessity--the stout heart to go through with a tough job when once started. I have, with my brother, Mr. J. A. Pease, started at 7.30a.m. from home, worked a summer's day with a slight refreshment at one, handled pick and shovel and spade, fought the terriers, and gone on through the afternoon, evening, and a black wet night, without even a drop of water to slake our parched throats, deserted by all but one faithful workman, and on till the grey dawn of another day, which found us as weary, wet, and wounded, and as disreputable a looking company of three men and four terriers as ever survived a b.l.o.o.d.y action. At five o'clock we secured a splendid pair of badgers, which we bore home on aching backs, followed by our gallant little team of draggled and dirty terriers. On another occasion, it took my brother and myself, some ten labourers and keepers, and nine terriers, from 10 till 5.30 to take an old 30-lb. dog badger, in an earth which had only one hole, and where it was a case of following straight into the hill. It is wonderful what can be done by twelve men with pick, spade, and shovel in seven hours. On this occasion we dug a trench ten feet long into the hill, and then the depth of bearing necessitated our making a drift, or tunnel, which we drove in thirty feet. The heat and want of air inside made the work difficult. Candles would not burn after we had gone about twenty feet, and the tunnel was so low that we had to work on our knees and then on our stomachs. There was a considerable danger from the roof falling in, but the fight waged so fiercely that we thought of little but what was ahead of us. When at last we got within distance of the badger, he was in rocky ground, we could mine no further, and being on a shelf round a corner no terrier could draw him. As I was the smallest of the party, it fell to me to try and reach him, and I crawled up as far as I could, holding a little bull-terrier on whom I could rely for protection for my face, and a pair of short badger tongs. I had indeed a bad quarter of an hour!

It was stifling, cramped, and pitch dark. I kept the terrier in front of my head and gallantly he behaved, though every now and then the badger's charge, or a fierce encounter, nearly smothered me with dust and soil, against which I could not protect myself, as I was powerless to retreat, there being only room to lie flat on the ground. The man behind me was in the same position, tight hold of my ankles, and the man again behind him, and the rest of the force made a human chain, which on a signal from me was to be drawn out to daylight. Many attempts I made when the badger charged to get him with the tongs, but I had so little room to work my hands in that I missed him, and heard and felt the click and snack of his teeth on the iron. At last I felt I had hold of something, and I slipped the guard on the tongs, making the hold sure. I cried "Haul away," holding the terrier with one hand between me and the badger, and the tongs in the other. I found that he came with wonderful ease. It was not till we got to the light that I saw I had the huge bouncing brute by one claw, "Nip" diverting his attention from my head and hands. The labourers set up a shout, "He's got him by the clee," and a minute later we had the satisfaction of bagging him. But we were out only just in time. I had gone back with the terriers to see if there was nothing more in, and hardly had got outside again, when there was a fall from the roof that would, if it had taken place earlier, have buried some of us alive. As it was I looked round to see if we were all there. The men were, but one little terrier, "Pepper," a real treasure belonging to a neighbour of mine in Cleveland, Mr. J. P. Petch, was missing. We went in and found him buried, but got him out alive and little the worse. This was the biggest badger my brother and I ever got.

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.