A Hunt Meets the French

One Autumn day in 1811 a by-day was proclaimed. Foxes had been running badly of late, nor had they been too plentiful. But a copse behind one of the redoubts held what was required, and, what was more, it was a stout fox who meant business that broke away in the face of the heterogeneous field. The sight of the many-coloured mass before him, however, soon caused him to change his direction; unable to get into cover with hounds close on his brush, he bore away to the Northward, and slipping almost under the belly of the first whip's horse, set his head for the open country that lay in that direction, and which led to the hills beyond.

With the aid of much blasphemy the General Officer, who was acting as Field-Master of the day, succeeded in stemming the rush of the over-eager until Tom had emerged from the wood and collected his hounds on the line of the fox, then away went this representative gathering of the British Army of the Peninsular, - all intent upon keeping within sound of Tom Crane's horn, and the music of his hounds.

The pace was a cracker in the wake of hounds with a roaring scent to set it, and, after a mile or so, the field was strung out over the plain like the flight of a routed army.

Still well ahead of hounds went the fox, until he saw in front of him a working party of Infantry returning from the trenches. At the same time they saw him, and as is the general action of footmen who find themselves mixed up with a fox-hunt, they shouted and waved their picks and spades in his face, causing him to swing righthanded towards the front line, and "no mans land."

The Fox Veers

Close in his rear by now, and cutting off the corner caused by this alteration of course, came the huntsman, apopletic with anger at the heading of his fox, and lashing the abashed Infantrymen with a fine flow of North Country epithet, as he galloped by without checking his pace. With him came the FieldMaster, the whips, and the foremost of the field. In view of them all was the fox heading straight for the forbidden enemy territory, and rapidly nearing the British outposts. "Shall I stop 'em, Tom?" shouted one of the whips, and "Hold hard, gentlemen," cried the General. But Tom said never a word, nor withdrew his gaze for an instant from his hounds and the fox before him.

Thus the cavalcade swept down towards the post that marked the limit of Allied Territory, whose occupants had been too taken by surprise to head the fox a second time.

Discipline held, however, and the field began to get a pull upon their horses, whilst the whips, putting on all pace that they had, commenced to try to get round hounds.

As they passed the huntsman, he spoke. "Leave 'em," he shouted; then as the whips hesitated, he reined-in slightly and addressing the astonished Field-Master, added - "Where my fox goes, so do I, "before sticking in his spurs and disappearing in a cloud of dust, and alone, in the direction of the French with his hounds in full cry before him.

Checked by the invisible obstacle which orders had laid down, the remainder of the hunt could do no more than watch him disappear. The Duke was not hunting that day, or who knows what military action might not have been undertaken to retrieve his truant huntsman and pack? As it was, however, the matter rested there, and the field dispersed whilst an officer was despatched to Headquarters to endeavour to explain away Tom's disappearance to outraged Authority.

The Chase Continues

Meanwhile, the unauthorised chase continued. Through covers they ran, over streams, and into the open space once more, until the gallant fox was run into and killed some distance behind the French line.

Flinging himself from his horse, Tom performed the ritual for breaking him up, and giving him to hounds with as much ceremony and whooping as if he had been on Border soil.

Only then did he realise the full significance of his situation and gathering the hounds about him he started his return journey in a somewhat sobered frame of mind.

His luck, however, could not hold for ever; the noise of the chase, with the strange sounds which had attended the death of the fox, had attracted the attention of a patrol of French light cavalry, and the puzzled Frenchmen found themselves the captors of a strangely-clothed Englishman with a fox's mask and brush hanging from his saddle, and surrounded by, to them, strange-looking dogs who displayed the usual friendliness of fox-hounds to horses.

Since Crane was incapable of explanation, the Sergeant in charge of the patrol led this strange collection to the Headquarters of his unit-the hounds jogging amicably beside their unaccustomed escort in the rear of their huntsman, who rode dejectedly between two bewhiskered troopers. The whole of the troops in the vicinity turned out to see this strange catch, and to speculate upon what particular form of madness had now affected the English.

By this time night was falling. The hounds were incarcerated in a nearby farm, whilst Tom was taken before the Commanding Officer, who, with the aid of an English-speaking subaltern, soon elicited the facts as to his status and occupation. Finding, accordingly, that he was not an "English Milor," in spite of his attire, but merely a "Milor's" servant, he was taken to the Mess of the non-commissioned officers, and fed by the hospitable Frenchmen, being subsequently given a bed under the eye of a sentry.

Meanwhile his hounds, not caring greatly for the sustenance provided for them by their captors, and missing the sound of any friendly voice, commenced to demonstrate their disapproval in the usual manner of hounds. The alien efforts of the sentry on his beat to quiet them, merely added fresh volume to the din, until the whole camp rang with the howling of foxhounds.

Tom was awakened and ordered to quell the disturbance; which, accompanied by an attendant sentry, he proceeded to do, finally remaining within hail of the pack, since his departure was invariably the signal for a fresh outburst. The night passed rather restlessly, and morning brought orders that both huntsman and hounds were to be returned to the allied outposts.

Thus it was that a party of British Light Dragoons, returning home from a night patrol, with astonishment observed issuing from a wood in the direction of the enemy, and under cover of a flag of truce, the Peninsular hounds and huntsman, apparently being whipped in to by a selection of French Cavalry and looking considerably the worse for wear.

History does not relate what passed between Crane and the Commander-in-Chief, but I dare say that the deed was forgiven for the motives that prompted it.

Crane continued with Wellington's hounds until after the war, when the pack found itself at Cadiz in the charge of the Earl of Saltoun (commanding the 3rd Grenadier Guards), who eventually presented them to the Garrison of Gibraltar. Their descendants are known to-day as the Royal Calpe Hounds, who have hunted the adjoining district in Spain ever since.

Tom Crane himself returned to Scotland and was, at one time, huntsman to the Fife hounds, where I have no doubt but that he took full advantage of the lack of restrictions as to where he went in pursuit of his fox!

There is a picture of him as huntsman to the Fife in Records of the foxhounds. It shows a hard-bitten looking man with a Wellingtonian nose, riding very short for that period on a cocktail chestnut horse and carrying his whip the right way up according to modern ideas. Crane was huntsman to the Fife from 1821 until 1830 when he died at Cupar.

Wellington at Waterloo: The Spirit of the Hunt

The most spectacular example of Wellington bringing the spirit of the hunting field into battle was witnessed during the battle of Quatre Bras.

Soon after the beginning of the action, and when Ney had carried nearly the whole of the Allied position except on the right, the British V Division, followed by the Brunswickers, arrived just in time to restore the line and check the French.

The 92nd Regiment Gordon Highlanders, under Col. Cameron, was formed in line along the Charleroi road and ordered by the Duke, who was on foot behind it with his Staff, to lie down in the ditch which, with a fence above, bounded this highway. The cannonade was very heavy, and Wellington and his Staff lay down also. In this situation the Highlanders were charged by the French Cuirassiers and Chevaux Legers, and repulsed them.

The 92nd remained all day in their position. About four o'clock in the afternoon, the Duke of Brunswick led his Hussars past their flanks to repel some French Cavalry who had broken his Infantry. In this they failed, being swept away by the fire of the French Infantry and subsequently routed by their Light Cavalry - their Duke, himself, being mortally wounded.

At the beginning of this affair Wellington, mounted now on Copenhagen (his well-known thoroughbred charger, which he had acquired during the Danish Campaign of 1807), was in front of the 92nd, since from here he had a central view of the whole field. As the defeated German Hussars fled to the rear with French - Red Lancers and Light Dragoons cutting and slashing among them, the British Commander-in-Chief became involved in the confusion and looked to be in danger of capture.

He had his sword drawn, and was, for the moment, unaccompanied. Disengaging himself from the struggling crowd, he galloped back towards the hedge and ditch lined by the Highlanders, and, calling to them to lie still, rode at the obstacle and jumped it, men and all. As he landed he reined round, and coolly ordered the regiment to be ready.

Whilst the fighting mass of Cavalry swept by their right flank, the Grenadier company, wheeling round, poured in such a volley as effectively broke up the pursuit.

Hunting in the Peninsula (Part 1)

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