366 LEAVES FROM A HUNTING DIARY 



He has a vivid recollection of seeing the late IMrs. Arkwrit^ht, 

 before she was married, being pulled out of a Roothing- 

 ditch by Tom Mashiter, and also of coming to grief himself 

 through his horse planting his fore feet in one of the root 

 ditches which made the Roothing country so formidable in 

 days of old. We have known Mr. Horner for twenty 

 years, and have always admired him as one of the best 

 sportsmen and most fearless riders we have ever come across. 

 He has not been so famous for giving high prices for his 

 hunters as he has been for making them go, and we have 

 seen him on a frosty day, with hounds running strong and 

 fast, jumping fences that positively made our blood curdle 

 and caused the undaunted Roly to dismount and lead over. 



What a contrast between the usual rush for a start at the top right-hand 

 corner and the leisurely way we all made for it as the fox, setting his mask 

 in the direction of Navestock Heath, left it behind for good. Three or four 

 ploughed fields and a line of gates brought us out on the Navestock Road, 

 which the hounds had already crossed, and into which, from an orchard, 

 our active secretary* was endeavouring to coax his horse to jump, relieved 

 from his secretarial weight. It was a goodish drop, and the horse didn't 

 like it ; still less did he relish Mr. Horner's flagellation from behind ; so 

 over he came at last, and some half-dozen of us at least stayed to assist 

 his owner up. In the state of the conntyy this excuse for being left behind was 

 worth at least a dozen lost shoes. In the meantime Mr. Horner (not the young 

 one, mind you), without dismounting, manfully jumped into the road, his 

 horse slipping a yard-and-a-half on the ice-bound turf. 



The only gap out of the road was literally full of those who wished to 

 launch out in the frozen fields beyond ; not for me, trotting quietly on 

 towards the Heath. I had a capital view of hounds. They were running 

 in splendid form, carrying a beautiful head, as they swept over Mr. Frank 

 Pratt's farm, and bore back for the road, Capt. Wilson s grey lying close 

 alongside, and jumping into the road with the leading hounds as they crossed it. 



Just at this point Mr. Caldecott, who had been sailing along in the van, 

 had the misfortune to lame a very valuable horse. Luckily he had another 

 out. Turning over the narrow lane that runs down to Shonks Mill, in a 

 few minutes hounds came pouring over the road that unites the Heath 

 with Navestock Hall. It was while waiting for them to cross that we had 

 the pleasure of witnessing a fine piece of horsemanship on the part of 

 Major Carter, as he landed his horse over a precipitous bank, eight feet 

 high, into the middle of the road ; the softest place, as he subsequentl}' 

 remarked to me, that he could possibly have picked out. Quite right. The 

 Master, however, and those immediately behind him, would not tackle it, 

 but cruised down the fence until they came to a gate. 



Turning up the Bentley Mill road, hounds came streaming across it, 

 and treated us to some very pretty music as they worked their way 

 through the Bois Hall coverts. Mr. R. Lockwood, sailing away on the 

 right, rather overshot them (you can see a lot from a back seat) ; not so 

 Bailey, who detected a few couple of hounds away by themselves on the 

 right at once. Crossing over the brook by a bridge, it really looked as if 

 I should have to jump a fence at last or lose sight of the chase altogether. 



* Mr. Roland Bevan. 



