Imatges de pàgina
PDF
EPUB

CHAPTER IV

Holidays-In the Ardennes-A wild-boar battue-Hints on foreign venery-The fox, and how to slay him-The boar, and how to elude him-Norway-Camping on the Doverfjeld - Freya - His lordship's valet - My very obedient servant-The power of imagination-Charley Buller-An incident at Lord's-March strawberries-Lionel Tennyson and the smuggler.

ONE of the pleasantest holidays I ever spent was during one long vocation, when poor Arnald de Grey and Bernard Holland (I wonder if he remembers the sect of the 'Misosophers' which Herbert Stephen and he and I started at Cambridge, and whether he is still true to its tenets?) went on what we were pleased to call a 'reading tour.' We first crossed from Harwich to Antwerp, where we dawdled through a few delightful days. We then made Rotterdam our headquarters, and went lazy expeditions on steamers through the canals, doing as the Dutch did-smoking in silence, and eating numberless meals of tea, with piles of bread-andbutter and bread and cheese.

At last we got to Diekirch, a delightful spot in

the Grand-Duchy of Luxemburg. The hotel was called the Hotel des Ardennes, and was kept by an Anglomaniac named Heck. He entertained us royally, for five francs a day, which included coffee and rolls in our rooms, a solid mid-day meal, and a Lord Mayor's banquet at half-past six. There was a pleasant wine of the country, bottled in hock bottles, rather like a Steinwein in flavour, at about tenpence a bottle. After dinner we used to sit on a terrace overlooking the Moselle, smoke our pipes and watch the sunset, while our host, who was a violinist, and his daughter, who was a charming pianist, and his brother, who performed upon the 'cello, played Beethoven trios in the neighbouring dining-room.

In the morning we used to bathe in the Moselle before breakfast, and amuse ourselves by swimming across into Prussia, which was about 10 yards off. After which our host would organize fishing expeditions for us (he was able to procure us some excellent trout fishing). Sometimes he would come with us, but almost always we were accompanied by a charming old Major Coppinger, who, with his wife, were the only other Britons in the place. He was a Chamberlain to His Holiness, and showed us with pride his own photograph in tights and a short mantle. He was an enthusiastic fisherman, and taught me not only how to throw a fly, but how to

A WILD-BOAR BATTUE

67

tie one, and I once experienced the heavenly sensation of catching a two-pound trout with a fly of my own manufacture.

I remember on one occasion, after a long day's fishing, all of us wet through and ravenously hungry, we missed the last train back to Diekirch. We had to walk sixteen miles along the railwayline. We obtained from the station-master a piece of candle to light us through the tunnels. We had a dreary trudge of five hours on loose slag, and once or twice we had to dodge an approaching train. We cheered ourselves up by singing all the songs we knew. Luckily old Major Coppinger had a large selection. I discovered early on our tramp I had a flask nearly full of whisky, but I didn't divulge the fact until we left the railway-line and were within three miles of home, when we all lay down on the dusty highroad round our stump of candle, which we stuck up in the middle, and gratefully drank to our home-coming.

There was a hospitable old Baron in the neighbourhood of Diekirch who, hearing that there were Englishmen at the hotel, gave a wild-boar battue in our honour, and invited us to meet him and other sportsmen at a neighbouring railway-station. We accepted with alacrity. We were able, through our friendly landlord, to borrow some pin-fire guns, made in Liége, if I recollect rightly. We were

instructed to load with big shot in the first barrel and ball in the second. According to the laws of the country, we were not permitted to carry our guns in the ordinary way, but were compelled to wear them strapped across us. Our fellow-sportsmen, to the number of about a dozen, met us on the platform, and commenced proceedings by singing national airs and such inspiriting ditties as 'Mourir pour la patrie! C'est le sort le beau qu'il y ait sur la te-e-e-rre.' They were mostly farmers, and marvellously got up.

One of the most picturesque was a fat old chap, with a gray toothbrush moustache, which did not reach the corners of his mouth. He wore a Panama hat, a velveteen coat, and gaiters halfway

up the hip, attached by means of buckles. Across his left shoulder was the strap of his gun; on his right he wore a roomy game-bag, from the net of which peeped a cold chicken, a roll, some salad, and a bottle of claret. Attached to his belt was a sheathed couteau de chasse about 2 feet long. He asked me if 'monsieur had ever before made la chasse au sanglier ?' I told him this was my first experience. He then enlightened me as to the habits of the wild-boar, and the manner in which to tackle him.

'If you wound a boar,' he told me, 'he will turn round and charge in your direction, but not actually

HINTS ON FOREIGN VENERY

69

at you. He will appear to be about to rush past you, but as he approaches gare à vous. Il est bien malin le sanglier! Ah oui! He will pretend not to see you, but as he reaches you he will suddenly turn his head and break your shins with his tusk. Then he will apply himself to disembowelling you. It will be all very fine for monsieur to endeavour to lie on his face. Master Boar will turn you over with his snout.'

'What must be done, then,' I inquired, 'to avoid this fate?'

'That is what I am going to tell you,' replied my old sporting authority. It is a manœuvre requiring much nerve and much composure. Monsieur must hold his ground, his hunting-knife in his hand. As the boar throws himself upon him, monsieur must take one step to the rear, and plunge his blade into the breast just behind the shoulder-thus! And he drew his small sword and made an impressive lunge in the direction of the newspaper and tobacco stall, to the great admiration of the old lady presiding thereat.

When we reached our destination we were met by the Baron, who welcomed us cordially, and by his nephew, a young Vicomte. They were dressed less picturesquely than their farmer guests, yet not quite after the English fashion. They wore stiff felt hats, black melton coats, huge næuds flottants of

« AnteriorContinua »