Sir Colin Campbell of Glenshurchag, in which he says, ‘ I think my greatest sport
shall be in hunting of the Fox,’ and asks for a ‘ couple of good earth dogs.’
Captain Burt, writing of Fox-hunting as he saw it in the beginning of the
eighteenth century, says: ‘ There are numbers of Foxes, but they take to the
mountains, which are rocky, and sometimes inaccessible to the dogs, of which
several have been lost by falling from precipices in the pursuit; for the Fox in
his flight takes the most dangerous way. But when we happen to kill one of
them, it is carried home, through the blessings of the people, like a dangerous
captive in a Roman triumph.’
After the Highlanders were disarmed in 1725, one of their chief complaints
was that they were deprived of the means of destroying such noxious animals as
Foxes and wild cats, which did them ‘ much more hurt in their poultry, &c., than
they yield them profit by their furs ; and the eagles do them more mischief than
both the others together.’ 1 But in this it seems that the wily Highlanders hoaxed
the captain, for they only delivered up their inferior weapons, carefully concealing
the others for a future rising.
About 1750 the ‘ Carnach,’ or professional Fox and badger hunter, came into
existence in Scotland, and these men became a class paid to exterminate such
vermin. The hunters received a fixed salary. In Skye the head of a Fox was
worth a guinea to the slayer, and the ‘ Statistical Account of Scotland’ conducted
by Sir John Sinclair gives details of the working of this system. For instance,
in Lochgoilhead and Kilmorich several parishes joined together in supporting a
paid hunter of Foxes. Every tacksman and tenant was obliged to entertain him
and his dogs a certain number of nights in the year, according to the extent of
their lands. In Lochlee, Forfarshire, poison was used by the hunters in the following
manner: ‘ Being done in the winter season by dragging a piece of salted fish
well spiced with powdered nux vomica along a hillside, and leaving it near water.
If the Fox comes upon the track, he soon finds the bait, eats it, drinks,
and expires instantly. The only difficulty lies in finding open water in time of a
severe storm, and without this the nux vomica does not kill.’
In the parish of Golspie, Sutherland, a more general system prevailed, for
anyone could become a Fox-hunter, and a sum of 100/. annually was set apart
for the payment of successful hunters. Five shillings was paid for a Fox, 2s. 6d.
for a Cub, and every Vixen in milk 20s., the dead animals having to be seen by
a justice of the peace or minister of the parish.
1 Letters o f Captain Burt, i. 138, and ii. 70.
Dr. Charles Rogers in ‘ Scotland, Social and Domestic’ (p. 172) tells us
something of the manner in which the Fox was hunted, and how gatherings for
this purpose were convened. ‘ Several days,’ he says, ‘ were occupied annually in
the pursuit of the Fox, when the entire inhabitants of the district turned out.
In Forfarshire these gatherings were convened by the parish beadle while the
congregation left church. An ancestor of the writer heard a beadle in Strathmore
summon a dispersing congregation to attend at the hunting-field in these
words :-H|P
Ilka man and mither’s son,
Come hunt the tod on Tuesday.’
An excellent account of Fox-hunting as practised in the Highlands at the
beginning of the nineteenth century is given by a Perthshire poet, Alexander
Campbell, in his stirring poem, ‘ The Grampians Desolate,’ 1 who thus describes
the chase amid the wild hills of the North in a manner worthy of the English
poet Somerville.
The hunter to the upland wilds is come,
A welcome guest— each botham is his home;
His hounds and terriers keen, a yelping train,
The mountain echoes now salute again.
Far out o f view, among the airy peaks
The wily prowler into covert sneaks;
The wary cubs alarm’d instinctive creep
Hard after, scarcely breathing, silence keep.
Ere peep o f dawn, all, ready for the sport,
Forth from the airidh to the wilds resort;
And hunters, hounds, and shepherds’ dogs rove wide
From knoll to knoll, from hill to mountain’s side;
The heath-cock shakes his wing— ’tis dawn o f day—
Ha lloo! the hunt is up— away— aw a y!
He breaks full speed away— swift, swift he flies!
The yell o f opening hounds ascends the skies;
Away, away o’er many a shaggy steep,
Fox, hounds and huntsmen swift as lightning sweep;
Beyond the midway far, where cliffs meet sky,
See the s ly villain, doubling oft on high,—
The pealing pack at fault, impatient, keen,
Range o’er the mountain’s brow,— unheard, unseen
The hunters follow, darting swift along,
And fearless bound the craggy wilds among;
From bending heights they far beneath the eye,
Deep in the vale below, the thief descry.
Huzza! again the hounds have gained the scent!
Unheeding danger, on their prey intent,
T hey dash midst cliffy windings, shelving rocks,
And rouse the peaceful herds and roving flocks:
The timid mountain-hare, the roe, the hind
Start from their shelter, secret haunts to find.
Y e harmless tenants o f these mountains wild,
They thirst not for your blood— ye meek! ye
mild!
Your crafty neighbour o f the cavern-rock,
The foe bloodthirsty of the harmless flock,
The canine rangers, full o f vengeful fire,
Fain would him worry in instinctive ire.
Lo, now close in upon his utmost speed,
The sanguine pack to mouth him now proceed;
Without a groan the hardened culprit dies,
The hills resound the hunters’ joyous cries!
They pause— and panting dogs stretched on the
heath
Repose the while, and soon regain their breath;
And on a dark-brown knoll all now recline,
A homely feast is spread, on which they dine;
1 Edinburgh, 1804.