Well, they got him away, and ran for the best part of three hours, although he returned to the gorse twice. At last he got to the end of his tether, and David viewed him crawling into the gorse dead beat. As Mr. Henry Chaplin rode up with the Prince of Wales and Lord Brownlow, the smothered worry could be heard going on. The gorse was very thick, but David crawled in on hands and knees and got the dead fox away from the hounds, bringing him outside. “You are a rum fellow,” said the huntsman, “not one in fifty dare do a thing like that, you might have got killed yourself.” “Its all right,” said David, “naught never in danger, but I should like one end of the fox now I have rescued him!” They gave him the mask, which he had set up in memory of the Royal day. Mr. Chaplin asked him if he intended to eat it.
It was a long spell of fine sport they had during the twenty-six seasons Frank Gillard was huntsman, 1870 to 1896; he was in touch with all the country side, and people did all they could to further a day’s sport. Many is the half sovereign David had from Gillard to see that earths were stopped or gates shut after hunting. When it came to digging out a fox it always meant five shillings to distribute amongst those who worked at the job. “Frank Gillard could always trust me,” said David; “he used to say when he heard my halloa, ‘There’s old Dave’s voice, true as a clock!’ You know I never barked false! What long days Gillard did make to be sure, he was never tired of hunting! I have often spoken to him in Ancaster Street, as he rode through with his hounds at eight o’clock at night, and often it was raining hard. He had to get on to Grantham where the three-horse van was in waiting for the hounds, and that meant reaching Belvoir kennels at nine o’clock or after.”
After hunting three years on foot without a ride, David was given a mount by a friend on a nice little horse, and as he rode up to the meet, old Tom Chambers and the whips shouted: “Hurray, we’ve got old Dave mounted at last! What are you doing up there old friend, are you purchasing?” “How the swells did laugh to be sure!” adds David.
One of the hardest days he ever did on foot was a hunt from Barkstone Gorse. They found at twelve o’clock, and never stopped going until three o’clock. David thinks he did not stand still five minutes, and for an hour and a half he had the Rev. —— Andrews, of Carlton, running with him, till he said, “I can’t stand it any longer. Swinton, you’re killing me!” Hounds kept running in big circles out to Sparrow Gorse, and David viewed the fox several times, and never really lost sight of the hunt for more than ten minutes at a time, as he managed to keep inside the circle. Well, hounds hunted him right well, getting him very tired, so that he returned to Barkstone Gorse. He viewed him again coming away, but before hounds had run two fields they threw up, and David could not make head or tail of it, no more could the huntsman, though he did all he knew to help hounds to recover the line. “Well,” I said, “Gillard, he’s done you!” To which he rejoined, “I think by the looks of you he’s done you twice over!” “No mistake, I did have a doing that day.”