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Hunting Sketches-Part5_Antony Trollope(1815-1882)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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"The fox broke, you know, from the sharp corner of Granby-wood,"



he says; " the only spot that the crowd had left for him. I saw

him come out, standing on the bridge in the road. Then he ran up-



wind as far as Green's barn." " Of course he did," says one of

the unfortunates who thinks he remembers something of a barn in



the early part of the performance. "I was with the three or four

first as far as that." "There were twenty men before the hounds



there," says our man of the road, who is not without a grain of

sarcasm, and can use it when he is strong on his own ground.



"Well, he turned there, and ran back very near the corner; but he

was headed by a sheep-dog, luckily, and went to the left across



the brook." "Ah, that's where I lost them," says one unfortunate.

" I was with them miles beyond that," says another. "There were



five or six men rode the brook," continues our philosopher, who

names the four or five, not mentioning the unfortunate who had



spoken last as having been among the number. "Well; then he went

across by Ashby Grange, and tried the drain at the back of the



farmyard, but Bootle had had it stopped. A fox got in there one

day last March, and Bootle always stops it since that. So he had



to go on, and he crossed the turnpike close by Ashby Church. I

saw him cross, and the hounds were then full five minutes behind



him. He went through Frolic Wood, but he didn't hang a minute,

and right up the pastures to Morley Hall." "That's where I was



thrown out," says the unfortunate who had boasted before, and who

is still disposed to boast a little. But our philosopher assures



him that he has not in truth been near Morley Hall; and when the

unfortunate one makes an attempt to argue, puts him down



thoroughly. " All I can say is, you couldn't have been there and

be here too at this moment. Morley Hall is a mile and a half to



our right, and now they're coming round to the Linney. He'll go

into the little wood there, and as there isn't as much as a



nutshell open for him, they'll kill him there. It'll have been a

tidy little thing, but not very fast. I've hardly been out of a



trot yet, but we may as well move on now." Then he breaks into an

easy canter by the side of the road, while the unfortunates, who



have been rolling among the heavy-ploughed ground in the early

part of the day, make vain efforts to ride by his side. They keep



him, however, in sight, and are comforted; for he is a man with a

character, and knows what he is about. He will never be utterly



lost, and as long as they can remain in his company they will not

be subjected to that dreadful feeling of absolutefailure which



comes upon an inexperiencedsportsman when he finds himself quite

alone, and does not know which way to turn himself.



A man will not learn to ride after this fashion in a day, nor yet

in a year. Of all fashions of hunting it requires, perhaps, the



most patience, the keenest observation, the strongest memory, and

the greatest efforts of intellect. But the power, when achieved,



has its triumph; it has its respect, and it has its admirers. Our

friend, while he was guiding the unfortunates on the road, knew



his position, and rode for a while as though he were a chief of

men. He was the chief of men there. He was doing what he knew how



to do, and was not failing. He had made no boasts which stern

facts would afterwards disprove. And when he rode up slowly to



the wood-side, having from a distance heard the huntsman's whoop

that told him of the fox's fate, he found that he had been right



in every particular. No one at that moment knows the line they

have all ridden as well as he knows it. But now, among the crowd,



when men are turning their horses' heads to the wind, and loud

questions are being asked, and false answers are being given, and



the ambitious men are congratulating themselves on their deeds,

he sits by listening in sardonic silence. "Twelve miles of ground



!" he says to himself, repeating the words of some valiant

youngster; " if it's eight, I'll eat it." And then when he



hears, for he is all ear as well as all eye, when he hears a

slight boast from one of his late unfortunate companions, a first



small blast of the trumpet which will become loud anon if it be

not checked, he smiles inwardly, and moralizes on the weakness of



human nature. But the man who never jumps is not usually of a

benevolent nature, and it is almost certain that he will make up



a little story against the boaster.

Such is the amusement of the man who rides and never jumps.



Attached to every hunt there will be always one or two such men.

Their evidence is generally reliable; their knowledge of the



country is not to be doubted; they seldom come to any severe

trouble; and have usually made for themselves a very wide circle



of hunting acquaintances by whom they are quietly respected. But

I think that men regard them as they do the chaplain on board a






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