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But there happened to be a vacancy at North Force. became known to the authorities that Mr S L's duties with a Territorial battery at Homs were such as could be done by another. Purely, therefore, in his capacity as a subaltern of artillery (nothing was, of course, known of his hobbies), the Master was transferred by urgent wire to serve with Headquarters, North Force. With him, as the lawyers say, Hardwick.

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Such runs they gave that on a memorable night, when it was once more proved that a pint of old port and a deviled biscuit can hurt no man," they were lifted one by one upon the table at the Carmel Hunting Mess to have their healths drunk

This, then, was the pack by with foxhunting honours. name and history :

HARDWICK. The Mentor of the pack. Believed drafted from the Pytchley to harriers on account of size. Taken on service to France, Belgium, and Italy, where he passed

to Mr S-L-. He died of old age at Sarona, at the end of the splendid 1919-1920 season.

WHITE EYE. From the Egyptian

prince's pack. Unfortunate with her pups, which were born dead.

The kennel huntsman, a lucky find, was a corporal of the Military Police, sometime huntsman with a rajah's pack in India. His keenness and ability showed that Mr Jorrocks was sadly wrong in his scornful estimate of 'Nabob's" hunting; but then, Mr Jorrocks was all out about jackals too.


"Not at all a sportin' animal, I should say, from the specimens in the Zoologicals," that worthy observes; but if he

could have seen the specimens in the Vale of Acre and the Plain of Sharon, he would have changed his mind.


In any country in the world, in any time, and among any people, Mount Carmel would be a hill with a history. Once view the place, and you feel that things must have happened there. Stand on its summits, and you can see how they must have happened. So vivid a set piece half reveals the play. Frowning upon the ancient Jews, it menaced them in their times of trouble with threats of hillmen's wild foray. When things were gayer, the very sight of it, bluff and luxuriant and forest-crowned, was a bulwark against the terror that lay beyond. mariner who had but scudded past beneath its black battlements would tell his children of the powers that lurked there. Old heathens said there was an oracle within its murky caves. When Jehovah, at Elijah's prayer, crowned its black brow with consuming fire, the Prophet must have known that he was crowning the hill, too, with fame as long-lived as long-lived as time.


Standing on that grassy mound, which one's dramatic sense, rather than a guidebook, marks as the scene of the rival sacrifices, one can envisage the howling prophets of Baal, slashing themselves (as the dervishes

in Damascus will do to-day) in religious frenzy. One can look down the slope where they fled, the wrathful Elijah charg: ing behind them, slaying until the silver streak of " that brook Kishon" far below ran red.

Turning to gaze across the dazzling mirror of the silvery blue Mediterranean, one can almost imagine that "behold, there ariseth a little cloud out of the sea, like a man's hand."

Not only this scene, but half the history of the Holy Land lies spread out before the pilgrim on Carmel top. Southward lies the rich land that is the gem of Palestine, past, present, or future, blooming as in Solomon's time with the Rose of Sharon and the lily of the plain. Carmel, running back eastwards from the sea, has its northward wall pierced only by the Muss-Muss Pass that ends on the other side in the plain of Jezreel, or Armageddon; where, in Allenby's great push, Indian lancers, forced marching, suddenly debouched, routing the Turks assembled there in one of the most stirring cavalry charges of the war.

Eastward, its rolling waves merge in the choppy surface of the Judean hills. Northward

gleams white the city of Acre, against the black background of the Ladder of Tyre, with Lebanon rising bright beyond. Between Acre and Carmel a sweep of sand of purest gold embraces a noble bay. Tabor rises stern and solid, a hill so symmetrical it might have been carved by man; and near by the heights among which clean little Nazareth town nestles so cosily. Cold and remote beyond shine the pale twin towers of Hermon; and between these hills and Carmel lies the vivid green of the Vale of Acre country, whose hunting days have added a novel page to its centuries of history.

Pilgrims and saints and martyrs have dwelt on and around Carmel for fourteen hundred years. Where Elijah raised the Shunamite widow's son there was a chapel in the sixth century. While the Crusaders made their last stand at Acre, anchorites on Carmel watched and prayed and laid down those foundations on which in 1215 St Simon Stock built the great Carmelite order.

As to St John of Acre, it would be hard to find a city, even among the holy places, whose name is more entwined in the history of the world. It was a noble town when Sennacherib took it two thousand years ago. At Acre Artaxerxes II. (significant name to Jorrocks' readers!) had the G.H.Q. of his Egyptian Expeditionary Force. Ptolemy Soter became its master when Alexander the Great died, and

called it Ptolemais. Simon Maccabeus tried to take it and failed. Cleopatra was more successful. Syrians, Parthians, Romans in turn laid their impress upon it. St Paul, on his way to Jerusalem, landed there. Hordes of Islam swept into the city in the seventh century, and held it till, three hundred years later, Baldwin I., at the head of the crusading chivalry of Europe, wrested it from them after a twenty days' siege by land and sea.

For nearly two centuries its walls were manned with mailed men, and its suburbs ran blood. It fell to Saladin, but within two years Guy of Lusignan was battering at its walls.

Armies numbering tens of thousands on either side faced each other on the Armageddon plain. Frisians and Danes, Flemings and Suabians, joined cause with the picked warriors of England, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and finally Richard Cour de Lion, as their head. Moslem and Crusader fought for years for the glistening prize, until the triumph of the lion-hearted king made Acre a Christian citadel for another hundred years.

During that century it rose to such fame and prosperity that when once more the eyes of Islam's warriors turned greedily towards it, the Sultan of Egypt thought an army of two hundred thousand men not too great when weighed against such a prize.

It took so vast a host a month to reduce the town.

Gallantry, such as history of off their noses, so the legend

sieges can hardly parallel, turned wave after wave of the assault until the infuriated Moslem hosts, when the walls at length did fall, put every living being within them to the sword.

Even Sisters of St Clareancestresses, in the religious sense, of the Poor Clares whose convents are dotted about the Holy Land to-day-fell victims to the Islamic fury. To save their virginity, they had cut

says; but the spectacle of their mutilated faces only incensed the Moslems further, and they were massacred to a


From that day, 18th May 1291, the Crescent never ceased to float over St John of Acre until it was lowered by Allenby's victorious troops.

With two such landmarks -Carmel and Acre-always in view, the Armageddon hounds began their history.


And now for hunting. These are some lines from the Master's diary for the Vale of Acre country :

Met at Pontoon Bridge. Very heavy rain during the previous night, and weather was stormy. Threw in at No. 1 Bog and hounds were soon on a jack, rattling him up the river1 at a break-neck pace. Breaking cover at the north end he made for the river, but hounds soon ran from scent to view and had him just as he reached the bank. Old Sanitor first up.

Met at Pontoon Bridge at 5.45 A.M. Threw hounds into No. 2 Bog where a jack was soon found. A.P.M. viewed him away into No. 1 Bog, but he didn't dwell here and broke cover. Scent was pretty good but just a little bit catchy, and a very slight check occurred before hounds streamed away to Railway Bridge cover.

They went clean through, away over the railway and down to the river, which they crossed. We picked them up again at the steam-roller, and from thence they took us on the Elephant Swamp. Here hounds di

1 "That brook Kishon."

vided and after much trouble we managed to get them out. Warrior and some others believed to have killed their jack in cover.

Hounds ran well and with rare music.

Met one mile up the coast from mouth of Kishon. Nice fresh morning. Moved off across the sanddunes and immediately picked up a line near the railway.

Running due north with the railway on our right, hounds carried the line on for about a mile before they swung right-handed and so across the open country to Bulfin's Bog.3 Not dwelling here, they swung left-handed and up parallel to the coast for a mile at a rattling pace. Swinging right-handed again our pilot took us towards the hills in a large circle, finally running into Long Bog. The latter part was so fast that we were left as the going was heavy.

Pushing him clean through, they broke cover at the north-east end with their jack not a hundred yards ahead of them. After going half a mile, however, he changed his mind and, turning left about, took us back to the Bog.

2 An abandoned war relic.

3 Named after Lieut.-General Bulfin.

Horses were so beat that nobody was able to get there to view him away, and consequently hounds got a bad start. However, three couple carried the line on for about two miles when we finally chucked it.

A rattling good run of one hour and thirty minutes, an hour of which was in the open and very fast. A four-mile point, but quite twelve as hounds ran.

Coming home, hounds put up a fox right under their noses, and after rattling for about quarter of a mile he took refuge in an old disused dry well. Old White Eye was dropped in, and in a few seconds Charlie jumped out and hounds ate him. This was very satisfactory, as they thoroughly deserved blood.

Had a smashing fall in the open over a blind boggy ditch.

Hounds settled down to a stale line and hunted very slowly right inland to the Kishon. Here they suddenly increased the pace, and shortly afterwards were simply racing along parallel to the river-bank. The going was heavy and we were soon left, but kept struggling on, catching a glimpse of hounds at intervals still running like stink. Finally bending round right-handed they crossed the river and on to the Nazareth Road. Not dwelling here, they soon were seen disappearing over the rocky foothills.

An hour later we had managed to collect all except 2 couple, which we were obliged to leave out. All hounds were home that night.

This was a seven-mile point-quite 12 as hounds ran,- -a five-mile point of which was without a check.

The Master permits himself a "grouse":

So ended a poor day. A large field were out, but, as usual, did nothing but coffee-house instead of spreading themselves wide to put up a jack.

Thirty minutes without the slight

est check. A five-mile point as the crow flies.

We did nothing much afterwards, but managed to kill a mongoose. Old Hardwick had him.

Met at "Half-Way House" at 0800 hours. A large field met hounds. Had a snappish fall off John Peel in the open. Bridle also broke twice, and so I was left with hounds running hard minus a bit.

A poor scenting day, and things would have turned out much better if only the field used more common


Hounds met one mile up the coast from the mouth of the Kishon. A large field met hounds. It was a bright day with the sun out, and prospects with regard to scent were not promising. However, the old saying, "One never knows," came very true, as it turned out to be a clinking day.

Finding in the gorse, hounds slipped away over the sand-dunes, and circling round, brought us close back to our starting-point. Running due north for half a mile they turned righthanded and looked like crossing the railway. However, a view halloa back took hounds in close attendance on their jack, back to the gorse where we first found him. Breaking cover just in front of hounds two couple took him away over the sand-dunes, but owing to no whips being up, a considerable delay occurred before the main body of the pack were put


This unnecessary delay saved the jack, as scent failed, the hot sun eating it up very quickly in the sand.

Drawing farther north, the A.P.M. viewed a jack away over the railway, and hounds coming out of cover nicely together were soon on the line.

The pace has never been faster, for, settling down, they raced across diagonally over the best country.

After ten minutes the killing pace told on some of the "cut me downs," and few saw hounds run from scent to view and roll their jack over within a hundred yards of the cotton soil. A very satisfactory day.

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