Recollections of an Otter Hunter

By William Turnbull

Contents Include: Short Sketch of My Life Otter Hunting at Bellingham Otters in Unusual Places Otter Hunting on the North Tyne Otter Hunting: North Tyne and Reed water Otter Hunting on the Tyne An Otter Hunt on the River Reed A Triumph for Bugle Mr. John Gallon Otter Hunting with John Gallon Otter Hunting on the Liddel A Remarkable Hunt Otter Hunting on the Coquet Other Hunters I Have Met The Otter Hound Bugle Hesleyside Fox Covers The Glorious Chase Bonny North Tyne The Streams of the West The Fox Hound Wellington Jarrow fountain

• Language: English
• Publisher: Read Books Ltd.
• Release date: Sep 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781473350878

Book preview

Fountain

SHORT SKETCH OF MY LIFE.

IN the year 1823 I was a playful boy, residing with my parents at Bellingham. My father commencing business at Hallington, I was left at Bellingham with my grandfather and grandmother, they wishing to adopt me. I was sent to school, but the acquisition of the rudiments of knowledge had no charms for me, being more inclined to rove at liberty. I always had a strong inclination for hunting, and it was my delight to follow the hounds.

I ofter got into trouble with the schoolmaster ou account of not attending school on hunting days, as I never could withstand the temptation; nothing could stop me. I was a favourite with the schoolmaster, and often accompanied him on fishing expeditious. He meant well to me, giving me every indulgence. One Saturday we were fishing near Hesleyside; we had good sport. I was sitting by the river side, when suddenly the hounds in full cry came running towards me. I at once deserted my schoolmaster and followed the hounds. On the Monday following I had to give an account of my Saturday’s conduc. After getting a sharp lecure from the master, as he handed me the following lesson to write in my copybook:—Turnbull, hunting will thy ruin be! On the following day I wrote:—N.B.—Gaming ruins many thousands.

On leaving school I worked with my grandfather, who was a boot, shoe, clog, and patten maker. I left my kind and good friend when I was about twenty-one, and went with Mr. Thomas Routledge—a keen fox hunter, who always kept a blood horse and attended many of the fox hunts in the distric—to America, where I remained for some months. On arriving in Philadelphia I went with Mr. Routledge to Shaker’s Prairie, Indiana, on the River Wabash, where I worked on a farm. When the spring time came we made our way to Terrehute. I engaged myself for twelve months at the boot and shoe trade with Dr. Routledge’s brother. In the summer months we often had a visit paid us by a gentleman named Briggs, who formerly lived at High Newton, near Bellingham, Northumberland. In his youthful days he had hunted otters in the North Tyne in the company of many of the old school (Henry Armstrong of the Reedsmouth Mill, Christopher Humble, James Turnbull, Nat. Hardy, and the renowned James Allan, all Bellingham otter hunters). Mr. Briggs invited me to meet him at his residence at Otter Creek, and he assembled a party of Red Indians who kept dogs for the purpose. I took three terriers with me, all well trained to the game of otter hunting, having trained them in England. At Otter Creek we met the Indians, and commenced the hunt with five couple of dogs, cross bred mostly from the bloodhound. They were well trained and at good command, being very strong and powerful, and grand hunters. Mr. Briggs had a very powerful dog, three parts bloodhound; it was a splendid hunter and very expert. The dogs belonging to the Red Indians were perfecly trained and steady on their game. Mr, Briggs took the command, cheering the dogs forward. It was a grand scene to witness the dogs as they entered the creek, all clustering and swimming together, and their hitting of the morning drag of the otter. Our otter hunting friends, the Indians, got very excited as their favourite dog found the otter in his den under the roots of an oak tree. My terrier Bendigo was sent into the otter’s den. A battle commenced, and the king of the flood bolted, amid a scene of excitement among the Indians, and for some time the cheering was deafening to hear. The dogs raced up, and dashing at their game, finely rolled the otter over after a beautiful display of hunting from find to finish, every dog doing its duty. The scene was undoubtedly the most exciting I ever witnessed in all my otter hunting experience. From what I had to do with the wild men as otter hunters, I have every reason to remember them; they were champions in the chase.

On another occasion I met the Indians, in the company of Mr. Briggs, to hunt the Wabash River, in Indiana. The meet was near the town of