| A Foxy Doggerel By Herbert Beck It’s a mellow winter morning With the upland moist and soft, While the smoke from woodstove chimneys Rises lazily aloft. It’s a morning out of fifty And it’s pretty safe to say That from Coleraine to Speedwell Every hound will run to-day. Forge Hill was scarcely dawnlit When the Nesingers went out, And soon old Punch and Rattler Were whimpering about; And now they’ve struck a night trail In behind the Walnut Spring; And hark! He’s off! The pack cuts loose To make the Hirschthal ring. There’s click of hoof in the Kettle path, It’s Holtzhouse on his black, And Eckert riding through the brush To watch their working pack. For Nettie’s got one started With Dash, Seed Keener’s hound, And Rowdy, Fly, Rose, Range and Nell Make White Oak Hill resound. A sprightly redbird flashes up To balance on a birch; A gray squirrel scurries nervously And flattens on his perch. There’s a patter in the withered leaves – The fox! It’s old White Tail! He stops to listen, flirts his brush, And streaks it up the vale. Down about Mt. Vernon wood There is a merry dash With Henry Skiles, and wiry son On white-faced Sandy Flash.* Their fox has little time to fool Before that speedy drive. He’ll have to hunt his hole to-day To finish up alive. In Sadsbury, by the Chester line, The run was short and quick; And music of the chase is changed To sound of shovel’s click; For Seldomridge is working hard – His licking dogs about And steaming horse tied by the fence – To dig the redskin out. What makes the winter crows dart down There, above the old Bone Mill? Yes! Look again! You see his brush? It surely is Wild Bill. And here they come, full forty strong Like a pack in Leicestershire, With Johnny Raub and Norman Neff A-gallop in the rear. And over by the Nickle Mine There’s music in the air, For Johnny Kurtz has got one going With the gray-haired veteran Bair. Their horses pounding up the road, All mud from nose to hocks, Bring the loafers from the Georgetown store To try to see the fox. Down East Earl way there’s been a loss Although the going was fine, And hounds are nosing everywhere To straighten out the line. The “byes” are guessing what went wrong; Doc think he went to earth. While Charley Eaby takes a chew And tightens up his girth. On sunny slope of old Pinch Hill Two saddle horses stand, With thirty long-ears lying ’round – None finer in the land. They’re building in a trap up there To try to get this fox. Mann Keener does the setting up While Zeamer fetches rocks. And Slotey’s pack is working Somewhere down near Martindale; And Garrett’s got one running In the Conewago vale. Old Andy Hershey heaves a sigh This perfect hunting day, And cups a hand against his ear To catch a distant bay. It’s a mellow winter morning And the upland’s moist and soft While the smoke from woodstove chimneys Rises lazily aloft. The Garden Spot’s all music From Wakefield up to Clay, From Donegal to Churchtown Every foxhound’s out today. *The champion running horse of Lancaster County, owned by Mr. Brubaker (1908-12). Sandy Flash was stabled at Mt. Vernon, and the end of his breezy career he was buried in the Lancaster Fair Grounds. |
A Foxy Doggerel evokes many childhood memories for Leo Erb. The poem mentions Henry Skiles and his ‘wiry son on white faced Sandy Flash’. The ‘wiry son’ is Demont Skiles. Demont grew up to become a special person in Leo’s life. Leo, born in 1924, went to live with Demont at the age on nine and stayed with him until he joined the army in his late teens. Leo recalls many great hunts with Demont in the Gap, Smyrna, Green Tree and the Nickel Mines area and as far south as the Forge Hills outside Christiana. He recalls that Herbert Beck, the author of A Foxy Doggerel, often hunted with Demont Skile Hounds. Leo and Flora were married and moved to their present home in Georgetown in 1944. Leo started his own pack of Penn Marydels in the early 1960’s and upon Demont’s death in the late 60’s he inherited Demont’ s hounds. Since the 1960’s Leo and his pack have hunted the same area that Demont hunted plus the Susquehanna River Hills. He, along with his ‘byes’, Sam Ankrum, Charlie McCrabb, Jake Ross, Andy Ford and Vic Fite can relate many stories of fox hunting in and around the River Hills. |
