A DARTMOOR PONY-DRIFT.
TT is one thing to make up your mind that in the course of the summer holidays you will see a Dartmoor potty-drift, and quite another thing to realise your intention. To get at a pony-drift in actual fact is almost as difficult as to "catch a bandersnatch." Not only are there no settled times for the drifts, which you can look up in local handbooks and calendars, and aim at hitting off when you make your wander- ing plans, but when a day has been arbitrarily fixed by the authorities for the " driving " of any quarter of the moor, the utmost care is taken to keep the date a secret, even (or we should say especially) from those most concerned in the event. Only the Headmen of the moor, and those privileged persons who enjoy " Venville Rights" are allowed to know before- hand when the ponies will be driven in, and even to them notice is only served the day before, and the notice tells neither the place nor the hour, when and where, in the local phrase, " they will drive the drift that day." These im- portant particulars have to be picked up "somehow" after the driving has begun.
We realise that at about this point our readers will be asking, " What in the world is a pony-drift, and what are 'Venville Rights' " A pony-drift is simply an annual driving in of the ponies grazing on the moor, for the purpose of taking stock of them and receiving the monies due for their pasturage. But " Venville Rights " are not so easily explained. They belong to the category of matters that everybody mentions and nobody exactly understands—beyond knowing that the phrase repre- sents the privileges of persons holding land of the Duchy of Cornwall within certain bounds upon the forest. In ancient times it was the duty of the " Venville men " to " drive" for their feudal lords,—hence their claim to be informed in advance of the drifts in their quarter. But in our modern day the grazing of the four quarters of Dartmoor is let to moormen, who make what they can of it, and the driving is now done by their employ4s. However, whether the Duchy drives or the moorman, the importance of secrecy is the same,—the object being to prevent any cattle-owner from evading pay- ment by removing his animals before the stock-taking.
Something of this we knew before we came down to the borders of Dartmoor, determined to see a pony-drift in spite of all obstacles. But there is always a difficulty in believing that secrets of this kind are really kept. We found, however, that the difficulty of getting certain information beforehand had not been in the least exaggerated. A week before the drift we were told positively that there would be none this year, a lawsuit arising out of one held last year having sug- gested that the game was not worth the candle. A few days later intelligence came to us from a " Venville man," living at Nattsworthy on the edge of Dartmoor, that the east quarter of the forest would be driven the very next day, but that it was impossible to say exactly when or where. Probably the drift would take place quite early in the morning, and no one would have a chance of seeing it who did not " sleep on the spot." The difficulty of " sleeping on the spot" when no one could say where the spot was, seemed insuperable. Still, we would not give up the game, and after consulting with our landlord — a Lustleigh farmer said to know the moor as well as any man—we decided to start in faith for Nattsworthy at 7 o'clock in the morning—our host, who was to drive us, scorning the notion of the business beginning in the small hours. The days were over, he said, when, according to the books, the blowing of a horn about 2 o'clock in the morning was the signal for the colts to gallop over the hills, and for farmers and cottiers to be up and stirring to claim their own. The event justified his counsel, but it was not without some misgiving lest we should arrive the day after the fair, that we started for an hour's drive through characteristic Devonshire lanes, precipitous, narrow, steep- banked, and rough,—though we tried to derive consolation from the thought that whether we found the " drift " or missed it, we should have had a good excuse for a drive on the moor. Between Lustleigh and Nattsworthy we met alto- gether four persons—all farmers or farm-labourers—and to each in tarn we put the question, " Where will they drive the drift to-day ? " and all gave the same answer, "Didn't know there was a drift." Arrived at Nattsworthy, we were authoritatively told that the driving would begin at 9 o'clock, and that of we wanted to see anything of it we must drive on as fast as possible another twelve miles to Postbridge, out in the middle of the moor where the ponies would be gathered in. Getting to Postbridge meant, for people on wheels, retracing a good deal of the way we had just come. But it was the only thing to do. So far our way had lain mostly through lanes, of which the high hedges, full of fern and blackberry, mountain-ash, elder and honeysuckle, sometimes shut out the view and sometimes opened to let it in. But as soon as we had done that part of our second journey, which involved" doubling," we came out upon the high road that leads across the forest to Tavistock. We found ourselves in open country with nothing but undulating downs around us. And now, instead of looking out for the different Tors to right and left, we strained our eyes to catch sight of gallop- ing colts, and men and dogs scouring the hills to gather them in. There they were, the little brown creatures hurrying in wild excitement over the slopes. " The ponies and dogs know all as much about it as do the men," was the
remark of our driver, as we watched a group of ponies and dogs apparently consulting as to the way to take ; and the compliment sounded ambiguous in consideration of the very little all the men we had spoken with knew of the pro- gramme. We had just passed through the Moorgate, and were on the real Forest of Dartmoor. " All on the other side of the Moorgate is but downs and newtakes," our driver explained, "but this is the true Dartmoor,"—that is to say, the ancient forest with complicated rights and customs coming down from feudal times.
A noticeable difference after passing the gate was the disappearance of the hedge-rows and inclosed patches of cultivated ground that disfigure more or less the landscape on the other side of the boundary. Cultiva- tion was now altogether left behind, and there was nothing all around but undulating stretches of wild land, bare granite in parts, in other parte thickly carpeted with ling and gorse. The air was perceptibly keener, the roadside flowers and berries were larger. The few days before had been fall of showers, but the rain was over, and a hot sun blazed upon us out of a blue but cloudy sky, while the shadows cast by the clouds, floating over the uplands, added a touch of moving life and mystery to the face of the moor. More than one countryman who knew the forest well, volun- teered the remark that he bad never seen it look so well as it did that morning ; so that again we reflected that our expedition would justify itself even though we should be too late for the drift. But we were not too late. It was 10 o'clock when we reached Postbridge. Some sixty ponies had already been gathered in, but this contin- gent made but a small part of the whole number expected. We could see scores more still collecting on the hills, and though we were told that the business of " sorting of 'em out " would begin in half-an-hour, it was, in fact, nearly 1 o'clock before the herd came scampering down; for though the ponies gallop fast enough when they are once started, it is no easy matter to get them started all together in the right direction. We sauntered about the pretty little village of Postbridge for two hours and a half, inspecting the mission church, the "temperance hotel and boarding-house," the postman who comes across the moor on a bicycle to represent civilisation, and, last but not least, the quaint and beautiful old British bridge of granite slabs that spans the East Dart, and still does practical service. But we kept an eye on the hillsides, and took care to be back at the Merri- pit, the place where the ponies are gathered, before the herd was on the road. At last the ponies came down, frisking, scampering, galloping, like the rats of Hamelin,— brown ponies, grey ponies, white ponies, tiny foals standing about nine hands high, not more than a month or two old, look. ing so pretty and soft and infantine that they suggested fairy- tale creatures rather than real ones, long-maned two-year-olds, generally rather seedy and poor-looking, hardy little four- year-olds with a roguish air of knowing all about the business and being up to any amount of mischief. There must have been altogether over two hundred in the herd that galloped along the road, with barking sheep-dogs at their heels and anxious drivers bringing up the rear. The Merripit, into which they turned as if by instinct—probably by the guidance of the experienced ponies who had taken part in the drifts of other years—is a long slip of rough field shut in by stone walls on both sides and closed at one end, but having at the other end an opening like a gateway between two stone posts. Once in this little gully, it never seemed to occur to any of the ponies to come out without leave. They were in a state of continual movement, trotting up and down the passage, rubbing noses, frisking manes and tails, whinnying and neighing incessantly, and all with an air of bustling enjoyment not unlike that of the liveliest people at a London party. This went on for about an hour, when they were all turned out again upon a bit of common outside the slip. And then at last the "sorting of 'em out" began, and a very difficult and inter- minable business it seemed. The owners wandered in and out of the herd identifying their ponies, and endeavouring to drive them apart. But every pony seemed to have friends of his own who made a point of "kicking up a row" at being separated from him, and there were continual "alarms and excursions " of ponies trying to break bounds in frisky groups, while excited dogs dashed up to drive them back, and frantic owners rushed in vain to catch them. Little h 1;f fl by .PW were
got safely back into the Merripit. But before we left the ground not enough had been sorted out to make any difference in the look of the herd. We were told that this noisy business might go on for hours, and that when all the owners present had found their colts and paid their dues to the moorman, the remainder would be driven two miles farther on the moor to Dunna- bridge, there to be put in pound till their owners came for- them. And if any should be still unclaimed when the Duchy holds its annual Court in October, then they will be held forfeit and sold to the profit of the Lords of the Forest. It rarely happens, however, that more than one or two, if any, of the ponies are unclaimed at the last. On the other band, it seldom happens that more than a small proportion are claimed on the day of the drift. Of the owners present, many told us that they had only known of the drift by seeing the colts galloping on the hills, and obviously not. every man who saw his pony galloping would be able at once to leave his work and spend the greater part of the day in waiting to claim him. A pony-drift in the old days, when horns blew the summons and an officer of the Duchy presided. in state and read a many-sealed document from a traditional) stone, must have been in some respects a more impressive ceremonial than the drifts of to-day. But the ponies are probably much the same now as they were in feudal times,. and one may go far in search of a more picturesque scene- than they make, either scampering on the hillside, or galloping on the road, or entertaining one another in the Merripit.
Previous page
