Hawbuck Grange: or, the Sporting adventures of Thomas Scott, Esq. By the author of 'Handley Cross' [i.e. R. S. Surtees] ... With eight illustrations by Phiz

Preface

TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION. All we have got to say in the waj of a preface to this work is, that oui* friend Tom Scott, seeing his Adven tures advertised as the sporting adventures of " Thomas Scott, Esquire," wrote to us to say that he calls himself Mister — Mr. Thomas Scott, and that he has " Thomas Scott, Farmer, Hawbuck Grange," in honest parlia mentary-sized letters, without nourish or eye-mystifying gewgaw, on the back of his dog-cart, as anyone who likes to inspect it may see. Loxdok. October, 181". CONTENTS. CHAP. PACK I. — CUB-HUNTING 1 II. — THE GOOSE AND DUMPLING HUNT 12 III. — A CHOKER 48 IV. — A CHEERER 57 V. — LORD LIONEL LAZYTONGS 70 VI. — THE GOLDTRAr ARMS 96 VII. — THE GOLDTRAP ARMS ; OR, TROTTING HIM OUT . . . 107 VIII. — THE STOUT-AS-STEEL HOUNDS 121 IX. — MR. JENKINS JONES ........ 131 X. — HOMEWARD BOUND ........ 144 XI. — THE DOUBTFUL DAY 156 XII. — THE BAD MEET 183 XIII. — THE BLANK DAY' 204 XIV. — THE BLANK DAT (CONTINUED) 221 XV.— THE SEASON 1846-7 237 XVI. — THE MORNING MEET 244 XVII. — AND LAST LIST OF VIGNETTES.

PACE Cold-brook Gorse .......... 1 Tarquinius Muff's Mishap . . . . . . . . 11 The delighted Mr. Tramper picks up his Bare .... 16 "There's nothing can compare" . . . . . 45 An ungenial day 57 Tom Scott and the "Young-un" on the way to the Meet . . 65 Chased by a colley ......... 69 Lord Lionel in his favourite position 89 Crashing at a big fence ........ 95 "Could hunt a little, I should think" 101 A morning gallop 107 " Think of the country— Arle Bog ! " 117 "Flesh and blood can't stand this!" ...... 123 He cleared the high stone wall 130 Followed by his old enemies, the crows 132 Mr. Jenkins Jones and the Frenchman 143 "I don't keep these fellows to look at" 153 Old Ben 156 Our old friend Dr. Podgers . . . . . . . .163 •" Yain his attempt who strives to please them all" . . . 1S2 LIST OF VIGNETTES.

X PACE Lord Lionel Lazytongs lsi-> At home ! 204 The pomp and terror of cart-horse cavalry 209 " Prepare to mount ! " ■ • 213 Anthony Tugtail 221 The end of a blank day ......... 236 "Forrard in! forrard in, Tapster, old boy!" .... 257 The end of Hunting ... EXTRA ILLUSTRATIONS. Muff refuses the Brush ..... Frontispiece {Coloured I/lustration.) "Get to him, Arrogant," screamed Joe . . . To face p. 5 Beanstack landing on a Donkey . . . . ., 19 The Gentleman on the Runaway- Chestnut ... „ 53 "What Time do we Dine?" asked he ... ,, 77 The Old Woman didn't know where it was . . ,, 139 He sent him flying beyond the foremost hoof-mark ,, 175 "Let me present you with the Brush" . . . ,, 202 "My Lord Duke, my particular Friend, Mr. Tugtail" ,,226 etc. COLD-BROOK GORSE.

Chapter I. Ctb-huxtixg

■" Sport in fox hunting cannot be said to begin before October, but in the two preceding months a pack is either made or marred." — Beckford. " It teas the horn I heard," said Scott, as the old mare again cocked her ears to the wind. " It teas the horn I heard, as I came over Addington Hill, though the country looks so green and gay that I never thought of such a thing as hunting." This exclamation was elicited as, on a fine bright Sep tember day, a month in which, according to the usual course i; of English summers, harvest operations would be about commencing in many parts, Mr. Thomas Scott the hero of this work, whose " pedigree and performances " must work themselves out as we proceed, was taking a quiet ride " across country " to hear how things were going on at the kennel. The kennel is a grand summer lounge.

One is sure to fall in with somebody to talk to ; either the huntsman ingratiating himself with his entry, the whip sweeping the yards, or the seeder filling his boiler or scalding his troughs. It is privileged easiness — not idleness, but easiness — for the huntsman can " make off" a pup quite as well in the presence of a stranger as when alone, and the whip is not likely to be put off his work by answering " interrogatories," as our friend Bigbag of the Chancery bar calls his questions, nor the boiler turned from his purpose by listening to our rigmarole. Therefore a man goes to the kennel with the certainty of a smiling reception and a gossip, instead of a gruff " YVell, what do you want ? " or the "I'm particularly busy just now," of the man who, seeing one's approach from his window, mutters to himself, " Here's that confounded Tom Scott coming to bother me with his infernal nonsense.

I wish he was . Ah, Tom, my dear fellow, how are you ? " &c. Tom was riding his favourite old roan mare, that has carried him safely for ten good seasons, and who knows just as well what she goes out for as he does. She had gone stepping alone, with the snaffle bridle rein dangling carelessly on her neck, when, on reaching the summit of the aforementioned hill, she suddenly pricked her ears, giving certain indications of gaiety quite incompatible with the sober steadiness of pace she had been pursuing. Mr. Scott no more thought of hearing the horn in September than he did of picking gooseberries at Christmas, or of having a snowball romp in August. Indeed, how should he ? Take the summer or no summer of 1845 as a "precedent," as Bigba°- '■', would say, and what was he doing in September ? Shearing a bit of barley — beginning with the wheat, perhaps and the " tartars " standing so ridiculously green as to look for all the world like next year's crop.

The summers of 1815 and 184G were not in the least like the same thing, neither were the winters. Some masters hardly got any cub-hunting at all in 1845, so late and protracted was the harvest. But, when they did begin hunting, what a season they had ! Almost a surfeit — to the short stud ones, certainly a surfeit. AVe had not had such an early season as the one of 184G, since "Plenipo's" year, when we remember seeing a buck ride up Doncaster High-street in scarlet and boots on the Lcger day. The summer was a roaster ; but what a winter followed ! That, however, we will deal with as we go on. Well, old Barbara was right. At a second blast, her small pointed ears almost touched, and she stood stock still. The spot she chose was worthy the eye of a painter. It was the angle of a road, commanding as well the deep-ribbed Gothic arches of an old stone bridge, as the bend of the rapid river above, whose rocky sides were fringed with stately trees of various sorts, in all the motley beauty of autumnal leaf.

The hounds were out. Mr. Scott had not stood many seconds, ere the well known "Get away !" of the whip, on the one side, and the horn of the huntsman on the other, proclaimed that they had drawn the banks. Presently he saw a scarlet — a purple, rather — then another, and shortly after a small cavalcade, among which he distinctly recognised the flaunting of a couple of habits, emerged from the wooded waterside and made for the grass field above. The horn again twanged, and the whips cracked loud and heavily on the clear crisp atmosphere, sounding over the far country like guns. " I'm in luck," said Mr. Scott, pretending to tickle old Barbara's sides with his spurless shooting shoe-heel. The old v. mare, however, wanted no persuasion. Having satisfied herself what was going on, she forthwith gathered herself together, and began showing her big black knees below her nose, as she trotted away in the line.

She knew the way as well ns Scott did— in at the bridle-gate by Squire Ramrod's keeper's, across the lawn, through the brook, and at the back of Mr. Hacker's farm buildings, then a long trot along the banks, and another bridle-gate at the top lets her into the field where the hounds were. She had often gone that line, but never so early in the year — at least never for the purpose of hunting. We have often doubted whether masters of hounds like seeing people out cub-hunting or not, and we have about settled the question in our own mind as follows, viz. that huntsmen or masters who go out early — at day-break, for instance — are glad to see people, because they are sure that none but sportsmen will come ; whereas the midday or afternoon performance favours all the idle, yammering, bothersome, chance-medley customers of the country.

Take to-day's field as a sample. There were the Misses Ogleby, beautiful girls, and full of chatter ; and in their train the great Mr. Tarquinius Muff, dressed like a dancing master, and his brother Blatheremskite Muff, who come after the girls instead of after the hounds. Then there was little Dr. Podgers, the union doctor, on his black pony, who fell in with the hounds at Gunton Gate, and is deluding himself into the idea that he is hunting ; Drippinghead, the butcher's boy, with his greasy blue coat, and apron tucked round his waist, who is stealing his hour to the detriment of his unfortunate nag, who will have to gallop all the way home ; an unknown gentleman in gambadoes, with an umbrella under his arm ; Tom Muzroll, the horsebreaker, who is instructing a four-year-old at the expense of the pack ; and two weed riding, betrousered, be-whiskered young gentlemen from the [P. 5.

"GET TO HIM, ARROGANT," SCREAMED JOE. HA WBUCK GRANGE. 5 neighbouring town of Scrapctin, who just may be anything or anybody. But Scott approaches the field. Hark to old Muff ! Tar quinius, that's to say. " Halloo, Mr. Scott ! " exclaims he, with all the consequence of the great Mr. O'Toole, the toast master himself. " Halloo, Mr. Scott, you are getting slack in your old age. What ! only coming out now ! You're lost the most beautiful thing that ever was seen — found half-a-dozen most beautiful foxes all huddled together, and had the most charmiiuj hunt that can possibly be imagined. Hadn't we, Miss Amelia ? " asks he, appealing to the younger of the sisters. " 0 dear ! thuch a delightful hunt ! " lisps the beauty, repressing her jet black hair beneath her smart black Malay cock-feathered hat.

" My pony took thuch a jump ! " added she, raising herself up in the saddle, as if to show how it was done, sousing down an uncommonly neat embon imni figure. Muff is Scott's abomination. Had he ever thought of meeting him, he would have gone " t'other way." Muff knows he despises him, and calls him a " humbug," but cannot resist the opportunity of showing off before the ladies by pretending to be a great sportsman. They don't know that he isn't, and he thinks by carrying matters with a high hand to prevent Scott exposing him. Just as Scott had undergone the Muffs, and made his saluta tions to the " ladies," who received him in the sort of way young ladies generally receive incorrigible fox-hunting, not particularly young or overgilt bachelors — just as Scott had undergone and performed all this we say, Arrogant, who had been making the banks echo with her name, at last con descended to creep through the wood-fence, and make for the pack in the hurried way peculiar to disobedient hounds with an irate whipper-in at their sterns.

" Get to him, Arrogant ! " screamed Joe, the second whip, HA WB UCK GRANGE. galloping and cracking his whip, as though he would cut her in two. Mr. Neville, who had been sitting patiently waiting Arro gant's appearance, to say a few words to the juvenile delin quent, and parrying Blatheremskite Muff's importunities to know when he would begin "advertising," was just turning his horse to move on when Mr. Scott's appearance attracted his attention. " Ah, Tom, my boy ! " exclaimed he, his handsome face brightening up with a smile, " / was just thinking of you. I was just looking at that ugly turnstile, and thinking of the confounded cropper you got over it on the first day of the season. By Jove that's twenty years since," added he, with a shake of the head, and a significant glance of his bright eye. .

" Three and twenty, Sir," replied Tom, for so we will take the liberty of calling him too. " By Jove, you're right," rejoined Mr. Neville. " Quite right, I elo declare," with an emphasis, and a dig of his hunt ing-whip end on his thigh. " It was the fifteenth season of my hunting the country, and now I'm in my thirty-eighth — time flies." " It passes lightly over you, Sir, though," observed Tom. " Middling," replied he, cheerfully. " Middling — can't com plain. What do you think of the young hounds ? That's a nice lot," (-aid he, pointing to some yellow pied ones who came frisking forward as he called them by name ; " Marksman ! Merlin ! Messmate ! Midnight ! Myrtle ! by old Marmion out of Marcia," added he, his eyes sparkling as he looked at them. " Marmion was by Sir Bellingham Graham's Marmion, you know ; and Marcia was by Lord Lonsdale's Monarch out of Modish ; " and so he went on through his entry.

Mr. Neville is one of the last of the old school of sportsmen ; of men who made fox-hunting their study, instead of mixing it up with half-a-dozen other pursuits. Everything connected with his establishment is ordered with the regularity of the army, and conducted with the precision of a regiment. Cub hunting : — Undress ; men in hats, last year's coats, boots, breeches, and whips, riding, exercising horses ; master in a sort of costume combiniug the varieties of the shooter, the hare-hunter, and the farmer — white hat, green cut-away _ striped cravat and waistcoat, drab breeches, with cloth caps to his boots, and a pair of heavy-looking spurs ; horse, a hack ; saddle and bridle, last year's ones, whip ditto ; and there's the cub-hunting turn-out. Year after year has seen him in the same ; and so rapidly have, they passed, that the first time appears but as last year.

Xor has the hand of time marked its lapse more strongly on his person. His hair may be a shade greyer, whiter rather ; but his figure retains its pristine lightness and neatness, he sits well into his saddle, and looks like what he is — a gentleman and a sportsman. How unlike the Muffs with their ringlets, and chains, and brooches, aud gew-gaws — their registered paletots,, satin cravats, white leather trousers, and varnished, heel-spurred boots ! They look more like Hyde Park than the hunting-field. " This is our first day," observed the squire. " Indeed, I didn't think of going ; but it was so fine, aud the Misses •Ogleby persuaded me." The fact was, the Muffs had bothered him so that he went to the kennel to get rid of them ; and finding they followed, he took out the hounds. " AVe killed a cub in Clifton Dean," continued he; "and found a litter in the banks, and now we are going to Cold-brook Gorse : we've plenfg qf foxes, aud there is a litter there wants disturbing."

So saying he gave the signal to old Ben, the huntsman, who forthwith tickled his nag iu the flank, and, preceded by Tom, the whip, took a line of bridle gates for Cold-brook Gorse. The country was not quite clear of corn ; indeed, they came upon a field of oats they were shearing, across a corner of which the route lay. " Come on, Sir— come on, Sir ! " cried the farmer, from amidst his workpeople, seeing the squire was turning away to avoid the damage of the hounds through the standing corn. "You're quite welcome, Sir!— you're quite welcome, Sir!" repeated he, as he held open the gate into the field. This put the horsemen into single file ; and as they jogged on, Tom thus began to ruminate : — ■ " Cub-hunting is only poor sport to any but the immediately interested," said he. " It resembles the tuning of the instru ments for a grand let off of a concert, all of which is very right, necessary, and proper, but a sort of thing that the public care very little to hear.

To the master, however, it is everything. It is the rehearsal of the performance of the season, and upon which much of his credit and comfort depends. Still it has more the air of the foreign chasse about it than the go along clear-the-stage devil-take-the-hindmost-sort of affair of an English fox-hunt. It is like a play, with the principal character omitted — a kill without a run, or the intention of a run." Despite the sneer and smile of contempt it may raise on the features of our friends, we will candidly state that we agree with Mr. Scott and are not eub-hunters. We have no taste for killing foxes "while they suck," as the old huntsman said to the young one, who was boasting of the number of noses he reckoned on the kennel door. Cub-hunting is like the noise and prattle of children, all very delightful to the parents, but very uninteresting to strangers.

If you get up in the middle of the night to start with the light, though you avoid the Muffs, you have not the excitement that attends the same performance iu the.' spring of the year, when you go to drag up to a wild flying fox. In the latter case, you have the hopes of a gallant run over a boundless extent of country, while, with the cubs, it is all up and down, backwards and forwards, heading and tally-hoing back. Hunting is hunting, no doubt, and the cry of hounds is very delightful — far better than Jullien's or any other body's band — and the cry of hounds is most beautiful in a wood, but a great part of the joyful excitement is lost by the knowledge that the fading dying notes outside, so quickly following "Tally-ho ! a-w-a-y ! " will not be heard. " Tally-ho ! back ! Tally-ho ! back !

" is only a poor cry. In short, cub-hunting ir_ neither one thing nor another, to any one save the master and his men. There is neither the joyous wide-awake uncertainty and excitement peculiar to the real thing, nor the quiet, staid, take-it-easy, game-at-chess-sort of labyrinth unwinding of hare-hunting. Cub-hunting is good for the ladies and men like the Muffs, who come out for appetites and to kill time. They can take up positions on hills and view commanding spots, join the chiding of hounds with the charms of the landscape, and trot away when they have had enough of either ; but the man who wants his gallop, and to see hounds work, had better take a turn with the harriers. It is bad enough laming a horse with harriers at the beginning of the season, but infinitely worse stubbing or staking one in cub-hunting.

Moreover, the ground is generally so desperately hard in autumn, that it shakes and shatters the often not over sound legs and feet of the old hunter. Many a horse is perfectly sound in November, that makes a very pottering shamble of it over the hard ground in September or October. But we are only stating what everybody knows. The hounds soon arrived at Cold-brook Gorse ; and a fine, large, close, healthy cover it was. Bush swelled above bush, like undulations of the sea, or like cauliflower heads ; and the rising ground of the north side commanded a view of the whole. A belt of now bright yellow horse-chestnuts, broken, weather-beaten, and bent, formed a sort of shelter on that side. There were eight or ten acres of it altogether, and we hold that one cover of eight or ten acres is worth eight or ten covers of two or three acres.

The low end we should add was bounded by Cold--brook, a very uninviting, sedgy, rotten-banked looking burn, of great reputed coldness of water, as frequently tested in the course of each season. The hounds were soon in the cover. The compact gorse began to shake, and in. less than two minutes the place was alive with their melody. They had found no end of foxes ! The scared blackbirds flew in all directions ; rabbits popped in and out ; and every now and then a great golden-throppled cock-pheasant or dusky coloured hen rose with boisterous clamour, as if furiously in dignant at such unwonted intrusion. Up and down, and round about,, the whips rode, hooping, and hallooing, and cracking their whips ; but it is weary work hallooing to hounds with a good scent in a close gorse. At last a cub slipped out at the low corner with Marksman, Merlin, and Midnight after him.

" Oh ! pray turn those hounds, Mr. Muff ! " hallooed Mr. Neville from the junction of the rides in the centre of the gorse. Tarquinius Muff, when thus appealed to, was in the middle of a long dissertation on shirt frills, on which he particularly prides himself, being generally set off in front like a pouter pigeon ; and thinking the appeal to him for assistance com plimentary to his sporting skill, he immediately gathered his horse together, and with a touch of his large brass heel spurs, proceeded to show off before the ladies by giving chase to the fugitives. The horse seemed to like the fun, and went off so resolutely HA WB UCK GRANGE. that Muff never saw the brook until just in time to pull the horse in, which he did most skilfully, blobbing right over head in the middle of it ! We are ashamed to say the ladies laughed, as their dripping friend came spluttering ashore. With that sorry exploit we will conclude Tom Scott's first dav of a bad season. TARQUINIUS MUFF'S MISHAP.

Chapter II. The Goosk And Dumpling Hunt

" Harriers, to be good, like all other hounds, must be kept to their own game ; if you run fox with them, you spoil them ; hounds cannot be perfect unless used to one seent and one style of hunting. Harriers run fox in so different a style from hare, that it is of great disservice to them when they return to hare again ; it makes them wild, and teaches them to skirt. The high seent which a fox leaves, the straightness of his running, the eagerness of the pursuit, and the noise that generally accom panies it, all contribute to spoil harriers." — Beckford. Mr. Scott was debating whether to go to Holbrook Fair, or take his dogs and gun and stroll up to the ten-acre piece they were draining, when the short harsh bark of Snap at the door, and the clink of the German catch at the side gate, announced somebody coming.

It was Joe Stumps, Mr. Trumper of 'Jolly-rise's man, whose trot and bustling air, with the portentous display of a ponderous hunting-whip, bespoke no common errand. Tom went to the porch to meet him — "Meazster's compliments and hooundes be out," said Joe, with which laconic speech he was turning his horse's head to go away without deigning to say where " hooundes " were. " Where are Iheg, Joe ? " hallooed Scott. " Stockenchurch Hill, lo be sure .' " replied Joe, as if it was not possible for them to be anywhere else. The man of few words then trotted away, leaving Tom in contemplation of his enormous disk and the hind quarters of his short-legged, well actioned bay dray-horse-looking nag, whose sides were covered with the flowing laps of Joe's green frock coat. Mr. Trumper took Stumps on account of his silent qualities (a great recommendation for harriers), a silence nearly reduced to muteness, by Joe's leaving out as many words in the few sentences he does utter as he possibly can, according to the approved fashion of his native wolds.

In other respects he is very like the hare-hunter — heavy, patient, 'cute, and cunning, a good rider for a heavy man, careful of his horse and chary of damage. He is perfectly satisfied that there is not a more important personage under the sun than his master, and that he himself is the next greatest man going. Mr. Scott, availing himself of Mr. Trumper's politeness, enables us to introduce the hunt to our readers. There is one advantage of harriers — you always know where to find them, and can cut in for a game at romps, just as a dowager does for a hand at whist. Sleekpow the groom had anticipated Scott's movements ; for when he went to the stable, he found the " AA'ilkinson and Kid" astride of the hay crib, and the well-polished bridle hanging on the hook between the stalls. " Just put the saddle on old Barbara," said Tom, in the negligee sort of way that may mean anything — anything, at least, except fox-hunting.

" Hare-hunting certainly ought not to be made a business of. It should just be taken when one's in the humour." Never theless, we don't subscribe to Beckford's doctrine — that a ride to the sixth milestone and back would be as good as hare hunting ; for we think, taken quietly, that hare-hunting is the next best sport to fox-hunting. But to make hare-hunting enjoyable a man should live in a good country for it — in a country where he can just turn out within a mile or two of home, and not have to trash away to a distant one. The hounds, too, should be barriers, aud not dwarf foxhounds, that burst a hare in ten minutes where there is anything like a scent. A vicious desire for speed, and of making one thing serve two purposes, has gone-far to annihilate the old, respectable, slow, and steady " well-hunted good dogs !

"—harrier packs of former days. Instead of the "squire," or a few substantial farmers, keeping their ten or twelve couple of harriers, we have a sort of bastard fox-hunt clubs that run amuck at everything, except the game licence. The two sports— hare-hunting and fox-hunting— do not differ more in their nature than the relative expenses of each differ. Hare-hunting requires neither state, machinery, nor pre paration ; nobody expects to see anything but a lot of merry looking little animals wriggling and jumping about, attended, perhaps, by a man on foot with the couples, or an elderly servant on an elderly horse ; but an establishment, calling itself a fox-hunt, is a very different thing, and raises very different expectations. There must be a couple of men at the least, with three or four horses that can both gallop and jump.

These two men, and these three or four horses, trifling as they appear upon paper, make a considerable item at the end of the year ; and if the country is at all hollow, which most countries are fast becoming, from the quantity of draining going on, the expense of " stopping " alone, comes to as much as the whole annual expense of the merry harriers. Then the promoters have re course to all sorts of screwing and scraping, applying to members of Parliament, and people who don't hunt, and go running open-mouthed at every chance person that comes out, to support the rickety concern, which is generally a disgrace to fox-hunting, and a nuisance to the country they haunt, not hunt. Fox-hunting should be done handsomely ! There is some thing about the noble animal that forbids our treating him slightingly.

He should be hunted like a gentleman. What chance have a lot of trencher-fed, milk-fattened, street-scourin<> beggars with a good high-couraged, clean-feeding, well-con ditioned flyer ? None whatever ! The further they go the THE DELIGHTED ME. TlUTMl'EE PICKS UP HIS HARE. HAWBUCK GRANGE. 17 further they are left behind, till the lagging sportsmen have the satisfaction of seeing them struggling in fits, or sinking exhausted in the furrows. Then the talk and noise they make on a kill shows how unusual a thing it is with them. Nothing can be more pitiable than the half-rigged turn out of an ill supported pretension to a fox-hunt. The boosey-looking hunts man (generally the saddler or publican) — the wretched broken kneed, over-worked leg-weary job horse — the jaded half jockey, half huntsman-looking caps — the seedy, misfitting, Holywell street-looking coats — the unclean boots and filthy breeches — with the lamentable apologies for saddles and bridles.

AVe never see a Tom-and- Jerry-looking "scarlet" without thinking how much more respectable the wearer would look in black. We never see a country-scouring, fence-flattening field without thinking how much better they would be with a pack of harriers. But to the hunt. Mr. Scott reached Stockenchurch Hill just in time to see the delighted Mr. Trumper pick up his hare before the baying pack on the moor-edge side of the country. Puss had made a wide circuit of the whole, and was run into a small enclosure, whose crop of oats still stood in stook upon the ground. It was a fine view. Three parts of the hill are encircled with fertile pastures and productive corn fields, while the fourth stretches away, far as the eye can reach, in undulating and occasionally broken moorland ground. The fertile patches irrigating the whole were dotted over with little black-faced sheep, while from the then browning heather the wild and sacred muir-fowl rose in noisy clamour, winging their ways to quieter regions in the distance.