I offer you this story with no commentary. Theses are the words as they appeared in the Cambrian Newspaper published in Swansea on 28 January 1843. I have tidied up the paragraphing and the punctuation, that’s all. No other comments are required.
Three bag foxes were brought by the coach from London to this town on Tuesday night last and, as it was thought, safely secured in one of the stables of the Castle Hotel, to be turned out in the course of the week before the foxhounds.
One of the foxes, however, escaped during the night through the window and got clear out of the stable-yard. When Reynard was missed in the morning, the huntsman took two of the staunchest hounds to the fields near the turnpike gate, to find him. They struck on his trail near Fynonne, and came on to his resting place in a hedge near Heathfield. Away he started, with the two hounds in pursuit, and ran up through the plantation over Townhill into the open country, the two dogs well up to him, to Cockett, Hill-House Wood, and down to Sketty.
He then kept running round the hills for some time, but being hotly pressed, he went off to Mynyddbach y Glo, at the furthest end of which he was run into. The huntsman, who was on foot, and within two hundred yards, failed to come up in time to save the poor fox for another day’s sport. The ground ran over was about twelve miles, and the two hounds only (dog and bitch) ran him during the chase without a check.
Yesterday morning, another of the foxes was turned out on the common near Fairwood Lodge, before a large field of sportsmen, well mounted. They gave him half an hour’s start. He went off in good style, and was killed in Clyne wood.
The third fox was taken out to the common, but when they opened the sack, lo and behold, Reynard, who had nearly bitten off his own tail, was found smothered in the impervious flour sack.