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In my lat, I said I would give you an account of a
fox-hunt, but ended my letter with a mule-race. But I
will now redeem my pledge. Early in the morning, the
day but one after the party of young men called at the
lodge, we all were up with the ringing of the overseer's
bell. By six o'clock we were assembled in the hall,
where a lunch and a cup of hot coffee awaited us. By
half-past six, ten of us in the saddle, including three
ladies, were cantering at a brisk rate down the avenue,
in the direction of a gate which led into the wide cotton
fields, spread a league away beyond the villa. Not less
than seven Africans, mounted, or on foot, brought up
the rear of our cavalcade.

Reaching the gate, which one of the impatient young
gentlemen opened almost at a speed, managing his horse
adroitly the while, we dashed through, and emerged in
the old hickory grove, the smooth grass of which glittered
with dew-drops. The woods echoed with the tramp of
our horses, and the laugh and merry talk of the young
men and ourselves, not excluding the white-locked
colonel, whose cheerful voice rose above all others.
After a spirited gallop of half a mile through the grove,
we emerged upon an open field, where once corn had
grown, but which, having been harvested, left a desolate
waste. In the midst of this field was a ravine, thickly

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grown with bushes, which was known to be a favorite
haunt of Reynard. The negroes, who had followed us
with the dogs, were now called up, and ordered to approach
the thicket, and stir up such gentlemen of the
red brush as might sojourn therein. The order to advance
was obeyed by the negroes and dogs with emulous
alacrity. It was, for the first hundred yards, a laughable
race between quadruped and biped; but the last were
distanced, and the dogs reaching the covert, dashed into
it, a dozen in all, in perfect silence of tongue. But the
negroes kept up an incessant yell as they neared the
bushes, which they began to beat, uttering loud shouts
and challenges to master Reynard to “come out and
show hisself like a gemman, and not to be 'fraid of white
folks.”

Reynard, however, did not feel inclined to respond to
their polite and repeated invitations. The dogs, in the
meantime, were busy in the ravine. We could hear
them crashing about over the dry sticks, but not a single
bark from them.

“They know the fox is there, or they would be noisy,”
said the colonel, as he watched the copse.

“Now, Miss Kate, we shall soon have sport. Hark!
hear that! Isn't it music?”

And music it was, such as I had never before listened
to. The whole pack, taking the deep short bark of one
of them as their cue, suddenly opened in full voice from
the ravine. A dozen sonorous canine voices were baying
at once. The noise was singularly exciting. It
made my pulse bound, and my heart tremble with expectation.
If you should hear the burst of the full
tones of a pack of hounds, you would never forget the

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wild and startling music. My spirited horse caught the
excitement, pricked up his slender ears, and stamped
impatiently with his forefoot, yet obediently suffered
himself to be restrained by the light pressure of a finger
upon his rein. The barking of the dogs set the whole
party on the qui vive! Every eye was strained to watch
for the appearance of Reynard, when he should emerge
from the ravine. Some of the young gentlemen galloped
“like mad” to the south of it, while others swept round
to the north of it. I kept at the colonel's side, who
remained in “our first position,” as Monsieur Cheffier,
the dancing master, says. “Look! There he goes!”
shouted half a score of eager voices, and the fox appeared
in full view to all eyes, scampering out of the thicket,
and taking a direction straight for us ladies!

“Your whips—lash him as he passes!” shouted the
colonel to us. “We must turn him back, and not let
him get into the wood, or the sport is up. The fox came
gallantly on, as if either he did not care for us, or did
not see us. The colonel kept urging “us to whip at
him,” and turn him. We three ladies, therefore, placed
our horses right across the only way by which he could
reach the wood, and prepared to do battle bravely, we
being the only persons on that side of the field; the rest
of the party having spread themselves over the field, expecting
the fox to emerge from cover in a different
direction from that which he took.

I must confess I felt some trepidation as I saw the
fox, which was a large one, making as straight as an
arrow for my horse. My riding whip was not very long,
but I prepared to use it as valiantly as I could.

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“He makes for you, Miss Kate! Don't let him pass
under your horse,” shouted the colonel.

In three leaps the fox was within six feet of my steed,
and was passing, or rather aiming to pass under him,
when I hit him smartly with my ivory-handled whip.
The blow had the effect of checking his leap, so far as to
give it another direction, and that was over the horse.
A snarl—a showing of teeth—a dreadful horrid scramble
with sharp claws, right up the flank of my horse,
and over my saddle—a sweep of his brush in my face—
and he was off upon the ground on the other side, with
my green veil entangled about his head and forefeet!

“We have him! You've fought bravely, Miss Kate.
He's meshed!” shouted several of the gentlemen. “Was
any thing ever done handsomer? Never saw a bolder
leap than that in a fox!”

The fox was indeed fairly meshed! the veil blinding
and fettering him so hard that he did nothing but roll
over and over, spit and snarl, like twenty cats tied up
in a sack! The colonel leaped from his horse and approached
him with his whip. The other gentlemen did
the same as fast as they reached the spot. The negroes
yelled and laughed with obstreperous joy at the pickle
“Massa Fox was in.” But Reynard was not yet captured.
He now began to tumble and struggle for life so
fearfully, that he released one foot from my poor, torn
veil, and, thus relieved in part, he managed, by the most
extraordinary somersets, to travel at a pace difficult for
the gentlemen to keep up with, laughing, too, as they all
were, at his perplexity, which was comical enough. The
progress of the fox was a one-legged lope, a roll, and a
somerset, alternately, varied by a yelp at every new

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change in his extraordinary locomotion. He got a dozen
blows with the whips, but still marvelously kept ahead
of his pursuers, till at length he tumbled blindly into a
deep hole, out of which a tree had been taken, when the
dogs plunged in upon him and strangled him. The
brush was brought to me as a trophy, the gentlemen declaring
that I was his captor. I, however, referred that
honor to my poor veil, which was torn and soiled most
pitiful to behold. The colonel has, since that adventure,
dubbed me as “The lady of the veiled fox.”

p613-071

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