THE FOX HUNT.
I had often read of the fox chase, and its soul-enlivening
pleasures, before I was permitted to enjoy them;
and had my reading upon this head been confined to
Somerville's Chase alone, I should have been inspired
with an irrepressible curiosity to experience its thrilling
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enjoyments. Listen how he sanctifies the sport, and
mingles with it all that is gay and spirit-stirring:—
“But yet, alas! the wily fox remained
A subtle, pilfering foe, prowling around
In midnight shades, and wakeful to destroy.
In the full fold, the poor defenceless lamb,
Seized by his guileful arts, with sweet warm blood
Supplies a rich repast. The mournful ewe,
Her dearest treasure lost through the dim night,
Wanders perplex'd and darkling bleats in vain,
While in th' adjacent bush, poor Philomel
(Herself a parent once, till wanton churls
Despoil'd her nest,) joins in her loud laments,
With sweeter notes, and more melodious woe.
For these nocturnal thieves, huntsmen prepare
This sharpest vengeance. Oh! how glorious 'tis
To right th' oppress'd, and bring the felon vile
To just disgrace! Ere yet the morning peep
Or stars retire from the first blush of day,
With thy far echoing voice alarm thy pack
And rouse thy bold compeers. Then to the copse
Thick with entangling grass, and prickly furze,
With silence lead thy many colour'd hounds,
In all their beauty's pride. See! how they range
Dispersed, how busily this way, and that,
They cross, examining with curious nose
Each likely haunt. Hark! on the drag I hear
Their doubtful notes, preluding to the cry
More nobly full, and swell'd with every mouth.
Heavens! what melodious strains! how beat our hearts
Big with tumultuous joy! the loaded gales
Breathe harmony; and as the tempest drives
From wood to wood, through every dark recess,
The forest thunders and the mountain's shake
he breaks away.
Shrill horns proclaim his flight. Each straggling hound
Strains o'er the lawn to reach the distant pack:
'Tis triumph all and joy. Now, my brave youths,
Now give a loose to the clean generous steed;
Flourish the whip nor spare the galling spur;
But in the madness of delight, forget
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Your fears. For o'er the rocky hills we range
And dangerous our course; but in the brave
True courage never fails. In vain the stream
In foaming eddies whirls; in vain the ditch
Wide-gaping threatens death. The craggy steep
Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care
And clings to every twig, gives us no pain;
But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold
To pounce his prey.”
Filled with such ideas as these lines are calculated to
inspire, (and long as is the extract, it does but half justice
to the poet, whatever we may think of his subject,)
it was with kindling enthusiasm that I met the question
from my old friend Dause, on a clear, chill, December's
evening, “Will you not join us in a fox chase tomorrow?”
“That I will,” replied I, “with pleasure.”
“Have you ever been in a fox chase?” continued he.
“Never,” said I; “but I have no doubt, but that I should
be delighted with it.”
“Oh, it's the finest sport in the world, with a full pack!
and we shall have a splendid pack to-morrow. Major
Crocket is coming in with his hounds, and George Hurt
is to bring in his, and all unite with Capt. Reid's here;
and we shall have a pack of twenty-two or three. We
shall have glorious sport—you must not fail to join us.”
“No fear of that,” said I, “I shall be among the first
on the ground.”
I went home, (no matter where,) and hastened to bed
at an earlier hour than usual, that I might be the surer
to rise by times in the morning.—But, so bright was the
anticipation of the coming joys, that it was long before I
could compose myself to sleep; and when I did, it was
rather the semi-sleep of vigilance, than the sound sleep
of rest. It was sufficient, however, to beguile the intervening
hours; and they seemed but few, before the long
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drawn notes of Crocket's horn roused me from my
slumbers. I sprang from my bed—and without waiting
to throw over me a stitch of clothing, (though the weather
was extremely cold,) I seized my little ram's-horn,
hoisted a window, and blew a blast, which, if it had had
fair play, would have waked every hound within five
miles round. But it had not fair play; for, partly from
hurry, and partly from my indisposition to thrust my exposed
body into the open air, I just gave the mouth of
my horn projection enough to throw half its voice out
and half inside the house. The first half did no great
things; but the last half, did wonders. Bursting upon
the unsuspecting family, at that still hour, it created a
sensation which no one can understand, who was not at
the falling of the walls of Jericho. The house trembled,
the glasses rattled, the women started, and the children
screamed.
“What's that!” exclaimed the mistress of the household.
“Mr. Hall's going a fox hunting,” said her husband.
“Well, I wish he'd blow for his foxes out of the house.
I can't see what any man of common sense wants to be
gitting up this time of night for, in such cold weather,
just to hear dogs run a fox.”
It struck me, there was a good deal of sound philosophy
in the good lady's remarks; but she was a woman,
and she had never read Somerville.
I dressed myself, walked out, waked my servant and
ordered my horse. Truly it was a lovely morning, for
the season of the year: December never ushered in one
more lovely—Like a sheet of snow, the frost overspread
the earth! Not a breath was stirring—The coming
huntsman had sounded his horn upon a distant hill, and
its unrepeated notes had died away. A cloudless sky
o'erspread the earth—as rich in beauty as ever won the
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gaze of mortal. Upon the western verge, in all his
martial glory, stood Orion; his burnished epaulets and
spangled sash, with unusual brightness glowing. Capella
glittered brighter still, and Castor, Procyion and
Arcturus, rivalled her in lustre. But Sirius reigned the
monarch of the starry host; and countless myriads of
lesser lights, glowed, and sparkled, and twinkled, o'er
all the wide spread canopy. “Oh!” exclaimed I, “how
rich, how beautiful, how glorious the firmament!” See!
yonder is Bootes in the chase! His Chara and Asterion
drive on the lusty Bear! who shall condemn the chase,
when its pleasures are written in characters of deathless
fire, upon the face of the heavens!
I was lost in admiration of the splendors which surrounded
me, when another sound of the Major's horn
informed me that he was upon the confines of the village;
and, at the same instant, my servant announced that my
horse was in waiting. As I approached him for the
purpose of mounting, “Master,” said my servant, “you
gwine fox huntin' on da hose?”
“Yes,” said I promptly: “why?”
“Eh-eh,” rejoined he, with a titter.
“Why, what is it amuses you so, Isaac?”
“Bess de Lord! Smooth-tooth wa'nt never made for
fox huntin', I know. He too lazy, bess de Lord. Time
de houn' give one squall, dey done leff Smooth-tooth
clean outen sight an' hearin'.”
“O, I presume not, Isaac,” said I. “I shall not attempt
to keep up with the hounds: I shall just keep in
full hearing of them by cutting across and heading them.”
“Eh-eh! Fox run twice round a field 'fore Smooth-tooth
cut across him, I know: bess de Lord.”
One would suppose that Isaac's hint would have reminded
me to take a whip or spur, or both, along with
me; but it did not.
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Crocket's horn was answered by several from the
neighboring hills, and before I proceeded the eighth of a
mile towards the point of rendezvous, a loud chorus of
horns and beagles announced that all were assembled but
myself. I raised my ram's horn and blew a more propitious
blast than my first, in token that I was on my
way. My horse, as the reader has perhaps conjectured,
from the colloquy just repeated, was not Somerville's
“clean, generous steed;” but he was a horse of uncommon
gravity and circumspection. I gave him the name
of Smooth-tooth, simply because when he became my
property, the faces of his teeth were, generally, worn
smooth. Though he was kind and accommodating
enough, in all matters of business, he had an utter aversion
to every thing like levity, and to all rambles which
seemed to have no definite object. Age had done much,
doubtless, in sobering Smooth-tooth's temper; but infirmity
had conspired with age to produce this effect; for
he was most lamentably deaf: so that the common remark
of our State in relation to aged horses, “he has
heard it thunder too often,” would by no means have
applied to Smoth-tooth; for to my certain knowledge he
had not heard it thunder for five years at least.
I bent my course towards the village, and as Smooth-tooth
was wholly unconscious of the uproar there, he set
out as usual upon a gentle pace. By a diligent application
of heels, I signified to him that I looked for something
more sprightly upon this occasion. Smooth-tooth
took the hint, and mended his pace; but I informed him
as before, that this would not do.—He then paced brisker
still; but this did not abate my rigor.—He then paced
to the top of his speed, and finding me still unsatisfied,
he struck, most reluctantly, into a lazy canter. This
reduced my beats from triple to common time, but did
not bring them to a full pause. At the end of five long,
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awkward, reluctant lopes, Smooth-tooth stopped with a
demi-semiquaver rest, and wheeled at the same instant
to go home, in utter disgust; for he seemed now to have
satisfied himself that I had taken leave of my senses,
and that it was high time for him to “throw himself
upon his reserved rights.” As I always entertained a
high respect for these, I accommodated myself to his
views, after having discovered that he was not to be
forced out of them. There was, however, some policy
mixed with my clemency; for slowly as Smooth-tooth
moved in his master effort, he waked up an artificial
breeze, which seemed to search the very cavities of my
bones; and which already produced some unacknowledged
yearnings for the comfortable bed which I had deserted.
When I reached the village, I found all the huntsmen
collected; and after a little delay, occasioned by a dog
fight—or rather a fight of one dog against all the rest,
(for hounds, like the wiley politicians of the present day,
all jump on the undermost,) we moved forward to the
hunting ground. This lay three miles from the village,
and could any thing have enlivened the jaunt, my company
would; for it consisted of a merry group of every
variety of disposition. But a freezing man cannot be
lively; and consequently I was not.
Our pack consisted of eighteen or twenty hounds; but
there were but two of them, which could be relied on
with confidence—George Hurt's Louder, and Captain
Reid's Rome. With these I was well acqainted, having
often been with them in the deer and rabbit hunt. Could
I say, like Horace, “exigi monumentum œre perennius,”
they should be immortalized; for better dogs never mingled
in the chase. They knew perfectly well, from the
hour of the hunt, and the equipments of the huntsmen,
the game of which they were in pursuit; and no other
would they notice.
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Capt. Reid's Music was said to be remarkable “cold;”
but her veracity was questionable. Her ambition never
aimed at any thing higher than finding the track, for
fleeter footed hounds. When the game was up, she
soon “knocked out” and went in quest of cold trails;
why, or wherefore, no one could tell—unless it was that
she had the common fault of those who possess peculiar
accomplishments. Her habit was, to get a trail, and if
she could not lead off on it readily, to “open” by the half
hour upon so much of it as lay within the compass of
three rods square.
We had proceeded about two miles on our way, when,
in a washed field to our right, Music opened.
“What dog's that?” inquired several voices at once.
“It's Music,” said the Captain; “she's the coldest
hound of the pack.”
The majority were for moving on, regardless of Music's
cry; but, in courtesy to the Captain, who had more
confidence in her than the rest of us, we agreed “to wait
on her a little.”
“Speak to him, Music!” said the Captain.
Music opened again.
“Try for him, Music.”
Music opened again.
“Let's go to her,” said the Captain; “there's not much
confidence to be placed in her, but it may be a fox.”
We went, and as soon as Music saw us she seemed
highly delighted at our attentions—ran into a little gully—
put her nose to the ground—seemed in doubt—
rooted in the dirt a little way—then raised her head—
paused a second, and trotted round a circle of ten yards
circumference, opening all the time as if the whole horizon
was lined with foxes—that is, as though there were
an abundance of foxes about, but they were a long
way off.
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“Try for him again, Music!” said the Captain. Music
fidgetted about with great animation, shook her tail
spiritedly, and after taking a sweep of sixty feet, returned
to the gully, and did as before.
“I'm afraid it's too cold,” said the Captain.
“Oh, no,” said Colonel Peyton, waggishly; let's wait
on her. 'Bundance o' foxes in that gully—only give
Music time, and she'll fill it full o' dead foxes before
sunrise.”
“I reckon,” said Stewart Andrews, in a long drawling
dry way, “that Music has got upon a `Miss Mary
Ann' that went along there last winter.”
The reader must here be informed, that when I went
into the neighborhood of which I have been speaking,
the common appellation of the rabbit, was “Molly Cotton-tail,”
as it still is, elsewhere in Georgia; but, as I
thought this inelegant, if not vulgar, I prevailed upon
my fellow-huntsmen to exchange it for a more classic
term, which would preserve the sense, without offending
the most squeamish delicacy. At my suggestion, therefore,
it was called the “Mary Cotton-tail,” and afterwards,
by further refinement, “Miss Mary Ann Cotton-tail.”—
But to return:
We were just about taking leave of Music, when a
young, awkward, overgrown hound, trotted up to her
assistance. He arrived just as Music had paid a third
visit to the track in the gully, and as soon as she left it,
he put his nose to the spot, snuffed a little, and then
raised one foot, and with it kindly scratched out the
tantalizing track. While I sat “waiting upon” Miss
Music, my freezing limbs forced me into this train of
reflection: “How could I have so far taken leave of my
senses, as to promise myself any pleasure from such a
jaunt as this!—It is extremely doubtful whether we shall
start a fox; and if we should, what are the cries of
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twenty hounds, to three or four hours exposure, without even
an overcoat, upon such a piercing morning as this!
And wherein will the cry differ from that of the same
pack, in pursuit of a rabbit, on a fine sunny day. And
why seek amusement in the tortures of a poor unoffending
animal! In this country, at least, I never heard of
a single loss from a farm-yard which could be fairly
traced to the fox—not even of a goose, much less of a
lamb. My rest broken, my health jeoparded, and my
immediate sufferings excrutiating! Folly—madness in
the extreme!”
We had not proceeded far before groups of from two
to five hounds could be heard in all directions in pursuit
of Miss Mary Anns. Hitherto my hopes had been
buoyed up, by the number of hounds; for I naturally
concluded, that our chances of success increased with
their number: but now, I plainly saw that our only hope
was upon Rome and Louder, for all the others had resigned
themselves unreservedly to Mary Anns.
We were moving on upon a skirt of woods, entirely
surrounded by fields, when from the opposite side of it,
the well known voice of the deep-mouthed Louder fell
joyously upon our ears. “Hark!” cried all of us at
once. In an instant, the clear, shrill note of Rome confirmed
his companion's report; for they always hunted
together, and each obeyed the call of the other in a moment.
Then both together—then alternately in quick
succession, they repeated their assurances. In an instant
all the various groups of hounds of which we were
speaking, were hushed; and from every direction they
could be seen dashing to the two favorites. Such is the
force of truth even with dumb brutes.
A loud scream of exultation and encouragement broke
involuntarily from all the huntsmen, (not excepting myself,)
and each dashed for the hounds as the impulse of
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the moment urged him on. Some skirted the forest in
one way, some in another; but Crocket plunged directly
through it at half speed—how, heaven only knows;
but I hardly missed him before I heard him encouraging
the dogs in his presence. I took a moment for reflection,
which, of course, I was permitted to enjoy alone.
My conclusion was, that if Crocket could gallop through
the wood with safety, I certainly could pace through it
without injury, and as this was much the nearest way, I
determined to attempt it. My resolves were no sooner
formed than they were communicated to Smooth-tooth,
who entered the wood with his accustomed prudence and
circumspection.
The first streaks of day had now appeared; but they
were entirely useless to me after I entered the forest. I
had proceeded about sixty paces, when a limb, of some
kind, (I know not what,) fetched me a whipe across the
face, that set the principles of philosophy at defiance;
for it was certainly four times as severe, as Smooth-tooth's
momentum would have justified, upon any known
law of projectiles—At least it seemed so to me; for it
came like a flash of lightening over the icing of my face;
giving me, for the first time in my life, a sensible idea
of the Georgia expression, “feeling streaked;” for my
face actually felt as though it was covered with streaks
of fire and streaks of ice.
Twenty paces more, had like to have wound up my
hunt with the felon's death: for, as I was moving on
with all due caution and sobriety, a little, supple, infrangible
grape vine, attached to two slim elastic sapplings,
between which I passed, threw one of its festoons gracefully
around my neck, and politely informed me that I
must stop, or be hung. I communicated this intelligence
to Smooth-tooth without loss of time, and as stopping was
his delight, he, of course, obeyed the mandate as quick
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as he could. Prompt as was his obedience, it was too
slow for the petulent little grape vine; for, though it consented
to spare my life, it dismissed me with most ungentlemanly
rudeness. It just took my profile from my
neck upwards, passing over all the turns and angles of
my face, with a rigor that Socrates himself could not
have borne with patience. It returned from its delineation,
like a bow-string, sending my hat aloft, I know not
how high; but judging from the time which intervened
between its departure from my head, and its report on
the ground, I should say nearly to the height of the wedded
sapplings. Never but once before, had I such a
lively sense of the value of a hat in cold weather, as I
now had. The chills ran from my head to my toes, like
ague fits; and these I had to bear for the space of a
minute or two, before I could feel out my hat. At last
I recovered it and remounted. “How was it possible,”
exclaimed I, “for Crocket to get through this wood at
half speed! It must be true, that `fortuna favet fortibus,'
and I ll e'en risk a little upon the strength of the maxim.
Switches were convenient, as my misfortunes have proved;
and having supplied myself with one, I drew my
hat over my eyes, brought my head down close to
Smooth-tooth's withers, hugged him tight with my legs,
and put whip to him manfully. Smooth-tooth now felt
his dignity assailed, and he put off at a respectable fox
hunting gait. This soon brought me to the edge of the
old field, with no other accident than a smart blow from
a sappling, upon my right knee, which, though it nearly
unhorsed me, did me no serious injury.
Here I found all my companions re-assembled.—
While the drag lay within the frost-covered field, the
dogs carried it briskly; but as soon as it entered the
wood, they were at fault. In this situation they were,
when I joined the huntsmen. It was long before we
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had any encouragement to hope that they would ever
take it beyond the margin of the field; occasionally,
however, and at painful intervals, the two favorites would
bid us not to despair. Crocket, and three or four of the
party, remained with and encouraged the hounds;
while Andrews, Marden and myself, adjourned to a
narrow lane to enjoy the comforts of the risen sun. The
sluggish trail allowed us an hour's basking; which so
far relaxed my rigid members as to prepare me for
enjoying Marden's amusing stories, and Stewart's dry
humor. While we were thus engaged, and after we had
relinquished all hope of a chase for that morning at least,
the notes of the two favorites became more and more
frequent. Soon a third, and fourth voice joined them,
and the chorus swelled and varied with every second,
until eight in the morning, when the whole pack broke
in full cry. Reynard was up, and twenty foes in hot
pursuit.
How, or why, I am unable to tell, but truth constrains
me to say, that for some moments I was enraptured with
the sport. The fox obliqued towards us, and entered a
field of which our position commanded a full view. He
must have left his covert with reluctance, for he was not
more than a hundred paces ahead of the hounds when he
entered the field. First of the pack, and side by side,
the heroes of the clamorous band, rose the fence.—Then
followed, in thick array, the whole troop; and close on
their rear, Crocket burst through the copse-wood and
charged the fence, without a pause. Around me, in
every direction, I could see the huntsmen sweeping to
the choir; and as emerging from the forests, or gaining
the heights around, they caught the first glimpse of the
gallant pack, they raised a shout, which, none but the
overcharged heart can give, and none but the lifeless
heart receive unmoved. I was soon deserted as before;
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but partly from the inspiration of the sport, and partly
from the success of my recent experiment, I plied Smooth-tooth
with the whip most astonishingly, and put off in
pursuit of the hounds in handsome style—via the lane,
which happened to have exactly the curvature which I
desired.
The fox had hardly left the field through which my
eye followed him, before all of a sudden, the voice of
every hound hushed. They were completely at fault;
and thus I found them when I once more joined my company.
They “knocked out,” as the saying is, near to
the corner of 'Squire Snibby's field, which lay contiguous
to the first which they entered. Dogs and men
here toiled assiduously to take the trail away, but in vain.
At length Crocket suspected Reynard of a trick: he
conjectured that the cunning rogue had ascended the
Squire's fence, and followed it some distance before he
alighted. And so it proved to be; for, taking some of
the dogs with him along the fence side, Crocket introduced
them again to the trail, at the distance of full three
hundred yards from the point at which they lost it.—
The cry was now renewed with all its former spirit.
The fox, huntsmen and hounds, took to the right; but
as fields lay in that direction, I concluded that he would
soon turn and follow the belt of woodland, in the opposite
direction; I therefore took to the left, by a pretty
little path, which might possibly have exerted some influence
upon my determination. I had not proceeded
far before I encountered a large log lying directly across
my path. Here I resolved to experiment a little, unobserved,
upon Smooth-tooth's agility. “If,” said I, “he
clears that log, in handsome style, I'll charge the first
(low) fence that intercepts my pursuit.” Accordingly,
I put whip and heels to Smooth-tooth, who neared it
elegantly; but as soon as he came within jumping
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distance, he stopt with a suddenness and self-composure,
which plainly signified that he expected me to let it down
for him. The consequence was, that I was very near
being laid across the log for my pains. I now became
testy, and resolved, that as he would not “run and jump”
it, he should “stand and jump” it. I therefore brought
him up to it, and commenced the old discipline. After
proposing to go round it, either way, without my approbation,
he at length raised his fore-feet, and threw them
lazily over the log, coming down upon them as the white
bear does in breaking ice, and stopt right astride of the
log. I was now prompted by curiosity to see, if left to
himself, whether he would stand there or go on; and
strange as it may seem, his own free will led him to neither
alternative—for he was in the very act of drawing
his fore-feet back, with a kind of fall-down motion, when
I gave him the whip and forced him to drag, rather lift,
his hind feet over.
This feat performed, I moved on about two hundred
yards, when, as I had anticipated, I heard the hounds
coming directly towards me. I stopt, and in a minute's
time, Reynard crossed the path within thirty steps of me.
Then came the dogs in the order in which they entered
the field; and hard upon them came Crocket upon his
foaming steed.
“Did you see him?” exclaimed he, finding me near
the trail.
“Yes,” said I, “distinctly.”
“How was his tail?”
“I did'nt notice, particularly, but sticking to him I
believe.”
“Oh, nonsense!” said Crocket; “was his brush up
or down?”
“Neither,” said I, “he brushed right across.”
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Here the Major uttered something harsh and dashed
on. I afterwards learned that experienced fox hunters
know the extent of his exhaustion, from the manner in
which he carries his tail.
Having reasoned out the fox's monument this time
successfully, I concluded I could do the like again: I
therefore reasoned, that after rambling about a short
time, he would seek the neighborhood of his burrow.
Accordingly I paced back (going around the log this
time) to a position where I might intercept him. Here
I remained about an hour, without hearing man, horse,
or dog: and then I paced home, where I arrived at
eleven o'clock, perfectly satisfied with fox hunting.
When my companions returned, they reported, that
five miles from where I was waiting for the fox, and
seven from the village, at about two o'clock, P. M., right
in the big road, near Richland Creek, the dogs “knocked
out,” and could never be knocked in again.
But they brought home a rich fund of anecdote from
the chase, which served to enliven many an idle hour
afterwards—I reserved mine to the present moment, to
enliven the family fire-side, on these cold winter's evenings.
HALL.
Longstreet, Augustus Baldwin, 1790-1870 [1835], Georgia scenes, characters, incidents, &c., in the first half century of the republic (printed at the S. R. Sentinel Office, Augusta) [word count] [eaf262].
