The Literary World Seventh Reader Part 16

We rode over the red hills and under the russet trees until we came to "Old Sandy's" favorite haunt. Here a council of war was held, and it was decided that Tom and a portion of the hunters should skirt the fields, while another portion led by Miss de Compton and myself should enter and bid the fox good morning. Uncle Plato, who had been given the cue, followed me with the dogs, and in a few moments we were very near the particular spot where I hoped to find the venerable deceiver of dogs and men. The hounds were already sallying hither and thither, anxious and evidently expectant.

Five minutes went by without a whimper from the pack. There was not a sound save the eager rustling of the dogs through the sedge and undergrowth. The ground was familiar to Flora, and I watched her with pride as with powerful strides she circled around. Suddenly she paused and flung her head in the air, making a beautiful picture where she stood poised, as if listening. My heart gave a great thump. It was a trick of hers, and I knew that "Old Sandy" had been around within the past twenty-four hours! With a rush, a bound, and an eager cry, my favorite came toward us, and the next moment "Old Sandy," who had been lying almost at our horses' feet, was up and away with Flora right at his heels. A wild hope seized me that my favorite would run into the shy veteran before he could get out of the field. But no! One of the Jasper county hunters, rendered momentarily insane by excitement, endeavored to ride the fox down with his horse, and in another moment Sir Reynard was over the fence and into the woodland beyond, followed by the hounds.

They made a splendid but [v]ineffectual burst of speed, for when "Old Sandy" found himself upon the blackjack hills he was foot-loose. The morning, however, was fine--just damp enough to leave the scent of the fox hanging breast high in the air, whether he shaped his course over lowlands or highlands.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Beginning of the Fox Hunt]

In the midst of all the confusion that had ensued, Miss de Compton remained cool, serene, and apparently indifferent, but I observed a glow upon her face and a sparkle in her eyes, as Tom Tunison, riding his gallant gray and heading the hunters, easily and gracefully took a couple of fences when the hounds veered to the left.

"Our Jasper county friend has saved 'Old Sandy,' Miss de Compton," I said, "but he has given us an opportunity of witnessing some very fine sport. The fox is so badly frightened that he may endeavor in the beginning to outfoot the dogs, but in the end he will return to his range, and then I hope to show you what a cunning old customer he is. If Flora doesn't fail us at the critical moment, you will have the honor of wearing his brush on your saddle."

"Youth is always confident," replied Miss de Compton.

"In this instance, however, I have the advantage of knowing both hound and fox. Flora has a few weaknesses, but I think she understands what is expected of her to-day."

Thus bantering and chaffing each other, we turned our horses' heads in a direction [v]oblique to that taken by the other hunters, who, with the exception of Tom Tunison and Jack Herndon, now well up with the dogs, were struggling along as best they could. For a half mile or more we cantered down a lane, then turned into a stubble field, and made for a hill crowned and skirted by a growth of blackjack, through which an occasional pine had broken, as it seemed, in a vain but n.o.ble effort to touch the sky. Once upon the summit of the hills, we had a majestic view upon all sides. The fresh morning breezes blew crisp and cool and bracing, but were not uncomfortable after the exercise we had taken; and as the clouds that had m.u.f.fled up the east dispersed themselves or were dissolved, the generous sun spread layer upon layer of golden light upon hill and valley and forest and stream.

Away to the left we could hear the hounds, and the music of their voices, toyed with by the playful wind, rolled itself into melodious little echoes that broke pleasantly upon the ear, now loud, now faint, now far and now near. The first burst of speed, which had been terrific, had settled down into a steady run, but I knew by the sound that the pace was still tremendous, and I imagined I could hear the silvery tongue of Flora as she led the eager pack. The cries of the hounds, however, grew fainter and fainter, until presently they were lost in the distance.

"He is making a straight shoot for the Turner [v]old fields, two miles away," I remarked, by way of explanation.

"And pray, why are we here?" Miss de Compton asked.

"To be in at the death. (The fair de Compton smiled [v]sarcastically.) In the Turner old fields the fox will make his grand double, gain upon the dogs, head for yonder hill, and come down the ravine upon our right. At the fence here, within plain view, he will attempt a trick that has heretofore always been successful, and which has given him a reputation as a trained fox. I depend upon the intelligence of Flora to see through 'Old Sandy's' [v]strategy, but if she hesitates a moment, we must set her right."

I spoke with the confidence of one having experience, and Miss de Compton smiled and was content. We had little time for further conversation, for in a few minutes I observed a dark shadow emerge from the undergrowth on the opposite hill and slip quickly across the open s.p.a.ce of fallow land. It crossed the ravine that intersected the valley, stole quietly through the stubble to the fence, and there paused a moment, as if hesitating. In a low voice I called Miss de Compton's attention to the figure, but she refused to believe that it was the same fox we had aroused thirty minutes before. Howbeit, it was the [v]veritable "Old Sandy" himself. I should have known him among a thousand foxes. He was not in as fine feather as when, at the start, he had swung his brush across Flora's nose--the pace had told on him--but he still moved with an air of confidence.

Then and there Miss de Compton beheld a display of fox tactics shrewd enough to excite the admiration of the most indifferent--a display of cunning that seemed to be something higher than instinct.

"Old Sandy" paused only a moment. With a bound he gained the top of the fence, stopped to pull something from one of his fore feet--probably a c.o.c.kle bur--and then carefully balancing himself, proceeded to walk the fence. By this time, the music of the dogs was again heard in the distance, but "Old Sandy" took his time.

One--two--three--seven--ten--twenty panels of the fence were cleared.

Pausing, he again subjected his fore feet to examination, and licked them carefully. Then he proceeded on his journey along the fence until he was at least one hundred yards from where he left the ground. Here he paused for the first time, gathered himself together, leaped through the air, and rushed away. As he did so, the full note of the pack burst upon our ears as the hounds reached the brow of the hill from the lowlands on the other side.

"Upon my word!" exclaimed Miss de Compton; "that fox ought to go free. I shall beg Mr. Tunison--"

But before she finished her sentence the dogs came into view, and I could hardly restrain a shout of triumph as I saw Flora running easily and unerringly far to the front. Behind her, led by Captain--and so close together that, as Uncle Plato afterward remarked, "You mout kivver de whole caboodle wid a hoss-blanket"--were the remainder of the Tunison kennel, while the Jasper county hounds were strung out behind in wild but heroic confusion. I felt strongly tempted to give the view-halloo, and push "Old Sandy" to the wall at once, but I knew that the fair de Compton would regard the exploit with severe [v]reprobation forever after. Across the ravine and to the fence the dogs came, their voices, as they got nearer, cras.h.i.+ng through the silence like a chorus of demons.

Now was the critical moment. If Flora should fail me--!

Several of the older dogs topped the rails, and scattered through the undergrowth. Flora came over with them, made a small circle, with her sensitive nose to the damp earth, and then went rus.h.i.+ng down the fence.

Past the point where "Old Sandy" took his flying leap she ran, turned suddenly to the left, and came swooping back in a wide circle. I had barely time to warn Miss de Compton that she must prepare to do a little rapid riding, when my favorite, with a fierce cry of delight that thrilled me through and through, picked up the blazing [v]drag, and away we went with a scream and a shout. I felt in my very bones that "Old Sandy" was doomed. I had never seen Flora so prompt and eager; I had never observed the scent to be better. Everything was auspicious.

We went like the wind. Miss de Compton rode well, and the long stretches of stubble land through which the chase led were unbroken by ditch or fence. The pace of the hounds was simply terrific, and I knew that no fox on earth could long stand up before the white demon that led the hunt with such splendor.

Five--ten--fifteen minutes we rushed at the heels of the rearmost dogs, until, suddenly, we found ourselves in the midst of the pack. The scent was lost! Flora ran about in wide circles, followed by the greater portion of the dogs. To the left, to the right they went. At that moment, chancing to look back, I caught a glimpse of "Old Sandy," broken down and bedraggled, making his way toward a clump of briars. He had played his last [v]trump and lost. Pushed by the dogs, he had dropped in his tracks and literally allowed them to run over him. I rode at him with a shout; there was a short, sharp race, and in a few moments [v]_La Mort_ was sounded over the famous fox on the horn that the Jasper county boys did not win.

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.

=HELPS TO STUDY=

This gives a good picture of a fox hunt in the South in the long ago. Tell what you like best about it. Who is telling the story?

Was he young or old? How do you know? What opinion do you form of the "fair de Compton"? See if you can get an old man, perhaps a negro, to tell you of a fox hunt he has seen.

SUPPLEMENTARY READING

In Ole Virginia--Thomas Nelson Page.

Old Creole Days--George W. Cable.

Swallow Barn--John P. Kennedy.

The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains--Charles Egbert Craddock.

FOOTNOTE:

[177-*] From the _Atlanta Const.i.tution_.

RAIN AND WIND

I hear the hoofs of horses Galloping over the hill, Galloping on and galloping on, When all the night is shrill With wind and rain that beats the pane-- And my soul with awe is still.

For every dripping window Their headlong rush makes bound, Galloping up and galloping by, Then back again and around, Till the gusty roofs ring with their hoofs, And the draughty cellars sound.

And then I hear black hors.e.m.e.n Hallooing in the night; Hallooing and hallooing, They ride o'er vale and height, And the branches snap and the shutters clap With the fury of their flight.

All night I hear their gallop, And their wild halloo's alarm; The tree-tops sound and vanes go round In forest and on farm; But never a hair of a thing is there-- Only the wind and the storm.

MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN.

THE SOUTHERN SKY

Presently the stars begin to peep out, timidly at first, as if to see whether the elements here below had ceased their strife, and if the scene on earth be such as they, from bright spheres aloft, may shed their sweet influences upon. Sirius, or that blazing world Argus, may be the first watcher to send down a feeble ray; then follow another and another, all smiling meekly; but presently, in the short twilight of the lat.i.tude, the bright leaders of the starry host blaze forth in all their glory, and the sky is decked and spangled with superb brilliants.

In the twinkling of an eye, and faster than the admiring gazer can tell, the stars seem to leap out from their hiding-places. By invisible hands, and in quick succession, the constellations are hung out; first of all, and with dazzling glory, in the azure depths of s.p.a.ce appears the great Southern Cross. That s.h.i.+ning symbol lends a holy grandeur to the scene, making it still more impressive.

Alone in the night-watch, after the sea-breeze has sunk to rest, I have stood on deck under those beautiful skies, gazing, admiring, rapt. I have seen there, above the horizon at once and s.h.i.+ning with a splendor unknown to other lat.i.tudes, every star of the [v]first magnitude--save only six--that is contained in the catalogue of the one hundred princ.i.p.al fixed stars.

There lies the city on the seash.o.r.e, wrapped in sleep. The sky looks solid, like a vault of steel set with diamonds. The stillness below is in harmony with the silence above, and one almost fears to speak, lest the harsh sound of the human voice, reverberating through those vaulted "chambers of the south," should wake up echo and drown the music that fills the soul.

Orion is there, just about to march down into the sea; but Canopus and Sirius, with Castor and his twin brother, and [v]Procyon, Argus, and Regulus--these are high up in their course; they look down with great splendor, smiling peacefully as they precede the Southern Cross on its western way. And yonder, farther still, away to the south, float the Magellanic clouds, and the "Coal Sacks"--those mysterious, dark spots in the sky, which seem as though it had been rent, and these were holes in the "azure robe of night," looking out into the starless, empty, black abyss beyond. One who has never watched the southern sky in the stillness of the night, after the sea-breeze with its turmoil is done, can have no idea of its grandeur, beauty, and loveliness.

MATTHEW FONTAINE MAURY.