Within twenty years from the foundation of the village, the deer had
already become rare, and in a brief period later they had fled from
the country. One of the last of these beautiful creatures seen in the
waters of our lake occasioned a chase of much interest, though under
very different circumstances from those of a regular hunt. A pretty
little fawn had been brought in very young from the woods, and nursed
and petted by a lady in the village until it had become as tame as
possible. It was graceful, as these little creatures always are, and
so gentle and playful that it became a great favorite, following the
different members of the family about, caressed by the neighbors, and
welcome everywhere. One morning, after gamboling about as usual until
weary, it threw itself down in the sunshine, at the feet of one of its
friends, upon the steps of a store. There came along a countryman, who
for several years had been a hunter by pursuit, and who kept several
dogs: one of his hounds came to the village with him on this occasion.
The dog, as it approached the spot where the fawn lay, suddenly
stopped; the little animal saw him, and started to its feet. It had
lived more than half its life among the village, and had apparently
lost all fear of them; but it seemed now to know instinctly that
an enemy was at hand. In an instant a change came over it, and the
gentleman who related the incident, and who was standing by at the
moment, observed that he had never in his life seen a finer sight
than the sudden arousing of instinct in that beautiful creature. In a
second its whole character and appearance seemed changed, all its past
habits were forgotten, every wild impulse was awake; its head erect,
its nostrils dilated, its eye flashing. In another instant, before the
spectators had thought of the danger, before its friends could secure
it, the fawn was leaping wildly through the street, and the hound in
full pursuit. The bystanders were eager to save it; several persons
instantly followed its track, the friends who had long fed and fondled
it, calling the name it had hitherto known, but in vain. The hunter
endeavored to whistle back his dog, but with no better success. In
half a minute the fawn had turned the first corner, dashed onward
toward the lake, and thrown itself into the water. But, if for a
moment the startled creature believed itself safe in the cool bosom
of the lake, it was soon undeceived; the hound followed in hot and
eager chase, while a dozen of the village dogs joined blindly in
the pursuit. Quite a crowd collected on the bank, men, women, and
children, anxious for the fate of the little animal known to them all:
some threw themselves into boats, hoping to intercept the hound before
he reached his prey; but the plashing of the oars, the eager voices
of the men and boys, and the barking of the dogs, must have filled
the beating heart of the poor fawn with terror and anguish, as though
every creature on the spot where it had once been caressed and fondled
had suddenly turned into a deadly foe. It was soon seen that the
little animal was directing its course across a bay toward the nearest
borders of the forest, and immediately the owner of the hound crossed
the bridge, running at full speed in the same direction, hoping to
stop his dog as he landed. On the fawn swam, as it never swam before,
its delicate head scarcely seen above the water, but leaving a
disturbed track, which betrayed its course alike to anxious friends
and fierce enemies. As it approached the land, the exciting interest
became intense. The hunter was already on the same line of shore,
calling loudly and angrily to his dog, but the animal seemed to have
quite forgotten his master's voice in the pitiless pursuit. The fawn
touched the land--in one leap it had crossed the narrow line of beach,
and in another instant it would reach the cover of the woods. The
hound followed, true to the scent, aiming at the same spot on the
shore; his master, anxious to meet him, had run at full speed, and was
now coming up at the most critical moment; would the dog hearken to
his voice, or could the hunter reach him in time to seize and control
him? A shout from the village bank proclaimed that the fawn had passed
out of sight into the forest; at the same instant, the hound, as he
touched the land, felt the hunter's strong arm clutching his neck.
The worst was believed to be over; the fawn was leaping up the
mountain-side, and its enemy under restraint. The other dogs, seeing
their leader cowed, were easily managed. A number of persons, men and
boys, dispersed themselves through the woods in search of the little
creature, but without success; they all returned to the village,
reporting that the animal had not been seen by them. Some persons
thought that after its fright had passed over it would return of
its own accord. It had worn a pretty collar, with its owner's name
engraved upon it, so that it could easily be known from any other fawn
that might be straying about the woods. Before many hours had passed a
hunter presented himself to the lady whose pet the little creature had
been, and showing a collar with her name on it said that he had been
out in the woods, and saw a fawn in the distance: the little animal
instead of bounding away as he expected, moved toward him; he took
aim, fired, and shot it to the heart. When he found the collar about
its neck he was very sorry he had killed it. And so the poor little
thing died; one would have thought that terrible chase would have
made it afraid of man: but no, it forgot the evil and remembered the
kindness only, and came to meet as a friend the hunter who shot it. It
was long mourned by its best friend.
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