THE HUNT
Before I was two years old a circumstance happened which I have never
forgotten. It was early in the spring; there had been a little frost in
the night, and a light mist still hung over the woods and meadows. I and
the other colts were feeding at the lower part of the field when we
heard what sounded like the cry of dogs. The oldest of the colts raised
his head, pricked his ears, and said, "There are the hounds!" and
cantered off, followed by the rest of us, to the upper part of the
field, where we could look over the hedge and see several fields beyond.
My mother and an old riding horse of our master's were also standing
near, and seemed to know all about it. "They have found a hare," said my
mother, "and if they come this way we shall see the hunt."
And soon the dogs were all tearing down the field of young wheat next to
ours. I never heard such a noise as they made. They did not bark, nor
howl, nor whine, but kept on a "yo! yo, o, o! yo, o, o!" at the top of
their voices. After them came a number of men on horseback, all
galloping as fast as they could. The old horses snorted and looked
eagerly after them, and we young colts wanted to be galloping with them,
but they were soon away into the fields lower down; here it seemed as if
they had come to a stand; the dogs left off barking and ran about every
way with their noses to the ground.
"They have lost the scent," said the old horse; "perhaps the hare will
get off."
"What hare?" I said.
"Oh, I don't know what hare; likely enough it may be one of our own
hares out of the woods; any hare they can find will do for the dogs and
men to run after"; and before long the dogs began their "yo; yo, o, o!"
again, and back they came all together at full speed, making straight
for our meadow at the part where the high bank and hedge overhang the
brook.
"Now we shall see the hare," said my mother; and just then a hare, wild
with fright, rushed by and made for the woods. On came the dogs; they
burst over the bank, leaped the stream and came dashing across the
field, followed by the huntsmen. Several men leaped their horses clean
over, close upon the dogs. The hare tried to get through the fence; it
was too thick, and she turned sharp around to make for the road, but it
was too late; the dogs were upon her with their wild cries; we heard
one shriek, and that was the end of her. One of the huntsmen rode up and
whipped off the dogs, who would soon have torn her to pieces. He held
her up by the leg, torn and bleeding, and all the gentlemen seemed well
pleased.
[Illustration]
As for me, I was so astonished that I did not at first see what was
going on by the brook; but when I did look, there was a sad sight; two
fine horses were down; one was struggling in the stream, and the other
was groaning on the grass. One of the riders was getting out of the
water covered with mud, the other lay quite still.
"His neck is broken," said my mother.
"And serves him right, too," said one of the colts.
I thought the same, but my mother did not join with us.
"Well, no," she said, "you must not say that; but though I am an old
horse, and have seen and heard a great deal, I never yet could make out
why men are so fond of this sport; they often hurt themselves, often
spoil good horses, and tear up the fields, and all for a hare, or a fox,
or a stag, that they could get more easily some other way; but we are
only horses, and don't know."
While my mother was saying this, we stood and looked on. Many of the
riders had gone to the young man; but my master was the first to raise
him. His head fell back and his arms hung down, and every one looked
very serious. There was no noise now; even the dogs were quiet, and
seemed to know that something was wrong. They carried him to our
master's house. I heard afterwards that it was the squire's only son, a
fine, tall young man, and the pride of his family.
They were now riding in all directions--to the doctor's, and to Squire
Gordon's, to let him know about his son. When Bond, the farrier, came to
look at the black horse that lay groaning on the grass, he felt him all
over, and shook his head; one of his legs was broken. Then some one ran
to our master's house and came back with a gun; presently there was a
loud bang and a dreadful shriek, and then all was still; the black horse
moved no more.
My mother seemed much troubled; she said she had known that horse for
years, and that his name was Rob Roy; he was a good horse, and there was
no vice in him. She never would go to that part of the field afterwards.
[Illustration]
Not many days after, we heard the church-bell tolling for a long time,
and looking over the gate, we saw a long strange black coach that was
covered with black cloth and was drawn by black horses; after that came
another and another and another, and all were black, while the bell kept
tolling, tolling. They were carrying young Gordon to the church-yard to
bury him. He would never ride again. What they did with Rob Roy I never
knew; but 'twas all for one little hare.