The Long Hillside | Page 2

of our particular cronies; but the great hunt was "in the
holidays"--that is, about Christmas. Then all the young darkies about

the place were free and ready for sport.
This Christmas hunt was an event.

II
It was the year 186--, and, Christmas-day falling on a Sunday, Saturday
was given as the first day of the holidays. It had been a fine Fall; the
cover was good, and old hares were plentiful. It had been determined
some time before Christmas that we would have a big hare-hunt on that
day, and the "boys"--that is, the young darkies--came to the house from
the quarters, prepared for the sport, and by the time breakfast was over
they were waiting for us around the kitchen door.
Breakfast was always late about Christmas time; perhaps, the spareribs
and sausages and the jelly dripping through a blanket hung over the
legs of an upturned table accounted for it; and on, this Christmas eve it
was ten by the tall clock in the corner of the dining-room before we
were through.
When we came out, the merry darkies were waiting for us, grinning and
showing their shining teeth, laughing and shouting and calling the dogs.
They were not allowed to have guns; but our guns, long old
single-barrels handed down for at least two generations, had been
carried out and cleaned, and they were handing them around, inspecting
and aiming them with as much pride as if they had been brand-new.
There was only one exception to this rule: Uncle "Limpy-Jack," so
called because he had one leg shorter than the other, was allowed to
have a gun. He was a sort of professional hunter about the place. No
lord was ever prouder of a special privilege handed down in his family
for generations.
The other boys were armed with stout sticks and made much noise.
Uncle Limpy-Jack was in this respect also the only exception; he was
grave as became a "man" who was a hunter by business, and "warn't
arter no foolishness." He allowed no one to touch his gun, which thus

possessed a special value. He carried his powder in a gourd and his shot
in an old rag.
The pack of dogs I have described, fully recruited, were hanging
around, growling and snarling, sneaking into the kitchen and being
kicked out by Aunt Betty and her corps of varicolored assistants,
largely augmented at the approach of Christmas with its cheer. The
yelping of the mongrel pack, the shouts and whoops of the boys, and
the laughter of the maids or men about the kitchen and back-yard, all in
their best clothes and in high spirits, were exhilarating, and with many
whoops and much "hollering," we climbed the yard fence, and,
disdaining a road, of course, set out down the hill across the field,
taking long strides, each one bragging loudly of what he would do.
Let me see: there were John and Andrew and Black Peter, and
Bow-legged Saul, and Milker-Tim, and Billy, and Uncle Limpy-Jack,
and others now forgotten, and the three white boys. And the dogs, "Ole
Rattler," and "Ole Nim-rod," who had always been old by their names,
and were regarded with reverence akin to fetich-worship because they
were popularly supposed to be able to trail a hare. It was a de-lusion, I
am now satisfied; for I cannot recall that they ever trailed one certainly
three feet. Then there were the "guard dawgs": "Hector," brindled,
bob-tailed, and ugly, and "Jerry," yellow, long-tailed, and mean; then
there was "Jack," fat, stumpy, and ill-natured; there were the two
pointers, Bruno and Don, the beauties and pride of the family, with a
pedigree like a prince's, who, like us, were taking a holiday hunt, but,
unlike us, without permission; "Rock," Uncle Limpy-Jack's "hyah
dawg," and then the two terriers "Snip" and "Snap." We beat the banks
of the spring ditch for form's sake, though there was small chance of a
hare there, because it was pasture and the banks were kept clean. Then
we made for the old field beyond, the dogs spreading out and nosing
around lazily, each on his own hook. Whether because of the noise we
made and their seeking safety in flight, or because they were off
"taking holiday"{1} as the negroes claimed, no hares were found, and
after a half-hour our ardor was a little dampened. But we soon set to
work in earnest and began to beat a little bottom lying between two
hills, through which ran a ditch, thickly grown up with bushes and

briers. The dead swamp-grass was very heavy in the narrow little
bottom along the sides, and was matted in tufts. The dogs were
scattered, and prowling around singly or in couples; and only one of the
pointers and Snip were really on