Even now, after many years, I can remember the delight of the frosty
mornings; the joy with which we used to peep through the little panes
of the dormer-windows at the white frost over the fields, which promised
stronger chances of game being caught; the eagerness with which,
oblivious of the cold, we sped through the garden, across the field,
along the ditch banks, and up by the woods, making the round of our
traps; the expectancy with which we peeped over the whitened weeds and
through the bushes, to catch a glimpse of the gums in some "parf" or
at some clearly marked "gap"; our disappointment when we found the door
standing open and the trigger set just as we had left it the mormng
before; our keen delight when the door was down; the dash for the trap;
the scuffle to decide which should look in first; the peep at the brown
ball screwed up back at the far end; the delicate operation, of getting
the hare out of th-
e trap; and the triumphant return home, holding up our
spoil to be seen from afar. We were happier than we knew.
So far to show how we came to regard hares as our natural game, and how,
though to be bird-hunters we had to grow up, we were hare-hunters as
boys. The rush, the cheers, the yells, the excitement were a part of the
sport, to us boys the best part.
Of course, to hunt hares we had to have dogs--at least boys must
have--the noise, the dash, the chase are half the battle.
And such dogs as ours were!
It was not allowable to take bird-dogs after hares. I say it was not
allowable; I do not say it was not done, for sometimes, of course,
the pointers _would_ come, and we could not make them go back. But
the hare-dogs were the puppies and curs, terriers, watch-dogs, and the
nondescript crew which belonged to the negroes, and to the plantation
generally.
What a pack they were! Thin, undersized black-and-tans, or-