The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1885-09-30
INTERESTING STORY.
THE FOX HUNT ON BALD MOUNTAIN,

THE FOX HUNT ON BALD MOUNTAIN,
did want to see real fox hunt. | do
not see much excitement in my quiet life.
Once saw cat fight it was TERRIBLE but
was too young to either enjoy or appreci.
ate the grandeur of the spectacle. And Il
was SO long ago that have completely for
gotten which cat whipped. think it was
the other one, but cannot feel sufficiently
confident to put up any money ON it.
Thus the blighting shadow of another
mystery falls upon my life, and one more
tally is added to the long score of things I
do not know.
One time, remember also, when was O
child, travelling tinker stopped ut my
fathers house to plug up a few hundred
apertures in the family plate. While he was
doctoring diagonal slit in quaint old
copper-bottomed wash-boiler that had come
over with William the Conqueror, he spilled
about three cents worth of molten solder
down into his shoe. l was young, mere
child, all unused to scenes of violence and
cyclonc fury, but that spectacle burned
itself into my memory like U. S. brand
As though it were but yesterday (whereas il
really is today, can remember just how
the tinker stood on his head to empty his
shoe, and how the hot solder Mt once fell
out and dropped like plummet into his
ear. l also remember what he said-not
necessarily for publication, but because I
cannot help it.
What have these incidents 10 do with q
fox hunt, do you ask ? Nothing whatever.
Then why do repeat them? To pad out
the story, simple one to help fill up the
column. Perhaps you never wrote a story
yourself? No? Well, then, you can't be
expected to know how little connection one
part of a story has with itself or with the
other parts.
Shortly after the war, business of an un-
important nature called me to Virginia.
My business was with the sheriff of q re-
mote county in Oregon, so naturally went
as far southeast as possible to attend TO il.
While loitered among my friends, a vague,
indefinable yearning to witness fox hunt
crept into my heart with the stealthy, noise
less football of man coming home late.
My indulgent uncle-an honest man, al.
though farmer-told his boys to trap q
fox, and they would arrange run for Inc.
The fox was caught, the word sent round,
and the following morning the neighbors
assembled. There was no regularly ordain-
cd pack of hounds in the county, 30 eyery
man who owned a good fox dog was expect
ID to bring him along. Every last man Of
The hunt owned just that kind of dog.
Bill Lamson brought black-and-tan dog
{" Beeswax W, about two and half hands
high, with back as broad as bread board
and stump of q tail as long as your thumb.
She wur nat'ral coon dog" Bill said
"jest chain lightnin' on coons, but a right
likely dog fur q fox, if she could oncest
ketch him." / surmised that Bill was going
to carry " Beeswax" in his arms and run
with her.
JEFF. Thompson had straight-haired
orindle dog, with remnants of ears, and
legs so handy they looked like ice-tongs
with hair on. He was chained to q sapling,
and noticed that none of the other dogs
went within ten feet Of that sapling. He
LONGEST help to kill bar" Mr.. Thompson
told me, FAN mo- AN likely he cud kilt
hit hisself an foxes was only sport fur
Reb.'" The only drawback to Reb's"
usefulness as fox dog was his blindness.
But he couldn't help that
Bart. Hilleary brought along big black
Newfoundland about the size of year
ling calf, but not nearly 80 quick and grace
full He seemed to be fond of getting into
peoples way and getting kicked therefor.
He also managed to step on himself with
two or three horses. He "hadnt never
been tried for nothin'," Bart said, I" but he
reckoned he might be right peart on a plain
trail"
Then there were house dogs, of all sizes,
classes, colors, and combinations of colors
Hank Lowden's fawn-colored meat hound,
with liver-colored spots, was there, yelpine
distractedly oil the time, and letting out
howl that you could hang your hat on every
time anybody hit him with riding-whip to
make him shut up. "Yallah dogs" to the
extent of dozen, from the negro quarters
and the cabins of the Sang diggers," join
ed the band one or two aristocratic settlers
and gentleman like pointer attended the
hunt and when Jute Sycamore came am
bling over with his dog, noisy, fussy, irri
table, jealous, quarrelsome little Scotch rat
ter not much bigger than q cat, and mos
appropriately named hustler" the con
vention was called to order, and the order
of the hunt Announced.
The fox was to be given one hundred feet
and ten seconds start; every man to loose
his own dog at the word. The Gagged fox,
nervous, uneasy, excited, was taken out the
established distance; he shot out of the
open door like puff from gun, and was
out of sight before you could wink an eye
the dogs seeing him go set up hideous
combination of howl, and bark, and yelp
that made your blood run cold, and blind
old Reb.," driven to frenzy because he
could see nothing to howl at, felt around