University of Virginia Library

LETTER XIII.

Please present my smiling thanks to your talented
correspondent “Rusticus,” of Wilmington, for his graceful
verses addressed to me. I feel flattered by his compliments,
while I blush that I am not more deserving of
them. The thought is singularly pleasing to me, that
the crude efforts of my untutored pen find readers who
sympathize with and understand me. These kind persons
are all my friends henceforward! I see them with
the eyes of my spirit, and embrace them with my heart.
One day, if not on earth, we shall meet in heaven, and
recognize each other, and be friends in sweet communion
forever.

When I by chance meet here, in this poor world, a
kindred being, whom to know and love is happiness, I
think how many such gentle and good ones the world
contains, whom I shall never see on earth! When this
thought comes over my spirit, I feel sad that we must
pass away unknown to each other; but the bright world
seen by faith beyond this reassures me, and I take courage
and rejoice, believing that in the spaces of eternity
all who are shaped in the same mould of love will find
each other, and so the beautiful, and good, and lovely
of earth, though on earth I meet them not, are not forever
lost to me. Is not this a thought to make the lone

heart strong? But I must tell you about my deer-hunt.
Rusticus seems to question the truth of the account of
the fox-hunt, but if he had spent a few days in this region
of adventure, he would not hedge in his credulity
so closely. Pray, why may not a lady have adventures,
and dashing ones, too, as well as the “Lords?” Beshrew
me, but the esprit du camp is not all under the
round hat! I know a young lady not six miles from the
Park, who is a celebrated tamer of young steeds, and,
mounted upon their backs, whips them bravely into submission.
Di Vernon is a tame maiden compared with
her. She can shoot a rifle, hit a rose-bud at ten paces
with a pistol, and take a partridge on the wing. I will,
perhaps, talk about her at another time. I must now
make myself heroine. Mr. Rusticus Doubtful, I shall
rap you over the knuckles, sir poet!

I have told you, Mr. —, how we were met by the
old soldier when we drew rein at his gallery. The house
was a long, low, rambling edifice, such as is peculiar to
the plantations in the South, with a light gallery supported
by slender columns extending along the front.
A wide, natural lawn, dotted with huge forest-trees, extended
around it, smooth as a green plush-carpet. On
it were four or five beautiful horses cropping the sweet
grass, two gentle-eyed, tame deer, a heady-looking goat
with a beard like a Jew, a little innocent lambkin with a
broken leg which was neatly splintered and bandaged by
the old soldier's own hands, and a strutting turkey-gobbler
with pride enough for the Autocrat of all the Russias,
and scarlet enough for a Cardinal's cap. It was a pretty,
quiet scene, with the golden bars of sunshine laid along
between the openings among the trees, and the birds

singing in the branches, which the morning wind was
waving and stirring with the motion of life. The old
white-whiskered warrior escorted us into his spacious
drawing-room, holding Isabel by one hand and me with
the other, like a gallant gentleman of the old school as
he was. We were no sooner seated, one on each side
of him, than a servant entered with a quaternion of
mint-juleps, in tall silver tumblers, a golden straw of wheat
projecting from each verdant pyramid a-top. Nothing
would do but that Isabel and I should take one. The
old gentleman would not be said Nay. He was one of
that class of men who fancy that “no” means “yes,”
when spoken by young ladies; nay, he even went so far
as to asseverate as much. I had to take the julep.
Just imagine me, Mr. —, seated with a riding-whip in
one hand, and a mint-julep, piled up like “Ossa upon
Pelion,” in the other, communicating with my lips by
the hollow tube of straw aforesaid, and imbibing like a
smoker his tobacco, the perfumed nectar of the distilled
and delicate compound. I must confess it was delicious!
Don't tell the good temperance folks that I say so for
the world! but it was truly refreshing. I didn't wish
to sip enough to get into my head; so, after five or six
charming sips, I placed the silver goblet, still full, upon
the salver. Do you not admire my self-denial under the
circumstances?

I spent an hour admiring the pictures and curiosities
in the old soldier's handsomely-arranged rooms. Over
the mantel was a large, full length of the Hero of New
Orleans, at middle age, in the uniform of a colonel. It
was an admirable head, and struck me as the personification
of energy of will, a quality for which the “General”

was afterward distinguished above all other Americans.

“You admire the Hero?” said the host, as he observed
us closely studying the expression of the face of the
Iron Man of the New World.

“Greatly,” I answered.

“He was a great man, Miss Kate!” responded the
soldier and companion in arms, with a liquid sparkle
visible in his eyes. I love to see tears in brave men's
eyes!

“You knew him well, major?” I said, interrogatively.

“We were as brothers, or rather as father and son, for
though I am gray, he was twenty years my senior. He
was a lion in battle, and an eagle in pursuit. He was
born to command. He read men as I read a child's
book. They have said he was cruel. It is not true!
He loved to exercise mercy. Let me tell you an anecdote
to illustrate his character. A soldier had deserted
his post to go home to a dying father. He was arrested
kneeling at his father's bedside receiving his dying
blessing. He begged to be permitted to remain to
close his eyes, `when,' he said, `he would be ready.' He
was taken to the camp, then in Florida. He was
tried by a court-martial, and condemned to be shot.
The General signed his sentence of death on a drum-head.
I saw him do it, and I saw a tear drop, like a
drop of falling rain upon the hollow drum-head. But
those who saw not the tear, but marked only the stern
lines of his face, thought him unfeeling!” Here the major
frowned, and looked fierce to hide and keep back the
liquid drops that had been growing larger every moment,
too large for his eyes to hold; but spite of his bent

brows, they found their channels and rolled, pearls of
price, adown his battle-browned cheeks. What are
tears? Can any tell what and why are tears?

“The poor man was at length led forth to execution,”
resumed the major, who had caught one of his tears slyly
on the back of his hand, while the other broke, as he
thought unobserved, upon the marble hearthstone; “the
detachment which was detailed to execute the sentence,
was drawn up about fifty paces from the general's tent.
The whole army were drawn up in line to witness the
death of the deserter. The general remained in his tent.
He was pacing up and down calmly and thoughtfully.
There wanted but a minute to the signal for death, when
suddenly he ordered the deserter to be brought before
him. The man was led blindfolded as he was to his
tent. `Larnham,' said the general to the deadly pale
man, `you have forfeited your life by the laws of war.
I therefore signed the warrant for your execution. You
have merited life by your filial obedience; I therefore
repeal the sentence of the court martial and pardon you;
and may every son be as worthy of the name as you have
proved yourself to be!' The poor man fell at the
general's feet and embraced his knees, and the army
without hurrahed as one man; for the filial piety of the
deserter had found a responsive chord in every heart, and
the pardoning act awakened its echo.”

There was a stand of colors in the corner of the room
which the major had carried at the head of his battalion;
and there were many ornaments around, consisting of
war-hatchets, bows, quivers, wampums, crests of eagle's
feathers, painted deer skins, fringed and embroidered, all
presents from Indian chiefs. The major showed me a

war club which was fringed with human hair, and which
he said had killed many a warrior in its day. But the
sight of it was revolting to my imagination. But he had
paintings of favorite horses and hounds, of game and
hunting scenes, and the candelabra of his rooms were
deer's antlers, with silver tops terminating the extremities
to hold the candles. One horned branch held thirteen
sockets, which he called his Federal Chandelier. He
took us to one room which was literally hung around
with rifles, old, long, and short, and of all sizes; pistols,
fowling pieces, deer's antlers, powder flasks and horns,
game bags, dried game, game in glass cases, and all sorts
of things which I could not imagine the use of, but
which he gravely declared were all essential to the
making up of a good hunter.

He would take us to his stables too, to see his blind
war-horse. We found the venerable steed occupying a
neat brick cottage opening into a green paddock in
which he was grazing. As soon as he heard his master's
voice he pricked up his aged ears and came trotting along
till he was within two yards, when he stopped and felt
his way to the gate with his feet. We patted him and
spoke kindly to him, and he licked salt out of my hand.
His teeth were all gone, and his eyes were as white as
those of a fish. How pitiable was the noble wreck!
He had been through the Alabama and Florida wars,
and bore a scar on his left shoulder from the blow of a
tomahawk. His master talked with him as if he were a
human being, and as affectionately as if he were a comrade.
It was a fine picture; the white-headed soldier
leaning upon and talking kindly with the aged war-horse

who had seen better days, but had now grown old together
with his master.

When we returned to the house we found all ready for
the hunt. Our horses were saddled and at the door,
each held by an African. We were soon a-saddle, followed
by four servants a-foot, two of whom led a leash
of dogs a-piece. How the hounds' intelligent eyes spoke
of anticipated sport! Our party consisted of our colonel,
the old soldier, Isabel, and myself, of the Saxon
race; of the four negroes, and a fifth, half breed, who
was a sort of forest-keeper to our host. He was a man
skilled, the major told us, in every kind of wood-craft,
and not to be matched for a deer in all Tennessee. He
was mounted on a nag that looked like a half breed,
having a head like a bull dog, a mane like a buffalo, and
a thick mane on each fetlock. He was shaggy as an
Angola rug, black, and ugly in temper. Our elegant,
aristocratic jennets shied away from him if he chanced
to trot near either of them, with a proud flash of their
eyes and a haughty whinny of their nostrils.

We at length reached a noble wood extending to a
ridge, from which there was a precipitous path leading
to a romantic stream that emptied into the Harpeth which
conveys its waters to the broader Cumberland. In this
forest the deer usually feed, and, crossing the ridge, descend
the winding path to the water side to drink.

After getting through the wood, we took up our position
upon the ridge, between the forest and the water.
There were four deer paths leading across it, near each
of which stood an oak of enormous breadth of branches,
with trunks like colossal columns of Thebes. We dismounted
on the ridge, and giving our horses to the

Africans, who led them away to a distant eminence, we
each of us took a position behind a tree. I would
have preferred standing by the colonel's side at his tree,
but he and the major insisted that Isabel and I should
each have our tree, “so that,” said they, “the four
paths leading from the forest to the river might be commanded.”
So for the sake of a military disposition of
their forces by the two old soldiers, I had to take post
behind one of the huge oaks. Next to me was the major,
fifty feet off to the south; and on the north of me was
Isabel, with the colonel on the north flank. For form's
sake we were both armed. (Isabel and I with small bird
guns, London make, and exquisitely ornamented with
silver inlaying.) These guns were ours,—New Year's
presents from the colonel, who regularly gave us lessons
in the science of shooting, averring that every American
lady ought to know how to take sight and pull a trigger.
Now, when I took the post assigned me, I had no more
malice aforethought against any deer of the forest,
Mr. —, than I have against that “dear gazelle” the
song sings about. I was as innocent of any intention
of firing, as a timid young gent who has been dragged
into a duello by his “friends” would be likely to have.

The tall half-breed had left us some time before we
reached the ridge, and turned off into the depths of the
forest with the dogs, about a dozen of them in all. We
had hardly well taken our “stands” when, from the
bosom of the old wood, came to our ears the low basso
baying of the hounds, sounding full a mile off.

“There, they wake them up, girls!” cried the major,
with eyes sparkling with something of their old battle
fire. “Stand firm and keep your trees when they come.

Take cool aim and pull trigger when you see the color
of their eyes. They will be up in about five minutes!”

The baying of the hounds now grew nearer and louder,
mingled at intervals with the shrill, human cry of the
deer driver. From the colonel I understood that the
dogs had doubled round the deer as they were feeding,
and were driving them towards the ridge, which they
would soon fly across, to dash for the river. Nearer
and louder, and wilder was the uproar in the forest! The
open mouths of a dozen dogs, cheered on by the half-breed,
filled the woods with a continuous roar. Soon
were heard close at hand the crashing of branches and
rustling of leaves, as the antlers of the deer brushed
them in their mad escapade. Then came the quick patter
of hoofs, and the rush of the air like the “noise of
many waters.”

“Look! see! they are in sight!” cried Isabel, her
dark eyes sparkling like a spirited young knight's, when
he first sees his foe advancing against him, lance in
rest!

And they were in sight! First, a noble stag, leading
the van of the flight; then half a dozen graceful does;
then two or three smaller stags; then a confused crowd of
a score of all sizes. With heads laid flat back on their
shoulders, they came up the ridge side with incredible
swiftness. As they approached our stands, they divided
into four beaten paths, and came on like a rolling sea,
bearing a fleet of antlers. Behind them, following hard
on their flanks, coursed the dogs, with their heads in
the air, and their deep bay deafening the ear.

It was a moment of intense excitement. It was like
a battle commencing, with the foe charging! I did not

feel fear, but excitement! My pulse bounded! My heart
leaped with heroic springs! My spirit caught the wild
inspiration of the scene!

“Stand firm!” eagerly whispered the colonel to us, as
they got so near that we could see their brown, womanly
looking eyes.

“Draw your sight coolly, girls,” cried the major.

The next moment they were upon us! The leading
stag dashed like a race horse past the oak where Isabel
stood, four or five following him at top speed. But I
had no time to observe others. My eyes were bent with
a stern energy (my brow is hardly yet restored to its
natural smoothness) upon a phalanx that was rushing towards
me like the wind. An instant, and they passed,
leaving a hurricane in the air of their track following
them. I shut my eyes involuntarily. (Crack! crack!
went rifles on each side of me!) As I opened them
again, I saw the last of the party making for my tree
like a launched javelin. (At this instant Isabel's gun
was heard.) It was a beautiful doe, and as I had, in the
bewildering moment of the exciting scene, stepped a little
out, and exposed myself unconsciously to her attack,
she came leveling her frontal battery unerringly to butt
me over. I saw my danger, and was paralyzed at it!

“Fire, or you are killed,” shouted the colonel, in a
tone of horror.

“Fall down, and let her bound over you!” hallooed
the major.

Instinctively I levelled my pretty bird gun and fired.
I saw the beautiful animal leap into the air, the red
blood pouring down its snow-white breast, and plunge

forward headlong at my feet. I sunk, almost insensible,
upon the warm body, scarcely hearing the cries.

“Bravo!”

“Capital shot!”

A shriek from Isabel, who believed me wounded by the
doe's hoofs, and who flung herself by my side, recalled
me from the momentary stupor which the mingled emotions
of my danger and my escape, and my horror at the
sight of the bleeding breast of the deer, had produced.

Judge my happiness, Mr. —, when it was found
that the doe was not mortally wounded. The major, at
my entreaty, said it should be taken to his house and
nursed for me till it recovered. This was done, and I
have the pleasure of assuring you that it is rapidly convalescing,
and it seems to be grateful to me for riding
over every day to see how it fares.

The result of the day's “sport” was two stages, three
does, and one rabbit, which Isabel caught alive on our
way home, after running it down on horseback. She
also wounded a deer, which escaped from her.

Now, then, you have a veritable account of my deer
hunt. When you make your promised tour of the Union,
“á la President,” and come to this garden of the West,
Tennessee, we will get up a hunt especially for your
edification, fox, deer, or rabbit, as may chime in with
your fancy.