The Raccoon. 259 



Our pet Raccoon, whose habits we are relating, evinced a singu- 

 lar propensity to listen to things at a distance, however many per- 

 sons were around him, even though he might be at the moment 

 eating a frog, of which food he was very fond. He would appa- 

 rently hear some distant noise, then raise his head and continue 

 listening, seeming every moment more absorbed ; at last he would 

 suddenly run and hide himself in his burrow. This seems to be 

 connected with some instinct of the animal in his wild state, pro- 

 bably whilst sitting on a tree sunning himself, when he is in the 

 habit of listening to hear the approach of an enemy, and then 

 hurrying to his hole in the tree. 



Enjoying the hospitality of a friend one night at his plantation, 

 the conversation turned on the habits of animals: and in speaking 

 of the Raccoon he mentioned that it fed on birds and rabbits 

 generally, but in winter robbed the poultry houses. The negroes 

 on his plantation he said kept good dog.^, and relied on them for 

 hunting the Raccoon. 



Whenever a Raccoon was about to attack the poultry house, 

 the dogs scenting him give a shrill cry, which is the signal for his 

 owner to commence the hunt. He comes out armed with an axe, 

 with a companion or two, resolved on a Raccoon hunt. The dog 

 soon gives chase, with such rapidity that the Raccoon, hard 

 pressed, takes to a tree. The dog, close at his heels, changes his 

 whining cry while running to a shrill short sharp bark. If the tree 

 is small or has limbs near the ground so that it can be easily 

 ascended, the eager hunters climb up after the " coon." He per- 

 ceives his danger, endeavours to avoid his pursuers by ascending 

 to the farthest topmost branch, or the extremity of a limb ; but 

 all his efforts are in vain, his relentless pursuers shake the limb, 

 until he is compelled to let go his hold, and he comes toppling 

 heavily to the ground, and is instantly seized by the dogs. It fre- 

 quently happens, however, that the trees are tall and destitute of 

 lower branches, so that they cannot be climbed without the risk of 

 of life or limb. The negroes survey for a few moments in the bright 

 moonlight the tall and formidable tree that shelters the coon, 

 grumble a little at the beast for not having saved them trouble by 

 mounting an easier tree, and then the ringing of their axes resounds 

 through the still woods, awakening echoes of the solitude pre- 

 viously disturbed only by the hooting of the owl, or the impatient 

 barking of the dogs. In half an hour the tree is brought to the 

 ground and with it the Raccoon, stunned by the fall ; his foes give 



