78 WILD SCENES AND WILD HUNTERS. 



grow silent, and move faster. The horn is sounded more 

 boldly, and the howls accompany it in a gathering cadence. 



Now the scene has bm-st upon us through an opening of the 

 trees ! — There they are ! Negroes of all degrees, size and 

 age, and of dogs — 



" Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel gi'im, 

 Hound or spaniel, brack or lym, 

 Or bobtail tike, or trundle tail." 



All are there, in one conglomerate of active, noisy confusion. 

 When indications of the hurried approach of our company are 

 perceived, a great accession to the hubbub is consequential. 



Old Sambo sounds a shriller note upon his horn^ the dogs 

 rise from independent howls to a simultaneous yell, and along 

 with all the young half-naked darkies rush to meet us. The 

 women come to the doors with their blazing lamps lifted above 

 their heads, that they may get a look at the " young masters," 

 and we, shouting with excitement, and blinded by the light, 

 plunge stumbling through the meeting current of dogs and 

 young negroes, into the midst of the gathering party. Here 

 we are suddenly arrested by a sort of awe as we find ourselves 

 in the presence of old Sambo. The young dogs leap upon 

 us with their dirty fore-paws, but we merely push aside their 

 caresses, for old Sambo and his old dog Bose are the two 

 centres of our admiration and interest. 



Old Sambo is the "Mighty Hunter before" — the moon! 

 of all that region. He is seamed and scarred with the pitti- 

 less siege of sixty winters ! Upon all matters appertaining 

 to such hunts, his word is "Zaw," while the "tongue" of his 

 favorite and ancient friend Bose is recognized as '■^ gospeV 

 In our young imaginations, the two are res]f)ectfully identified. 



Old Sambo, with his blanket "roundabout" — his cow's-horn 

 trumpet slung about his shoulders by a tow string — his bare 

 head, with its greyish fleece of wool — the broad grin of com- 

 placency, showing his yet sound white teeth — and rolling the 



