THE NIGHT-HUNT IN RECESS. 85 



The inspiriting announcement, that Bose had tree'd at last, 

 is balm to all our wounds, and we follow in the hurry-scurry 

 rush to the tree. Arrived there, we find old Bose on end 

 barking up a great old oak, while the other dogs lie panting 

 around. "Dare he am," says old Sambo. "Make a fire, 

 niggers !" There is but a single stump of a torch left ; but 

 in a little while they have collected dried wood enough to 

 kindle a great blaze. 



" Which nigger's gwine to climb dat tree ?" says old Sambo, 

 looking round inquiringly. Nobody answers. The insinua- 

 tions he had thrown out, that it might be a cat, have had 

 their effect upon the younger darkies. Sambo waits, in dig- 

 nified silence, for an answer, and throwing off his horn, with 

 an indignant gesture, he says, 



" You d n pack of chicken-gizzards, niggers ! climb de 

 tree myself!" and straightway the wiry old man, with the 

 activity of a boy, springs against the huge trunk, and com- 

 mences to ascend the tree. 



Bose gives an occasional low yelp as he looks after his 

 master. The other dogs sit with upturned noses, and on 

 restless haunches, as they watch his ascent. 



Nothing is heard for some time, but the fall of dead 

 branches and bark which he throws down. The fire blazes 

 high, and the darkness about us, beyond its light, is unpene- 

 trated even by the moon. We stand in eager groups watch- 

 incr his ascent. He is soon lost to our view amongst the 



O O 



limbs ; yet we watch on until our necks ache, while the eager 

 dogs fidget on their haunches, and emit short yelps of im- 

 patience. We see him, against the moon, far up amongst the 

 uppermost forks, creeping like a beetle, up, still up ! We are 

 all on fire the whole fatigue and all the bruises of the chase 

 forgotten ! our fire crackles and blazes fiercely as our im- 

 patience, and sends quick tongues of light, piercing the black 

 throng of forest sentinels about us. 



