1B0 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



unearthed by Lord Fairfax and run with different relays of 

 hounds fifty miles and then got away. At Marshain, in 

 England, it is related that a fox was unkennelled at 8 

 o'clock in the morning and was pushed hard until 8 in the 

 evening, and he coursed in that time 60 miles, breaking 

 down all the horses. Old fox hunters have told me that a 

 pack of hounds of fine strain have been known to run a 

 mile in 60 seconds. Capt. Dan McCarty 's pet fox once 

 ran 40 miles in four hours, completely using up the hounds 

 and the horses. 



There are two kinds of foxes, the gray and the red, the 

 former is a native of America — not so with the other. 

 Col. T. B. Thorpe, a brilliant writer on these subjects, 

 says:— 



"The red fox is supposed to have been imported from 

 England to the eastern shore of Maryland, and to have 

 emigrated to Virginia on the ice in the severe winter of 

 1779, at which time the Chesapeake Bay was frozen over. 

 In 1789 the hist red fox that we have any record of was 

 killed in Maryland. In that year there had been a few red 

 foxes turned loose on Long Island. The red fox drives the 

 gray fox before him. In writing the history of the red 

 and gray fox, it would seem that they vary in strength and 

 sagacity in different sections. In Florida the gray fox is 

 almost worthless for the chase. 



In this country it costs but little to keep a pack of hounds; 

 the price of course, varies, but it is certain that the price is 

 strangely at variance with the horse. Hounds have always 

 been undervalued. A good hunter frequently sells for 1,000 

 guineas, while a pack of hounds, on which everything 

 depends, goes for a hundred, yet Shakespeaxe himself ap- 

 peared to know the value of a good hound, for in his in- 

 troduction to the "Taming of the Shrew," the noblemen 

 returning from hunting thus speaks of his hounds with 

 pride to his huntsman: — 



"Huntsman I charge thee tender well my hounds. 

 Saw'st thou not boy; how bilver made it. good; 

 At the hedge c rner at the coldest fault. 

 I would, not lose the dog for twenty pounds. 



It was nearly a half century after the first epoch of which 

 I have written, and of the gallant cavaliers who followed 

 the Fairfax hunts, but few survived; they lay buried 

 where they had fallen on scores of bloody fields. Others 

 battle- worn and bullet scarred, lived to see the infant 

 Republic they had founded making rapid progress to- 

 wards wealth and power. As the country changed and im- 

 migration flowed steadily, the gentry instnsioly adapted 

 themselves to the new order of things. Many of the old 

 customs in vogue before the Revolution were entirely done 

 away with. The law of primogeniture was abrogated and 

 the splendid estates passed into other hands. The poor 

 people now began to assert their sovereignty, and the old, 

 but still proud and haughty torm of Aristocracy, was reel- 

 ing under the vigorous blows of young Democracy, who 

 gained strength each moment. I will hurry on to the sub- 

 ject of the chase. 



There met one morning in January, 1815, the largest 

 "Meet" ever held in Virginia. Two hundred guests were 

 present, many of them being ladies, who were invited to 

 Cedar Grove. Great preparation had been made for the 

 reception of the many guests, for not only was there to be a 

 grand ball, but also the annual "fox hunt," was to be held. 

 iNoted sportsmen from the whole State had been invited, 

 and were expected to come with their packs of hounds. 

 The scene of the meet was at Cedar Grove, five miles from 

 the former site of Belvoir, and situated on the Potomac. 

 The mansion was partly of brick, and partly of wood, a 

 wide, roomy edifice of two stories, covering a large space 

 of ground. It had a sort of court-yard fronting the river 

 with romantic serpentine walks, all trellised, where the 

 V irginia creeper and the honeysuckle contended for mastery; 

 at intervals a rustic bench was placed and it is no wonder 

 thai every enamoured swain in the neighborhood was anxi- 

 ous to carry his Dulcinea to visit the hospitable house of 

 Capt. McCarty, for if his suit failed with those romantic 

 surroundings, his chance was hopeless indeed. Cedar 

 Grove took its name from an avenue of stately cedar trees 

 that bounued the park on two sides. The mansion was 

 large and commodious, the walls were of paneled wood 

 with small windows seated in deep embrasures and the 

 mantel was high, embellished with heavy mouldings that 

 extended up to the cornice of the room. In one corner 

 stood a small triangular cupboard and opposite to it a clock 

 equally tall, with a full moon peering above the dial plate; 

 then the leather- bottomed chairs which sprawled their 

 bandy legs like a high Dutch sailor squaring the yard; 

 huge tables with stately chiua; an uncarpeted floor gliler- 

 ing with dim, but spotless, lustre in token of careful 

 house-keeping. Around the walls in grotesque "flames, 

 were hanging time worn portraits showing aristocratic 

 high-bred features through thickets of curls. 



The festival of the season lasted several days, and there 

 was one dazzling, mingling of light, diamonds, laughter, 

 flowers, swaying forms and bright eyes, that flashed and 

 sparkled like a scene in the Opera. But at last, much to 

 the regret of some, but to the unfeigned joy of the hunt- 

 ing portion of the party, the company left, and those who 

 came for the sake of the sport remained behind. There 

 were assembled here, the boldest riders, and noted sports- 

 men of the country. On the morning of the "meet," there 

 were some 50 gentlemen on the ground, all well mounted 

 and dressed in beautiful hunting costumes. I will begin a 

 sketch of the noted characters by that of the host, Capt. 

 Dan McCarty, who has left a name and reputation as a 

 devoted lover of field sports. He was a splendid looking 

 man in the prime of lite, the handsomest of his time, with 

 the figure of a Roman athlete, and the face of a sculptured 

 Grecian god; eyes brown, or hazel, that could look very 

 tender, or equally fierce; a man whom the men swore by 

 and the women raved over. But the fast life he was living 

 had told on him; his face was marked by lines that told of 

 reckless passions and reckless purpose. Generous, fearless, 

 and utterly uncaring, such was Dan McCarty, the boldest 

 rider and best shot of the country round. The way he 

 won his wife was a real romance, though unlike most ro 

 mances, it did not turn out as the novels always do. He 

 was running a fox, and pressing him hard, Reynard actu- 

 ally took reluge in a mansion house, whose door stood 

 invitingly open. The Captain was never known to hold 

 back wlien the hounds led, and rushed for the door, when 

 he was suddenly confronted by a beautiful girl, as youth- 

 ful as Hebe, "a young budding maiden, fair, fresh, and 

 sweet," with her pet fox in her arms that he had been 

 chasing, and the gallant Captain got his fox— and won a 

 wife. This lady was endowed with as much spirit as was 

 ever Bonny Kate, but McCarty was no Petruchio to tame 

 his shrew, and like other wise men he knocked under. He * 



used to remark in after years, that, "he had in that chase 

 caught more vixens than one." He was by inheri- 

 tance a "hard goer," as the Irish call a dashing -hunter, 

 being the great grand-son of Daniel McCarty, President of 

 the House of Burgesses in 1715, who bore the hereditary 

 name of the ancient lords of Desmond, and, according to 

 Leiand, caused the proverbial saying of "Go to hell or 

 Connaught." This gentleman was the original of Thack- 

 eray's "Tlarry Esmond." All of his descendants followed 

 in his footsteps. Capt. Dan McCarty, with a buccaneering 

 wife and a host of friends, coolly determined to fol- 

 low the chase and the punch bowl until he was, in sporting 

 parlance, "run to ground." We may be sure that no finer 

 julep was ever made than that with which McCarty re 

 galed his guests in his ancestral beaker — a "welcome cup" 

 or silver flagon holding nearly a gallon. This cup had 

 three black wooden handles attached; the cup bearer hold- 

 ing by one and the guest by the other two, they drank al- 

 ternately. The captain was always attended by his major- 

 domo, Uncle London, a stately old negro prouder than his 

 master, with the exaggerated manners of the times. Un- 

 cle London was always attired in his dark green livery 

 with bright silver buttous. The master and slave were de- 

 votedly attached to each other, and after the captain's 

 death old London pined away and died of a broken heart. 

 Capt. McCarty died a few years after the meet, in the 

 prime of life, over head and ears in debt, his immense es- 

 tate having been spent in his splendid entertainments. 

 His brother, a grave and sedate member of Congress, be- 

 came his heir, and the echoes of blowing horns, light 

 laughter, and the stirring tally ho! has never since been 

 wafted over that classic ground. 



One of the most famous characters of the assembled 

 company was Parson W earns, a man of much talent, but 

 queer in his notions and eccentric in his actions. The par- 

 son loved two things better than preaching— hunting the 

 fox and playing the fiddle — not a Chesterheldian accom- 

 plishment certainly, but one the reverend Doctor of Di- 

 vinity excelled in, and nothing pleased the bloods of the 

 day better than to get his Worship in a kindly hu- 

 mor by the aid of a bottle of old port, and put his instru- 

 ment in his hands. He could play like Paganini, and used 

 to bring every negro on the plantation around the house to 

 hear him. Parson Weams was rising above the middle 

 age, with a red, puffy face, twinkling eyes, and a stout, 

 portly form. His coat was snuff colored without embroid- 

 ery; no frill of lace peeped from his bosom; his nether 

 limbs were covered by thick woolen wear, and a pair of 

 stout Wellington boots completed the dress. The parson 

 was a welcome guest everywhere. His favorite tunes are 

 rarely heard now: "The Cruiskin Lawn" and that beau- 

 tiful old Celtic ballad, "Far Beyond the Mountains." In 

 a livelier strain he would play the Scotch reel, "Sally in 

 the Garden," "Carlin, is your Daughter Ready?" and other 

 morceaux which could often be heard then in the long 

 bouts that frequented "Washington's Retch." 



Sitting on a roan mare of great bone and muscle was 

 Miles Selden, from Westover on the James River. He 

 was an exceedingly handsome man. I have seen his por- 

 trait taken in his prime, and it is the most perfect counte 

 nance I ever beheld; full of character and decision, one of 

 those mobile countenances that are haughty, stern, or ten- 

 der as the occasion rises. The Seldens of those times 

 were a proud, clannish set, prejudiced, high-strung and 

 honorable, with a reckless dash and impulsiveness that 

 never counted the cost when their pride or their honor was 

 concerned. There, too, mounted on the finest of horses, 

 was Ned Ambler, Phil Southall, Capt. Territt, Nat Hunter, 

 John Fairfax and William Payne. Among this group was 

 a celebrated fox hunter by the name of Buck Carter, from 

 Tidewater section, who fed, bred and run as staunch breeds 

 of hounds as any in the Old Dominion. On the produce 

 of a small plantation he brought up frugally and credita- 

 bly twelve sons and six daughters, a stable of good hunt- 

 ers, and a kennel of true strain fox hounds. His dress was 

 a long drab hunting coat, a belt, and a fur cap on his head. 

 He was a jovial fellow, and could tell an anecdote with 

 wonderful effect and power, and like "poor Yorick" would 

 keep the table in a roar, so that his company was much 

 sought after. His whole hunting establishment, though 

 small, was kept in excellent order. He was always up in 

 the hunting season at 4 in the morning, mounted on one 

 of his perfectly groomed horses, and at 5 he would be on 

 the field with his trained hounds. He rode with judg- 

 ment, and was the best hand in the world to encourage the 

 dogs, or assist, them when at fault. 



After the fatigues of the day, whence he generally 

 brought in a couple of brushes, he would entertain his 

 guests with the best the house afforded, and cement his 

 welcome with good old "October home-brewed and peach 

 and honey" of his own raising, and his standing toast was 

 always "Horses and hounds." 



The most brilliant figure in the group was Pitt Chiches- 

 ter, Esquire, of Mount Wellington, in Fairfax county. 

 He was the best known man in the State, with many 

 staunch friends and many bitter enemies. He was a sty- 

 lish fellow, with a face of as much brilliancy and delicacy 

 as a woman — handsome, thoroughbred, nonchalant, with 

 a latent recklessness showing under the impressive calm of 

 habit. He had soft, sleepy, blue eyes, and an oval face 

 on which neither beard or mustache was allowed to grow; 

 the figure was slight, but active and muscular. In fact, 

 the tout ensemble was that of a complete man of the world. 

 He had spent several years in Europe, was a roue of a 

 couple of London seasons, a tapageur of doubtful Paris 

 salons, and familiar with every vice. Any one would take 

 him at first sight for an effeminate dandy, of too lazy and 

 luxurious temperament to exeit himself except under the 

 pressure of "needs must when the devil drives;" but first 

 impressions are not infallible, and Pitt was an excepiion to 

 the general rule. He was a sirange anomaly, a singular 

 contradiction of good and bad qualities not often seen in 

 any one man; generous as a prince at one time, at others 

 as miserly as any Shylock; kind hearted and bad-tempered, 

 sympathetic and selfish, tender and cruel, staunch and 

 false; he was everything by turns, and nothing long. He 

 moved in full pace with his uncurbed impulses. The sin- 

 gle thing he was constant in was sporting. He was a great 

 ladies' man, and there wasn't a belle in the county that 

 Pitt hadn't taiten a shy at, and his handsome face, dashing 

 manner, and Fra Diavolo style made him everywhere suc- 

 cessful. He was very fond of playing practical jokes, and 

 some of them were unpardonable. He once abstracted 

 Parson Weam's bandana, wrapped in it a pack of cards, 

 and slyly slipped it back into his pocket. Imagine his 

 Reverence's confusion when, in the midst of an impas- 

 sioned discourse, he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe 



his heated brow, and the cards spread like a stream ov 

 the pulpit, and fell like autumn leaves over the chano? 

 He used to perform the most foolish and desperate feii 

 out of mere bravado. Once when returning from a na t 

 he leaped the Cedar run creek on his pet horse, jumni 

 from one high bank to another when a misstep or a stum 

 ble would have been certain death. The next mornin^ I,;' 

 friends found the distance to be 27 feet. a 



Frolics of all kinds delighted him. He once took fon 

 horses out of a wagon, and mounting one kepersuad'l 

 his friends to back the others, and away they went on 

 scrub race, the loser to pay a dozen of Lisbon port. By * 

 preconcerted plan Pitt placed the wagon on aground 

 where there was a desceut, with orders to cry wlioho! at 

 a given signal when he passed by. The wagoner, heavily 

 bribed, did so, and the horses, remembering the well- 

 known tones, and being, besides, half-blown, °stopped as 

 suddenly as if they were shot, and away went the riders 

 high over their horses' heads. Of course Pitt won the 

 wine and had the laugh on his side, two things in the 

 world he would rather have than anything else. 



On the occasion of the "meet" he blazed like a jewel 

 among his more soberly-dressed companions. His costume 

 was got up by himself in Paris, and surpassed anything 

 ever seen in the Old Dominion. His hunting coat was of 

 sky-blue, beautifully embroidered with silver threads and 

 adorned with gold buttons. He wore corduroy breeches of 

 spotless white, which were met by a pair of Peel's patent- 

 leathers, on the heels of which were spurs of solid silver, 

 with a diamond set in each rivet head. His saddle was of 

 embossed Russian leather, with holsters at the pieces. Had 

 any one else made this apparent display he would have 

 been laughed at, but all knew that beneath this daudilied 

 foppishness there was a daring soul. His entry the day 

 before at Cedar Grove had created a great sensation. He 

 appeared in a chariot phaeton, which was a splendor iti 

 itself. It was of purple and gold, with his coat of arms 

 on each panel. The hubs were of solid silver, and the in- 

 side was elaborately finished. This vehicle was drawn by 

 four black horses, ridden by two servants in livery. On 

 the box was the coachman, holding the reins of these 

 dainty thoroughbreds, whilst the footmen swung behind, 

 Two outriders, one befoie and one behind the chariot, 

 completed this dashing turnout. Such was Pitt Chiches- 

 ter — a man you would like to have with you when riding 

 with the hounds, or at a dinner at Cash's tavern, or as a 

 second for a duel at Johnnes's cross-roads; but not a maa 

 with whom you would like to have a horse trade or trust 

 your sweetheart with. Pitt was not married, as I re- 

 marked before. At this time, like Count Ferdinand, he 

 would give the fair sex all he had except his name. He 

 was of course well mounted on an English barb, which he 

 had brought from England with him. 



There was a very elegantly gotten up gentleman on the 

 ground named Champ Conway. He was comparatively a 

 young man, and enormously wealthy. His costume con- 

 sisted of a hunting coat of deep red, with mother-of-ptarl 

 buttons, white buckskin pants, and immaculate top-boots, 

 that were polished until they shone like a mirror. Mr. 

 Conway was very tall, with a lithe and sinewy figure, aud 

 his age was about 30. He had been educated in Germany, 

 and was noted for being the best fencer of his day. He 

 had been the principal in several affairs of honor, one of 

 which was ended in a very curious manner, and in a way 

 that probably no duel before or since was ever terminated. 

 He had received a challenge from Maj. Randolph, of Fau- 

 quier, for some real or fancied injury or affront, and of 

 course accepted it, and chose the favorite small-sword as 

 his weapon. The place of meeting was a sweet piece of 

 ground for such work; just such a spot as Sir Lucius O'Twig- 

 ger would delight in for such a purpose— being an opcu 

 glade in a forest. Attended by the seconds and a surgeon, 

 the parties met early one morning, and after courteously 

 saluting each other fell back while their friends settled the 

 preliminaries. These were soon finished, and placing the 

 rapiers in the hands of the principals they were ordered to 

 set to. Both were accomplished swordsmen, and it .muse 

 have been a fine sight to see those two gladiators stripped 

 to the waist and in their bare feet, contending poiut to 

 point, breast to breast, in that silent forest glade. From 

 the first Conway acted on the defensive, and slowly backed 

 under the Major's tierce onset. The keen rapiers gleamed 

 and flashed as they cut through the morning air in the 

 vicious lunge or guarded parry. The seconds soon per- 

 ceived that Conway was winding his antagonist, who was 

 already breathing hard, and they saw, too, that as soon as 

 he was out of breath Conway would pink him in any spot 

 he chose. The end was near. A furious rush of Kan- 

 dolph'a caused the wily swordsman to retreat, parrying at 

 the same time the lunges of his foe; but as he was ptessed 

 back he felt a stinging sensation on his ankle, and glancing 

 down saw a copperhead snake, coiled and in the act ol 

 sinking his fangs into him for the second time. Willi a 

 cry of horror he threw down his sword and leaped side- 

 ways. The situation was understood at a glance, in J 

 twinkling the surgeon had him on the grass, cutting away 

 the flesh from the punctured spot, and dosing him wiui 

 whisky, and none worked over him more heartily than me 

 man who a moment before faced him in mortal coinoat. 

 This prompt treatment saved his life, and, beyond a sweu 

 ing of the limb, no harm resulted. It was found out alter- 

 ward that the serpent had a nest near the spot, which ac- 

 counted for its unusual boldness. Mr. Conway nevw 

 fought another duel after that. 



There was Tatterson, a French dancing master, who 

 taught the young Virginians how to trip the fantastic toe. 

 He was very popular among the planters, was always dii - 

 full of good nature, vivacity and merriment, and his ou 

 ways and broken English were a source of great amuse 

 ment to his friends. The Frenchman liked the hunt, u" 

 was one of those unlucky riders who always fall as J 

 first ditch. Tatterson was a noble who left his count j 

 when Napoleon was crowned Emperor. He had ^ 

 mixed up in some conspiracy, and Fouche ordered m 

 leave France forever, but on the restoration of the d 

 bons he returned home and resumed his title, lhere 

 many other gentlemen present whose names are as no 

 hold words to the people, but want of space forbids me 

 dilate. They were all good and true men, who lovei a _ 

 chase better than any other pastime in the world, ana j 

 all followed the hounds as long as they could sit on i 

 saddle. The "meet" was ended by a farewell dinner. » 



cnase Detter tnan any otner pastime m ijuc w^v., -- . 

 all followed the hounds as long as they could sit on i 

 saddle. The "meet" was ended by a farewell dinner, u 

 as Capt. McCarty was the greatest epicure among e 

 those last-goers, and fast-livers, there doubtless was a i j» ■ 

 such as Lucuilus dreamed of but never saw. And tnc \u 

 pitable master of Cedar Grove was never happier than wn 



