192 
THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY, 
through the river swamp, deep into the marsh, far along 
the margin of the river, and then — what a crash! you 
might have heard them down the wind, three miles oil. 
And now, swelling into a louder and still a louder strain, 
the quarry makes directly for the spot where we had taken 
our stand, upon the verge of the swamp, as far in as we 
could well make our way. We had raised our voices in 
one exulting shout, when that wild burst had told us, the 
game was up. But in the tumultuous roar behind him, 
every other sound was hushed, and the Cat made straight 
for us, either not hearing or heeding our halloo. We were 
now still as statues — and the pack came rushing on — the 
crashing of the reeds, the rending of the undergrowth, the 
splashing of the mud and water, and the deep mouthed 
roaring of the hounds, uniting together, like the mingling 
tumults of a September gale, and seeming to give to the 
terrified animal, the wings of the wind. He must have 
passed within ten steps of us, but owing to the thick cover, 
we could not catch a view. The pack, however, were 
close upon him, for they passed us, running breast high, 
all together — no running dog, or in line, but each emu- 
lously dashing for the lead. The Cat seemed determined 
to try their mettle, and beat them by downright game. 
Contrary to the usual practice of the animal, he made a 
straight stretch over the highland, along the border of 
Smith’s old field, and at such a slashing rate, that, to lie 
by them, made Madge blow like a blacksmith’s bellows 
on a frosty morning. She’s a little too fat at present, and 
not long from grass. Finding this game could never last 
long, the Cat endeavoured to throw them out, by a rapid 
succession of ugly dodges, which bothered the young dogs 
excessively. But old Milton was wide awake — he had 
followed too many foxes in his day, to be out-generalled 
even by a Wild Cat. He followed him cautiously, but 
unerringly, through all his circles and angles, and the 
whole pack winding after him, with such close and unre- 
mitting assiduity, that they only made two losses, and 
then, for only two minutes. After circling for about half 
an hour, in a very .thick gum swamp, where he had a great 
advantage over the dogs, “ Monsieur le Chat,” finding 
himself considerabty in advance of the hounds, thought 
he might try them again at long taw; so hoisting out all 
canvass, he made sale for Bachelor’s Creek. This was 
just what the pack wanted; the young dogs were terribly 
pestered in the swamp, but here again, all was plain sail- 
ing; and so the Cat seemed to think too, for, finding that 
he could not make good his retreat to Bachelor, he tacked 
ship, and stood back on his old track — but he was done 
up. He did not indeed contrive to get back to his old 
place of refuge, the swamp; but we knew, by the manner 
in which the old dogs were pushing for the lead, that his 
fate was sealed. He had been now two hours and a half 
on the pad, and we could tell, as we saw him mount a 
log, his eyes flashing, his hair bristling, his short tail lash- 
ing, “ as doubting to return or fly” — his race of existence 
was run. As we raised the view halloo, his tail drooped 
again, which he was elevating as a signal for combat, and 
he dragged himself from the log, with weak and unsteady 
steps; scarcely had he jumped from one end of the log, 
when Milton and Echo mounted it at the other, followed 
by the rest of the pack. Animated by our cheer, and the 
sight of the devoted game, they seemed to gain additional 
vigour, and, before we had made our way a hundred yards 
further in the swamp, we heard a sharp, angry growl, 
then Echo’s shrill yelp, as she leaped upon the prey, and 
then a cry from her, as if she had run afoul of a kettle of 
hot water. Talleyrand next gave a howl of agony, as he 
shrunk from the rude welcome of the Wild Cat. All the 
rest as they came up, seemed to acknowledge by their 
cries, that they had caught a tartar. But what can one do 
against twelve? — most of them, too, young, strong and ac- 
tive. Why, Jackson and Beaufort alone, are strong enough 
to pull down the strongest buck that ever stood at bay. 
Even a Wild Cat must yield to such a fearful odds; so that 
when we succeeded in scrambling to them, we found our 
enemy, (and a huge one he was,) dead upon the field, and 
the dogs limping and baying around, manifesting by their 
condition, the severity of the chase and combat. 
Yours, respectfully, A. F. G. 
Newbern, September 22, 1832 . 
ANECDOTE. 
“ The bon-vivans of America, talk of the canvas-back 
with an interest that borders on affection, and is some- 
times very amusing. ‘ Sir,’ said an old fellow to me, ‘I 
wished to give a duck feast, and accordingly I bought 
nine couple of them all fresh killed, and all of the right 
weight. I stuffed them into every corner of my gig, and 
would not suffer the cook to touch them except in my pre- 
sence; I dressed them all myself, in different ways, and in 
my own parlour, so as to have them all done according to 
figure, sir! Well, sir! all my company had arrived, ex- 
cept an old German; we could not wait, and sat down 
without him. When he came, he exclaimed, ‘What 
noshing but duckhs!’ I started up in a rage, sir! a violent 
rage, sir! ‘noshing but duckhs!’ I repeated after him. — 
Why, you old scoundrel, said I, your own Emperor of 
Austria never had such a dinner, he could not, sir, though 
he gave the best jewel in bis crown for it.” 
[ Vigne’s six months in America. 
