Before separating, after "John Peel" had been sung with great
enthusiasm, someone proposed that we should get up a fox-hunt in real
English style. Everyone agreed, glad of anything, I suppose, to break
the monotony of such an existence, and next day we rode out, followed
by about twenty dogs, of various breeds and sizes, brought together
from all the houses. After some searching about in the most likely
places, we at length started a fox from a bed of dark-leafed
_mio-mio_ bushes. He made straight away for a range of hills about
three miles distant, and over a beautifully smooth plain, so that we
had a very good prospect of running him down. Two of the hunters had
provided themselves with horns, which they blew incessantly, while the
others all shouted at the top of their lungs, so that our chase was
a very noisy one. The fox appeared to understand his danger and to
know that his only chance of escape lay in keeping up his strength
till the refuge of the hills was reached. Suddenly, however, he changed
his course, this giving us a great advantage, for by making a short
cut we were all soon close at his heels, with only the wide level plain
before us. But reynard had his reasons for what he did; he had spied
a herd of cattle, and in a very few moments had overtaken and mixed
with them. The herd, struck with terror at our shouts and horn-blowing,
instantly scattered and flew in all directions, so that we were able
still to keep our quarry in sight.
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