My pencil
flew one way and my note-book another. And then, as I looked
down into the valley, an extraordinary sight met my eyes.
The hunt was streaming down it. The fox I could not see, but the
dogs were in full cry, their noses down, their tails up, so close
together that they might have been one great yellow and white
moving carpet. And behind them rode the horsemen--my faith, what
a sight! Consider every type which a great army could show.
Some in hunting dress, but the most in uniforms: blue dragoons,
red dragoons, red-trousered hussars, green riflemen,
artillerymen, gold-slashed lancers, and most of all red, red,
red, for the infantry officers ride as hard as the cavalry.
Such a crowd, some well mounted, some ill, but all flying along
as best they might, the subaltern as good as the general,
jostling and pushing, spurring and driving, with every thought
thrown to the winds save that they should have the blood of this
absurd fox! Truly, they are an extraordinary people, the
English!
But I had little time to watch the hunt or to marvel at these
islanders, for of all these mad creatures the very horse upon
which I sat was the maddest.
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