My brother's weight and mine, together
being upward of twenty-four stone, in addition to that of half-a-
Dozen
heavy dogs, did not appear to trouble him, and had we not been close to
the spot when he came to bay, so that the knives came to the instant
succour of the dogs, he would have most probably killed or wounded half
the pack.
In this wild and rough kind of sport, the best dogs are constantly most
seriously wounded, and after a fight of this kind, needles and thread
and bandages are in frequent requisition. It is wonderful to see the
rapid recovery of dogs from wounds which at first sight appear
incurable. An instance occurred a short time ago, when I certainly gave
up one of the best dogs for lost. We had found a buck, who after a sharp
run, came to bay in a deep part of the river known by the name of Black
Pool. My youngest brother* {* James Baker, late Lieut.-Colonel of
Cambridge University Volunteers.} (who is always my companion in
hunting) and I were at some distance, but feeling certain of the
locality of the bay, we started off at full speed towards the supposed
spot. A run of a mile, partly through jungle leading into a deep wooded
ravine, brought us to the river, which flowed through the hollow, and
upon approaching the water, we distinctly heard the pack at bay at some
distance down the stream.
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