"There were some good horses in the stables, and we did not spare them.
Our cross-country dashes were most exciting, and the total absence of
fences in the region gave us an apparently limitless expanse over which
to wander. And that reminds me of a never-to-be-forgotten fox hunt which
was attended by riders from all over that section of the country. Half a
dozen foxes were corralled at the 'round-up,' and I could not help
thinking how tame our alleged 'chases' at home appeared by the contrast.
"One day while roaming about the lower portion of the Raven Hill estate
we stumbled quite by accident into Dark Forest, vaguely hinted at by the
negroes as a place to be avoided. This Dark Forest is a large tract of
scrub oak, birch and holly, with dense undergrowths of briar; the haunt
of innumerable small birds that dart in and out, chirping faintly. In
its depressed portions the 'forest' has degenerated into a marsh through
which a sluggish stream wends it way to the distant river. Slimy
reptiles bask in the warm sun and glide lazily over the black, oozy
soil. At intervals the stillness is broken by the splash of a gigantic
bullfrog returning to his favorite pool. This acrobatic feat is usually
accompanied by a deep-throated cry of satisfaction, not unlike the
twanging of an ill-tuned guitar.
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