The Hunter

A fictional story written by Priscilla B. Shuler

Me and my older brother, Duke, who was twelve, and Eddie, who was soon to turn twelve, had been together all day. (Eddie is Uncle Norton’s and Aunt Julia’s son.) We’d been out scouting the neighborhood, seeing how much benign devilment we could accomplish in the remaining hours before we’d all have to pack to leave, and get back to our respective homes in Alexandria.

Coming to the family home in South Carolina for the Thanksgiving reunion was the highlight of any year that we could actually make it. For the three previous years we’d been in France and besides, I’d have been too young to be included in Uncle Norton’s plans before now.

“Vince, Oh Vince! Come on out here, boy!” Hearing my favorite uncle hollering for me was like a well of joy flooding my soul. I’d heard ‘em all - Uncle Norton, Uncle Theodore and Daddy - talking at breakfast this morning about the possibility of a ’coon hunt this evening, and I’d been praying they’d include me.

He was calling me from the porch of The Little House out behind Memom’s big house. The Little House was built for overflow when all of her children came home at the same time. Uncle Theodore, whose wife had been dead many years, was staying out there during this visit, while our family and Uncle Norton’s family were in the large upstairs bedrooms of the big house. I went bounding out of the bathroom, while stuffing my shirt down in my pants, ran through the kitchen, and banged out the back door, and across the lawn toward the gathering. Duke and Eddie were standing with the men near an old truck.

‘Uncle’ Henry Kelly was up in the bed of the truck with three hound dogs, that appeared almost as excited as I was.

I stopped, close up next to Daddy. He laid his hand on my shoulder and asked, “Do you think you’re up to a little ’coon hunting this evening, son?”

My heart was pounding wildly, and all I could do was nod my head and try to look serious. I glanced at Duke and Eddie, and they were grinning like ‘possums. We boys had been talking of just this possibility while we were out playing earlier.

“Go tell your mama to get some huntin’ clothes on you. We’ll be leaving as soon as you’re ready,” said Daddy.

Mama had some old clothes (most of which were too large) laid out in an upstairs bedroom, and it didn’t take two minutes for me to get changed. Some old knee-high rubber boots were held onto my feet by about four pair of heavy socks. Without questioning I put on everything that was there, and bounded back down the stairs and through the house at break-neck speed. Mama called, “You stick close to your daddy, now!”

Jostling in the back of the truck with ’Uncle’ Henry, and fighting off the dog’s wet noses and tongues, kept us all in gales of laughter. It was so wonderful to be included on such an adventure. I hoped we wouldn’t get home ‘til Christmas.

As I looked up, all of a sudden I realized that there was no more open sky. In fact, the trees were so thick around us, that their limbs were brushing the sides of the truck, as we plowed onward, deeper into the Wateree River Swamp. The darkness felt almost liquid as it enveloped us. We finally came to a stop in a large clearing.

The dogs went crazy, jumping over the sides, circling and barking excitedly, and then running off into the darkness. ‘Uncle’ Henry was getting all the stuff out of the truck and while he was busy, Daddy and Uncle Norton told me and Duke and Eddie to.. “..always stay in sight.- no playing games - keep close.”

A few minutes after we’d each been given what we were supposed to tote (I had the box of bullets, which I slid into my right front pocket, Duke had the axe, Eddie carried extra batteries), we heard the dogs barking off in the distance.

With us boys walking behind Uncle Theodore, who had the lantern held high, and Daddy, Uncle Norton, and Henry bringing up the rear, we trekked toward the sound of the dogs. We walked for what must have been twenty minutes through thick undergrowth, crossing shallow creeks and stepping over fallen logs. Then the barking stopped. That’s when we stopped.

I stood silently, listening to Duke and Eddie whispering of needing to pee. The men were talking of whether or not to settle in where we were, when the dogs began barking pretty close by. Uncle Norton picked up the rifle, Uncle Theodore took the lantern, and Daddy had the flashlight. Henry had the tow sacks slung over his arm and said, “Fall in, boys.”

By the time the dogs sounded like they were just “right over there”, we came upon what looked like a wide, deep stream. Since Uncle Norton had the rifle, and I was carrying the bullets, he put me on his shoulders to ford the stream. We all waded into the icy black water together. I saw Duke and Eddie being held up by Daddy and Henry in neck-deep water. Uncle Theodore had already made it across, and was waiting for us.

From my vantage point, I could see we were quickly getting deeper than Daddy and Henry. Uncle Norton said, “Vince, hold the rifle up over your head with both hands. Looks like the water is a tad deeper here.”

As I took the gun from his upraised hands, he grabbed both my legs with his arms and held them tight to his chest. I was in disbelief when his head actually went under the water for about three or four seconds and then, thankfully, I could see the top of it emerging as we ascended the far bank.

Once we were all up on the bank, Uncle Theodore said, “Looks like we’re gonna hafta build a fire right now! You boys find some dry wood. Henry, you clear the area. We’re gonna go check out the dogs.”

I could hear the baying sound of dogs who’d treed a ‘coon. The men left us with Henry to get the fire built. Soon, their voices were out of earshot, and it sounded like the dogs were on the run again. I wondered if the rifle had any bullets in it, as I still had the box he’d given me, in my pocket.

With lotsa’ shaking, and teeth clinchin‘, we got the ground cleared away enough to where it was safe to build a fire, but I was wondering if the matches had gotten wet. Henry was jabbing long sticks upright in the dirt around the rocks where the firewood was laid. He then took his hat off his head and reached inside the band and took out a book of matches. He soon had a nice fire going and he told us to take off our wet clothes.

I thought I’d freeze to death for sure doing that. My teeth wouldn’t even keep shut they were chattering so hard. But I followed Duke’s and Eddie’s example, and stripped down to my shorts. We poured the water out of our boots and upended them on the sticks. We wrung as much water out of the clothes as we could, and slung them over the cross sticks that Henry had laid upon the upright ones.

Henry also stripped down, then laid on the tow sacks, and was asleep in five minutes. Time passed as we huddled as close in to the fire as possible without scorching ourselves. The smell was bad, but was even worse when Edward decided to pee into the edge of the blaze. Soon as he’d done it, Duke and I decided we had to. We were laughing so hard we actually forgot that we were on the far side of freezing.

Then Eddie - he was always up to doing something real bad - found a long thin straw and stuck it into the glowing ashes. He then slipped quietly over to the other side of the fire and slid that straw in between two toes on ‘Uncle’ Henry’s foot.

Duke and I had a conniption fit and began wrestling with Eddie to get over to take the straw out before it burned down. ‘Uncle’ Henry must have been woken up by our tussling and saw what was going on. He threw the straw into the fire and grabbed Eddie by the seat of his shorts, and tore up his behind. (Not really hard, but enough to embarrass him in front of us.) “I forgive you, young Eddie, but jus’ think of how bad I’d’a suffered wid a big ol’ blistah ‘twix ma toes,” Henry said.

Eddie actually began dropping big tears down his cheeks without making any sound, and then he slid both arms around Henry’s neck. “I love you ‘Uncle’ Henry. I’m sorry. I never thought about it hurting you.”

Henry sat back down, snuffled and wiped his nose on the back of his big black hand, and looked at us boys. “Allus think about what you want to be a-doin’ a’fore you does it. Now, turn dem clothes an’ try to git a’lilla shet’eye whil’s de gittin’s good.”

I dozed off and on, laying curled up on a thin bed of dry leaves. Turning over and over, I felt like a spitted hog. It seemed like many hours passed before we heard the men coming back. I could see Uncle Theodore behind the lantern with Daddy and Uncle Norton behind him. They had been all the way back to the truck and gotten a tarp.

They proceeded to set up a kinda wall to capture the heat from the fire. Then they stripped down too, while we piled on more wood. I listened in awe as the men talked of other times, like when they were taken out with Big Daddy, as boys, into this self same swamp. How the boar ‘coon had attacked ‘Old Capp‘ and how Henry’s wife had made some foul-smelling ointment to slather on the cuts, but it had done the trick. ‘Old Capp’ lived long enough to die of old age back in ‘56.

Off in the distance, I could hear the hounds yapping and barking and heading in our direction. The men grabbed their semidry clothes and pulled them on. Uncle Norton looked at me, and grinned, “Where’s ‘at box of bullets, son? I think we’re gonna need ‘em this time.”

I went to my pants, hanging by the fire, got the damp box and handed it to him. “Good boy! Don’t ever forget your bullets when you go a-huntin’, Vinny.” He reached over to scruffle the top of my head.

Henry roused and began to put on his clothes. “Git dressed, boys, while I outen the fire. We’re gonna go git us a ‘coon,” he said.

Within a very few minutes we were walking single file behind Henry, who was now carrying the lantern. The men had taken the large flashlight with them. We headed toward the ever increasing sounds of the hounds and the voices of the men.

“There he is, there! See his eyes!” cried Uncle Theodore, shining the light straight up in a huge hardwood. The ‘coon was walking along a limb, trying to make it over to another tree. “Shoot him b’fore he gets to that oak! It’s got a big hole and we might never git him out.”

“I need to get better sight of ‘im, Theo,” complained Uncle Norton.

“Here, give the damn gun to me, I’ll shoot ‘im,” Theodore answered.

“Okay, you’re so smart, you get the rascal, but don’t you mess up his fur. We can get a good price for that pelt.” said Uncle Norton, as he held out the rifle.

Theodore took the gun just as the ‘coon slid out of sight into the gaping black hole high up in the leafless oak.

“Henry, bring that axe! Now you chop away right here.” Uncle Theodore indicated the place on the tree trunk with the barrel of the rifle. Then looking to daddy, he said, “Arthur, hold the light on that hole. I’ll be ready when he comes out.”

Henry chopped at that tree for about fifteen minutes, and still no sign of that ‘coon . Pretty soon, the flashlight was aimed at the chopping; since they figured that the entire tree would have to come down before the ‘coon would come out. No one noticed that the dogs were barking again at a nearby tree. That is, until we heard Uncle Norton’s frantic voice. “Bring the light over here, quick! That ‘coon is wadded up here in the crotch of this ole’ saplin’!”.

Quitting the chopping, we ran the few yards, wavering the flashlight, to the new site. With one crack of the 22, Theodore got the ‘coon. I saw it fall like a rock. It hit the ground and was set upon immediately by the dogs. They mouthed it, sniffed it, picked it up and dropped it a few times, until the men pulled them away.

My insides were churning over the sight of such a wild and beautiful animal being taken down. I also knew that ‘men’ didn’t feel such sorrow. I steeled my feelings to accept this as part of my growing experience; taking my mind into a manly environment for safety.

Henry dropped the ‘coon into a tow sack, tied a small rope around the top and slung it over his shoulder, smiling to himself.

“You’ll get a good price for this ‘un, Henry,” said Uncle Norton, reading Henry’s mind. “Well, boys, it’s pretty late, and the dogs are tuckered, and so am I. We need to get home and outa these wet clothes. How ’bout us headin’ outa here?” said Daddy. “We don’t want our mamas frettin’ about us, now do we?”

Our return trip back to the truck took a little longer. We veered upland to cross that deep creek at a narrower point. The men had gone this way back to the truck earlier to get the tarp. We made it across in just knee deep water. I hardly noticed the cold, but I could feel my innards beginning to grind from hunger.

When we got back to the site where we’d had the fire, the dogs were asleep together in a pile. We went on toward the truck, still yet a good piece away. I could see some lightening of the darkness through the heavy woods toward the east. I’d had no idea we’d been out all night until then.

At the truck, Daddy got the horn and blew it several times. Before long I heard the dogs yapping toward us through the darkness. They jumped up into the truck bed and lay down.

Henry loaded up everything, and once we boys were settled down, he covered us with the tarp. I woke up when we pulled up to Henry’s house. We waved goodbye to him and his wife, who’d come out onto the porch. My stomach did a jig, smelling the ham she was cooking.

Some while later, we pulled into my grandmother’s backyard and went into The Little House to strip down in front of the oil heater and take our showers. All three of us boys showered together. I don’t think we got very clean, with all the elbows and knees, but we did the best we could.

Daddy and my two uncles were allowed in the big house to get cleaned up. Our fresh clothes had been laid out on the bunks and by the time I got dressed, Duke and Eddie were already out the door, headed across the backyard toward the big house. I stopped midway to watch, as the sun began to peek over the horizon, and to see the frost sparkling beneath my feet. I took a deep breath and blew smoke into the air and the intake of my second breath brought the unmistakable odor of sausage and ham. I was drooling by the time I slipped through the back door and entered the warm, comforting kitchen.

The long table was laden with food. There was a saucer of pressed butter, crusty biscuits, a quart jar of home-canned fig preserves, a big blue bowl of grits, a platter of sausages and ham slabs, a shallow pitcher full of red-eye gravy, and a large, low bowl of eggs, all fluffy and yellow.

Memom had poured milk for us boys, but I wanted a cup of that dark coffee. It smelled so good. But Daddy had told me before that I could have coffee, once I became sixteen, and not until then. This was another event to look forward to, now that ’coon hunting was ‘under my belt’.

Daddy said grace as soon as I was seated. I listened, in heaven, as talk around the table began about our hunting trip. Hearing the embellishments, roaring with laughter, reliving the crossing of the deep creek - all of it was almost better than the experience.

I had one of the best times of my life that night, but I found out some things which have made a difference in my life, too. Like how to treat other people, expecting no more of others than I do of myself. And especially not complaining of things which cannot be changed at the moment, but rather, finding the joy, even in discomfort.

I also found something else very important about myself. I am not cut out to be a hunter. I’m too soft-hearted. I’ve got too much empathy, too much caring about the wild things to desire to take away their lives. I guess maybe I was born a hundred years too late for the necessity of hunting for sustenance. And for that, I’m grateful to God.