Chapter XXVI: Out of Harness (1)

Though Sir John had severed his official connection with Morocco, he retained his villa at Ravensrock. Thither, after an interval, he returned to spend the winters. During the first year of absence after his retirement, on learning of the serious illness of the companion of so many of his sporting days, Hadj Hamed, the chief of the boar-hunters, he writes to his daughter, enclosing a letter to be delivered by his little grandson to the dying man:—

Wiesbaden, _March 31_, 1887.

Your letter of the 23rd has just reached A. I cannot tell you how grieved I feel from the account you give of dear old Hadj Hamed, and I fear much I may never see his kind face again. As I thought it would please and cheer him if I wrote a few lines to him as an old friend, I have written in my bad Arabic the enclosed note, which dear Jock will perhaps deliver in person to him. It is merely to say I am so sorry to hear from you he is ill, that I pray God he will keep his health, and that we shall meet in October next and hunt together, and that I look upon him as a brother and a dear friend.

In 1887 he returned to winter at Tangier, and though a septuagenarian, was as keen a sportsman as ever. Writing in October he says:—

I have already bought a nag for myself, and, like myself, short and dumpy, but with legs that will not fail or stumble with twelve stone seven on his back, for if I fall I do not stot up as of old, but make a hole in the ground and stick there.

The winter of that year found him riding hard after pig on his little cob, and untiring in pursuit of game. He writes to his son-in-law an account of one of these hunts in which he had a narrow escape from injury:—

The hunt has been a successful one, and barring three wounded horses, one dog killed, a couple of spills, and ——— rather shaken, all’s well. Six or seven lances smashed—not by me, except one dumpy lance, of which anon.

A. went off early on Monday the 12th to put the camp in order. I followed her with mother. We lunched in the Ghaba Sebaita. At 3 p.m. I left her, so as to be early in camp to see that all was right. On reaching the head of the lake, I met a hunter who told me he had seen a very large boar come out of the cork-wood and lie down on the border of the lake. I sent a messenger for the hunters, who were returning, and awaited them on my ‘kida,’ _sine_ lance. When they arrived they also were lanceless; but the Sheríf having come up with his lance, and Mahmud with him with another, I induced the Sheríf to make Mahmud dismount and give his lance to J. G. I took from a beater a short lance (five feet), and thus armed we entered the lake. W., with a lance, was seen in the distance and beckoned for; Colonel C., with his party, also arrived armed with a lance. J. G. started the boar, and away we went in six inches of water. As soon as J. G. approached, the boar turned and charged, smashing his lance. Spying his horse coming up in the distance, as it was being led to the camp, he galloped off and got the fresh horse and his own lance.

Colonel C. followed the boar with me, and as soon as he neared the beast, it turned and charged; but received a severe wound, the lance remaining in the boar. Then, as no sound lance remained, I presented myself. No sooner did the boar hear me in his wake than round he came, at a hundred miles an hour, upon my short lance, the point of which, being badly tempered and very blunt, bent to an angle of ninety degrees. My gallant little horse leapt over the pig, as he passed under his barrel. Up came J. G. with his fresh lance and gave it hard, but still the boar went on, in deeper and deeper water, making for Arára[67]. Some greyhounds of the Sheríf’s were slipped, and the gallant boar fought them all. The hunters came up, and the boar still moved towards Arára. I asked a Moor with a hatchet to knock the brave beast on the head, but he declined the task; and, as there was no second lance, the boar moved on towards Arára very slowly, fighting the dogs. Finding that neither prayers nor abuse were attended to by the hunters, I jumped off my nag into the water, knee deep, and taking the hatchet advanced on the pig. He charged when I got within five yards of him, and I broke the hatchet on his skull and retreated; the greyhounds laid hold behind, and the brave beast was done for. I got rated by J. G., who saw it, and by A. afterwards; but mother is to be kept in the dark about this ‘tomfoolery,’ as A. says. The fact is, there was no danger, for the greyhounds came to the rescue when the boar charged.

On another occasion, after a successful day’s pigsticking thirteen miles from Tangier, he and his younger daughter, riding home in the evening, saw two Bonelli eagles and six great bustards. The latter allowed them to approach within forty yards. ‘This,’ he writes, ‘was too much for my old sporting blood, so I invited J. G. to join me, and next day we went out to the site and viewed three ‘hobar’ (great bustards), and were after them twice, but could not get near for a shot. I shot a Bonelli eagle from my pony, who, even after a thirty miles’ ride yesterday, was very larky, but stood fire like an old war-horse.’

Not only did Sir John retain to the end of his life all his love of sport, but, like most sportsmen, he dwelt with pleasure on his recollections of past encounters. Many of his reminiscences he put together, now that he was comparatively an idle man, in the form of articles which were printed in _Murray’s Magazine_ for 1887, under the title of ‘Scraps from my Note-Book.’ Some of these, supplemented with additions subsequently made by himself or with details since gathered from his letters, are reproduced here, though they for the most part belong to a much earlier date. Thus, on the subject of boar-hunting, he wrote:—

The Moorish hunters are generally small farmers or peasants from the villages around Tangier, who join the hunt solely from love of sport. Some of them act as beaters, wearing leathern aprons and greaves—such as the ancient Greek peasantry wore—to protect their legs. Of these, some carry bill-hooks to cut their way through the thicket, others long guns. They are accompanied by native dogs (suggestive of a cross between a collie and a jackal), with noses that can wind a boar from afar, and do good service.

As the thickets where the animals lie are for the most part bordered by the sea on one side, and by lake or plain on the other, the boar, when driven, generally make straight for the guns; and we were wont to have capital sport, shooting on an average about fifteen boar in two days’ hunting. There are also jackals and porcupine; and, during a beat near Brij, a panther once took me by surprise, jumping across the path where I was posted before I could fire. This animal was shot afterwards on a neighbouring hill.

On one occasion on the promontory of Brij, which is surrounded by the sea and the river ‘Taherdats’ except for a narrow slip of sand on the northern side, sometimes flooded at high tides, we found thirty-six boar in one beat, and killed fourteen. It was an exciting sight to see the boar breaking from the bush across the neck of sand about 150 yards broad. The herd did not break together, but came separately and continuously. A large tusker who led the van was wounded as he sallied from the bush pursued by dogs, and forthwith charged the man who had fired; and then beaters, who ran up to the rescue, were followed again by other boar, who, wounded in their turn, pursued the beaters that were hurrying after the first boar; then came dogs, pigs, beaters, more dogs and pigs. Volleys were fired, up, down, and across the line, regardless of the rules of the hunt. Great was the excitement; several beaters were knocked down by the boar, but no one was ripped, though dogs and boar lay wounded on the sands all around. I shot five boar: one great tusker, being wounded, sat on his haunches in the defiant posture of the Florentine boar, so I ran up, assassin-like, from behind and plunged my knife into his heart.

In one of the beats, a hunter named ‘Shebá,’ a veteran past seventy, had just shot a boar, when the dogs came in full cry after another, and he had only time to pour in the powder carried loose in his leathern pouch, and to put the long iron ramrod down the barrel, when another tusker came to the front. Shebá fired and sent the ramrod like a skewer through the body of the boar, who charged and knocked him over. Shebá fell flat on his face, neither moving arm nor leg, whilst the boar stood over him, cutting into ribbons his hooded woollen ‘jelab.’ He shouted for help, exclaiming ‘Fire! fire!’ I ran up within a few feet. ‘I fear to hit you,’ I said. ‘Fire!’ he cried; ‘I would rather be shot than be killed by a “halluf” (pig).’

_The last Hunt in 1886; Sir John on “E’dhem.”_

Walker & Boutall Ph. Sc.]

I stooped low, and raising the muzzle of my gun, shot the boar through the heart. The huge carcass fell upon Shebá, who, when released from the weight, got up and shook me by the hand heartily, saying, ‘Praise be to God the Merciful! Thanks to you I have escaped death.’ I withdrew the ramrod, which had passed right through the body of the animal.

I had not at that time introduced the lance or spear, but when a boar happened to take to the open I had frequently pursued on horseback and killed with an ancient rapier I possessed.

Mounted on a little Barb, about fourteen hands three, I once pursued, gun in hand, a large sow across the plain of Awára. We came suddenly on a ditch formed by an estuary from the sea, about sixteen feet broad. No bank was visible until I saw the boar suddenly disappear, and before I could pull up, my nag tried to clear the ditch, but failed, as the ground was soft on the brink, so in we plumped headlong into thick mud and water, gun and all; but a pistol, loose in my holster, by good fortune was cast high and dry on the opposite bank.

The horse, sow, and I wallowed for some seconds in the mud together, each of us scrambling out about the same moment, for I had chosen an easier ascent of the bank to clamber up than the sow had done. I left my gun swamped in the mud, and, seizing hold of the pistol, remounted. Away we went again. It was about a quarter of a mile to the bush, where the sow would be safe. I came up alongside and fired, but only wounded her; she turned and made a jump to seize hold of my leg, but missed, passing her fore leg up to the joint in my right stirrup, and there her leg and my foot were jammed. The hind legs of the sow just touched the ground. She tried to bite my knee; I struggled to release my foot and the sow her leg. I had no other weapon than the exploded pistol, and my fear was that the stirrup-leather would give way, and then, if I fell, the sow would have it all her own way. The pain from my jammed instep was intense, but after a few seconds the sow freed her leg and then turned on my horse, who cleverly leapt aside as she charged.

The sow then entered the thicket, badly wounded, and when the dogs came up we found and killed her. The hunters, who had viewed the chase from the side of the hill, and had been hallooing joyously on witnessing the pig, horse, and me tumble into the ditch, were greatly amused in aiding me to remove the thick coating of grey mud which shrouded my person, my gun, and the body of my horse.

On another occasion, when a very large boar, slightly wounded, was making up the side of a rocky hill, bare of bush, a strange Moor, with a long gun, who had joined the hunt, ran along the open to a narrow path where the boar would have to pass, and squatted down to pot him. I was about forty yards off, and shouted as the boar made towards him, ‘Look out! Stand aside of the path!’—but the stranger remained steady, fired, and then jumped up and ran.

The infuriated beast pursued and knocked him headlong over, ripping his legs and body as he struggled to get up. I ran up with another hunter, but boar and man were so mixed up I could not fire. The boar, burying its snout under the man’s clothes, ripped his body severely, then seizing his woollen dress in its mouth like a bull-dog, knelt on his prostrate body. I dared not fire; so laying hold of the hilt of a sword my companion carried, and finding the point too blunt to pierce the ironclad hide, I told the owner to take hold of the point, and putting the blade under the boar’s throat, we sawed away until the beast fell dead, still holding the man’s dress in his jaws. The wounded Moor, who was built like a Samson, fainted away from loss of blood. We stanched his wounds, making a tourniquet with handkerchief and stick, laid him on the pad of a mule, and sent him into town to a room in my stable, where he was attended to by a surgeon for three weeks and recovered. On taking leave of me, he observed it was his first and would be his last boar-hunt. This man, as I learnt afterwards, was a famous cattle-lifter. He told the hunters, that out of gratitude for my care of him, he would never rob my cows or the cattle of my friends.

We were wont to hunt for a couple of days every fortnight at Sharf el Akab and Awára, but finding that the mountaineers from the hills of Beni M’Suar and Jebel Habíb, who dwell about twelve miles from this hunting-ground, had been in the habit of coming down in large parties once a week to hunt and were destroying the game, we determined, from a spirit of rivalry, to hunt more frequently.

There had been conflicts between my hunters and the mountaineers, and during a beat for boar, when a number of these wild fellows had joined our hunt, I heard bullets whizzing and cutting the branches near to where I stood. One of these mountaineers was caught by my party, and a vigorous bastinado was inflicted on the culprit, who had been seen to take a deliberate shot at me.

In less than six months the boar at Sharf el Akab and Awára were destroyed, except a huge ‘solitaire,’ who had made his lair on the rocky hill of Bu Amar, then overgrown with impenetrable bush. He was a very wary animal, who refused to bolt when bayed at by dogs, frequently killing or wounding those that ventured to approach his lair.

At that time a Spaniard had brought, much to the annoyance of the peasants, a herd of tame pigs to feed in the cork-wood, for, as the peasants reported, the ‘accursed animals’ not only fed on acorns and white truffles, which abound there, but ravaged also their grain crops, whither the Spaniard had been seen to drive the herd at night to feed.

Complaints were made by the farmers to the Moorish authorities regarding the havoc committed by the pigs, and I backed their petition to the Basha. So the herdsman was ordered by the Spanish Legation to remove the herd, which was accordingly done; but two of the Spaniard’s sows were missing, and he offered a handsome reward to any Moor who would bring them, dead or alive, declaring that they had been led astray by a large wild boar, who had been seen by him to come boldly amongst the herd some weeks before, had attacked and ripped severely a tame boar, paying no attention to the herdsman’s shouting, and had led off, as he declared, ‘Dos cerdas muy hermosas’ (two very beautiful sows), not unwilling, as he insinuated, to accompany their captor.

The Spaniard declared he had occasionally seen at dusk his two sows with the boar, feeding in the plains; but as soon as the latter winded man, he made off at a gallop with his captives.

A hunter reported this to me, mentioning that he had been offered five dollars for each sow, dead or alive, and that he believed both sows had large litters of wee striped pigs, evidently the progeny of their captor.

I communicated with the Spaniard, and these two sows and their litters were sold to me for about £6. I made known to the Basha of Tangier how the sport at Sharf el Akab had been spoilt by the too frequent hunting, both of my party and of the mountaineers; and related how I had purchased the Spaniard’s two sows and their litters. I requested that orders should be sent to the mountaineers who were under the Basha’s jurisdiction to keep to their own hunting-grounds, and not hunt at Sharf el Akab; and that the peasantry also of the villages round Tangier should be warned not to shoot boar in that district unless they joined our hunt, which had always been open to sportsmen, ‘Moslem or Nazarene,’ of low or high degree.

To all this the Basha agreed, whilst I offered to give compensation to farmers whose crops might be injured by the ravages of my porcine acquisition. I also made known to the Foreign Representatives the steps I had taken, and requested them to give directions to the subjects of their respective Governments not to shoot or hunt the hybrids or any other boar in that district, as it was my intention not to shoot boar in the preserved district, but to hunt with the spear, after a couple of years, when I expected not only the hybrids would have increased in numbers, but that they would be joined by wild boar from the neighbouring hills.

My wishes were granted, and a document was signed to that effect by the Basha and Foreign Representatives, and in 1868 I introduced hunting on horseback with the lance—known in India as pigsticking.

The hybrids at first were not disposed to break from covert and give a fair gallop in the open; but when the two ‘hermosas cerdas’ were slain, their progeny behaved better, and now give capital runs across country, and are more disposed to charge than the thoroughbred boar.

The mode of hunting with the lance is to drive a thicket where pig are reported to lie, with beaters, dogs, and stoppers, towards the marsh, plain, or cork-wood, where the pig knows that he can make for covert in an opposite thicket. The chief beater sounds a horn when a boar is on foot, firing gun or pistol should he come to bay. The horsemen are placed down-wind, concealed as much as possible, with directions to keep silent, and not to start until the boar is well away in the open, so as to ride in the rear and check his turning back to the thicket. It is a difficult task to prevent those who are novices or not sportsmen at heart from breaking through these rules, especially ardent youths who may view the boar break, and hope to take the lead by an early start.

The boar, when aware that he is pursued, puts on pace. It requires a fast horse to come up for the first quarter of a mile; but when hard pressed, the boar gets blown, shortens stride, and begins to dodge amongst the low bush.

One of the best gallops I ever had was in pursuit of a huge boar, who took across the lake from a thicket of Arára. My son, a first-rate rider, was with me; we did not carry spears, but had revolvers. After a hard gallop we came up with the boar a few yards before entering the cork-wood. We fired several shots, but the animal sped on at racing pace, charging us alternately. The wounds which the boar received (for blood poured down his flank) were not of a character to stop his career, so away we dashed through the wood, dodging the cork-trees, firing occasionally a shot, until the boar ringed back to the thick jungle of Arára from which he had been driven, and there it was out of the question to follow on horseback. Disheartened and greatly disappointed, for the boar was one of the largest we had seen for many years, we joined the hunters, and dismounted to give our nags a rest, whilst our party lunched.

We had halted for an hour, and were again preparing to mount, when a shepherd, all tattered and torn, ran up to me breathless, saying a ‘halluf,’ black as a ‘Jin’ and as big as a bull, had passed through the flock of sheep he was tending, knocking several over; had charged his dog, and made for the sea, where, he said, after rolling several times, the boar stood erect amidst the waves, throwing water over his body. ‘This lad is a “kedab” (a liar),’ exclaimed one of the hunters. ‘Who ever heard of a boar bathing in the sea at midday?’

‘Make haste,’ exclaimed the lad; ‘it is about half an hour’s walk, and if the boar is not still there, the tracks on the shore will show whether I lie or not.’

So off the hunters started, guided by the shepherd. As we topped the sand-hills which line the coast, a black form, such as the shepherd had described, big as a bull, was viewed amongst the waves. My son and I recognised the enormous beast that had given us the gallop, who had evidently taken to the sea to cool his wounds. As our party approached in line, to check any attempt of the boar to take back to Arára, he came out of the breakers with bristles up, and ‘Volta feroce al inimico!’ (a word of command formerly used in the Portuguese army), prepared to receive us.

Some of the hunters were about to fire, which I prevented, saying I would approach on horseback, as we might have the chance of another gallop. When I got within twenty yards, the beast charged. I fired my revolver, missed, gave spurs to my nag, and was pursued by the boar until the dogs, which had been held back, were let loose; he then took out to sea, breasting the rollers gallantly, making due West for the first port in the United States, with the hounds in his wake.

When the intention of the pig to emigrate became evident and he was already some hundred yards out to sea, I cried ‘Fire!’ as his black form topped a wave. Volley after volley followed, and the huge carcass was washed back on shore. The boar was a hybrid, perfectly black, with good tusks, and measuring about six feet two from snout to root of tail, and three feet two from shoulder to hoof. I have preserved the hide.

The largest boar I have ever seen measured six feet four from snout to tail, three feet four at the shoulder, and weighed twenty stone—clean. An old beater of eighty, whose dog had been wounded to the death, when he came up to the monster lying lifeless, got upon the body, took off from his shaven pate the red gun-cover which he used as a turban, and throwing it on the ground, cried out, ‘Now I can die in peace. The death of this “haisha,” (whale), who has baulked us for years, is what I have longed for. At last! It was written he should die before me,’ and the veteran performed a wild wriggling dance on the carcass of the animal.

This old hunter, named Ben Isa, was still alive, aged a hundred, when I left Tangier in July, 1886.

During one of our beats, a large boar was started from the low bush near the beach below Awára, and two mounted Moors joined me in pursuit. The country was open, and the ground good for galloping. The pig went away at racing pace, bounding like a deer over the low bushes. On getting near, I was astonished to see his ears were cropped like those of a terrier. After a gallop of a mile we speared him. Hadj Abdallah, who was one of my companions, exclaimed, ‘Do you remember four years ago two “berakkel” (squeakers) being caught by the dogs, and you and I carried them in our arms and let them go near a thicket, where they would be safe; but the little fellow you carried turned on you, when freed, and tried to bite your legs, and you bid me catch him and turn him loose again in the thicket? This I did, but he had shown such pluck I thought I would mark him, so I cropped his ears and then let him go, saying “We may meet again.” And here he is, and has given us proof this day that he was as gallant a boar as he was a squeaker.’

Some years ago we had a good day, killing nine boar.

The camp was pitched at Awára, near the farm huts of the chief hunter Hadj Hamed. A large party, both of English and foreigners, went out to join in the sport. On the first two days several boar were killed, though my favourite horse, ‘Snabi,’ was badly wounded. I chased a tusker which took right across the burnt wood towards Awínats and broke into the open on the side of the hill. There I overtook the beast and transfixed him. He charged before I could extract the lance, carrying it under my horse, and inflicted a deep gash between the off fore-leg and chest. I had to dismount and send the poor suffering beast into town. He was very lame for a twelvemonth. I had thought of shooting ‘Snabi,’ but he was such a favourite with my family, that a reprieve was granted. He was the best nag for pigsticking I ever rode. He was not fast, but thoroughly understood the sport, and would take his rider, without guiding, alongside of the pig at the right moment for attack. He never swerved from a boar; no huntsman knew better where the pig would be likely to break, as soon as the shouts of the beaters and the horn were heard, and ‘Snabi’ would be sure to view the animal before his rider, whenever it broke covert.

When desirous of showing sport to any friend who had never seen pigsticking I mounted him on ‘Snabi,’ and my advice was to let the horse take his own direction after the pig, and have his own way when closing with the enemy. If his rider fell, or a hole brought ‘Snabi’ on his head, the nag would get up and stand by, putting his head down, and looking with anxious eyes, as if to say, ‘Get up quickly, the pig is making off.’—‘Snabi’ had belonged to Kaid Meno, the Colonel of the Berber regiment of Askar, and had often been in action when his master was sent by the Sultan in command of a detachment to ‘eat up’ some rebellious tribe. There were several scars on ‘Snabi’s’ dun coat—which, in the sun, shone like gold. One ball could be distinctly felt in his neck.

On the evening of the second day we hunted the Haffa, a wood on the south side of the camp. The lances were placed along the side of the Awínats woods, and numbers of boar were found. But, pig-headed, they refused to cross the plain, and took away out of sight over the rough and open slope of the hill leading towards the sea; had we foreseen which, we should have had long and hard runs.

One enormous fellow, the monster of the forest—described by Hadj Hamed as being as big as my grey horse!—of a glistening grey colour, and with tusks sticking out, as he said, like the horns of a young bull, carried away in pursuit beaters and dogs towards the lake. From the moment this beast was found, he charged dog or man that he happened to sight. He took his time, leisurely moving off at a slow trot, followed at a respectful distance by the beaters, still charging any one who ventured to approach him. A messenger was dispatched for us by Hadj Hamed and we started off in pursuit, but arrived too late, the monster had entered the thicket.

Hadj Alarbi, the head beater, told me that he did not sleep a wink that night from disappointment that the monster boar had escaped; but he added, ‘I never should have allowed you to pursue the giant, for he would have knocked over both horse and rider from sheer weight when he charged. I should have asked some of those “Nazarenes” (indicating the foreigners) to go to the front.’

On the third day it was decided to give a rest to dogs and horses. Many of the party, therefore, went out snipe-shooting; but about 2 p.m., a boar having been viewed by the Italian Minister near the camp, Hadj Hamed proposed that we should have a beat of the Haffa wood. I had hardly placed the lances along the rough hill-side between the camp and the sea-shore, when a large boar was viewed making towards the Shebenía. Away we rattled. C. W. led on his fast horse, and, riding pluckily, got both first spear and a second spear on a charge. J. M. got third, and the boar then took to a thick clump of juniper. We left him there and returned to our posts in time to chase and kill another boar.

Having selected half a dozen beaters with their dogs, we returned to the clump of juniper and myrtle where the wounded boar had retreated. This thicket, standing not far from the sea-shore, covered a space of about two hundred yards square, with open ground on every side. The dogs bayed at the boar, and the riders stood around the thicket down-wind—awaiting his exit, in the hope that, when rested, he would move; but three-quarters of an hour, big with expectation, passed, and though the boar frequently charged the dogs to the brink of the thicket, and occasional howls told us that mischief was done, he never broke, but after each charge went back to the densest part of the copse. I directed the beaters to halloo with all their might and sound the horn, but in vain.

As it was getting late I dismounted, and spear in hand went into the bush; but finding that with ten feet of bamboo in my hand I should be at the mercy of the boar if he charged, I retreated.

In the open towards the sea I found two Moors, with guns, who had come up from camp, standing near a boar-path in the hope of getting a shot; for when a wounded boar takes to covert where horses cannot penetrate, the regulation against using fire-arms is in abeyance.

Sunset was drawing nigh, and, fearing that the wounded animal might die in the thicket before next day, I told the hunters to creep in and shoot the boar. The Moor who had a long native gun declined, saying he could not venture; for, if the boar charged in the bush, through which he would have to creep on hands and knees, the animal would probably be on him before he could fire. But he volunteered to crawl along the top of the bushes, if stiff enough to support him (he was a little wiry fellow), and thus perhaps he might get a shot. The other young Moor had a smart-looking double-barrelled gun, a muzzle-loader, so I challenged him to enter. He replied he was not going to risk his life with such a savage brute still strong in limb. ‘Hark!’ he cried, as a rush, followed by a piteous howl from a hound, was heard. ‘You are a coward,’ I retorted angrily, ‘to remain passive whilst our dogs are being killed.’ ‘You say that I am a coward,’ he replied, handing me the gun; ‘then show that you are not!’

I hesitated, for though I had shot many wounded boar at bay or on the charge, it had always been with my own trusty gun; but feeling I had wronged the Moor by taunting him with cowardice, and that he would have the best of it if I did not take up the glove, I inquired how his gun was loaded. He replied, ‘with ball.’ The copper caps looked bright and appeared to have been lately put on, so, kneeling down and keeping the gun before me at full-cock, I crawled in. The bush was too thick to stand up, for if I had squeezed myself into an upright position, my legs would have been at the mercy of the pig if he charged, which I knew the beast would, if he got a whiff of me or viewed my legs. Moreover I could not have lowered my gun suddenly in the thick bush to take aim.

On I crawled for about twenty-five yards, peering anxiously through the bush. A dog which had been charged came close, and saluted me with his tail and a whimper of satisfaction; then went back to his companions, and no doubt informed them, in dog language, that a man had come to the rescue, for they set up forthwith a chorus of tongue, which again induced the boar to move and engrossed his attention; so, crawling on, I got within ten yards and viewed him, ‘cassant les noisettes,’ as French sportsmen say. Blood streamed down his side and his bristles stood on an end.

I squatted, took deliberate aim behind the right shoulder and pulled the trigger, expecting to see the beast roll over; but a fizz, a faint report, and the sound of a bullet falling amongst the bushes, sounded like my death-knell; for I knew that the boar would in a few seconds be on me. With faint hope, however, that the second barrel would not also contain a damp charge, I held my gun firm. On came the huge beast, and when within three yards with his head towards me, I aimed at his left shoulder; the explosion was faint, but the beast dropped on his head, then rose, charging on to the muzzle of my gun, which I continued to hold steadily in front, sent it flying over my head, whilst I toppled backwards, and with the force of the blow my legs were thrown straight up into the air, and in that position I had sufficient presence of mind to remain, and could see through my legs the grim monster’s head and tusks.

That moment appeared a lifetime, a thousand thoughts of past life flashed through my brain, but the chief one was—My epitaph—‘A fool killed by a pig.’ My last shot had broken his leg at the shoulder, so that the movements of the boar were less active; but on he came, whilst I kept my legs aloft. It is better, I thought, to have my nether limbs ripped than more vital regions. So when his grizzly snout was on me, I brought down with force my right leg, armed with a heavy shooting boot, like a Nasmyth hammer on his skull, which sent the boar, who had only one sound fore-leg, on his knees; this was followed up by the left leg, and I pummelled his head alternately with each foot as the boar tried to get in at me. The right leg I managed to raise rapidly, so that it was not cut; but with the left I was less successful, and it was ripped in three places, as I found afterwards, for at the time I felt no pain. ‘If no one comes to the rescue,’ I cried out, ‘I shall be killed by the “halluf.”’ I had hardly spoken, when suddenly there appeared standing on my left the brave beater, Ahmed Ben Ali, with his hatchet raised in the air about to strike the boar, saying, ‘La bas,’ equivalent to ‘all right.’

The boar left me and went at him; the lithe fellow struck the beast with his hatchet whilst he jumped aside. A shot within a few yards followed. It was from the hunter who had kept his promise, having crawled in a wonderful manner along the tops of the bushes close to where we were, and putting his long gun down on the beast, killed it.

I lay prostrate, my legs and breast bespattered with blood from the boar’s wounds and my own. Ahmed suddenly laid hold of me and began to take off my nether garments. Angered at what appeared to me an inexplicable liberty, I used some strong expressions, not the blessings he deserved for saving my life. Upon which Ahmed said, ‘No time is to be lost: you have blood in front of your clothes, and if the bowels are injured, the wound must be sewn up before the air penetrates. I have needle and silk ready’ (carried by hunters to sew the wounds of dogs). I apologised for my rough language, and thanked the brave fellow for saving my life; then readjusting my unmentionables, I said, ‘The boar has not wounded my body, only my legs, I think,’ for I still felt no pain, but the blood was trickling down, and I could feel my left boot was full of it.

Taking a handkerchief and a stick, I made a sort of tourniquet above the knee, and then Ahmed dragged me out of the thicket. I felt faint, night was approaching, there were fifteen miles to ride to Tangier; but I decided it would be better to return to town than to go to camp and next day find my wounds so stiff that I should not be able to ride. I requested Ahmed to go to camp and send me a flask of brandy by my groom, and tell the latter he was to accompany me to town. I told the hunters, who assembled round me with anxious faces, that I was not seriously hurt, but unfit for riding, and begged them to remain for next day’s hunt, declining the offer of many friends to accompany me to town.

It was a long, weary journey of fifteen miles. My horse stumbled now and then over rocks and mud, for it became pitch dark after the first hour, and I had constant proof of the malignity of matter, for every branch or twig we passed seemed to take pleasure in knocking against my wounds, causing me much pain, and yet I felt joyous, and thankful to God I had not fared worse.

On arrival at the foot of the stairs of the Legation I gave a cheery ‘view halloo,’ so that my family might know I had arrived in good spirits. I was carried upstairs and a surgeon was sent for, who sewed up the wounds. The worst of them was a stab from a tusk, making a deep hole without ripping the flesh, as in the other cuts. For three weeks I lay on my back, though, as the surgeon observed, my flesh was like that of a healthy child, the wound having closed without inflammation.

When the hunters returned from the camp, I sent for brave Ahmed Ben Ali who had saved my life, and gave him a gun and a sword.

During the number of years I have hunted in Morocco, I have killed with gun or spear upwards of five hundred boar, and only once have I been wounded. But I have been knocked over frequently through carelessness in approaching boar at bay down-wind, or in stalking at night. The latter sport, especially when stalking a _solitaire_, is very exciting: it requires skill, patience, and great caution.

I wear, when stalking, shoes with rope-soles, enabling me to tread noiselessly over rough ground. I have stalked boar on a dark night up-wind, when feeding in corn, until I have approached the animal hidden by the crop, and have put the barrel of my gun within a foot of his body before firing. When I heard the boar occupied in tearing off a pod of Indian corn or munching grain, I advanced. When he stopped feeding to listen, as they will cunningly do for several minutes, I stood motionless also, until the munching recommenced.

One very dark night I managed to approach so noiselessly along a narrow path through a copse which led to an orchard—where I had heard from the windows of my villa at ‘Ravensrock’ a boar eating apples—that I actually pushed my knee against the boar, who had his snout in an opposite direction, before either of us became aware that we were at close quarters. My gun was not cocked, for I did not expect to have to use it until I entered the orchard, where I supposed the boar to be still feeding. The leap I made in the air was not more frantic than that of the boar, who jumped into the thicket. We were both terribly startled. The boar had no doubt in the still night heard me close the door of the balcony, two hundred yards off from the orchard, and had hidden in the dark path to listen and await events.

On another occasion, having observed during my rides on the hill that boar came down at night to a rough field of barley, I took my gun a little before sunset and rode to the ground. I left my nag in charge of a Moor, about a quarter of a mile from the field, and directed him to keep quiet, and not to come near the field until I fired a shot. The crop of barley I had observed was poor and short, so I felt sure I should see the body of any boar worth firing at.

I seated myself on a rock about three feet from the ground. In my belt was a long Spanish knife, with a handle made to insert in the muzzle of a gun, like a bayonet. The moon had set, the sky was cloudy, and starlight very faint. I wrapped a piece of white paper as a sight around the gun, a few inches from the lock, so that I could see it, even though the night was very dark. Just as the nine p.m. Gibraltar gun boomed across the Straits, I heard a rustling in the bush and a grunt, warning me the enemy was nigh.

The wind was favourable; the boar had entered the field on a different side from what I expected. I strained my eyes to view the beast, whom I could hear chewing the ears of barley, but could not at first distinguish him.

At length he approached within fifteen yards from the rock where I was seated, and I could just see his head above the barley, therefore I concluded, supposing the stalk was short, it was a sow or only a two-year-old. I waited until the object advanced within a few yards, and I could see a good patch of black body. I fired, and heard the noise of the fall; then the boar rose, went a few yards, and tumbled over, and I could distinctly hear what appeared to be its death-struggles. Then all was still; I got down from the rock, but did not reload, thinking there was no risk, and walked to the spot where I heard the struggles.

In the short barley were several low palmetto bushes. Seeing a dark object move, as I fancied, I aimed and fired. It was a palmetto bush—the leaves shaken by the wind had rustled. Within a few yards of this bush a large form suddenly rose and came slowly towards me. Both barrels were empty. I had barely time to insert the Spanish knife in the muzzle of the gun when I could see a grim head and tusks glistening in the starlight. It was not, as I had supposed, a sow or a pig; it was a tusker.

The ground was favourable, for I stood uphill above the boar. I held the gun so that the knife should enter at the shoulder and not strike the head. As the boar pressed on to reach me, I joyfully felt the blade penetrate into its body up to the hilt, and expected he would fall dead; but no, limping on one sound leg he continued to advance; so I backed, nearly falling over a palmetto bush; then the boar moved to one side to get round upon me, and I followed his movements, dreading every moment that the knife, if the boar retreated, would be withdrawn.

Again he came on with a rush, and I moved rapidly backwards until my back came against a rock in the field about four feet from the ground. I scrambled up it, pressing the knife and gun against the boar’s body to assist me. He tried to follow, but, with his disabled leg, failed and then moved away, carrying the knife in his body, whilst I retained the gun. I reloaded safely on the rock, thanking God for my narrow escape.

As the Moor came up with my horse I shouted to him to keep at a distance, saying the boar was alive and close by. I then got off the rock and advanced carefully, with both barrels loaded, to the spot to which I fancied the animal had retreated. Up he got, and came at me with a rush, receiving the contents of both barrels in his head and body. I found the long Spanish knife had entered the neck above the shoulder, and passed along the skin without penetrating the body. The steel was not good, and had been bent during the struggle. The boar proved to be a fine three-year-old, with tusks which could have cut me into shreds. During my tussle with this beast I had a vivid recollection of having heard that a Moorish hunter, a short time before my adventure, had fired at a boar at night in a field of Indian corn, and had followed up the tracks of blood at dawn for some distance, when he came suddenly upon the wounded animal, who charged before he could fire, knocked him down and ripped his body severely. His family, finding next morning he did not return, sent out in quest of him to the field of corn, and there he was found in a dying state, wounded in the stomach, just able to relate what had happened. Within a few yards of the wounded man lay the tusker quite dead.

Some years ago an English official at Tangier, R———, a very absent man, sallied out one night to sit for a large boar, which was reported to pass every evening after dusk a path not far from my stable at Ravensrock. Near this path in the bush was a rock, on which my friend squatted with a double-barrelled gun to await the boar.

It was a very dark night, but the path of white sand in front, contrasting with the green bush around, could be clearly seen, as also any object moving along it. He heard the tread of a large animal, and as it approached within a few feet he fired, but his horror and dismay can be imagined when down fell a donkey with panniers and a man on the top! Explanations ensued, with warm expressions of regret on the part of R———, which were accepted good-naturedly by the Moor, especially when the former put in his hands double the value of the donkey and the panniers. The ball had passed through the top of the skull of the donkey. Strange to say the animal recovered, and was made use of in R———’s garden.

Boar during the fruit-harvest come down to the orchards near Tangier and commit great ravages. When sufficient fruit is not scattered on the ground, they will rub against apple or pear trees until the fruit falls, or they will spring on the top of a trellis of vines, tearing it down to the ground to get at the grapes. The Moors put nooses of rope at the gaps in the hedge where boar enter, and fasten the noose to a tree or to a bundle of branches. The animal is often found strangled in the morning; but when the rope is fastened to loose branches it is less likely to snap, and the boar will carry off the bundle, until stopped by an entanglement of the rope with some other object.

Being out one day with a party of hunters, I saw at a distance a thick bush moving slowly, as by magic, along the top of a dense copse of gum cistus. No horse or man could be seen. One of the hunters exclaimed, ‘a boar has been caught in a noose! See the bush to which it is fastened moving along the top of the copse.’ We decided to take the animal alive, so approaching the bush and long rope to which the noose was attached, we laid hold of the rope and pulled it tight, until the boar was half-strangled. We then gagged the beast with a thick stick and string. He was dragged out of the thicket, put on a pack animal and carried to a room in my stable, where the gag was removed and food and water given.

Next day I invited a party of riders to see the boar turned loose in the open, two or three miles away from the bush. The horsemen took no weapons, and our motley pack of boar-dogs were held in leash by hunters, who were directed to let go when I should give the signal after the pig had a fair start of one hundred and fifty yards.

Some ladies joined us on horseback, but my wife, being nervous, rode a donkey, and had a Moor to lead it and to take care of my young son, who was in front. I placed them on a hillock about two hundred yards off, where I thought they would be safe and be able to view the boar. Telling the horsemen and Moors who held the dogs in leash not to start until I gave the signal, I had the boar conveyed to a high bank on a dry watercourse, and then removing the gag and untying the rope, we dropped him gently down, thus giving time for the men on foot to hide and me to mount before the boar could charge us. He was only a two-year-old, so his tusks were not very formidable. The boar bolted up the gulley, and on reaching the top of the bank looked around, North, South, East and West, but saw no cover. Viewing my horse about forty yards off he charged, and I galloped away. The boar halted, looked around, and saw on the mound an object with brilliant ribbons dangling in the wind, and then to my great consternation made straight for my wife’s donkey. In vain I rode full tilt, cracking my hunting-whip, trying to turn the beast, and shouting to the hunters to let the dogs slip; but before they came up, the boar got under the donkey, trying to rip it, whilst the Moor, holding my son aloft on his shoulders, was kicking at the boar.

Up came the dogs, who drew off the boar’s attention, and away he went; but being better inclined to fight than to gallop, the chase was short, and he was pulled down by the dogs.

‘Take this knife,’ I said to a long Yankee official; ‘as this is your first boar-hunt, you shall have the honour of giving the death-blow.’ Knife in hand, the New Yorker fearlessly advanced, and was inserting expertly the blade near the region of the heart, when up jumped the dying pig, knocked over his lank antagonist, and then fell never to rise again.

Boar when caught young become very attached to man, and will follow like a dog. They can be taught cleanly habits when kept in a house, but have no respect for flowers, and cannot resist rooting up any object which is not firmly fixed in the ground or pavement. I had a large sow as a pet, which followed me out riding for long distances.