Tu ne flere velis, quicquid agam, neu muliebriter THE ETON BUREAU. No. VII. HOG-HUNTING IN INDIA. How, reader, shall I describe to thee a hog-hunt?-to thee, whose sole notion of "the grizzly boar" has probably been borrowed from the pig-sty, or the yet more illusive illustrations that grace thy copy of "Venus and Adonis!" Yet, thou mayest have seen the noble model that guards the entrance to the Galeria Reale at Florence; and it has but one flaw-the old Greek, doubtless handier with his chisel than his spear, has put its tail in curl! Now be it known, spite of this illustrious error, spite of all the soi-disant boar-hunts ever limned in the land of Cochaigne, yea, spite of the Herald's College itself, that your true wild hog hath from time immemorial disdained to adopt this effeminate fashion, the distinctive badge of his brethren of the sty. Saving that point however, the Florentine savage is just such an one as it has been the writer's fortune to encounter on many a hard-run field, and should it e'er be yours, most sporting reader, he doubts not that you will deem yourself therein alone amply repaid for a voyage to the Antipodes. But enough of preamble-fancy yourself on a tight little Arab, (I am sufficiently well mounted on my own U particular hobby,) who, with the size of a galloway, combines the pluck and bottom of an English horse seventeen hands high, and such a mouth that you might turn him round a post with a pack-thread; now seize that long light bamboo lance with its olive-leaf head, and let's off to the field! It is dawn-the ruddy beams glancing from the spears of the party already assembled, and picturesquely tinging the drapery of the few native horsemen of rank, who relish sport, are the as yet innocent harbingers of rays, to whose fervour it will soon need all the charms of the chase to render you callous. The country is barren, and but little enclosed, though broken here and there with an awkward ravine. Our cavalcade keeps close under the rocky hills which bound one side of the prospect, that we may be able more effectually to cut off the retreat of such "sounders of hug," (so they are named,) as may be driven down by the natives; who are always too happy to be thus employed in persecuting the uprooters of their corn-fields, through whose ravages too often now, as in Meleager's time, “ Area frustra, Et frustra expectant promissas horrea messes!" Hark! that echoing cry tells that they have been dislodged; and see, there they come like black specks, trotting down the hill-side! Every one holds his breath and clenches his spear in the exciting interval, till they are fairly past, when-Tally-ho! the word is given, and away we gallop. The leading boar, easily distinguished by his size and tusks, is soon separated from the herd, and becomes the exclusive object of pursuit; but for a while he distances the fleetest horses: one by one, the native steeds, too pampered to compete with our betterconditioned Arabs, are dropping behind; and you are gradually gaining on the monster. Let Ovid paint him "Sanguine et igne micant oculi, riget horrida cervix ; Stantque velut vallum, velut alta hastilia, setæ !"* His often-reverted eye shews him aware of your dangerous proximity, when suddenly, in the midst of the tearing race, despairing of safety in flight, he grins, whets his tusks, turns, and rushes right at your horse, and is met full tilt by a hearty thrust, as with a timely spur you bound by, before the grunting brute can again make good his charge. The honor of the day-the first spear is now achieved: one by one the rest of the party gallop up, and are in turn charged by the infuriated, but enfeebled monster; till some more deadly thrust than the rest sends him reeling in gore, with gnashing tusks, and eyes glaring defiance, to that bourn, whence no boar, so bored, returns! This desirable consummation is not always, however, so propitiously brought about. A timid horse that swerves, or worse, a timid rider whose hand is unsteady, materially alter the balance of peril and pleasure; and will, fifty to one, be put hors de combat' by the first hog they encounter; sometimes too, accident makes pluck and speed alike unavailing. On the last occasion that it was the writer's fortune to form one of these glorious parties, our quarry, who was being hard pressed by a veteran pigsticker on his left, and a young lieutenant on his right, as ill-luck would have it, charged the latter; who, unpractised in the difficult art of using his lance across his horse's neck, missed the thrust, and in a second, hog, *"His eyeballs glare with fire, diffus'd with blood; DRYDEN. horse, and huntsman were rolling together! Content with maiming the poor nag for life, by ripping his backsinews, and sparing the prostrate tyro, away went the boar; and, though we all saw the poor fellow's shoulder hanging about half-a-foot under its socket, away too went we; nor did a soul draw bridle or spare spur, till, far readier to vindicate than redress his wrongs, a well-spent half-hour had enabled us to avenge them most gloriously on his grizzly foe. Such is human nature, alas! or rather such is hog-hunting! From consideration however for the feelings of the humane reader, I will add, that, without any appeal to surgical science, we soon wrenched the gallant lieutenant's shoulder into place again, so that ere dinner he was ready to partake of the pork that had caused his disaster. Oh those hog-hunting dinners! where shall I point for their parallel?—when, as the evening breeze passed freely through our tent, we tippled our iced Lafitte with a gusto, that a tropical field-day can alone supply; and as our hearts opened to each other by the dangers and escapes we had shared in common, we reckoned up and distributed the honours of the day, while the joke, the boast, and the song went round with a zest, which the respite from such stormy excitement never fails to inspire. We too will part with a stave, reader; and one that has been often thundered out in such a scene, and to which by this time I trust you are ready to chant heartily in chorus-Fill your glass-the tune is, "the bonnets of blue.” "Here's a bumper to spur and to spear, A bumper to challenge a song! A bumper to those, who where'er the boar goes, Are spurring and spearing along! |