Returning Home from the Hog Hunt.
The lunch fairly discussed, I was surprised to see a servant hand a small hookha, or kulian, covered with silver chains, and emitting a delicious odour, to Augustus. Upon my honour, I mentally exclaimed, you indigo gentlemen seem to have a good notion of comfort. Mr. Augustus wiped the mouth-piece with his thumb and finger, put it between his lips, and emitting an elaborate whiff of a yard and a half long, slowly leaned his back against the trunk of the tree, half-closed his eyes, and exhibited the most perfect appearance of unalloyed sublunary bliss I have ever beheld. After half an hour’s rest, and partaking of the kulian, which was generously passed round by our friend, we arose, and prepared for a renewal of the campaign.
In this we were as successful as in the commencement of the day. Three more small hogs were killed; on one of which, after sundry abortive attempts, and one or two imminent risks of unshipment, I fleshed my maiden spear—a feat marked by such uncommon skill and unique adroitness on my part, that I made it the leading subject of conversation for a month afterwards.
Our sport over, and man and beast fairly exhausted, we now bent our course towards home, wending our way over the plain we had crossed in the morning. We four cavaliers, our spears over our shoulders, mounted on our steeds of various statures, led the way; then came straggling attendants, lagging heavily along; and lastly, the goodly show of game, slung on poles, and borne on the shoulders of coolies, brought up the rear.
The cavalcade, the game, the wild track of reeds, the distant masses of wood topped with the coco-nut and betel-palm, all seen in the streaming light of the setting sun struggling through the evening’s haze, would have made a fine subject for that prince of animal painters, Landseer.
A pleasant meal at my friend’s house closed this my first day’s hog-hunting in India. I had become a mighty hunter at once, and stood two inches higher whenever the feats I had witnessed crossed my mind; the feeling of exultation would have been unalloyed indeed, but for the adventure of that cursed village pig.
The supper was capital, and, ye powers that preside over gastronomy, how we did eat! It is a fortunate dispensation of Providence that all men are not hog-hunters, or frequent famine would be the inevitable result. Augustus was pleasant, the Frenchman loquacious, Mr. Tupper had much to say, and the hogs were, at a moderate computation, slain over again half a dozen times at least before supper was ended.
Amongst other subjects incidentally discussed, was that of several dacoities, or gang-robberies, lately committed in the neighbourhood, attended with great atrocities.
This part of Bengal had long been famous, or rather infamous, for these plunderers, who, led on by their chiefs, the Robin Hoods of India, were a terror to the country. The bands move about, at times levying contributions from the inhabitants, in numbers often sufficiently great to enable them to defy the police, which is, or was, very inefficient—their leaders are great desperadoes.
“I hear,” said Augustus, “that Ramsunker has been plundering in this neighbourhood, and swears he will pay me a visit one of these days; but let him come, and we’ll endeavour to give him a warm reception.”