In the Champagne the wild boar is almost invariably pursued on foot, the minute subdivision of the land into different holdings and consequent limitation of the right of sport rendering it very difficult to follow the animal on horseback. M. Roederer, it is true, started a pack of hounds in the Forest of Reims; but at his death there were not sufficient lovers of the chase to keep up this style of sport, and every one fell into the habit of knocking over a wild-boar in the same prosaic fashion as a simple rabbit. However, some few years back, a rich landowner from Brittany, the Vicomte d’Honnincton, having had an opportunity of sport in the Champagne, and having seen that large game abounded, installed himself near the fine Forêt de la Traconne, in the neighbourhood of Sézanne, and resumed the chase of the wild-boar on horseback. The great success he met with induced him to take up his quarters in this district, and his pack, composed of a cross between the English staghound and the Artois hound, has become justly famous.
In the month of December 1878, an exciting day’s sport was had with M. d’Honnincton’s boar-hounds. The presence of herds of wild-boar having been noted in the neighbouring woods between Epernay and Montmort, M. d’Honnincton was soon to the fore with his pack, and all the sportsmen for miles around were summoned. The meet was at the Château de la Charmoye, a regular hunters’ rendezvous, belonging to the Vicomte de Bouthylliers, and situate in the heart of the woodland. During breakfast one of the huntsmen came to announce that a huge solitaire had passed the night at a short distance from the château. Everything, therefore, promised well for sport. The guests mounted in haste, each one equipped in true French style, with an immense hunting-horn round his body and a light gun or a pistol attached to the saddle. The lively strains of the horn had begun to sound on every side, and the hounds were being uncoupled, when the boar, disturbed by all this noise, majestically traversed the main avenue of the château, and pushed on towards a group of ladies assembled to witness the departure of the sportsmen. A finer start would have been impossible. The hounds dashed towards their prey as soon as they caught sight of him at full cry, and the sonnerie du sanglier and the vue were blazed forth by the horns on every side. The hunt commenced. The greatest difficulty and the object of all was to hinder the boar from plunging into the thick of the forest, where, in the dense cover, he would have gained a considerable advance upon the dogs. Thanks to the activity of the huntsmen, who cut off his retreat on this side, it was possible to drive him towards the plain of Montmort; and from this moment the sport was as fine as can be imagined, it being easy to note the minor details of the hunt even from a distance. The boar made his way with difficulty over the ground saturated by rain, and the eagerness of the hounds increased in proportion as they gained upon him.
A broadish rivulet with very steep banks was reached. The boar tried to clear it at a bound, but fell into mid-stream. The sportsmen all came up at this moment, and with their horns began to sound in chorus ‘The boar has taken soil;’ the hounds plunged in and began to swim after the boar, and the scene became a truly exciting one. At length the boar succeeded in quitting the stream; but frightened by the horsemen whom he saw on the opposite shore, he recrossed it a second and then a third time, amidst the hounds, who were assailing him on every side, and each time met with the same difficulty in ascending the bank. It may be readily understood that he was getting exhausted by his efforts, and began to appear done up. He recovered his vigour, however, and soon gained ground on the hounds. He had still two or three miles to cover in order to regain the forest, and it was necessary at all costs to prevent him from accomplishing this. Then ensued a wild hunt, a mad steeplechase over fields, hedges, brooks, ditches; the horses in several places sank over their hocks, and were covered with foam, but whip and spur restored energy to the least ardent. The boar was gasping, but still kept on, and the steam from his body, which quite surrounded him and caused him to resemble a four-legged demon, could be plainly perceived from a distance. In this style the hunt swept through the little village of Lucy, with all the dogs of the place howling, the women and children shrieking, and the men arming themselves with spades and pitchforks. But the boar not losing courage on this account, and despising these primitive weapons, did not stop, and drew nearer and nearer to the wood. The hounds were getting tired, and the most experienced sportsmen began to despair somewhat of a successful day, when suddenly the beast plunged into a pond situate close to the forest, halted, rolled several times in the mud, and rose completely covered in steam and mire. It is all over: the animal is at bay, and cannot go any further.
This is the interesting moment. The boar pulls himself together, feeling that he is to die, and, up to his belly in water, he bravely awaits the pack. With his eye glowing with rage, his bristles erect, he utters grunts of defiance. The fifty dogs throw themselves on to him without a moment’s hesitation; but four or five are sent rolling into the middle of the water, never more to rise. The struggle which follows is terrible; the boar’s tusks tell at every blow, and the water becomes literally red with blood. At length the foremost sportsmen come up, and it is high time they do. Seven dogs are already lying on their backs, with their legs in the air, and almost all bear marks of the boar’s terrible tusks. The first who is ready alights from his steed, and boldly advances into the water; for it would be imprudent to fire at the boar from the edge of the pond, and thereby run the risk of wounding him, and rendering him still more furious, or even of killing one of the dogs, by whom he is surrounded. An interval of solemn silence ensues; the horns only wait for the shot to be fired to sound the hallali. The dogs make way in order to let the sportsman advance; the boar draws back a little, and then making a bound recovers all his strength for a rush upon his enemy. Woe to the man who misses him! the boar will give him no quarter. But the sportsman waits for him very quietly, and when he is only two paces from him plants a bullet between his eyes, which lays him dead. The notes of the hallali awake the echoes: never had a hunt been crowned by finer results. The setting sun lighted up the scene, which transpired just below the Château de Montmort, scarcely half a mile off, and the ladies assembled on the terrace of the old château of Sully waved their handkerchiefs in congratulation to the fortunate sportsmen.
The foregoing narrative furnishes a good idea of the ordinary method of hunting the wild-boar on horseback in the Champagne, a method which, though offering at times varying details, arising from the size of the animal pursued and the number and strength of the hounds engaged in the chase, presents, on the whole, a general resemblance to the description just given.
Some years back boars were far from numerous in the Champagne, hiding themselves, moreover, in inaccessible positions far away in the woods, so that it was necessary to cover a larger extent of ground in order to sight a recent trail. Latterly, however, these animals have multiplied considerably, each sow having seven or eight young ones at a litter, and littering three times a year. In the forests around Reims and Epernay twelve, and even fifteen, boars have been killed during a single hunt. It not unfrequently happens that a herd of fifty, and even a hundred, boars are encountered together, when a veritable massacre often ensues, if the hunting-party only comprises a sufficient number of guns.
The victims include at times some sows with young grice, which the hunters frequently try to bring up. One of these little animals, who had been named ‘Snow’ from having been captured one day when the snow was on the ground, followed his owner about everywhere like the most faithful poodle. His master would often take him into the wood and simulate a hunt with his dogs. Snow, however, possessed vices as well as virtues, and one of his habits was an extremely disagreeable one. Like the rest of his species, he was very fond of rolling himself in the mire, and, on returning home, would proceed to clean himself by rubbing unconcernedly against the dresses of the ladies of the house. One Sunday his master had taken him out for a walk, and as they returned home they passed the church, which the ladies of the locality, arrayed in their richest attire, were just leaving. During his walk Snow had taken two or three mud-baths, and, on meeting the fair devotees of Avize, he thought the occasion a propitious one for cleansing himself. He at once put the idea into practice, employing the silk dresses of the ladies for the purpose. The children who accompanied them were greatly terrified, and rushed shrieking into the adjoining houses, pursued by the gambolling boar, who seemed to greatly enjoy the panic he had caused. As La Fontaine has remarked,
‘Rien que la mort n’était capable
D’expier son forfait.’
So, after such an offence, poor Snow was sentenced to undergo capital punishment, and expiated by death his want of regard for the silk attire of the fair sex.