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.