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.