Eight Years' Wanderings in Ceylon

by Sir Samuel White Baker

Boars' hides have shared the same fate. These are far thicker than those of the tame species, and should make excellent saddles. So tough are they upon the live animal that it requires a very sharp-pointed knife to penetrate them, and too much care cannot be bestowed upon the manufacture of a knife for this style of hunting, as the boar is one of the fiercest and dangerous of animals.

Living in the thickest jungles, he rambles out at night in search of roots, fruits, large earthworms, or anything else that he can find, being, like his domesticated brethren, omnivorous. He is a terrible enemy to the pack, and has cost me several good dogs within the last few years. Without first-rate seizers it would be impossible to kill him with the knife without being ripped, as he invariably turns to bay after a short run in the thickest jungle he can find. There is no doubt that a good stout boar-spear, with a broad blade and strong handle, is the proper weapon for the attack; but a spear is very unhandy and even dangerous to carry in such a hilly country as the neighbourhood of Newera Ellia. The forests are full of steep ravines and such tangled underwood that following the hounds is always an arduous task, but with a spear in the hand it is still more difficult, and the point is almost certain to get injured by striking against the numerous rocks, in which case it is perfectly useless when perhaps most required. I never carry a spear for these reasons, but am content with the knife, as in my opinion any animal that can beat off good bounds and a long knife deserves to escape.

My knife was made to my own pattern by Paget of Piccadilly. The blade is one foot in length, and two inches broad in the widest part, and slightly concave in the middle. The steel is of the most exquisite quality, and the entire knife weighs three pounds. The peculiar shape added to the weight of the blade gives an extraordinary force to a blow, and the blade being double-edged for three inches from the point, inflicts a fearful wound: altogether it is a very desperate weapon, and admirably adapted for this kind of sport.

A feat is frequently performed by the Nepaulese by cutting off a buffalo's head at one blow of a sabre or tulwal. The blade of this weapon is peculiar, being concave, and the extremity is far heavier than the hilt; the animal's neck is tied down to a post, so as to produce a tension on the muscles, without which the blow, however great, would have a comparatively small effect.

The accounts of this feat always appeared very marvellous to my mind, until I one day unintentionally performed something similar on a small scale with the hunting-knife.

I was out hunting in the Elk Plains, and having drawn several jungles blank, I ascended the mountains which wall in the western side of the patinas (grass-plains), making sure of finding an elk near the summit. It was a lovely day, perfectly calm and cloudless; in which weather the elk, especially the large bucks, are in the habit of lying high up the mountains.

I had nine couple of hounds out, among which were some splendid seizers, "Bertram," "Killbuck," "Hecate," "Bran," "Lucifer," and "Lena," the first three being progeny of the departed hero, old "Smut," who had been killed by a boar a short time before. They were then just twelve months old, and "Bertram" stood twenty-eight and a half inches high at the shoulder. To him his sire's valor had descended untarnished, and for a dog of his young age he was the most courageous that I have ever seen. In appearance he was a tall Manilla bloodhound, with the strength of a young lion; very affectionate in disposition, and a general favorite, having won golden opinions in every contest. Whenever a big buck was at bay, and punishing the leading hounds, he was ever the first to get his hold; no matter how great the danger, he never waited but recklessly dashed in. "There goes Bertram! Look at Bertram! Well done, Bertram!" were the constant exclamations of a crowd of excited spectators when a powerful buck was brought to bay. He was a wonderful dog, but I prophesied an early grave for him, as no dog in the world could long escape death who rushed so recklessly upon his dangerous game.[1] His sister "Hecate," was more careful, and she is alive at this moment, and a capital seizer of great strength combined with speed, having derived the latter from her dam, "Lena," an Australian greyhound, than whom a better or truer bitch never lived. "Old Bran," and his beautiful son "Lucifer," were fine specimens of grayhound and deerhound, and as good as gold.

There was not a single elk track the whole of the way up the mountain, and upon arriving at the top, I gave up all hope of finding for that day, and I enjoyed the beautiful view over the vast valley of forest which lay below, spangled with green plains, and bounded by the towering summit of Adam's Peak, at about twenty-five miles' distance. The coffee estates of Dimboola lay far beneath upon the right, and the high mountains of Kirigallapotta and Totapella bounded the view upon the left.

There is a good path along the narrow ridge on the summit of the Elk Plain hills, which has been made by elephants. This runs along the very top of the knife-like ridge, commanding a view of the whole country to the right and left. The range is terminated abruptly by a high peak, which descends in a sheer precipice at the extremity.

I strolled along the elephant-path, intending to gain the extreme end of the range for the sake of the view, when I suddenly came upon the track of a "boar," in the middle of the path. It was perfectly fresh, as were also the ploughings in the ground close by, and the water of a small pool was still curling with clouds of mud, showing most plainly that he had been disturbed from his wallowing by my noise in ascending the mountain-side.