who was waiting for General Grant, before he left for the hills; and so the jungle was put aside.

Colonel Grant, however, was not disposed to allow our expedition to leave India without some experience in the field, and when the tiger proposition was dismissed the Maharajah proposed to have some pig sticking. The sticking of a pig does not seem to be a serious business to people at home, whose ideas of the animal are confined to its usefulness as breakfast bacon. The old hunters say that no sport in India is more exciting or more dangerous. The wild boar is a different animal from the homely, useful, lolling hog, whose highest function at home is lard. He lives in the jungle. His food is the sugar-cane, and a boar will ravage a large crop of growing cane in a single night. He is bold and brave. His tusks are sometimes eight inches in length, and as sharp as a razor. With these tusks he will charge any animal. A boar has been known to rip open a tiger and disembowel him. The wild pig has great endurance. He can in the first rush outrun an Arab steed. He seems to be an honest, peaceable beast, who will do no harm, and spend his days on roots or sugar-cane, unless you assail him. He will throw dogs in the air, and, if a hunter falls under his tusks, cut him up as with a knife. Some of the most serious accidents in the history of sport have come from the wild pig. There are laws about hog hunting which no gentleman violates. You do not shoot him. You only attack the boar, never the sow. To kill a sow in the Jeypore country would be as serious a crime as to shoot a fox in Melton Mowbray. You do not kill the young. In warring on the tiger your enemy is the common enemy of mankind, who lives on prey; whose passion is blood; who lives on domestic cattle and useful animals, and in his old days takes to preying upon man. There is one quality about pig hunting that reminds you of the buffalo chase. You ride upon your pony in the jungle; you seek your animal out and fight him with sword or spear like a knight; you have a foeman who can only be slain by coolness and courage, who lives in the dominion of the leopard and the tiger, and holds his own with them, and whose death

VOL. II.-9

is useful in two ways-it protects the natives' crops and gives them food.

An officer of the Maharajah's household who was in charge of the hunting establishment, and who was famous, we were told, among Indian sportsmen, waited upon us, and we agreed that at six o'clock in the morning we should start for the jungle. Dr. Keating was disposed to volunteer, and if General Grant had not been under engagements for the day which he could not put aside, I think he would have ventured out, if

for no other reason than to have a good stiff ride over the country. Mr. Borie preferred to remain with General Grant, and the Colonel alone of our party went to the hunt. At six, the hunting party left the residency and drove out in the cool of the morning some six or seven miles. When they came to the jungle, horses were in readiness, with bullock carts, and a swarm of attendants. The Colonel had had his own share of hunting on the frontiers, and as a cavalryman had a good eye and a good seat. There were firearms along, to meet any

131

other animal that might venture upon them. Not unfrequently when looking for a pig you may stumble upon a tiger, or a panther, or a bear, when the conditions of the hunt change. There is a story of an officer encountering a panther when out pig sticking, and spearing him. This story is now the wonder and envy of Indian society, and I do not know of any human proceeding more to be commended or avoided, according as you are trained to view such matters, than spearing a panther. But the officer did so. Our party was prepared for such an emergency, but it did not come. When they came to the ground they mounted. The Colonel rode with the chief sports

man and an interpreter. There were sixteen horsemen, two camels, two bullock carts, and beaters on foot.

The chief was

a fine, comely, lithe young man, who rode a horse like an Indian, with a keen piercing eye, who looked upon the jungle as upon home and knew every feature of it. He wore a padded gown or riding coat, which looks like one of our comfortable morning wrappers, made of calico, and over this a flowing silk or brocaded tunic as a mark of his rank. When you go on the hunting ground the party divide, at distances far enough apart to cover a mile of the jungle. There are beaters on foot, who go into the grass and beat the game toward you, making loud noises. If you pass a sow or her young you keep on, allowing them to root at peace or scamper away. If a boar is seen, the signal is given, either by a whistle or a call; sometimes by firing a pistol. Some of the beaters have pistols, so that if the boar should make a break and try to escape they can fire a blank shot and turn him. The boar will turn at the noise and the flash; but if the boar is at a distance you gather your reins, brace yourself in your saddle, take your spear, and run at full speed. The boar always seeks flight. If at all in condition he will go at a pace which no horse can keep. But this does not last long. The first burst over and you gain on him. In time you ride him down, and, as you pass, you drive the spear into his flanks, or, if you can, into his back so as to sever his spine. But this is not often done. The law of the chase is that the first stroke of the spear gives the right to

the trophy. You wound the boar perhaps. Your spear is wrenched from your hand, is broken by the boar, who will snap the iron blade as easily as a stalk of cane. Even when wounded the boar will keep his flight. You pursue him and again spear him; sometimes again and again. The animal, faint from the running, from the loss of blood from the wounds, comes to bay, stops and turns. Then comes the real interest of the chase. He turns to bay and makes a rush. Well for the horseman who can not only keep his seat, but so guide his horse that the boar will not plunge his tusk into his animal's flanks and rip him open. The Colonel, when he ran down his first boar, drove the spear. It was hastily, perhaps awkwardly, done, and the boar snapped off the blade.

When the boar turned it charg

ed the Colonel's

made an ugly gash. Another spear was given the Colonel, who again speared the boar, and this time more effectively, for the animal turned over and died.

One pig is not a bad day's sport. But the morning was not far gone and Colonel Grant felt that his spearing had been clumsily and badly done. It was his first trial, however, in the Indian jungle, and we should have pardoned him if he had been content with his single trophy. So the hunt went on. In a short time another boar was found and the Colonel charged