Chapter XIV. Greek Meets Greek.—A Wild Boar Hunt.

As we rode off after the events recorded in the last chapter, Mrs Fortescue, noticing uncle's discomposure—for he had evidently placed a deeper significance on her treatment of him than perhaps was intended—drew back and rode by his side, allowing the others to pass on.

‘Never mind their nonsense, Mr Melton,’ she remarked, gently. ‘I can assure you I enjoyed the lesson, and I hope you'll forgive me if I have had the misfortune to have offended you.’

‘Did you really enjoy the lesson, Mrs Fortescue?’ asked uncle, in a far more serious manner than the occasion seemed to warrant, ‘or are you still deceiving me?’

‘Deceiving you, Mr Melton! Why should you think I would deceive you over a trifling thing like that? I did really enjoy it. It was the greatest possible fun watching how painstaking and earnest you were in your endeavours to teach me. I was afraid you would see through my pretended stupidity and simplicity.’

‘You purposely misunderstand me. What I wish to—’

‘Oh, I must have another leap. Now, Charlie, come back and give me a lead over that fence,’ she called out, guessing that uncle's horse was not quite capable of taking him over a stiff post and rail, though Charlie's nag was only a little less pleased than his master with a bit of exercise of that description. So they hopped about over the fences while we soberly stuck to the road. Fanny and Alice never cared to put their horses over such high timber unless there was a necessity for doing so, and I was on a young one which had not yet been taught leaping.

Uncle rode moodily along, wishing he were at home again, till at last, tired of the cross-country work, the fair lady again called him to her side, and quickly caused his countenance to brighten by her brilliant and clever conversation. After a canter of about eight or nine miles, we turned back to our own home, where we all had tea, and spent much such an evening as the previous one. Mr Bowden came up after tea to escort his sister home, and was persuaded to stop and have a bit of a hop on the carpet. They gave me my first lessons in dancing, and I was pronounced to be an apt pupil. I was very glad I had not learnt the art previously, for it was worth years of page 58 ignorance to have Fanny for an instructress, and to be excused when in my awkwardness I clasped her divine form too tightly. I made that mistake several times. I had read of the poetry of motion, but never experienced it in my prosaic form till I learned to keep step with this graceful girl in the whirling galop. I will allow that ere I arrived at this stage, collisions were frequent in our neighbourhood, and the poetry came to a full stop, where no pause was required, now and then. Uncle was heard sardonically to observe that I resembled a young bull in a china shop. This remark was excusable inasmuch as I had just capsized a small table of curiosities which had been placed in a corner to be out of the way, but proved just in it. However, altogether I enjoyed the evening extremely, and got on so well after the aforesaid little accident, that Mrs Fortescue asserted that I must be taking the same sort of rise out of them, that she did with her riding, and should astonish them directly by dancing a sword dance, or something equally beyond their limited capacity.

The evening and, indeed, the next fortnight passed away all too quickly to please me, as I dreaded the thought of seeing Fanny in Grosvenor's company. The young ladies, however, were always affirming that it would never go, it seemed an age. Be this as it may, however, the evening before the eventful day arrived, and with it the fair widow. She had been invited to spend the night with us. We had another merry evening, and the finishing touches were put on my saltatory training. I noticed Mrs Fortescue appeared rather shy of uncle. His manner, when he addressed her, was so ardent and impulsive, and his glances, which were seldom directed elsewhere, were so eager and longing—I can think of no better word—that no wonder she felt rather uncomfortable, and preferred conversing with anyone else.

Master Charlie, regardless of previous forcible warnings, slipped in remarks referring to the age of his parent whenever he saw an opportunity, as, for instance, when his father happened to lead the widow to her seat after a dance before the music had ceased. ‘It's no good, dad, you can't keep up the pace. You're too stiff. You want blistering and turning out. Besides, you are a bit touched in your wind.’

The old gentleman certainly was ‘out of puff.’ As soon, however, as he could recover breath enough, he ordered the rash youth off to his room in a voice which he dared not disobey, and followed him shortly himself. We did not hear any screams, but Charlie informed me afterwards that ‘he did lay it on. I'd have kicked his legs only I knew I'd been too rough on him, and he isn't half a bad sort, isn't dad. I am awfully fond of him, you know. Besides, it wasn't only what you heard me say, he hammered me for. I had been at him two or three times before. I saw he was jealous of you, as I told you before, so I worked on him properly. Didn't it rile him when I said aside to him, “My word, doesn't Mrs Fortescue look sweet at Frank,” or “Didn't she squeeze his hand that time!”’

The young rascal did not think of doing me any harm. He only wanted to plague his father for making such an ass of himself.

‘If dad was to marry again, I'd sooner he had her than anybody I know though, for I could often take her out for a ride, and she can ride over any fence that I can. She's a “oner,” that's a fact,’ he informed me confidentially.

The boy certainly was devoted to his father, and only occasionally page 59 allowed his high spirits and love of joking to overcome his sense of duty to his parent. The old gentleman was also remarkably attached to his son, and the few severe chastisements he inflicted were always richly earned before they were received.

There had been rain in the night, but the morning of the day so wished for by the young ladies was bright and clear. Alice remarked at breakfast time that they were out of fresh meat, and inquired when her father intended to have another bullock killed. He replied that it would be inconvenient for a few days, but that we would take the dogs and get a little wild pork for a change. Charlie and I were delighted at this decision. The ladies said that pig-hunting was too much like butchery to please them, so remained at home, more especially as they had a long ride before them that evening. Bowden had sent word that he could not join us, so uncle, Charlie, and I started with a pack horse to carry home the game. This animal was so accustomed to his work, that he would follow our horses without being led. Uncle was armed with a favourite spear of his, which had been formed by fastening a wooden handle into an old bayonet. I was provided with another spear which had once done duty as a small chisel, but having been ground sharp at the point, and a sufficiently light and tough stick put in to form a shaft, it made an excellent weapon. Charlie had a rifle, a birthday present from his father. We had also a tomahawk and sharp sheath knives, which, indeed, we were seldom without, as we found constant use for them in our daily occupations. I must not forget our canine assistants. These comprised two cattle dogs—our old friend Rough, and a brother of his named Rover—noted for possessing splendid noses for hunting either cattle or pigs, and it was their duty to lay us on to the game. There was also a grim-looking brindle-coloured old veteran appropriately named Tiger, a cross between a cattle dog and an English mastiff. His natural ugliness was increased by scars and seams, which spoke of many a hard-fought battle. His eyes looked as if they never had been a pair, or had fallen out—not literally—and made up their minds never to look in the same direction again. We rode a considerable distance before Rough and Rover made any sign of picking up a warm scent. At last, suddenly putting their noses to the ground, they went off at great speed towards a fern-clad gully. The venerable Tiger remained at our heels, with an expression of the most utter indifference and unconcern on his stolid physiognomy, feeling perfectly satisfied that the other dogs would round up the game for him; then perhaps he would step in, and woe betide the poor pig that came in his way. We followed the dogs at a smart gallop down the side of the hill, and, guided by their barks, soon saw a grizzly old boar rush out of a patch of fern, the succulent roots of which he had been ploughing up for his morning meal. He darted into a deep gully before the dogs could get near him. Not being overburdened with flesh, these gaunt, muscular animals can get over the ground with amazing swiftness. The dogs bailed him up nearly half a mile further down the gully, where he had joined two plump young sows, probably the latest additions to his harem, whom he had hurried down to defend. The position was an awkward one for the attacking party, as the sides of the gully were precipitous, and the gravelly bottom, with occasional waterholes, was very narrow, and left little room to get out of the way if the animal charged. We jumped off our horses, and Charlie thought he could manage to insert a bullet page 60 into a vulnerable part from where we stood on the terrace above, but although he hit the boar several times, it was at such an angle that his enormously thick hide defied the efforts of powder and ball.

‘Give me your spear, dad,’ he cried, ‘and I'll go for him with that. The dogs are too close to risk shooting at him,’ so taking it, and giving Tiger orders to follow, he slid down into the depths below. The old dog's stern features displayed a grin of unmistakable delight as he followed his young master. I was for going after Charlie, but uncle exclaimed:

‘Get down a chain further along, Frank. He'll try to break down the gully. Mind what you are at, for he's a warrior.’

We thus had the game between us, although engaged as they were, and owing to the thick fern, they could not see us. They stood in a splendid position, backed up under an overhanging rock in the side of the steep gully, in a row, the boar in the centre, presenting a determined front to their enemies, and emitting a succession of sharp angry grunts, which, with the barking of the dogs, caused a hideous uproar. Every now and then, if the later ventured too near, the old patriarch would charge at them, always retuning, however, to his rocky castle. Tiger now received the long-looked-for orders to seize him, and it was a grand sight to see him suddenly assume the attitude of defiance, and attack the foeman most worthy of his steel, utterly regardless of the snaps the sows made at him. The boar answered the challenge, nothing loth, and rushed to the fray, champing his immense jaws, armed with gleaming, cruel tusks, sharp as razors, and dangerously curved, his bristles erect on his brawny head and shoulder, his fierce little eyes gleaming savagely, and denoting death and defiance.

With what precision the clever old dog judged his distance, as, with a bound aside, he avoided the fearful rip intended for him, and seized his adversary's ear with a grip which meant no surrender. Then followed a scene most difficult to describe. Greek had met Greek with a vengeance, and the frantic efforts of the boar to shake off his assailant were only surpassed by the grim and dogged determination of the latter to hold on, regardless of the danger of being impaled on those fearful tusks. Charlie watched his chance, and rushed in with his spear, but had not strength to drive it fairly into him. I was hurrying up also through the thick scrub, when one of the sows, in her efforts to escape, got between my legs and bowled me over. Before I could regain my legs the boar and his assailant, ripping and tearing, mad with rage, and covered with blood, were on me. I certainly thought my last hour had come. Uncle dared not fire for fear of hitting me instead of the pig, but jumping down the gully, and seizing his favourite weapon from Charlie's hand, with his superior strength he drove it home, and the hero of a hundred fights had to succumb to his fate. I lost no time in jumping up, much to the surprise of my companions, who, I believe, thought I should never rise again. I was certainly well bespattered with gore, but this had, fortunately, most of it flowed from the pig, for on examination a few seratches and bruises from his feet were all I had to show. How I escaped worse treatment was only to be accounted for by the fact, that the old grizzly was too much occupied by his efforts to annihilate Tiger to notice me at all. The old dog was still holding on to his foe's ear, or what was left of it, for it was torn to ribbons, but on Charlie saying ‘Dead sir, dead,’ he reluctantly let go, and retreated page 61 to an adjacent waterhole to quench his thirst. We washed him, and found he had not altogether escaped the dreadful tusks. The hair was torn off, and a dark livid seam up his throat showed that, had he been little more than a hair's breadth nearer his assailant, it had been his last battle. Poor old Rough had a more serious wound in his thigh, the flesh being torn up for nearly nine inches. With the tomahawk we hewed out the deceased warrior's tusks, which uncle declared were the longest he had ever seen. These, with his bushy tail, and a few hits of skin cut out here and there to test its thickness, we carried home as trophies. Several old bullets imbedded in his hoary hide proved previous and unsuccessful attempts on his life. They had evidently affected him as little as a thorn or a flea bite would a human being.

The dogs being now fresher, we started in pursuit of the young sows, and bailing them up a few hundred yards lower down, they fell victims, the one to a shot between the eyes from Charlie's rifle, and the other to my spear. They proved a very serviceable addition to our larder, and we were hailed with general acclamation on our return home to dinner.