Robert Michael Ballantyne - The Hot Swamp

“Yes.”

“Well, that star shows exactly where the cold regions lie—over there (extending his arm and pointing), and of course if you know that the cold regions lie there , you know that the hot regions must lie at your back—there, and it follows that the Pillars of Hercules lie there (pointing west), and home lies somewhere about there (pointing eastward).”

“Stop!” cried Maikar in great perplexity—for although a seaman he was densely ignorant. “Hot regions, there , cold, there , home and the Pillars, there , and there , and there (thrusting his arms out in all directions). I’ve no more idea of where you’ve got me to now than—than—”

“Oh, never mind,” interrupted the captain, “it doesn’t matter, as you are not our guide. But, ho! look! look! down in the hollow there—among the rushes. What’s that?”

“A boar!” said Bladud, in a low whisper, as he unslung his bow. “Come, now, it will take all our united force to slay that brute, for, if I have not lost my power of judging such game, I’m pretty sure that he’s a very big old boar with formidable tusks.”

While the prince was speaking, his comrades had also prepared their weapons, and looked to their guide for directions.

These were hastily but clearly given. As the boar was evidently asleep in his lair, it was arranged that the three friends should stalk him, as the broken ground was specially favourable for such a mode of attack.

“We will advance together,” said Bladud, “with our bows ready. I will lead; you follow close. When we get within range you will do as you see me do, and be sure that you aim at the brute’s side—not at his head. Send your arrows with all the force you can. Then drop the bows and get your javelins ready.”

With eager looks the captain and little sailor nodded assent. They were much excited, having often heard tales of boar-hunting, though neither of them had ever taken part in that work.

A few minutes’ walk brought them to the edge of the rushes, where they had a fair view of the monstrous animal as it lay fully extended on its side, and not more than thirty yards distant.

“Take him just behind the fore-leg,” whispered Bladud, as he drew his bow. His companions followed his example. Two of the bows twanged simultaneously, but the third—that of Maikar—was pulled with such vigour that it broke with a crash that would have awakened the sleepiest of wild boars, had there been nothing else to arouse him. As it was, other things helped to quicken his sensibilities. Bladud’s unfailing arrow went indeed straight for the heart, but a strong rib caught and checked its progress. The captain’s shaft, probably by good luck, entered deep into the creature’s flank not far from the tail.

To say that the forest was instantly filled with ear-splitting shrieks is to express the result but feebly. We might put it as a sort of indefinite question in the rule of three, thus—if an ordinary civilised pig with injured feelings can yell as we all know how, what must have been the explosion of a wild-boar of the eighth century B.C., in circumstances such as we have described? Railway whistles of the nineteenth century, intermittently explosive, is the only possible answer to the question, and that is but an approximation to the truth.

For one instant the infuriated creature paused to look for its assailants. Catching sight of them as they were fitting arrows to their bows, it gave vent to a prolonged locomotive-express yell, and charged. Bladud’s arrow hit it fair between the eyes, but stuck in the impenetrable skull. The shaft of the captain missed, and the javelin of Maikar went wildly wide of the mark.

By order of Bladud the three had separated a few yards from each other. Even in its rage the monster was perplexed by this, for it evidently perceived the impossibility of attacking three foes at the same moment. Which to go for was the question. Like an experienced warrior it went for the “little one.”

Maikar had drawn his last weapon—the short sword of bronze—and, like a brave man as he was, “prepared to receive boarelry.” Another instant and the enemy was upon him. More than that, it was over him, for, trusting to his agility—for which he was famed—he tried to leap to one side, intending to make a vigorous thrust at the same moment. In doing so his foot slipped; he fell flat on his side, and the boar, tripping over him, just missed ripping him with its fearful tusks. It fell, with a bursting squeak, beyond.

To leap up and turn was the work of an instant for the boar, and would have been the same for the man if he had not been partially stunned by the fall. As it was, the captain, who was nearest, proved equal to the emergency, for, using his javelin as a spear, he plunged it into the boar’s side. But that side was tougher than he had expected. The spear was broken by a sharp twist as the animal turned on its new foe, who now stood disarmed and at its mercy. Bladud’s ponderous sword, however, flashed in the air at that moment, and fell on the creature’s neck with a force that would have made Hercules envious if he had been there. Deep into the brawn it cut, through muscle, fat, and spine, almost slicing the head from the trunk, and putting a sudden stop to the last yell when it reached the windpipe. The boar rolled head over heels like a shot hare, almost overturning Bladud as it wrenched the sword from his hand, and swept the captain off his legs, carrying him along with it in a confusion of blood and bristles.

It was truly a terrific encounter, and as the prince stood observing the effect of his blow, he would probably have burst into a fit of laughter, had he not been somewhat solemnised by Captain Arkal’s fearful appearance, as he arose ensanguined, but uninjured, from the ground.

Being now provided with material for making shields, they resolved to spend a day in camp. This was all the more necessary, that the shoes or sandals which they had worn at sea were not well suited for the rough travelling which they had now to undertake.

Accordingly they selected a spot on the brow of a hill from which the surrounding country could be seen in nearly all directions. But they were careful also to see that several bushes shielded themselves from view, for it was a matter of uncertainty whether or where natives might make their appearance.

Here, bathed in glorious sunshine, with a lovely prospect of land and water, tangled wood and flowery plains, to gladden their eyes, and the savoury smell of pork chops and turkey to tickle their nostrils, they spent two days in manufacturing the various necessary articles. Captain Arkal provided himself with a new javelin.

Maikar made another bow, and both fabricated tough round shields with double plies of the boar’s hide. Out of the same substance Bladud made a pair of shoes for each of them.

“The sandals you wear at home,” he said, “are not so good as those used by us in Albion. They don’t cover the feet sufficiently, and they expose the toes too much. Yet our sandals are easily and quickly made. Look here—I will show you.”

His companions paused in their labour and looked on, while the prince took up an oblong piece of boar-hide, over a foot in length and six inches broad, which had been soaking in water till it had become quite soft and limp. Placing one of his feet on this he drew the pattern of it on the skin with a pointed stick. Around this pattern, and about a couple of inches from it, he bored a row of holes an inch or so apart. Through these holes he rove a thong of hide, and then rounded away the corners of the piece.

“There,” said he, placing his foot in the centre of it and drawing the thong, “my sandal is ready.”