WHEN I was a cheery boy
of some seventeen or eighteen—and that is a long time ago—I was passing
a long vacation in that, alas ! now no longer, most charming of all
places, Paris. My old and dear friend, General, afterwards Due, de St.
Simon, was ordered into Brittany, to inspect some cavalry regiments. I
was wild to go with him, for he was a keen and good sportsman, a fine
rider, a good shot, a gallant soldier, and a thorough French gentleman
of the old regime. Brittany was then famed for its sports, and I knew
how my friend would employ his non-inspecting days. He was willing to
take me; but how? was the question. His travelling caleche only held
himself and his aide-de-camp, and he laughingly said that the only way
would be to ride with his faithful servant and courier, Aimee; but that
was too much for me, particularly at that time of the year. This put me
upon my mettle, and I swore go I would, if I dropped.
Accordingly, one fine
evening in August, 1818, we started. I have lived to see leathers in and
out twice. At that time they were just going out, and were worn bright
yellow. I had brought a pair with me from Cambridge, and top-boots. I
had a good English saddle, but foolishly did not take my English bridle,
or rather reins. I had a good pair of spurs, and a French postilion’s
whip, out of which, however, I never could extract the true invigorating
“clack-clack.” Merrily did we clatter up the Champs Elysees. Every one
knew St. Simon, and having lived a good deal as a boy in Paris, I had no
small acquaintance, and many were the kindly greetings we had from happy
faces that were enjoying the evening air. It was very well for the first
twenty-five leagues (and we had eighty-eight to do), as the horses were
good, and the French bidet de poste was then, as he still is, very
pleasant in his ambling canter. But as you got further, things changed
for the worse. There was nothing but the common posters to ride, and my
friend Aimee, an old soldier, managed to get the best always. The nags
wanted a little hand now, and I felt the want of my English reins. I
remember thinking the post-reins iron, not leather, and towards six or
seven in the morning it was positive pain to hold them. For all that,
during the whole eighty-eight leagues I got but two falls—one as I
pulled up on a lovely evening to look at the fair town of Alengon, when
my horse gently paid his devotions to mother earth (in admiration of the
scene also, I suppose), rising quickly again; the other, in passing
through a small town, when my horse blundered on to his head from being
driven into the gutter by a market cart. Now, I do not think one could
have ridden the same distance on English posters with the same result.
My hands hurt me then a
good deal, but that was the only damage I felt; but I cannot say that
about ten o’clock in the morning—the last post we were to ride before
breakfast—I did not contemplate with some disgust a very sorry-looking,
raw-boned stallion that was brought out to me, with heavy shoulders,
groggy legs, and unmistakable knees. I could not help uttering my
complaints to a merry eyed Norman lass that was standing by, and who
turned out to be the postmaster’s daughter. Whether she pitied the horse
or me I don’t know, but she told me that if I promised to take great
care of him she would lend me an uncommonly nice grey pony, with capital
action, who went his two posts rather faster than papa’s usual pace; and
then the luxury of the toilet at the end of that post, and after that
the delicious dejeuner a lafourchette and a good rest.
I started again as fresh
as a fly, forgetting my hands ; and with the exception of the halt for
supper, rode merrily through the night. By this time I was up to my
friend Aimee, and I managed also in passing through some, town to buy a
bridle, a l’Anglaise, with enormous buckles, and though it was not the
sort of thing I should have liked to have turned out with his Grace of
Beaufort’s hounds at Stanton Park, it was a wonderful relief after the
posting bridles. Then I learnt the courier’s trick of getting a good
start of the carriage, clattering along two or three posts quick, taking
a rest. Reader, if you want to know luxury, ride courier for a night or
two, get a good start of an hour of your carriage, and then, when you
reach the end of the post, give orders to have your horse all ready to
start the moment the carriage comes up, and throw yourself into the
masses of straw that fill some of the stalls. If you don’t enjoy that
snooze, you have never tasted true rest.
And tlins we cantered on
through the second night. I don’t tell you that towards the second
morning I should not have enjoyed the carriage more than the saddle; but
I had said I would do it, and was determined to stick to it. Besides, it
is wonderful how one learns to doze on horseback. The good French
breakfast—and such coffee !—set me quite up, and right merrily did I
ride into Rennes (our first place of inspection) that afternoon. How I
enjoyed my warm bath and bed after that long, hot ride, which still I
look back to as one of the pleasantest in my life, save and except a
canter to the Rock to meet the dear old Kilkenny hounds in the olden
time, when that prince of huntsmen and riders, Johnnie Power, hunted
them; and poor Richard Cox, and the two Baileys, and the Stannards, and
the Quins, and the Montgomerys, and that hardest of pill-boxes, Dr.
O’Reilly, rode to them.
How I found it out I
don’t know, but I did that evening—that there was some good shooting in
the neighbourhood of Rennes. I knew that everything would be open to the
General; but as he must first look after his cavalry, I was determined
not to lose a day. The shooting had not been opened by the prefet of the
department, I had no joorte d’armes, I had no permission from any one,
and I did not know one field from another; but I had my gun and poor Die
—old Tom’s ancestress, then about nine or ten months old—and off I
started early the next morning, violating every law, human and divine,
for it was Sunday. But this, I fear, I calculated on ; for the Breton
peasants were then, as they are now, very devout, and were sure to be at
church most of the day, and I was more afraid of them than anything
else. I cannot say I did much execution; for I could hardly hit a
haystack flying. The day was intensely hot. It was nearly Die’s first
essay, and though the corn was cut, the buckwheat was not; and into that
I dared not (except when the coast was quite clear) intrude, for fear of
a drubbing from the peasants, which I should have assuredly got, as 1
deserved. I got three or four partridges, and about as many quails. But,
oh, what stubbles ! I have never seen such, before or since. High and
dirty! would that the world abounded in such, and that I could live and
shoot where the worst farming existed! Towards the afternoon I met a
French chasseur, marauding like myself. At first we were inclined to fly
each other; but we fraternized, and, thanks to him, I got safe back to
Rennes without encountering any gardes champetres or reminiscences of
the lews. gendarmes, which otherwise I probably might have done. He had
a very decent, queer-looking dog, who trotted not faster than we walked,
but with a capital nose, and a dead hand at catching a hare on her form;
and we had, during the time I spent at Rennes, some little private
poaches of our own on bye-days, when we always got something.
When I got home I caught
it from the General for my exploits, but my not returning quite
empty-handed mollified him a little; for he was an uncommon poacher
himself. Also, he had not much time to scold, as there was a grand
dinner and ball at the Prefecture, for which there was barely time to
dress. Don’t cry out, gentle reader. This was forty-five years ago, and
I was barely eighteen, and dinners and balls on Sundays were then the
rule, not the exception, abroad. Moreover, I think the world was not a
bit more wicked then than now. As the English friend of the General, I
was nearly as much a lion as himself that night. My ride from Paris and
shooting exploit of the morning — which every one assured me ought to
have sent me to prison— made the good people of Rennes think me madder
than Englishmen in general. I could speak French perfectly, and sing and
dance
well then: so I sang
duets with Madame la Prefete, who screamed most discordantly; danced
with the daughters, who were not beauties; and, with the help of the
General, so ingratiated myself with the Prefet, that he promised me a
porte d'armes, and all his interest in procuring shooting as soon as it
was opened, which it was to be in a day or two. I thus soon found myself
in clover. I shot where I had leave, and poached where I had none. I
missed a great many partridges, red and grey quails, and hares, and
snipes; but then I was young, and had time to learn. In the dragoon
regiment the General was inspecting there were some very nice young
fellows; and between shooting and balls and dinners and plays, merrily
went the time.
At last the neck of the
inspection was broken, and a grande partie de chasse was arranged to
come off in a royal forest some eight or nine leagues from Rennes. We
started one fine morning in such a carriage, with four such long-tailed
horses, and such a coachman with such a cocked hat, and such a pigtail!
I thought I should have choked. We ambled gracefully along, a little
slower than we could have walked, and arrived about eleven in the centre
of the forest—a place something like the Horse-guards in the Cirencester
Woods, only nothing near so fine. Here were assembled a motley crew of
chasseurs, dogs, and piqueurs. There was one of the sportsmen
particularly attracted my attention, and who attached himself to me at
once. He examined all my accoutrements, and found a singular fault with
my gun—viz., that the locks were bad, because the cocks did not go far
back enough, and consequently had not sufficient play, or force, to
strike the hammers hard enough to give good fire. No reasoning I
possessed could make my friend understand that the goodness of a lock
depended on the proper balancing of the springs. These were
flint-and-steel days, remember. But don’t laugh at my friend—whom I
shall call Carabine; he was a thorough and enthusiastic sportsman, and
such a walker I never saw in my life! I think his legs could not have
been flesh and bone and muscles and sinews; they surely were catgut and
wire. He seemed hardly to touch the ground. He had walked that morning
from Rennes; he walked the forest all day at the heels of the hounds;
and what he did shall be seen at its close.
The guns lined one of the
alleys down-wind, and the forest, or different quarters of it, were
beaten up to them by the hounds and piqueurs. I was committed to
Carabine’s care, to be posted in a remote corner, in case anything went
back, with directions to move on towards the posted guns as the hunt (as
we used to say in Ireland) came on. I trotted at Carabine’s heels till
he left me, nearly blown, by a tree, which he charged me not to leave
till I heard his double Chouan whistle. Did you ever hear one? The
railway is a joke to it. He then plunged into the wood. All was still
for a long time. At last I heard the cry of hounds. It approached, and I
really thought I was in for a shot; but, whether from over-keenness I
showed, or did something I ought not to have done, the hounds turned,
and I soon heard an unearthly something, twice repeated, that made me
jump, and down my cross-ride I went, best pace, for the great alley,
parallel to which, apparently, the hounds were running. As I came in
sight of the first gun, I recognised Aimee, who was chasseur as well as
courier and valet. I halted, for the hounds, having turned, were running
towards us, and I felt sure that the beast afoot, whatever it was, would
break between Aimee and myself. Just then, what should spring into the
alley—evidently only disturbed, not hunted —but a little, miserable
roe-deer calf. Immediately I looked down Aimee’s barrels, loaded, one
with, buck-shot, the other with two balls ! Grimaldi never threw a back
somersault quicker than I did into the wood, as I felt a most
uncomfortable whistling of all sorts of things just over the spot I had
so hastily left. Though I heard the hounds coming very close, I did not
move for a second or two, expecting Aimee’s second barrel, both of
which, however, had gone at once. I jumped up in time, not to see, but
to hear, something disappear in the thick wood on the opposite side of
the alley, after which I fired. Presently the hounds appeared, and
crossed, and, immediately after them, Carabine. I was interrogated, but
could give no account of what had passed. It might have been the Wild
Huntsman, for aught I know. The rest of the party congregated
immediately. Aimee was blown up for firing at the poor little calf,
which, of course, he had missed, and nearly bagged me. But, oh, dear !
how they pitched into and laughed at me! Le Anglais! l'Anglais! to have
left his place just as the beast was breaking, and not to know even what
it was !95 Carabine scowled at me, the General was ashamed of me, the
young dragoons chaffed me till I felt inclined to fight them all round.
In jumps Carabine into
the wood, and returns at once with the intelligence that the animal is a
wolf, that the hounds would follow him all day, or for a month, as they
never like running up to one of those animals, who, therefore, never
troubles himself with going too fast. But the worst was that our sport
was spoilt for the day, as the only chance of recovering the hounds was
for Carabine to head them some three leagues off by making a short cut
through the forest. Disconsolately, therefore, did we wend our way back
to the place where the carriage was to meet us, I with my tail very much
between my legs.
We had barely time for a
little luncheon, when, just as the horses were putting to, up comes
Carabine with the hounds, having recovered them just where he intended
to do. Having taken a small glass of brandy and a morsel of bread, he
was about to return on foot to Rennes, when I insisted he should have my
place in the carriage. I fear there was little real charity in my offer.
I wanted to get away from my companions, who were driving me half wild.
Not a bit of it. I could not stand the walk, &c., &c. At last he said he
would sit on a sort of bar that was at the back of the undercarriage of
our conveyance. We declared he would be shaken to death in a quarter of
a league, which he would have been. At last he spied my saddle, which
Aimee had smuggled into the carriage, thinking he might have to ride in
the course of the day. How Carabine managed I don’t know to this day;
but he put my saddle on the aforesaid bar, mounted, stuck his feet in
the stirrups, and thus rode, as he said, most comfortably into Rennes.
There was a dinner with the colonel of the regiment that day, and a
ball; but I did not dare face it, and slunk to bed.
Next day, Carabine came
to see the General, and, to console me, he said he had arranged an
extraordinarily fine jpartie de chasse in another and a better forest,
famous for its wild boars, which were reckoned the largest and most
savage in Brittany. At first the General threatened to leave me at home,
in punishment of my doings the day before, which, on reconsideration,
turned out not so bad. On the contrary, up to the somersault, Carabine
declared I had displayed a most innate knowledge of the noble science;
and, moreover, as but for throwing myself into the wood, Aimee must have
bagged me, he was for the future to be left at home, or, at any rate,
not trusted with a gun.
At last the day was
settled, and came off. We started, in a contrary direction to the day
before, to another forest, some of the scenery of which was very
beautiful. The ground was wild and undulating, with some very pretty
streams running through it. It was a lovely day, and as we were now well
into September, the excessive heat of a French August of those days had
passed. Carabine still patronized me, and kept me to himself. He placed
me by a pollard oak, on a bank that overhung a pretty, wild, rocky
stream, where the trout were rising very fast. On the other side of the
valley, partly wooded, partly open, through which the stream ran, was
hilly ground, covered with brushwood, rock fern, and broom, very fair to
look at. I could enjoy the landscape thoroughly, though my thoughts ran
much on the boar, which Carabine assured me would be found; that if it
was the celebrated, well-known one, he would be sure to run the hill and
take the stream ; that I must be sure not to miss him, or, at any rate,
not to wound him, as if I did I might as well consider myself dead, as
this very animal had killed a piqueur last year, and upset himself,
fortunately without any injury. I inquired why I, an unfledged
greenhorn, was selected, of all people, to face such a monster, and not
the General, who was a real good shot and accustomed to such game.
Carabine declared he was bent on giving me a chance of redeeming my
character; that there I should stand, and nowhere elseand that if I
missed !—he looked unutterable things—and away with him to the piqueurs
and the hounds.
And here was I left, an
unprotected babe in the woods, a long way from any one, to encounter the
furious animal. I loaded my gun carefully, putting two balls, screwed
together, in each barrel. I laid my gun against the tree, and sat me
down to rest and gaze. After a long time, I heard a distant noise and
cries. Gradually the note of hounds came nearer—nearer—nearer, till it
seemed to reach the copse-hill before me. Once or twice I caught a
glimpse of something coming through it, and at last saw it clearly—a
beast of some sort. It broke, and lo ! and behold! it was a kind of a
bluish, brownish, slate-coloured animal, decidedly of the pig kind. It
was not going very fast; it looked very hot, very fat, very sulky. It
wended its way across the flat towards the stream, and, merciful powers!
as if it was taking aim at the very tree under which I stood. I was very
keen, but I was troubled in my mind. At last my gentleman, as he neared
the water, diverged a little, took the stream, which he waded and swam
across, giving two or three grunts, as if he found it refreshing. I then
saw it was a boar—Meleager’s own Calydonian never looked so savage. I
felt his tusks already in my groin. I could have run away, but I didn’t;
so I clutched my gun, cocked both barrels, and awaited my foe with grim
determination. Then, as he mounted the bank on which I stood, just as he
was topping it, and his head and shoulders were over it, I blazed both
barrels at once at him, dropped my gun, and hopped like a squirrel into
my tree, thinking that, being a boar and not a bear, he could not climb
after me.
All was still—as one of
the songs of the day said,—
“Every leaf was at rest,
and I heard not a sound.”
Thinks I to myself, "If
he meant mischief he would have turned by this time". I dropped out of
my tree, crept cautiously on, expecting I don’t know what. When, about
fifteen yards off, lo ! there lay the beast dead, all but the quivering
of the limbs, with a large hole drilled in his body, as the four balls
had gone in behind the shoulder and through him.
Don’t think meanly of me,
ye glorious Indians! I was but a boy, and never had an opportunity of
riding to hog, which even now I would give half a life were it to come
over again to do. But I was very proud of my boar.
The hounds, who seemed to
have no wish to come very near him, were now reaching the verge of the
copse, with Carabine close at them. I caught glimpses of some of the
guns moving, and set up the French "who—whoop"—hal-lali! hallali!—if my
recollection of their terms of chase be right. The hounds quickened
their pace, and with Carabine took the stream gallantly. St. Simon and
the rest appeared. I was no longer a muffin, but the slayer of the famed
boar of the forest. My luck was envied, my prowess and coolness
extolled. I kept my own counsel.
And so fell my first wild
boar; and though I have killed others, they never equalled that first. |