The boar had stopped over the _debris_ of Herbert's breakfast--some
fragments of the mountain-cabbage which had been left upon the ground.
Switching his feathered tail, and uttering a short grunt, expressive of
satisfaction, the animal proceeded to snap up the scattered pieces,
crunching them between his formidable grinders.
All of a sudden, the tranquil tableau became transformed into a scene of
a more exciting nature. As Herbert continued to gaze, he saw the boar
suddenly make a start, jerk his muzzle high in the air, at the same
instant uttering a peculiar cry. It was a cry of alarm, mingled with
angry menace--as testified by the bristles upon his back, which had
suddenly shot up into an erect spinous mane.
Herbert looked for the enemy. None was in sight--at least to his eyes.
The boar, however, had either seen or heard something: for he was
evidently upon the strain to spring off.
Just then, a loud report reverberated through the glade, a bullet hissed
through the air, and the animal, with a shrill scream, turned over upon
its back, the blood spouting from a wound in its thigh.
In an instant it was on its feet again; but rage appeared to hinder it
from attempting flight! It retreated only a few paces, taking its stand
between two of the buttresses of the _ceiba_--on the very spot where the
young Englishman had passed the night. There--protected on both flanks
and in the rear--and uttering fierce grunts of defiance--it stood, as if
awaiting an enemy.
Soon after a man emerged from the underwood, armed with what appeared to
be a straight sword or cutlass.
In a dozen quick strides he crossed the glade; and, having reached the
roots of the cotton-tree, became engaged in a deadly struggle with the
wounded boar.
Notwithstanding the damage done to it, the creature was still a
formidable antagonist; and it required all the address of the hunter--
habile though he appeared to be--to avoid contact with his terrible
tusks.
Each alternatively charged upon the other--the hunter endeavouring to
thrust the quadruped with his long blade, while the boar in its turn
would repeatedly rush towards its antagonist, suddenly rear itself upon
its hind legs, and strike upwards with its armed and grinning muzzle.
It was one of the fore-legs of the animal that had been broken by the
shot; but the wound, although greatly disabling it, did not hinder it
from making a protracted and desperate defence. The spurs of the
cotton-tree rising on each side proved its best protectors--hindering
its assailant from turning its flanks and piercing it in the side. The
combat, therefore, was face to face; and the blade of the hunter,
repeatedly thrust forward, as often glanced harmlessly from the hard
skull, or glinted with a metallic ring against the tusks of the boar.
For several minutes did this singular contest continue--the young
Englishman all the while watching it with lively interest; but without
giving the slightest signs of his being a spectator. Indeed, the scene
was so exciting, and had come under his eyes so unexpectedly, that he
was for a time held speechless by sheer surprise.
After a while the struggle between biped and quadruped was brought to a
termination. The former--who appeared to possess all the craft of his
calling--put in practice a _ruse_ that enabled him to give his
antagonist the _coup de grace_.
It was a feat, however, accompanied by no slight danger: and so adroitly
did the hunter perform it, as to create within the mind of his
spectator--himself a sportsman--both surprise and admiration.
Thus was the feat accomplished. In charging forward upon his human
adversary, the boar had incautiously ventured beyond the flanking
buttresses of the tree. In fact, the hunter had enticed the animal
outward--by making a feint of retreating from the contest.
Just then--and before the brute could divine his intention--the hunter
rushed forward, and, throwing all his strength into the effort, sprang
high into the air. Quite clearing the quadruped, he alighted in the
angle formed by the converging spurs of the tree.
The boar had now lost his position of defence; though that of the hunter
for the moment appeared desperate. He had calculated his chances,
however: for before the enraged animal--hindered by its hanging limb--
could face round to assail him, he had lunged out with his long blade,
and buried it up to the hilt between the creature's ribs.
With a shrill scream the boar fell prostrate to the earth--the red
stream from his side spurting over and spoiling the improvised mattress
of cotton-tree flock upon which the young Englishman had passed the
night.
Up to this moment the latter had done nothing, either by word or
gesture, to make known his presence. He was about to descend and
congratulate the hunter for the performance of a feat that had filled
him with admiration. A fancy, passing through his mind at the moment,
determined him to remain where he was a little longer; and, in obedience
to this fancy, he sat gazing down upon the successful sportsman at the
bottom of the tree.
To say the least, the appearance presented by this individual was
singular--especially so in the eyes of an Englishman unacquainted with
West Indian characters and costumes. But, in addition to
picturesqueness of attire, there was something in the carriage and
features of the man that could not fail to make a remarkable impression
upon the beholder.
This impression was decidedly pleasing, though the face that produced it
was not that of a _white_ man. Neither was it the face of a black man;
nor yet the yellow countenance of the mulatto. It was a shade lighter
than the last, with a dash of crimson in the cheeks. It was this
colouring of the cheeks, perhaps, combined with a well-rounded,
sparkling iris, that imparted the agreeable expression.
The man was young. Herbert Vaughan might have guessed him about his own
age without being many months astray; and, in point of size and shape,
there was no great dissimilitude between them. In the colour of their
hair, complexion, and features, there was no resemblance whatever.
While the face of the young Englishman was of the oval type, that of the
West Indian hunter was rotund. A prominent, well-cut chin, however,
hindered it from degenerating into any expression of feebleness. On the
contrary, firmness was the prevailing cast of the features; and the
hold, swelling throat was a true physical index of daring.
The complexion of the hunter betokened a _sang-mele_ between African and
Caucasian, which was further confirmed by the slight crisping that
appeared among the jet-black curls of hair thickly covering his head.
The luxuriance of these curls was partly kept in check by a head-dress
that Herbert Vaughan would have been less surprised to see in some
country of the East: for, at the first glance, he had mistaken it for a
turban. On closer examination, however, it proved to be a brilliant
kerchief--the Madras check--ingeniously folded around the forehead, so
as to sit coquettishly over the crown, with the knot a little to one
side. It was a _toque_--not a turban.
The other articles of dress worn by the young hunter were an outer coat,
or shirt, of sky-blue cottonade, cut somewhat blouse-fashion; an
under-shirt of fine white linen, ruffled and open at the breast;
trousers of the same material as the coat; and buff coloured boots of
roughly-cleaned cowskin. There were straps and strings over both
shoulders, all crossing each other on the breast.
From the two that hung to the right side were suspended a powder-horn
and skin shot-pouch. On the same side hung a large calabash canteen,
covered with a strong network of some forest withe to protect it from
injury. Under the left arm was a carved and curving cow's horn,
evidently not for holding powder, since it was open at both ends. Below
this, against his hip, rested a black leathern sheath--the receptacle of
that long blade still reeking with the blood of the boar.
This weapon was the _machete_--half sword, half hunting-knife--which,
with its straight, short blade, and haft-like hilt of greyish horn, is
to be found in every cottage of Spanish America, from California to the
"Land of Eire." Even where the Spaniards have been, but _are_ no
longer--as in Jamaica--the universal _machete_ may be seen in the hands
of hunter and peasant--a relic of the conqueror colonists.
Volume One, Chapter XXV.