Next day while threading our way through a patch of oak forest--the
ground covered thickly with fallen leaves--we were startled by a
peculiar noise in front of us. It was a kind of bellows-like snort,
exactly like that made by the domestic swine when suddenly affrighted.
Some of the party cried out "bear," and of course this announcement
threw us all into a high state of excitement. Even the buffalo itself
would be but secondary game, when a bear was upon the ground.
The "snuff" of the bear has a very considerable resemblance to that of
terrified hogs, and even our guides were deceived. They thought it
might be "bar" we had heard.
It proved we were all wrong. No wonder we fancied the noise resembled
that made by hogs. The animal that uttered it was nothing else than a
wild boar.
"What!" you will exclaim, "a wild boar in the forests of Missouri? Oh!
a peccary I suppose."
No, not a peccary; for these creatures do not range so far north as the
latitude of Missouri--not a wild boar, neither, if you restrict the
meaning of the phrase to the true indigenous animal of that kind. For
all that, it was a wild boar, or rather a boar _ran wild_. Wild enough
and savage too it appeared, although we had only a glimpse of its shaggy
form as it dashed into the thicket with a loud grunt. Half a dozen
shots followed it. No doubt it was tickled with some of the "leaden
hail" from the double-barrelled guns, but it contrived to escape,
leaving us only the incident as a subject for conversation.
Throughout the backwoods there are large numbers of half-wild hogs, but
they are usually the denizens of woods that are inclosed by a
rail-fence, and therefore private property. One part of the year they
are tamer, when a scarcity of food renders it necessary for them to
approach the owner's house, and eat the corn placed for them in a
well-known spot. At this season they answer to a call somewhat similar
to the "milk oh!" of the London dairyman, but loud enough to be heard a
mile or more through the woods. A traveller passing through the
backwoods' settlements will often hear this singular call sounding afar
off in the stillness of the evening.
These hogs pick up most of their subsistence in the forest. The "mast"
of the beech-tree, the nut of the hickory, the fruit of the Chinquapin
oak, the acorn, and many other seeds and berries, furnish them with
food. Many roots besides, and grasses, contribute to sustain them, and
they make an occasional meal off a snake whenever they can get hold of
one. Indeed it may be safely asserted, that no other cause has
contributed so much to the destruction of these reptiles, as the
introduction of the domestic hog into the forests of America. Wherever
a tract of woods has been used as the "run" of a drove of hogs, serpents
of every kind become exceedingly scarce, and you may hunt through such a
tract for weeks without seeing one. The hog seems to have the strongest
antipathy to the snake tribe; without the least fear of them. When one
of the latter is discovered by a hog, and no crevice in the rocks, or
hollow log, offers it a shelter, its destruction is inevitable. The hog
rushes to the spot, and, bounding forward, crushes the reptile under his
hoof's. Should the first attempt not succeed, and the serpent glide
away, the hog nimbly follows, and repeats his efforts until the victim
lies helpless. The victor then goes to work with his powerful jaws, and
quietly devours the prey.
The fondness of the hog for this species of food proves that in a state
of nature it is partially a carnivorous animal. The peccary, which is
the true representative of the wild hog in America--has the very same
habit, and is well-known to be one of the most fatal enemies of the
serpent tribe to be found among American animals.
The hog shows no fear of the snake. His thick hide seems to protect
him. The "skin" of the rattle-snake or the "hiss" of the deadly
"moccasin," are alike unheeded by him. He kills them as easily as he
does the innocent "chicken snake" or the black constrictor. The latter
often escapes from its dreaded enemy by taking to a bush or tree; but
the rattle-snake and the moccasin are not tree-climbers, and either hide
themselves in the herbage and dead leaves, or retreat to their holes.
It is not true that the hog cats the body of the snake he has killed,
leaving the head untouched, and thus avoiding the poisoned fangs. He
devours the whole of the creature, head and all. The venom of the
snake, like the "curari" poison of the South-American Indians, is only
effective when coming in contact with the blood. Taken internally its
effects are innoxious--indeed there are those who believe it to be
beneficial, and the curari is often swallowed as a medicine.
Most of this information about the half-wild hogs of the backwoods was
given by our Kentucky comrade, who himself was the proprietor of many
hundreds of them. An annual hog-hunt was part of the routine of his
life. It was undertaken not merely for the sport of the thing--though
that was by no means to be despised--and the season of the hog-hunting
is looked forward to with pleasant anticipation by the domestics of the
plantation, as well as a few select friends or neighbours who are
invited to participate in it.
When the time arrives, the proprietor, with his pack of hounds, and
accompanied by a party mounted and armed with rifles, enters the large
tract of woodland--perhaps miles in extent, and in many places covered
with cane-brakes, and almost impenetrable thickets of undergrowth. To
such places the hogs fly for shelter, but the dogs can penetrate
wherever hogs can go; and of course the latter are soon driven out, and
forced into the more open ground, where the mounted men are waiting to
receive them with a volley of bullets. Sometimes a keen pursuit
follows, and the dogs in full cry are carried across the country, over
huge logs, and through thickets and ravines, followed by the horsemen--
just as if an old fox was the game pursued.
A large waggon with drivers and attendants follows the chase, and in
this the killed are deposited, to be "hauled" home when the hunt is
over.
This, however, often continues for several days, until all, or at least
all the larger hogs, are collected and brought home, and then the sport
terminates. The produce of the hunt sometimes amounts to hundreds--
according to the wealth of the proprietor. Of course a scene of
slaughtering and bacon-curing follows. A part of the bacon furnishes
the "smoke-house" for home consumption during the winter; while the
larger part finds its way to the great pork-market of Cincinnati.
The Kentuckian related to us a curious incident illustrating the
instinct of the swinish quadruped; but which to his mind, as well as to
ours, seemed more like a proof of a rational principle possessed by the
animal. The incident he had himself been witness to, and in his own
woodlands. He related it thus:--
"I had strayed into the woods in search of a wild turkey with nothing
but my shot-gun, and having tramped about a good bit, I sat down upon a
log to rest myself. I had not been seated live minutes when I heard a
rustling among the dead leaves in front of me. I thought it might be
deer, and raised my gun; but I was greatly disappointed on seeing some
half dozen of my own hogs make their appearance, rooting as they went
along.
"I paid no more heed to them at the time; but a few minutes after, my
attention was again drawn to them, by seeing them make a sudden rush
across a piece of open ground, as if they were in pursuit of something.
"Sure enough they were. Just before their snouts, I espied the long
shining body of a black snake doing its best to get out of their way.
In this it succeeded, for the next moment I saw it twisting itself up a
pawpaw sapling, until it had reached the top branches, where it remained
looking down at its pursuers.
"The snake may have fancied itself secure at the moment, and so thought
I, at least so far as the hogs were concerned. I had made up my mind to
be its destroyer myself, and was just about to sprinkle it with shot,
when a movement on the part of one of the hogs caused me to hold back
and remain quiet. I need not tell you I was considerably astonished to
see the foremost of these animals seize the sapling in its jaws and jerk
it about in a determined manner, as if with the intention of shaking off
the snake! Of course it did not succeed in this, for the latter was
wound around the branches, and it would have been as easy to have shaken
off the bark.
"As you all know, gentlemen, the pawpaw--not the pawpaw (_Carica
papaya_), but a small tree of the _anonas_ or custard apple tribe,
common in the woods of western America--is one of the softest and most
brittle of our trees, and the hog seemed to have discovered this, for he
suddenly changed his tactics, and instead of shaking at the sapling,
commenced grinding it between his powerful jaws. The others assisted
him, and the tree fell in a few seconds. As soon as the top branches
touched the ground, the whole drove dashed forward at the snake; and in
less than the time I take in telling it, the creature was crushed and
devoured."
After hearing the singular tale, our conversation now returned to the
hog we had just "jumped." All agreed that it must be some stray from
the plantations that had wandered thus far from the haunts of men, for
there was no settlement within twenty miles of where we then were.
Our trapper guides stated that wild hogs are frequently found in remote
parts, and that many of them are not "strays," but have been "littered"
and brought up in the forest. These are as shy and difficult to
approach as deer, or any other hunted animals. They are generally of a
small breed, and it is supposed that they are identical with the species
found throughout Mexico, and introduced by the Spaniards.