for the herd rested during the heat, and the grown up ones fed at night;
but they often drank by day in that secluded place, and would seek the
pools by the tiny river where trout flashed and otters fished and
kingfishers shone in the bright sun. It was pleasant to go down to the
pool in the middle of the hot night and listen to the nightingales in
the woods around. By day the numbers of the herd stood in the way of
complete enjoyment, for the strong ones got to the water first and the
weakest had to wait.
"Why do we all go together like this?" asked little Tusker.
"For safety," replied the mother, who had no tusks and was naturally of
a timid, shrinking disposition. "There are hyænas and other wild things
in the forest. We might be attacked if we went by ourselves. You will
remain with the herd until you are four or five years old, and then you
will do as your father has done, and will live by yourself, for your
tusks will have grown until you can protect yourself against anything
but the Man."
"What is the Man?" he asked.
"He is the enemy who never tires," answered his mother. "He has two legs
instead of four, he has no tusks, he does not know the forest as we know
it, but he carries death with him, and the boar he follows is doomed."
All this was quite unintelligible to little Tusker, and the first few
years of his life brought him no reminder of the warning. He travelled
with the herd, but as soon as he was able to look after himself his
mother's affection came to an end, and she would push him out of her way
on the feeding grounds, as readily as though he had been a stranger. The
herd went many miles in search of food, and did most of their travelling
and eating by night, when only the jackals and hyænas made a noise in
the forest. They rooted for sweet potatoes and wild turnips, tearing up
great patches of ground, and they hunted for the young maize at the
proper season of the year, ravaging the lands of the farmers to get the
grain.
Luckily for them the farmers, being Moors, were without guns and full of
superstition. They would not sit up at night to wait for the marauders,
and so the herd grew fat. Every season saw some of the full-grown boars
leave to live their solitary life, and in the early winter sows would go
away for some months and bring their litter back with them later on.
On his nightly rambles little Tusker often met the porcupine who also
fed after dark, and was quite harmless in spite of his formidable
bristles. He heard the jackals crying and was amused; he saw the shining
eyes of the hyæna and was afraid. Slowly he learned all the lessons that
a boar must know, and the forest yielded him some of her many secrets.
There was no real winter there. The forest enjoys almost perennial
summer, but there is a rainy season when the days are cooler than at
other times. Then the best lairs are under the Argan trees; when the
greatest heat is on the land, the moist sandy places high up above the
valley are best. Again, in the brief days of tempest the hollows and
gorges are most sought for, since the wind cannot reach them.
Young Tusker learned to know how and when the weather would change. He
knew if any stranger were coming down the wind ever so far away. The
meaning of the cries that the herd uttered, the signs that showed if
water was near, and the significance of the footmarks that crossed the
forest in all directions; he learned all these things.
As he grew up, sleeping under the sun and feeding under the stars,
finding food plentiful and life pleasant, Tusker gradually ceased to be
little. His shaggy skin became covered with bristles, a bristly ridge
covered his spine; his heavy head grew larger and heavier, and the
milk-white tusks developed until the lower ones took the upward curve
that made them formidable. He could fight now with his fellows, but
little harm was done, for all boars learn to receive their neighbour's
tusk-thrusts on their own tusks or on the shoulders, where the hard,
coarse skin is not readily torn.
With consciousness of strength came the desire to travel, and when
Tusker found any track that moved him to curiosity, he would leave the
herd to follow it. One night, when he was rather more than three years
old, he saw the mark of a boar, the track of a large hoof, and he
followed it industriously, leaving the herd far behind. The big
hoof-prints fascinated him, he tracked them all through the night, and
through the next night, too. Then, under an Argan tree, he found the
stranger in his lair.
"What are you doing here?" said Tusker rather rudely.
"I am a recluse from the mountains," said the stranger. "I have left
family, friends and home, that I may live my life alone, and there is
good feeding ground about here. I am three years' old, and it is time to
lead the solitary life."
He spoke at length of the joys of the single state in which he lived all
the year save for the brief period beginning with November, when he
drove some charming young lady pig from the nearest herd to be his
companion for a few weeks. He would tend her with all the care and love
and affection of which a boar is capable, but leave her to rear the
young and join the herd again when her litter was strong enough.
[Illustration: WILD BOAR [Photo by Ottomar Anchutz, Berlin]]
Thereafter Tusker made his home under an Argan tree, separated from the
rest of the forest by a wide clearing where wild thyme and toad flax and
dwarf palm grew, and creeping plants climbed over the double-thorn
bushes. During the fine weather he never went out by daylight unless it
was to drink, but when the rains came he would eat by day. He was so
constituted that one visit to the pools would suffice him for two or
even three days; but the visit was a prolonged one, accompanied by
endless precautions, for since he had become solitary he had become more
nervous than ever, and when he ate or drank he would make sudden pauses
to make sure that nobody was about. He relied more upon hearing than
sight. The slightest unaccustomed sound when he was coming to the pool
would send him grunting into the thicket, but if all was well he would
permit himself to enjoy a very lively time. First, he would drink
deeply, and then he would wallow in the mud for two or three minutes to
ease the irritation of his skin.
The forest was very quiet at night in spite of hungry jackals and stray
hyænas, and Tusker made very little noise as he travelled to his feeding
grounds, always working against the wind. There were a few duars, or
native villages, in the forest, and one or two large farmhouses built on
the sun-dried clay called tapia that glows so white under the light of
the moon. Tusker avoided farm and village but he could not leave the
crops alone, and for the chance of a meal of young maize he was content
to go where no other food would have taken him.
His keener perceptions taught him now that there was a great,
inexplicable danger in the forest--something his mother had spoken about
when he first joined the herd by her side; and, though he had forgotten
the details, the sense of fear was never really absent from him, and it
was strengthened by one or two events that took place in his first
solitary year.
One night he met the recluse from his mountains looking as he had never
seen pig look before. His coarse hair was matted with perspiration, he
breathed heavily, his little eyes were full of the terror that comes to
the hunted beast.
"I must eat a little," said the recluse hoarsely, "my strength has
almost gone," and so saying he fell to and found a number of Argan nuts
which he ate eagerly, though he paused to sniff the breeze every moment
and ate head to wind. Tusker was astonished and uneasy.
"What's the matter?" he said, when both had eaten.
"The Hunter of the Forest has been on my track these three days," said
the boar of the mountains. "I cannot shake him off, and unless I can
reach the hills where he will not follow, I must die. The hills are two
day's journey and I am tired already. Twice I have broken through the
pack."
"The pack? What is that?" said Tusker curiously.
"There are twenty or more of them," replied the mountain boar. "Dogs of
mixed breed, some large, some small, all savage. With them come the
stalkers, and in the track of the stalkers comes the hunter, and when he
reaches me I must die. I have tried every trick known to me, you will
learn in your time what they are, but now I am not sure if I shall get
to the hills. I must seek a lair now and sleep. Perhaps this good food
and a quiet rest will restore my strength." He shambled off into the
darkness, leaving Tusker full of terror, so fearful indeed that he would
not go back to his old home, but wandered for some hours in the darkest
part of the forest.
Only in the spring-time did he become quite courageous, but with the
coming of April every living thing in the forest took heart of grace;
even the stock-doves were ready to fight in defence of nest and young.
Tusker felt the full joy of life too in November, when he had fought
with several brother boars for the sake of a sow who summed up for him
all his understanding of grace and beauty. He drove her from the herd
and followed her for days when her other lovers were routed, he pursuing
and she retreating all through the wild places of the forest.
Even the Hunter laid down his rifle for a brief season knowing that
should he find boar and sow together, the boar would send the sow to
make her escape, and would stand and fight to the death to give his
beloved time to get away. When the season of love and war had passed
Tusker left his companion to raise her litter and shift for herself;
while, all his love forgotten, he resumed his solitary life and his
accustomed nervousness.
Seven long years passed in the forest, and then in the third year of his
seclusion, when he was in splendid condition, and provided with tusks
that made him respected by all his fellows, the Hunter of the Forest
found his tracks. All the forest paths had tracks of boars, old and new,
some of small animals, some of large, and every track was plain as print
to the Hunter. When he first caught sight of Tusker's footmarks, he
jumped off his horse.
"A great beast, Mohammed," he said to the wiry, muscular Moor who
followed him; "leans to the left when he walks, and must have some
defect in his right hind hoof, for it makes the faintest mark of the
four, he goes so lightly on it." Then he made a few measurements and
recorded them, and noted the exact position of the spot, and rode home
very happy indeed, for his eyes, trained to the forest for nearly forty
years, told him he was on the track of a very fine boar.
That night Tusker fed upon the green maize in the fields of a
neighbouring farmer, returning before daybreak to his lair, where he
slept until a slight rustle in the bushes near at hand startled him to
wakefulness. A moment later, and a little lean mongrel dog showed at the
entrance to his home.
"Come out and fight," said the little lean mongrel dog showing his white
teeth.
"Show me something worth fighting," replied Tusker, showing his own
terrible weapons, "and I'll talk to you."
"O Father of Tusks," replied the little mongrel, "wait until I summon my
twenty-three brethren," and then he gave the call that summons the pack
and gladdens the huntsman's heart. Tusker, hearing answering yelps near
and far, knew in a moment that the dogs had been hunting for him with
their heads to the wind, so that he could not scent them, and realised
that he was face to face with the most serious trouble of his life. He
dashed out at once, before the pack had found time to gather round him,
and made off as hard as he could through the forest.
Tusker led the pack through the most difficult country. He ran at double
thorn bushes and passed right through them; the little dogs of the pack
followed on his heels, and the big ones kept well on either side of the
cover. And while he used his legs Tusker used his brain as well. "The
hunter cannot keep up with us," he said to himself, "if I turn to bay
I'll hurt a few of these fellows, and while he attends to them I'll get
further off."
Ten minutes later, he slowed down and allowed the foremost among the
pack to reach him. Most were scratched and torn by the thorns that could
not penetrate Tusker's hide, but they were game, and the first comers
flung themselves upon him. Tusker enjoyed the next minute or two, bitten
and worried though he was, and when he broke through the pack and
started off again his tusks, that had been white, were red, almost as
red as his angry little eyes, Three dogs were gasping on the ground, one
dying and the other two so badly ripped that had they been in an air
less pure they must have died before nightfall.
The Hunter came up before the sound of the pursuit had quite rolled
away, examined each dog quickly but carefully, gave a surgical needle,
some thread and a little bottle to one of the trackers, and started off
with the rest of the company. The tracker washed and sewed the wounds of
the two living dogs, made them as comfortable as he could and left them
for one of the servants to bring home. As they had not been fed for four
and twenty hours he knew they would recover from their wounds.
Meanwhile Tusker rumbled through a scrub so dense and prickly that, by
taking a sudden turn in a thicket, he was able to let the pack pass him.
Quick as thought he doubled on his own tracks a little way, then turned
sharp to the right avoiding the huntsman and his party, and made
straight for a little river. He paused on the brink and drank, but did
not dare to wallow or cover his hot head with the cool mud, for he heard
in the distance the cry of the hounds at fault and the voice of the
huntsman cheering them to find the line again. He forded the river,
landing some distance lower down on the opposite bank, and travelled a
few hundred yards into the forest.
"Safe at last," said Tusker, and began to hunt for a lair, going
backwards and forwards, sometimes travelling in a circle, and testing
the softness of the ground with his snout. At last he found a soft
sheltered thicket, and rested from his labours, resolving to wallow by
the river at nightfall.
The Hunter was puzzled while his pack endeavoured in vain to find the
line. The trackers went on to where the scrub became thin, and tracks
could show, but there were no fresh marks to guide them. Then the Hunter
cast back, guessing shrewdly that Tusker had doubled on his own line;
but the ground gave him no help, and the luncheon hour found the party
still perplexed.
"If he went to the north," said the Hunter, "we may not find his track
for weeks. If he went in any other direction he must cross the river so
we will work the banks." And when the simple meal was over the Hunter
led his trackers to the water, and they studied every mark on the bank.
Several times the trackers thought they had found their quarry, for they
met perfectly fresh prints among others that were any age from a day to
a week, but the Hunter's eye was looking for the marks of a certain set
of hoofs, of which the right hind one made the least mark, while the
balance was ever on the left side, and the distances were as recorded in
his notes.
Some time about four o'clock the Hunter found the track, and forded the
river; and, just before sunset, saw where it led to the forest. He
summoned his admiring trackers, but forebore to proceed. "The day after
to-morrow at daybreak," was all he said, and then the party made its way
home in the fast failing light, by no means dissatisfied with the day's
work.
On that night Tusker wallowed long and comfortably, and uprooted a fine
lot of wild radishes and turnips. His new lair was comfortable and he
was no worse for his adventure, but he was ill-pleased on the morning of
the second day when without word or warning a mongrel, whose face seemed
familiar, showed at the entrance to his lair and called on him to fight.
Quick as thought, without word of parley Tusker rushed out and sought
the impenetrable covers that had helped him before. He crossed the river
and gained on his pursuers.
In a clearing amid the thickets he came suddenly upon a herd that
scattered in all directions as he gave word of the following pack.
Once more dogs were at fault, but the Hunter was not. Within an hour
after, careful scrutiny of a score of tracks, he had picked out that of
a boar that ran with a list to the left, and trod lightly on its right
hind hoof, and moved at a certain recorded pace with certain recorded
distances between the hoofs.
Within two hours the hounds were closing in on Tusker whose way to
comparative safety lay over a large expanse of forest that was more or
less open. Beyond that part the thicket was the worst in the forest, and
the Hunter knew that the chances would be with the boar if he could
reach that stronghold. When Tusker heard the pack bearing down upon him,
he realised that the Hunter was his master, and that only good luck
could save him now. He thought of the solitary pig from the mountains
and wondered if he looked like him in the hour of his distress.
"I'll try again," said Tusker to himself, as he found the dogs gaining
on him in the more open country. "The Hunter may be far behind," and
then he set his fore-legs firmly on the ground and faced the furious
howling pack, using his terrible tusks with all the force he could put
behind them.
A few moments later he saw the Hunter emerging from the bush, and broke
through again with the dogs, cut and wounded, upon his heels, encouraged
by their master's voice.
He could not go far now. Once again he turned and faced his adversaries,
forgetting everything now in his rage and conscious only of a lust for
blood.
Suddenly there was a shrill whistle, and before it ceased to echo, the
pack opened to the right and left, leaving Tusker alone. He looked up
uncertain what to do, saw the Hunter standing sixty or seventy yards
away from him with a shining barrel at his shoulder, felt a sudden
violent shock, heard as in the far distance a sharp strange sound, knew
that the dogs were upon him again, but could not feel their teeth or the
ground he was lying on.
Another whistle, the dogs parted again, the Hunter came up knife in
hand, his trackers following.
"No need," he said, thrusting the shining steel into its case. "The
bullet went to the heart. A splendid fellow."
-----
Footnote 4:
The Argan Forest is in Southern Morocco, and takes its name from the
Argan, a species of olive tree.
THE STORY OF A SLAVE
In the early days Marzuk saw life from a secure position on his mother's
back. So soon as morning dawned, the pair would leave their mud hut
beyond the northern gate of Timbuctoo, and seek the market, there to
spread out and arrange such produce as had been collected overnight for
the day's sale.
In their season Aminah, the mother of Marzuk, sold the three fruits we
have never seen in our western world, the rich karita or butter fruit,
the satisfying nata which yields a sort of sweet flour in pods, and the
cheese fruit, upon which a man may dine and not go hungry.
Marzuk's mother was a black woman from below the Niger, in the Soudan,
and very ugly to the eyes of all save her little boy. But her white loin
cloths and shifts were cleaner than those of most of her neighbours, and
worn with some nicety.
She wore her hair in three rolls on the top of her head, supported by a
white fillet about her brows, and she was so industrious and cheery that
the day's end seldom found any of her market stock unsold, and generally
saw quite an imposing heap of cowries in the old calabash that was kept
for use as a till. Money was unknown.
So Marzuk, well-fed, grew strong and straight and comely, learning to
help his mother in her work, and to play truant from his duties and
adventure alone into Timbuctoo itself, and to the Niger banks beyond.
When he returned Aminah would beat him soundly, and cry over him in
mother fashion, while painting for him luridly the dangers of the road.
She spoke with rolling eyes and bated breath of the fierce Touaregs, the
brigands from the Sahara, who went through the streets of Timbuctoo
veiled against the glare of the African sun; of the hippopotami by the
Niger's bank that were ever lying in wait to make meals of naughty boys;
of the treacherous and pathless sand-dunes to the north, and of hungry
monkeys chattering in the trees--monkeys that were really little
children changed from their natural shape for disobedience to parents.
But neither stripes nor warnings could keep Marzuk's feet from straying.
The grass lands near the river, where the sheep pastured, were Marzuk's
favourite resort, because of the white ospreys that dwelt there. These
birds loved to follow the sheep from place to place, taking no notice of
shepherds or farmers, but ever intent upon the actions of their
four-footed friends.
Yet the boy kept well out of the way of all Touaregs, the veiled men of
the desert of whom his mother had spoken. He watched them from a safe
distance when they roamed through the city, spear in hand, ready and
willing to quarrel with any native who should cross their path.
They wore a head-dress that covered their fore-heads and helped to shade
their eyes, and a veil that shrouded the lower part of the face and kept
the mouth free from sand.
Their true home was the desert, where they reared vast flocks on scanty
pasture, but they held the natives of Timbuctoo in no respect, and would
stalk through the market-place, spear at the ready and sword beside
them, and call the men of the city "Sand-eaters," because they went with
mouths and nostrils uncovered. On their side the natives spoke of the
Touaregs as the "Abandoned of God," and would have kept them from the
city altogether, had their strength been equal to their will.
Day by day camel caravans reached Timbuctoo, coming across the desert
from Morocco, Algeria or Tunisia. Marzuk's one interest in his home
district was connected with these caravans.
Twice a year, in midwinter and midsummer, the camels would arrive in
huge convoys. There would be many hundreds of the unhandy supercilious
beasts there at one time, enjoying their longed-for rest, and making
hearty meals on the more succulent growths of the dwarf forest.
The camel-drivers themselves, gaunt, hard-lived men, with faces like
birds of prey, had many adventurous tales to tell, and Marzuk was a very
ready listener. He heard how the veiled thieves of the desert held up
whole caravans and taxed them, helping themselves moderately if
unopposed, but quite ready for wholesale killing if resisted in any way.
He heard, too, of the great salt country, visited by all caravans coming
from Morocco.
"It is a wonderful place," said Hadj Abdullah the camel-driver, on a day
when he arrived at Timbuctoo after six months' absence, "and Allah has
set it in the midst of the desert where no unbeliever may see it. The
houses are fashioned out of salt, and so is the mosque, there are
camel-skins over all the buildings, and the people live on their salt."
"Oh, my master, do they eat it?" asked Marzuk.
"Silence, little empty head," said Aminah, his mother, who listened
beside him. And the camel-driver continued:--
"Twice a year we go there, carrying away the white salt, which is the
best, and the red-veined if the other supply has failed. In return we
leave dates and corn and cotton, and so these people live.
"So terrible is the glare of the salt," added the camel-driver, "that if
we have women or children, we leave them in the oases, a day's journey
from the city."
Besides the precious salt of El Djouf, which was stamped in Timbuctoo
and sent down the Niger to districts where it was worth its weight in
gold, the caravans brought indigo, blue cotton and white, mirrors for
the women, calico, sugar, tea and coffee, and white paper for the
Marabouts. On their journey home they were supposed to take gold dust
and ivory, the long feathers of the wild ostrich and undressed leather.
But the head of the caravan knew of a commodity more valuable than
these, and some of the panniers that had carried salt to Timbuctoo had
living freight on the way back.
Hadj Abdullah employed agents in the city, and well he knew how to
arrange such business as he had, of whatever kind it might be, without
exciting the suspicion of the natives.
* * * * *
The camels slowly recovered their strength, the produce of Hadj
Abdullah's great caravan had been disposed of profitably by barter, and
the goods he had received in exchange would afford plenty of work for
his beasts.
One morning the Moor stopped before the calabashes where Aminah's stores
were placed. Marzuk was by his mother's side for once. Already in his
thirteenth year, he looked strong, healthy and intelligent. Hadj
Abdullah noted these things, whilst seeming to examine Aminah's little
store.
"Oh, my mother," he said with grave courtesy, "have you any
cheese-fruit, or has all gone for the year?"