WILD PIG-HUNTING.
It is said that Captain Cook introduced pigs into New Zealand. They were
at the time I write of, the only wild quadrupeds in the land, except
rats (for which I believe the country is also indebted to Captain Cook),
but together they made up for no end of absentees by their prodigious
powers of breeding.
Most of the middle island was infested with pigs; they principally
inhabited the low hills and river bed flats and swamps, and would come
down on to the large plains in herds for feeding on the root of a plant
called spear grass, to obtain which they would tear up the sward and
injure large tracts of grazing land.
Their depredations became so extensive that the Provincial Government
was obliged to take steps for their extermination by letting contracts
for killing them off, at, I think, sixpence per head, or rather tail,
and by this means I have known a single district cleared of 8,000 to
10,000 pigs in a season.
Pig-hunting on the hills is not the inspiriting amusement it is on the
plains. In the former they must be hunted on foot, and shot down, riding
being impracticable, while on the plain they were hunted on horseback
with dogs bred for the purpose, and the huntsman's weapon is only a
short heavy knife sharpened on both sides to a point like a dagger, and
suspended in a sheath attached to the waist belt. Spears were sometimes
used, but they were of a very rough and primitive description, and not
effective. Pig-sticking on the modern scientific principles was not then
practised in New Zealand.
For a day's pig-hunting on the plains a party of men on strong and fast
horses, with a few kangaroo dogs and a bullock dray in attendance,
formed the hunting party. The location of the herd is previously noted
and kept quiet. The dogs are held in leash till well within sight, say,
from half to one mile off. The animals are easily startled, and they
know that their best chance of safety depends on their reaching the
hills before their pursuers overtake them.
With a fast horse, giving full-grown pigs a start of a mile, it will be
all the huntsman can do to pick them up in a gallop of 3 to 5 miles, and
the best chance in his favour is when there is a herd, and not only a
single pig or small number of strong hardy fellows. Until pressed the
herd will keep pretty much together, and if by good management the
hunters contrive to get to leeward of them as well as to intercept them
from making direct for the cover of the hills they are sure of good
sport.
The kangaroo dog (so called) was a cross between a stag-hound and
mastiff, very fast and powerful, and he ran only by sight. A
well-trained dog on overhauling his pig will run up on the near side and
seize the boar by the off lug, thereby protecting himself from being
ripped by the animal's tusks. Then the hunter should be on the spot to
jump off his horse and assist the dog by plunging his knife into the
beast's heart from the off side.
With a good dog the danger to which the experienced hunter is exposed is
slight. A properly trained, courageous dog will hold the largest boar
for several minutes in the manner described and will not let him go till
forced to from sheer exhaustion. But if he is obliged to disengage
himself before assistance arrives, he will very probably be ripped or
killed.
The trained bush horse will stand quietly where his rider leaves him,
never attempting to move further from the spot than to nibble the grass
will necessitate.
One day, having heard that a large mob of pigs had come down on the
plains near the gorge of the Rakaia, some fifteen miles off, we at once
organised a hunt, and two neighbours from another station promised to
join us.
A rendezvous was fixed upon where we were to meet at daybreak, a bullock
dray having been sent on the previous night. We were all well mounted
and equipped with three fine dogs. After riding some ten miles we
separated, taking up a long line over the plain, and using our field
glasses to obtain an idea of the position of the herd as soon as
possible, and thus give us time to arrange a plan of attack before
coming to too close quarters, the animals being very quick to scent
danger.
One of our friends, Legge, who was riding on the extreme left, was the
first to discover the herd, and he galloped up to say that there were a
considerable number of pigs about two miles further east, scattered
amongst the cabbage trees near a small river bed. On approaching
carefully till within view we could count upwards of fifty, and many
seemed to be large boars; no young pigs were visible. The latter,
indeed, seldom came far out on the plains, their elders probably fearing
that in the event of surprise they would not be able to run with the
rest of the herd.
The whole mob of pigs lay directly between us and the hills, which were
almost five miles distant, so it became necessary for us to divide and
make wide detours, so as to obtain a position on their further side
without being seen. This movement took about an hour, but we succeeded
under cover of snow grass and cabbage trees in approaching within half a
mile of the herd, with the hills behind us, before they took the alarm.
Then all were speedily in motion, but as our position prevented them
from taking a direct line to shelter, they ran wildly, and so gave us a
considerable advantage.
The order for attack was now given; the dogs were slipped, and away we
went like a whirlwind, each singling out a pig and taking the boars
first, as did the horses.
Owing to our first advantage we picked up with the leaders in a couple
of miles, and two of the largest boars were immediately seized by the
dogs close together in a piece of bad marshy ground, covered with snow
and spear grass, much rooted and honeycombed. Smith, who was first in
the running, narrowly escaped a broken neck. The huge sixteen hand mare
he rode planted her feet in a hole and somersaulted, throwing Smith on
to one of the boars and dog engaged, but the latter was game, and by his
pluck and smartness saved his master and himself from being ripped, and
before Smith was fairly on his feet the boar had six inches of steel
through his heart and his career was ended.
[Illustration: ENCOUNTER WITH WILD BOAR.]
During the few minutes we were here engaged, the other boar, a powerful
and fierce brute, had forced the dog which seized him some fifty yards
down a dry gully, and it was clear that unless he was speedily relieved
the dog would have the worst of the encounter. Smith and I rushed to his
assistance none too soon. The boar, in his struggles, had already
slightly ripped the dog on the shoulder, and the blood was streaming
down his leg and breast, but the plucky hound still held on, lying close
on the near side, while his teeth were fast through the boar's off lug,
the latter striving all he could to get his head round and tusk the dog.
Added to this the position they had contrived to get themselves into
was unfortunate; the boar was so close to the bank it was impossible to
reach his off side, and the dog lay so close he could not be touched on
the other.
Smith was a powerful fellow, and in fun of this kind would have faced a
boar singlehanded. He called to me that he would rush in and seize the
boar by his hind legs and try to pull him round, while I watched my
opportunity to jump between him and the bank. It was our only chance to
save the dog, at any rate, and luckily it proved successful. As Smith
laid on I jumped, and although I fell on all fours between the boar and
the slippery bank, I contrived just in time to drive the knife into his
heart, and the huge beast rolled over and with a few gasps died. We were
both exhausted, and the poor dog, when the excitement was over, lay down
with a low whine, thoroughly done up from exhaustion and loss of blood.
We washed and bound his wound as well as we could and tied him to a bush
of snow grass to await the dray.
Legge and Forde had already despatched a large boar and two full-grown
sows, and were in chase of others. We came up with them when they were
engaged with a fine young boar which had sheltered and come to bay in a
clump of thorny scrub (wild Irishman, so called). Neither dogs nor men
could reach him, and the only plan was to irritate him till he bolted.
This was difficult, but at length successful, and the beast made a rush
straight for us. However, he was bent on defence rather than offence,
and we escaped his tusks. Legge was first mounted and away with one of
the dogs in chase, but going over the rough, honeycombed ground I
mentioned he too met with a bad fall which threw him out of the running,
and now Smith, Forde, and I were in full cry with the two dogs.
By this time both dogs and horses were somewhat blown, whereas the boar
having had a rest we feared would escape, and reaching a low swampy flat
he disappeared in a large patch of snow grass and reeds. As we were not
sure of his exact position, we decided to ride through in line, to
endeavour to drive him again to the open. In doing so the boar broke
covert under Forde's horse's legs, and ripped him below the hock. This
rendered Forde and his horse _hors de combat_, and Smith and I had the
chase again in our hands. For nearly a mile that boar led us a furious
dance over villainous ground, through spear grass and swamp, in
momentary danger of being thrown or torn by thorny shrub, twisting and
doubling in and out of inaccessible places, but he was beginning to
show signs of fatigue, and we saw he could not make much fight when once
the dogs got hold. The latter were in fierce excitement, having lost
their prey so often. After a final spurt of half a mile they pulled him
down, and he was easily despatched.
Our bag was now six pigs, of which four were boars, and we had been
actually hunting for about three hours, including the time spent in
making the detour. After cutting off a ham and the head of the last
boar, we carried them back to where we left Forde with his wounded
horse. Legge had already arrived, and we all sat down to take some food
while awaiting the arrival of the dray.
The remainder of the herd had reached the hills long since, and there
was no more sport to be had in the neighbourhood that day. Forde removed
his saddle and bridle to be sent on the dray and turned his horse loose
to find his way to the run, while he started on foot to the nearest
station to procure another mount to carry him home. The rest of us
proceeded to a flat near the first gorge of the Ashburton, where we
succeeded in killing five other pigs before the evening closed. Forde's
horse reached his station as soon as his wounded leg permitted him, but
the wound being found more serious than anticipated, and that he would
be lame for life, it was decided to destroy him.