The Story of Baden-Powell / 'The Wolf That Never Sleeps'

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It is against such a fierce, resolute, and well-armed enemy that Baden-Powell loves to match his strength and cunning. Mounted on his little fourteen-hand Waler, in pith solar topee, grey Norfolk jacket, light cords, and brown blucher boots, and grasping in his hand his deadly seventy-inch spear, he goes forth to slay the wild boar, with all the feelings of romance and knightliness which some people think vanished from the world when Excalibur sank in the Lake of Lyonnesse. It is a battle whereof no man need be ashamed; in which only the strong man can glory. Many a time has the wild boar hurled his great head and mountainous shoulders against the forelegs of a horse, bringing the hunter to the ground for mortal combat on foot. Many a time has the novice, who went out as gaily and contemptuously as the fox-hunter, returned to his bungalow cut and gored on a stretcher. He who goes up against the wild boar must, in Baden-Powell's words, "have matured not only the 'pluck' which brings a man into a desperate situation, but that 'nerve' which enables him to carry the crisis to a successful issue."

When Baden-Powell returned to India from Afghanistan in 1882, he became an enthusiastic pig-sticker (for reasons which we shall give in our chapter on Scouting), and during that year he killed no fewer than thirty-one pigs. In the following year he killed forty-two, and won the blue-ribbon of hog-hunting—the Kadir Cup. Two years afterwards he wrote and illustrated the standard book on pig-sticking (published by Messrs. Harrison and Sons), which is as famous a book in India as Mr. H.S. Thomas's delightful books on fishing.

Hunting the boar takes place early in the morning and again in the evening, so that men find themselves with nothing to do for the greater part of the day. This time is usually spent in the tent sketching, dozing, and reading, with occasional "goes" of claret cup. But it is characteristic of Baden-Powell that he should give useful advice concerning these waste hours. "If you prefer not to waste this time altogether," he says, "it is a good practice to take a few books and dictionary of any foreign language you may wish to be learning." Again, his character as a thoughtful man may be seen in the warning he gives novices against ill-treating villagers, or allowing the shikaris to do so. "Shouting and cursing at a coolie already dumbfoundered at the very sight of a white man is not the way to clear his understanding." His remark that native servants under cover of their master's prestige will frequently tyrannise over the villagers reminds me of a story which I cannot forbear to tell. A bridge had been thrown over a river in some outlandish part of India, and his work done, the Englishman in charge was returning to more civilised regions. Just before turning his back on the scene of his labours he inquired of a villager whether he was pleased with the bridge. The man expressed voluble admiration for the sahib's great skill, but lamented the high toll that was charged for crossing the bridge. "Toll!" exclaimed the Briton, "why, there's no toll at all; the bridge is free to everybody." But the native still protesting that a charge was made, and saying that a notice to that effect was written up in big English letters, the engineer went down to the bridge himself to investigate the mystery. There he discovered his own servant sitting at the receipt of custom, with a flaming advertisement of Beecham's Pills pasted on to a board over his head, to which he pointed as his authority when questioned by rebellious natives.

Baden-Powell tells an amusing story of an impromptu boar hunt. "At a grand field-day at Delhi, in the presence of all the foreign delegates, in 1885, a boar suddenly appeared upon the scene and charged a Horse Artillery gun, effectually stopping it in its advance at a gallop by throwing down two of the horses. The headquarters staff and the foreign officers were spectators of this deed, and hastened to sustain the credit of the Army by seizing lances from their orderlies and dashing off in pursuit of the boar, who was now cantering off to find more batteries on which to work his sweet will. The staff, however, were too quick for him, and, after a good run and fight, he fell a victim to their attentions, amidst a chorus of vivas, sacrés, and houplas."