Hunting the Wild Boar

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jumped and breaks for otlier parts that he will pass the line of shooters before one of them can possibly shoot, and a shot cannot be fired until he has passed behind the line. One more item in the element of safety. These two points I learned during the morning, first, to carry the gun by the strap; and, second, to crowd up against the piece of forest that the boar was expected to come from. It was time for lunch. We repaired to my host's hunting lodge where the lunches had been left with the lodge keeper's wife that morning. The lodge keeper was a soldier and was with the French army. Each one had brought his lunch separately and she prepared them accordingly. One had beans, another a chop, and all had rotten cheese and a big bottle of wine. My lunch consisted of a beefsteak sandwich and a canteen full of chlorinated water. If I had taken as much wine as any of them did I would have seen great flocks of boar that afternoon, so chlorinated water was my limit. The meal lasted an hour and a half and during it, they all talked at once and seemed to understand all that was said. After studying the map of the forest with its paths, which hung in the room, the hunt was resumed. It was quite interesting to note in the wife of the lodgekeeper, living alone in the heart of the forest, with her little four-year-old girl, with no visible means of transportation, that national characteristic of the French women, a reverence for a beautiful dress and a pair of shoes. When the lunches were given her in the morning she had on a house dress, with her hair done up in curl papers, and clattered around in wooden shoes which all peasant folk wear, when they step out of doors. She looked then just as any other peasant young woman does, but when she served the meal her dress was beautiful, her hair was done up in fine taste, and her shoes were handsome. She walked with much grace and the change in her was astounding. No women care for their clothes as these do, and there is no wonder that they lead the world in fashions. When dressed in their finery they almost appear a step higher in education and refinement than the men. Old Lanky fathered me all day, and the first post he put me on that afternoon was a rather well-used highway. We had not been set very long when I saw two small boar dart across the road between us, quite near him, and as he shot I turned my back, as I didn't want to get hit by a buckshot without at least offering my back. They clattered in the trees around me and just then I caught sight of a boar on the dead "lope," running in the forest parallel to the road just about thirty yards in. I wa&> all ready and followed it oh! so nicely and — "bluey!" and Mr.

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Hog went on. I just couldn't believe it, and hurried down to where he was, and followed his tracks for a little ways, but after the shot the jumps were a little farther apart than before. By this time other shooters hurried to see what the commotion was, and had me go all over where I stood and where the boar was, and would you believe it? one of them found the whole load, twelve buckshots, in a tree almost a foot across that was between us when the shot was fired. My chance was gone and way down in my bones I felt that there must be some mistake about that Hercules century trophy. The Frenchmen laughed and laughed, and my sadness deepened. Of course, there were two barrels on that gun, but what with my surprise at missing him and the working of an old habit of pulling on the same trigger for the second ehot, he was so far away that it was useless. My own beautiful Queen Bess that I had shot so long was a single trigger Smith, and I kept pulling on the same trigger to fire the second barrel as I did with her. Several things were learned that afternoon, one was the galling fact that I could miss a pig running broadside to me with a shot gun thirty yards away, and the other was that all dogs are boar dogs; we had five fox terriers, a water spaniel and a hound of some kind. The dogs hadn't jumped these boar, they were just clearing out before they found them. My brother officers teased me a good deal about that miss, which was borne patiently, but when Captain Jansen, whose men were a little shy of wood for their billets, asked my host the next time we went, if he might send a truck along after me to bring back the trees I shot down, it almost hurt. The next hunt was staged on a miserable day, for it drizzled all the time. On about one-fourth stand a bunch was jumped. The beaters go through the forest shouting something like "oola" and hit a tree with a stick and just generally make a noise. As a bunch is jumped they yell, "oof, oof," and all of the dogs give tongue and a terrible racket starts. On this stand this happened. My pal was running up the road and peering into the forest when all of a sudden a boar burst through the forest about ten feet from him and he shot twice and didn't even slow it up. It was certainly traveling and appeared to bounce across the road like a deer does. It didn't seem possible to miss that one. In about two seconds a commotion started out of the forest towards me, and I was all keyed up expecting one to burst out near me, but it didn't. Just at this point some one shot a gun in the forest rather near me and I jumped higher than ever before in my life. The excitement of Frenchmen, and dogs, and boar, is rather a hard combination to keep calm in. The commotion gradually ceased, and when I reached old Lanky his face was white and drawn. I expressed much sympathy, but all he

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could murmur was trcs difficile. It didn't look difficult because there were no trees in the way. Someone with the beaters said he had wounded one, and the rest of the day was spent arguing and following the trail, but without success. About this time our train had to leave this little town in which we were billeted and make a new home in one about twenty miles north. As I was one of the gang now and a left handed squeezer the invitation to join them in a hunt at any time was most cordial. My next opportunity came about the first of December. I was most happy for the chance, for I wanted to square myself for the poor shot that was made into the tree. It was cold and clear in the morning, but by noon it had started to rain, and as I had no slicker, I was soon cold and wet. Things didn't seem to go right that morning and soon my host and my old pard Lanky engaged in an argument that was awful. The rest began to leave them soon and sneak away, and it almost looked as if the tension would be relieved if they would step off a few paces and begin to shoot at each other. It quickly blew over, however, and was just a difference of opinion as to where we should hunt. We then took a long walk and came to a part of the forest that looked a little swampy. There was much boar sign here, many tracks and "wallers." They seemed to be able to read the sign quite well. During the day I learned that one has to use both eyes and ears to detect just where the boar might burst from the forest. On the last stand that day about four o'clock I was placed on a po^t with a great dry ditch in front of me. On the other side of the ditch was a little pathway running parallel to it and quite well trodden. Of course, I thought that boar wouldn't like to cross that big ditch, and used the pathway, which was just a forest trail. I was all humped up and half frozen, and could hear the beaters and dogs, about a third of a mile away, coming towards us. After noticing the gun to see if it was all ready, I was just thinking that a man's ears were no use

to him with the rain pattering on the leaves as it was then, when I caught sight of an enormous boar trotting right at me. My old shotgun teacher, Cal Callison, who was the greatest field shot I ever saw, used to have an expression when he hit anything hard that he "plastered" it, and I can remember thinking about that boar, "Well, old fellow, I'll plaster you just behind the shoulder right now." Of course this olive drab of Uncle Sam's and this rain-in-the-face cap blends into any old color at no great distance and I am certain he had not spotted me as he trotted out all alert to escape that danger that he could hear coming. It is also certain that he didn't see the gyrations of my brain cells as they framed the thought to hit him fairly, but it is absolutely certain that he saw me the instant the thought was put in motion.

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As the gun came to my shoulder, he went with one enormous jump off to the left in a thicket, a confused black mass going in several directions at once, a poorly aimed shot, a black ball clearing my ditch with feet to spare, and he was gone. He was a real old king, and as he trotted out between two big trees he was the most kingly picture of wild life that one could ever see. My chance for a prize was lost in a twinkle. Thoughts followed each other in rapid succession, and after witnessing the marvelous animation he had shown in that "getaway," the boar now had taken first place among the big game that I have known. As the other shooters came around and examined his tracks their murmurings of tres difficile brought little comfort. It was a cold old ride home, for as a move was imminent it was to be my last hunt with them. After a change of clothes with a canary bath in between, for a bath tub in France is either a lost art or a never found one, I sought consolation before the little woodfire from my room-mates, Capt. Jansen and Capt. Smiley. Always looking for sympathy about the big one that got away, is describing that first jump, I told them that it was fifteen feet, but caught a twinkle in Captain Jansen's eye in time to say, "After all, fellows, what is ten feet among friends!" Just between us, though, it was an awful big jump. There is just one other animal that can fade into a landscape like that, and that is a bear that is thoroughly frightened, but it isn't in a boar's class. I mourned about that miss for a long while, and often woke up with a groan as I half dreamed about it and censured myself severely for not realizing that the boar lived up to its name and was at least "wild." I had to leave this section of France at this time, and I did eo, rankled way down deep in my chest that I was beaten fair and square at a game with a shot gun at which I felt that I had some claim, being a good player. After suffering one of the fortunes of war in getting a reassignment, at which time one parts from all of his friends and goes entirely among strangers, I found myself with another division in a little hamlet in Central France, where we prepared to winter. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, I prowled around the forests, looking for boar sign and with much delight found some in the fields. While it was old it offered a hope. It did not take long to find that they were hunted some here. The village hunters were two old Frenchmen, one sixty-seven years old, who led a yellow hound he called "Ramonot," and another old gentleman who led a white dog called "Taillot." In this town they all used 16-gauge shotguns with hammers and they were of an ancient make. The one I had the first day had but one hammer, but as we saw nothing but an old track it was as good as a machine gun. I warmed up to those two old gentlemen because they were so enthusiastic and tireless. They took me

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again a few afternoons later and kept me at a post all afternoon long. In this piece of forest the dogs behaved badly and barked and fussed around the whole time. The younger man of the two had a shot he said at a large boar that the dogs were frightened of and wouldn't chase, but thought he did no damage to it as it was quite a distance away in the thick forest. They took me down the road a little ways and showed me where he had been digging in a bank for roots. It was an enormous hole, and the boar had a large track. They said he was still in there, but that it was too dark to hunt further. About this time it started to snow and we had our first real winter weather. It snowed about four inches and turned bitter cold. This appeared a help to me and when I could slip away for an hour in the mornings I would no«e around for tracks myself. There were many fox tracks and I saw several foxes in the fields, listening for field mice under the snow, to pounce on them when they heard one. I saw one boar track, but he had left the country. We went out with the dogs one afternoon and at first the usual thing happened. There two old fellows would miss each other's direction and we would get lost in small groups. They each had a hunting horn hung over the left shoulder and under the right arm, that they would blow on every little while. I never did understand the signals even after they were explained. When one would get out of hearing of the other he would blow and blow and then make gestures of disgust if there was no response and prepare for the inevitable argument that came when they met. It was most exasperating. Theee arguments were staged at any stage of the hunt, and they would stop still and face each other in the road while they raved. When they cooled down the hunt was resumed. After getting together late that afternoon, the old gentleman with the yellow hound started through a piece of forest for us while we stood on the road. I had hunted with them so faithfully for so long that I had quite a modern gun with both hammers. They had a shell to go in the right barrel with one slug in it that was so large that it bulged the shell, and it took quite a push to get it in the chamber. The left barrel had a shell with nine buckshot. That seemed odd, but they explained that the first shot one might get with the boar standing, but the second one never. That sounded reasonable, so I had it loaded that way. The yellow hound started one, and was coming out of the forest about 200 yards up the road from me, and I ran as best I could to head it off. They turned before they reached me, and went deep into the forest until he could hardly be heard, and then turned back and came for the road again, at another place. Another sprint, but still one did not burst through, and they turned again. I had started back down the road when a little ways in the forest a twig snapped. I stopped dead still and put the gun

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to my shoulder and waited. Soon my eye caught the outlines of three small boar darting here and there and listening and grunting quietly to each other. One would run a few steps and the others would follow, but never a move from me. They came a little closer, but still no move from me. I was just waiting for one to step in front of the gun. Pretty soon one stopped and listened, and while the brush was so thick, that I could but dimly see it, still I had much confidence in that slug, so after moving the gun slowly until I covered it, I shot. From the feel of that gun, the slug had some difficulty in finding its way out of the barrel. It was an awful kick. I just had to shoot then, for this statue business while a boar maneuvers to get in front of the gun, is no joke, when you realize that the slightest move or noise on your part means a lost boar. When the smoke cleared away, for the shell was loaded with black powder, I looked into the forest where they were, but saw nothing except the ever present tree, this time one about an inch in diameter shot clear off. Hopes sank, for it looked like trees were my hoodoo. As snow was still on the ground, I fought my way through the brush to where they were standing, to see if they had jumped that fifteen feet, and right away found blood, which I followed in great haste scratching my face and hands a plenty, and in about one hundred yards found him dead. The slug had hit him just behind the shoulder, and I surely felt proud to think I had at last killed one, even if it was a little one. Soon the two old Frenchies came up and hugged me and blew their horns and almost had a war dance. With much elation, we brought it into the village, and I spent a busy evening telling just how it was done. My enthusiasm ran high for I was squaring an old score and even the taunt of my room-mate, who hails from South Carolina, when he said, "where do you reckon that slug would have hit if it hadn't hit the tree first?" failed to dampen my spirits. The mayor got the pig, it weighed about 60 lbs., and he scattered it round. I was glad for them, for they have very little meat except an occassional rabbit which every family keeps for winter use. The natives all shook hands with me as we came back and the mayor's family invited all of the hunters to be at gruotte dinner the next evening at six o'clock. The next day about noon one of my old pals came into my room and fumbled with his hat and said that the big one he shot at a few days before was still in that forest and that we would leave in about 15 minutes. After a hurried bite, we started off. We had no difficulty getting shooters to go this time. I still retained the gun with the one slug combination. The two old natives arranged us on the road and then went clear around the forest to start in the other side and come towards us with the dogs. They started an argument over there about a third of a mile away, about which way to go, that was a wonder,

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and before they decided what to do that boar started to leave. I was well hidden behind a bush and my eye just caught a glimpse of him as he trotted out listening to that argument, and for once I was glad to hear one. The statue business with me started again. He would trot a step or two, and listen, and was certainly a picture of alertness. Knowing by now, that the slightest move on my part was fatal to a shot, I was using every effort to look like a tree. My heart beats were awful, and it seemed like he must see them. It looked like he never would come in a clear enough place to risk a shot. Major about two hundred yards up the road was watching me pose, and told me afterwards that he thought my reason had departed. The boar came near the end of the gun, after a while, and its head and neck showed pretty well, so, after moving the gun slowly for just a little ways to cover his neck, started the slug. There was no need to wait for the smoke to clear away this time to see what had happened, for I could hear him thrashing around and knew that he was mortally wounded. It was a little difficult to breathe right then, and an odd pain persisted across my abdomen for a little while, and right here I hope that if I ever get another shot at a boar that I will not have to wait as long as that to decoy him into getting in a clear enough place to chance a shot. Just such a predicament as this is what constitutes the thrill of big game hunting. I have killed a moose, but he was one we bumped into and it was all over in a few seconds, but the thrill is the same. To call a moose and hear him coming must be the same as decoying a boar by looking like a tree. It did not take long for the crowd to gather now, and those Frenchmen were beside themselves. The old fellow that told me about him came tumbling and running and half crying and all were most happy. They fixed a little half hitch around his tusks and snout, with two ropes, and we dragged him in over the snow and were very much elated. That head is getting mounted to be sent home so that I can prove all this, but if the fortunes of war fixes it so that it never gets there, I'll just have to say that it could all be proved if Bill Jones were still living. Wild boar are extremely hardy animals. While all other .

game in France appears to be decreasing, they appear about the same. It is said that during a hard winter in France about twenty years ago that they disappeared and were not seen for two or three years and then reappeared. A mother has one litter a year, from four to eight, in the spring. She will build a little covering of leaves and twigs for them, for the first few days of their lives and stay close to them. An old boar usually stays near also and helps protect them for some time. They are brown with a few black stripes, when first born, but soon turn a dark grey. They can be caught very easily during the first few days

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of life, but after they are ten days old it is almost impossible. They can be raised in captivity if caught very small, and will follow the one who feeds them almost like dogs. They never attain their greatest size in captivity, as all real wild animals do not do well in captivity. A mother with little ones is very destructive to grain and will lie on great quantities while the little ones eat the heads off. They are very fond of potatoes, and on very dark nights will come right into the door yard gardens and root them up. They have a large tough snout with a large flare. Their bristles are so long around their necks that they appear to have a mane and a hump like a moose. When being chased by dogs they don't swerve much from a straight course and they do look ferocious. Many a hunter on sight of his first one coming straight towards him has made for the nearest tree without disputing the right of way. The mother keeps her little ones together, all during the year, and they have a tendency to flock together always. Old boars usually travel alone. A boar reaches a weight of about 100 lbs., during his first year, ISO his second, and at about five years old he gets his greatest weight, about 250 lbs. They are taller and much more graceful than a tame pig. Their legs are black below their knee joints and very graceful. The feet are made up into candle sticks standing on the foot and they are very pretty. The boars develop large sharp tusks which are their weapons of defense, and a dog is forever shy of one when once gouged by a tusk. Man is his natural enemy, so he feeds only at night and hides in the day time. He will never tackle a man unless wounded, and then only when cornered. If wounded he attempts to get away and as these natives express it "he will go as long as he has any blood left," undoubtedly due to his ruggedness. He depends on his nose, eyes and ears to tell him of danger and they are all very keen. His speed is terrific, when once he gets under way. When started he appears to get in high gear from a standing start. The dogs never get close to a big one. They can usually be seen two hundred yards behind one yelping on the scent. When the dogs start a big one, they usually follow him all afternoon. They travel great distances when frightened. The open season on wild boar is from September 1, to March 31; when they are particularly bold and destructive the lessee of a particular district i^.ay declare an open season on them. They are so destructive that tTie government pays a bounty of 25 franks for little ones and 50 franks for big ones, so that in those I was fortunate enough to kill it was a comfort to know that the shells were at least well paid for, besides furnishing such fine meat to these natives and some of us. The meat is not fat as in a tame hog, but has a fine game taste. They live on grains and roots and nuts and should be good.

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Were we in time for that dinner? We were. The dinner started at six in the evening and lasted until nine. The gruotte is a stew of the choice bits, or "inards," as they say in some parts of America. It consists of ears, tongue, lungs, heart, liver and kidneys, and is served as an entree and is wonderfully good. It almost choked me to eat a piece of lung, but after it was once in my mouth it tasted as good as any of it. The mayor had rustled a roast of beef for the main course. About this time much excitement was caused by some one saying that the mayor's man who dressed the big one found a buck shot in its south end. The one old Frenchman joshed the other for having such a weak gun and laughed and laughed at him. We all joined in the fun and he became perfectly dejected. I was particularly happy that night, because I had leveled off my black spot in boar hunting during that day, so I asked him if the boar might have gotten it stuck in his ham by sitting down on it. He replied in all seriousness that it was impossible for there was snow on the ground. The next course was one of roast pigeons cooked with their heads on. I really expected one of the mayor's daughters to scream, because they looked so gruesome. We told them after the first shock, that the heads were not cooked on poultry in America and they could hardly believe that we would let such choice portions go to waste. They looked at us with real compassion when we told them that America was going dry, for they drink wine with every meal that can be called meal at all. The ladies drink also, but almost always dilute their wine with water. The men always refuse to have their glasses refilled, but never push up on the bottle hard enough to make the one pouring stop before the glass is completely filled. A course of home made chee:e came just before the pastry, which tasted all right, but if you happened to take a little sniff just as it reached your mouth, you almost wondered if it wasn't something that the cat brought in. The last course was the coffee and cigarettes. The French people are great cigarette smokers, but not much more so than Americans. This war has probably given an impetus to cigarette smoking also, but that does not alter the fact that the cigarette habit is just as harmful as it ever was. The mavor has three refined daughters, who prepared this fine meal. They all sat at one end of the table near the kitchen. When the cigarettes were passed the one supposed to have the most schooling smoked one, but the other two refused and it appeared like her refinement fell off her like a cloak. Oh surely the ability to smoke a !

cigarette has no place in the make up of an ideal woman. After expressing our thanks for the wonderful evening, we departed, and will remember, for lo! these many moons, our introduction to the celebration dinner attending the killing of Europe's greatest big game, Le Sanglier.

Future Rewards By Joseph Fielding Smith, of the Council of the Twelve

A request has been made by a missionary that the following questions be answered in the Improvement Era:

1. "If a member of the Church should apostatize, or fall away, and should reject his covenants, to which degree of glory will he be relegated? Provided, of course, that he does not repent and re-enter the Church.
   2. "Under the provisions in the revelations, is it possible for one who has accepted the testimony of Jesus in the flesh to ever inherit the terrestrial kingdom?
   3. "Explain particularly the seventy-ninth verse of section 76 in the Doctrine and Covenants."

Answer 1. It is impossible to state the degree of reward or punishment which ehall be measured out in each individual case of transgression or apostasy. All do not receive the same light and knowledge when they come into the Church, because some are more diligent and faithful than others in observing the commandments. Our Savior has given us an excellent illustration of this in the parable of the sower. Some men receive a thorough knowledge and testimony of the truth through faithful diligence and obedience to the gospel. The Spirit of the Lord rests upon them and they can truthfully say that they know that Jesus is the Christ and Redeemer of the world. Others do not receive such great light and testimony, because they are less diligent. They believe that Jesus is the Son of God, and accept the truth, but do not have a perfect understanding. It is possible aho that some have come into the Church because the doctrines appeal to them as being logical and consistent, but they never exert themselves to get the Spirit of the Lord. Olhers have come into the Church because of ulterior motives, and such never do comprehend the light, and seldom remain, for disappointment is bound to come when their object is not attained, and they fall away again. The Lord declares in one of the revelations: "To some it is given by the Holy Ghost to know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and that he was crucified for the sins of the world; to others it is given to believe on their words, that they also might have eternal life if they continue faithful." Doc. & Cov. 46: 13-14. Almost without exception when a person leaves the Church, it is due to transgression. The Spirit of the Lord will not dwell

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in unclean tabernacles, and when the Spirit is withdrawn darkness supercedes the light and apostasy will follow. This is one of the greatest evidences of the divinity of this latter-day work. In other organizations men may commit all manner of sin and still retain their membership, because they have no companionship with the Holy Ghost to lose; but in the Church when a man sins and continues without repentance, the Spirit is withdrawn, and when he is left to himself the adversary takes possession of his mind and he denies the faith. It is possible for a man who has received a perfect understanding of the truth and has walked in the light of the Holy Spirit to fall away through transgression. But when he turns away, he still knows that he once had the light. The Lord has said of such: "All those who know my power, and have been made partakers thereof, and suffered themselves, through the power of the devil, to be over- — come, and to deny the truth and defy my power they are they who are the sons of perdition, of whom I say that it had been better for them never to have been born" (Doc. &Cov. 76:31-32). We should hardly expect the Lord to measure out the same punishment to the man who departs from the Church because of some supposed grievance or misunderstanding, when that man never did have a testimony of the gospel and was never led by the Spirit of Truth. Yet, such a man bars himself, unless he repents, from the celestial kingdom, according to the word of the Lord. He had his opportunity and rejected the gift that was presented to him, therefore the reward of the faithful shall not be his portion. "He who is not able to abide the law of a celestial kingdom, cannot abide a celestial glory; and he who cannot abide the law of a terrestrial kingdom, cannot abide a terrestrial glory; he who cannot abide the law of a telestial kingdom, cannot abide a telestial glory; therefore he is not meet for a kingdom of glory. Therefore he must abide a kingdom which is not a kingdom of glory." (Doc. & Cov. 88:22-24.) All things are governed by law, and whosoever is unable or unwilling to abide by the law of any one of these kingdoms, cannot be sanctified by the law governing therein, "neither by mercy, justice, nor judgment" (Doc. and Cov. 88:35). The Lord will judge each individual case, and will assign transgressors to that degree to which each is entitled according to his works. If a man only merits a place in the telestial, that will be his reward; if it should be the terrestrial, then he shall be admitted to that kingdom. In order to enter the celestial, a man must be true and faithful to the end, observing all things which the Lord has commanded, otherwise he shall be assigned to some other kingdom, or to outer darkness if hi j sins so merit. Let it be remembered, however, that the punishment of the apostate, no matter who he is or what degree of knowledge