NOW THEY PLAY SOCCER:

Pig Sticking in India (William Livingston Alden, June 1880, Harper's New Monthly Magazine)

Every reader of modern English novels is familiar with the term “pig-sticking.” The gallant young officer who has won the heroine's heart, and who goes to India in order that the wicked rival may intercept his letters and destroy his happiness, is always engaged, while in that distant land, in either tiger-shooting or pig-sticking. The London Times recently classed pig-sticking with polo as a sport of inestimable value in developing the manly qualities of the British soldier. In this country we have lately learned that polo is a sort of horseback croquet, in which heads instead of feet are smashed, but of the true nature of pig-sticking we are shamefully ignorant. Let us, then, in a sincere and earnest spirit, inquire as to the character of the pigs and the process by which they are stuck. Those who have formed their conception of pig exclusively upon the tame pig of the civilized sty, have no adequate idea of the free wild pig of the Indian jungle. Like the North American Indian, the pig is debased by contact with civilization. He becomes cowardly, weak, dirty, and a prey to an inordinate thirst for swill. The distance between the tame Indian of Saratoga, who steals chickens and wallows drunken in the gutter, and the fierce warrior of the Western plains, is not greater than that which separates the despised pig of civilization from the wild and fearless quarry of the East Indian pig-sticker. The latter pig, whose spirit has never been broken with pig yokes, and whose moral nature has never been poisoned with swill is one of the bravest inhabitants of the jungle, and has been known to attack and put to rout the majestic elephant and the ferocious tiger. [...]

For pig-sticking there are two requisites in addition to the pig—a fast, steady horse, and a good hog spear. The Nugger Hunt spear-head, which is now generally used in India, is shaped somewhat like a myrtle leaf, with long slight curves from point to shank, so that it can be easily withdrawn, as well as easily driven home. A four-edged spear-head is also sometimes used, but as it is difficult to sharpen, it is not much liked. Of course the spear-head is made of the best quality of steel, and its edges ought to be sharp enough to shave with, in case any lunatic should desire to put it to such a use.

The spear shaft is a stout male bamboo about nine feet long, with the butt weighted with lead so as to balance the weight of the spear-head. The veteran pig-sticker is particular to have his bamboo cut at night, and at the time of the new moon; in which case it is his belief that it will not yield to dry-rot. This is a native superstition and perhaps strikes an Englishman, whose sisters make a point to cut their hair only at the change of the moon, as a rather respectable superstition which it can do no harm to adopt.

Armed with this weapon, and well mounted, the pig-sticker rides off, sometimes alone, but usually with a gay company of pig-sticking brother officers, and halts on the border of the jungle while the native beaters drive the inhabitants of the jungle down toward the hunters. The master of the hunt posts the sportsmen here and there in pairs so that each hunter has an especial rival, against whom he is pitted and whom he must, if possible, forestall in spearing the hog. When the line of spearmen is in readiness the beaters advance, usually with shouts and the beating of torn-toms. Presently one of them sounds a horn, and the hunters then know that the game has been started. A little later, and out from the jungle marches the “sounder,” led by the patriarchal boar. When the master of the hunt considers that the game has had a fair start in advance of the hunters, he sounds his bugle, and the horsemen, with poised spears, bear down upon the devoted boar, which bounds away with a speed more worthy of an antelope than a pig.

The one great secret of success in pig-sticking is to ride straight after the pig with all the speed that your horse can muster. The pig must be “blown” within the first two miles, or else he performs the curious respiratory feat known as “getting his second wind,” in which case the chances are that he will outrun the horse, and squeak derision at the baffled hunter. But to ride straight after a flying pig over a grass-grown Indian plain requires courage as well as skillful horsemanship. There are several small animals whose delight it is to make pitfalls in the ground large enough to receive a horse's hoof. When a horse is thus snared, his leg usually breaks, and his rider, after a brief trip through the air, tries the experiment of viewing the landscape in an upside-down position. Then there are frequent nullahs, or sunken water-courses, which the hunter does not discover until he is on their very brink. If the nullah can be leaped, the hunt goes on without interruption. If, however, it is too wide, the rider dismounts, and leads his horse through it. The dismounting is a very simple operation; and the horse, if he is well trained, and has saved himself from plunging into the nullah, expresses no surprise when his master has slid over his neck, but waits quietly until the latter has picked the pebbles from his face and is ready to remount. Meanwhile the pig, with grunts of sarcastic joy, has put half a mile between himself and his pursuer, and is mentally prepared to offer odds that he will finally escape.

When riding, the pig-sticker carries his spear with the butt down, and the point well forward in line with his horse's ears. When closing with the pig, he aims to reach his left side, so as to use the right arm freely. The pig is to be stuck immediately behind the shoulder, so that the spear will pass through his lungs and out at the breast. The rush of the horse drives the spear home, and a sudden wheel to the left withdraws it, and leaves the hunter ready to receive a charge in case the wound is not immediately mortal. If the pig does charge, he is received on the point of the spear, and permitted to insert as much of it into his interior as his ferocious temper demands. A good pig-sticker nearly always kills the game at the first blow, and a novice who is charged by a powerful boar incurs great danger, unless he is thoroughly cool and self-possessed.

It also plays a pivotal role in Conduct Unbecoming.

Posted by Orrin Judd at May 11, 2004 10:50 AM