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and loved the hills, a keen shot and a good one, above all a very good sport who took his failures with a grin and exposed all his mistakes with an engaging candour. There were little gems of descriptive story-telling that made you feel you were with him in all his adventures, and you got to know his favourite spots by his brief and vivid descriptions and little sketches.
I came eventually to several stories about a mystery pig he called the Old Grey Boar, a hermit who was never seen in company with other pigs or who, as he explained it, had been thrown out by the other pigs because he was too bad-tempered. Now this pig could apparently carry without discomfort all the lead the hunters could pump into him, and he had given them the slip on several occasions when they felt sure they had bagged him. Currie always went out with three companions, but he alone wrote up the day. Finally he mentioned that the Chinese beaters firmly believed this was a Joss pig that could not be killed. They were also afraid of him, for after he had been wounded he terrorised the villagers, especially the grass-cutters, and had killed several of them. I did not pay much attention to the story at the time, but I was fascinated by Currie's general descriptions and sat up reading till after midnight, I think I got pig fever that night, a great urge to roam those hills with a few good companions like Currie and, like him, to find new strength up there. Finding good companions was the rub, and the only one I could think of was Hunter. The others had given up the struggle and would not move out of the Club; the hills were too far out and pig-shooting too much like hard work.
The next day I explored the country around and made myself familiar with the various ranges of hills. To the south was a long range called Chang Shan, on the top of which was a small temple. In between the two main mountains were rolling hills with the main road to Chinkiang twisting through the valley, past a solitary hill like a hog's back, sticking out of the flat country to eastward. This was called Tung Shan, and close to its northern base lay Chakamen, or the beaters' village, as we called it, for most of the beaters lived there."
Those readers who wish to read more should turn to page 51 of Rasmussen's fascinating book. My own interest is in the
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and loved the hills, a keen shot and a good one, above all a very good sport who took his failures with a grin and exposed all his mistakes with an engaging candour. There were little gems of descriptive story-telling that made you feel you were with him in all his adventures, and you got to know his favourite spots by his brief and vivid descriptions and little sketches.
I came eventually to several stories about a mystery pig he called the Old Grey Boar, a hermit who was never seen in company with other pigs or who, as he explained it, had been thrown out by the other pigs because he was too bad-tempered. Now this pig could apparently carry without discomfort all the lead the hunters could pump into him, and he had given them the slip on several occasions when they felt sure they had bagged him. Currie always went out with three companions, but he alone wrote up the day. Finally he mentioned that the Chinese beaters firmly believed this was a Joss pig that could not be killed. They were also afraid of him, for after he had been wounded he terrorised the villagers, especially the grass-cutters, and had killed several of them. I did not pay much attention to the story at the time, but I was fascinated by Currie's general descriptions and sat up reading till after midnight, I think I got pig fever that night, a great urge to roam those hills with a few good companions like Currie and, like him, to find new strength up there. Finding good companions was the rub, and the only one I could think of was Hunter. The others had given up the struggle and would not move out of the Club; the hills were too far out and pig-shooting too much like hard work.
The next day I explored the country around and made myself familiar with the various ranges of hills. To the south was a long range called Chang Shan, on the top of which was a small temple. In between the two main mountains were rolling hills with the main road to Chinkiang twisting through the valley, past a solitary hill like a hog's back, sticking out of the flat country to eastward. This was called Tung Shan, and close to its northern base lay Chakamen, or the beaters' village, as we called it, for most of the beaters lived there."
Those readers who wish to read more should turn to page 51 of Rasmussen's fascinating book. My own interest is in the
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