Part 3

Standing near the sacred oak, he addressed the crowd before him in brief but energetic words. He pointed out to them the misery which their country had so long endured through the ravages of the Great Boar. He declared that the thing, was intolerable, and that it only rested with themselves to put an end to it by a great {034}and united effort. He professed himself willing to lead them if they would only engage to follow him, and was confident that, if he were obeyed, all would go well. If, indeed, they had any doubt about his being a fit person to lead them, let them only say so and he would at once yield to another. These words were received with much favour by many of his audience, but some of the more timid and doubtful still hesitated as to their course, when suddenly a voice spoke from the old oak in words of unmistakable import:--

“This is the man and this the hour To break the tyrant’s hateful power. No longer, Englishmen, delay; Choose--listen--follow--and obey!”

These words at once reassured every one, and effectually settled the question. Smith was unanimously elected leader, and, like other leaders, proceeded at once to declare his policy. He told his followers that the first thing to be done was to make a good road right into the heart of the forest. People are apt to magnify dangers about which they know little, and the thick and impenetrable nature of the Boar’s retreat greatly added to the idea of his wondrous power. The first thing, then, was to let the light of day in upon him, and, accordingly, the very next morning, a strong body of labourers commenced to work at a good, broad road, which should penetrate the heart of the forest.

Of course this undertaking occupied some time, during which the secret interviews between Smith and the fair Druidess were not unfrequent, and the brave young leader obtained much good advice as to his mode of procedure.

The {035}most extraordinary part of the story is that, all this time, no one heard or saw anything of the Boar. Whether he knew less of magic than was supposed, and, being engaged on the other side of the forest, did not know what was going on near Ascot Heath--or whether he knew and didn’t think it worth while to interfere--or whether he was idle, sleepy, ill, or anything else--I don’t know; but he never interfered at all until a long length of road had been made, and a gang of labourers had got very near his lair.

Then, one fine morning, he rushed out with a number of his followers, ripping and goring right and left, and driving everything before him. It so happened that Smith was not with the workmen that day. Probably he had gone on some errand for the Druidess; but, however this may have been, the result was the same, and, in the absence of {036}our hero, the Boar had it all his own way. In consequence of this triumph, the monster gave a great feast of hogwash and potatoes to all his subjects, and their grunting afterwards was so loud and horrible that it was remembered for a period of many years in the neighbourhood of Windsor.

Smith, as you may suppose, was thoroughly disgusted when he found what had occurred, and all the more so as he felt that his presence might, and probably would, have prevented the misfortune. Nothing daunted, however, he resolved to repair the mischief as quickly as possible. He sent far and wide throughout the country for all the white horses which could possibly be secured, and begged as many of their owners as felt martially inclined to accompany their steeds. This was done under the sage advice of the toads, to whom it was well known that to white animals beyond all others has been given the power of resisting the influences of magic arts. The knowledge that Smith’s movement was supported by the Druids materially operated to promote the success of his request. From all quarters white horses and horsemen came flocking to the appointed place on Ascot Heath, and upon a certain day which he had fixed the leader found himself at the head of a numerous body of cavalry. He next proceeded to arm every man with a long wooden spear pointed with iron, and having given them their watchword and rallying cry, “Bacon,” marched boldly towards the forest. And now began the contest with the powers of magic.

The Boar sent forth his legions, having for the nonce converted hundreds of pigs into creatures bearing the form {037}of man, whilst his own regiment of sharp-tusked boars acted as a reserve force in their own shape and form. They could not, however, prevail against the white army, protected by the wisdom of the toads and backed by the incantations of the saintly Druids. After a combat along the whole line which lasted for some hours, the magic forces of the Boar gave way on every side. Their resistance, indeed, stout and dogged as it had been at first, gave way at the sight of an enormous ham, boiled and ready for use, which at a critical moment of the contest was displayed by the orders of Smith at the top of a long pole. No porcine nature could withstand this spell, sure be-tokener of the fate of every vanquished and slaughtered pig. The enchanted animals (as the toads had privately told Smith would certainly be the case) resumed their natural shape by hundreds at the sight of this wondrous emblem, and fled with wild grunts into the forest, followed by the victorious army. On every side the white horsemen rode down the flying porkers, impaling them on their iron-tipped spears, and shouting “Bacon” until the forest rang again with the martial sound. Smith himself performed prodigies of valour, overthrowing and slaying numbers of the foe, and greatly assisting in bringing about the complete and terrible defeat which befell the forces of the Boar.

So it was that towards eventide the battle was practically over, for not a pig but had resumed his natural shape, not a foe but had either fallen or fled into the deep recesses of the forest and sought safety in ignominious concealment from the face of day. Yet fast within his lair remained the Great Boar himself, and no one {038}had as yet beheld him upon that day so fatal to his tribe. Why or wherefore he had not headed his troops is more than I can say. One would have supposed that his presence would have encouraged them, and that his continued seclusion within his lair must have been the most foolish proceeding on the part of the chief of an army who had so much at stake. But whatever reason he had, it is certain that he never appeared, and his people were slaughtered right and left without his ever coming to the rescue.

Smith, however, was not to be treated in this manner by his mighty enemy. Unless the latter were dealt with in some satisfactory way, he knew well enough that his victory would have been all in vain, and that the evil with which his country had so long been afflicted would be by no means ended. He hesitated not, therefore, to push boldly forward into the heart of the forest, and seek the tyrant in his lair. The wood was uncommonly thick, and progress extremely difficult. Gigantic brambles formed an almost insuperable barrier, twining round the legs of the traveller in a manner remarkably disagreeable, and forming at certain places an almost impregnable network of defence. The bushes, too, grew thickly where the brambles did not, huge oaks stood about wherever there was any space clear from bush and bramble, strange weeds cropped up around, and altogether the place was as wild and difficult of access as you can well imagine. Yet Smith pushed bravely on, with some of his chosen companions, until he suddenly found himself in an open space some sixty feet square, almost entirely surrounded by oak-trees, plentifully encircled by ivy of the most luxuriant growth. As he entered {039}this space, a deep voice uttered these words in terrible accents:--

“How dares the child of loathsome toad. Unasked to enter this abode? No longer press thy childish whim, Back! or I tear thee limb from limb.”

The followers of the great deliverer were visibly staggered by these awful words, more especially as the speaker was nowhere to be seen. Smith himself, however, being perfectly prepared for some such proceeding on the part of his enemy, was not for a moment disconcerted in the smallest degree. By the advice of the powers which had directed and shielded him throughout the whole of his arduous enterprise, he had armed himself with an oaken staff, cut from a sacred tree which grew near to my banks, and which was held in peculiar estimation by the people. This staff, having been dipped in my river, and afterwards heavily tipped with lead, was a weapon of considerable power, and the gallant Smith brandished it on high above his head as he replied to his invisible enemy in the following words:--

“Boast loud and long, thou villain Boar, And trust in dealings magic; More humbly shalt thou shortly roar, And meet an ending tragic.

Come forth and try! I thee defy, By mighty aid of Druid, And this good staff, which lately I Have dipt in Thames’s fluid.

Come forth, I say! No more delay! You rascal! what, you _won’t_ stir? I brand thee, in the face of day, A vile and hideous monster! ”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when a horrible {040}noise between a grunt and a roar burst upon the ears of the attacking party, and the Great Boar of Windsor broke from his lair and rushed furiously upon his enemies. His eyes glared like fireballs--his bristles were erect and awful to see--his tusks seemed sharper and more enormous than any one would have supposed possible--and his whole appearance evinced such a mixture of strength and ferocity as might well have caused the stoutest heart to quail before his approach. Fury was in his countenance, and frightful was the expression of his face as he charged headlong down upon Smith, with a force which it seemed impossible to withstand. Uttering his war-cry in the shape of a suppressed but horrid grunt, he held his head low, and was evidently bent upon ripping up the intruder with the least possible delay.

To be ripped up, however, was by no means Smith’s intention. Springing hastily aside, he dealt the Boar a blow with his staff as he passed in the mad career which he was unable to check. The blow, dealt with the hero’s full force upon the back of the monster’s head, changed his grunt into a squeak of pain, but otherwise had no visible effect upon him. Rendered doubly furious by the failure of his first rush, the Boar now turned upon some of Smith’s companions, upon whom he trusted to have wreaked an easy vengeance. But, with admirable sagacity, Smith had foreseen the possibility of such an occurrence, and, instructed by the toads, had carefully provided against it. Each of his followers who had entered the lair, besides being armed with spears as I have described, had in his hand a short stick upon the end of which was fastened a sausage.

The {041}order given was, that, if the Boar attacked, this should simply be held out in front of the person in danger, which order you may well believe was faithfully obeyed. The effect was certainly marvellous. At the sight of each sausage the Boar’s powers appeared to fail him, and he turned with a disappointed groan to find another victim. One man, indeed, found the protection useless, and was miserably ripped up and destroyed by the monster. A momentary panic prevailed, but it was fortunately remembered that the luckless individual had brought his own sausage from his own manufactory, and that sundry of his neighbours who had lost their cats had more than once thrown the darkest suspicion upon the character and quality of the article which he supplied. It is therefore probable that the virtue inherent in sausages made from the lawful animal was wanting in his case, and that he perished justly as a deceiver of his fellow-men.

But the Boar could make no head against a body of men so well prepared for his assault. He foamed at the mouth--he roared--he grunted--he howled--he rushed madly to and fro--but all his efforts were useless. Then once more he turned himself round and rushed with a frantic force upon the leader of his foes. Smith was at that instant standing close to an oak-tree, and so sudden was the Boar’s attack that he had barely time to avoid it by a vigorous spring which he made, catching as he did so a branch above his head, and swinging himself up out of harm’s way.

The Boar, meanwhile, unable to stop himself, rushed with great force against the tree. To his infinite surprise, and indeed to the astonishment of all who saw it, the {042}hard surface of the oak yielded to his touch, his tusks penetrated the bark, and he remained there firm and fast, caught by the head and held as if by a vice. At the same moment a strain of sweet and solemn music burst upon the ears of those who were present, and from behind the oak-tree stepped the figure of the Priestess Bertha, clad as she had been on the previous occasion of her addressing the people, save that she wore upon her head a wreath of mistletoe, bright and glistening with berries. Walking up to the still struggling Boar, she calmly sat down upon him, just as if he had been a camp-stool, upon which he groaned audibly, but remained perfectly still. Then the Priestess proceeded to speak:--

“The Boar is vanquished in the fight, And ended is his former might. Cursed by his yoke no more ye be, But Windsor’s children shall be free.

Yet be ye cautious, firm, and wise, Or other foes may still arise, And ye may scarcely yet escape From boars in brute or human shape.

Still, good advice I give to you: Be honest, loyal, just, and true; Drink not the wine that tastes of cork; Keep down the pigs by eating pork;

Love sausages (avoiding shams); And don’t forget to cure your hams. So, if your lives are good and pure, Your happiness shall be secure;

Windsor to high renown shall soar, And ne’er again be spoiled by boar. Meanwhile, ’tis time I play my part, And banish hence foul magic art!”

Then, slowly rising from her strange seat, and extending her arm high in the air above the miserable Boar, She began to mutter to herself in a low tone mystic words {043}of dark and wondrous import, which had all the more effect upon her hearers because nobody understood them. Presently she turned again to the listening army, and thus addressed the Boar, her countenance bearing a stern expression and her whole appearance being one of queenly dignity:--

“Foul beast! henceforth thy power is stayed, Thy former vassals shall be free; Thine art no more shall be displayed, But Windsor Forest boarless be!

Yet must thou not this forest leave, Or quit the place, alive or dead, Whence thou hast caused the land to grieve, And tears in oceans to be shed.

In altered form remaining here, Receive, vile tyrant, this thy ban: Be filled henceforth with timid fear, And tremble at the sight of man.

Henceforth on roots and insects feed; And yet, when nobler creatures die, Be thou suspected of the deed, A hated sight to keeper’s eye!”

She spoke; and as the words fell from her inspired lips, a wondrous and melancholy change came over the unhappy animal to whom they were addressed. His tusks fell off, his head diminished, his body grew smaller even while she was speaking, and, as she ceased, the once great Boar stood there in the presence of his enemies, neither more nor less than an unusually large hedgehog. Shouts of mingled joy and astonishment broke from the surrounding peasants as they perceived this highly satisfactory transformation taking place upon their dreaded foe. There he stood, trembling and shivering before them, furtively casting his eyes right and left as if in search of some hiding-place to which he {044}might betake himself at once. Then, after a moment or two, he curled himself up after the general manner of hedgehogs into a round, impenetrable ball, a proceeding which evoked shouts of laughter from those who had lately trembled at his very glance, but who now felt the most supreme contempt for their vanquished enemy. As they stood and gazed upon him, the transformed animal presently unrolled himself again, and scuttled away as fast as he could among the dry leaves, making, with a new but natural instinct, for a place of concealment beneath the roots of the enormous trees which grew around the spot. And in fact, so far as this history concerns the Great Boar of Windsor, Brother Rhine, I might as well bring it to a close at once, for little more was ever heard of him. The blow struck at Boardom throughout the kingdom by the destruction of his power was very great, and the race gradually died away and became extinct. Not so by any means the hedgehogs, who from that time forth mightily increased all over England, and who down to the present day love to make it their boast that they are lineally descended from the Great Boar of Windsor. So proud of ancient ancestry are even the brute beasts of creation, aping that arrant fool, man, in this as well as sundry other follies.

It is curious to observe how exactly the prophecy of the Druidess has been fulfilled with regard to these hedgehogs. They live, as we know, upon roots and insects, and it has been over and over again demonstrated by learned naturalists that their physical formation is such as to preclude the possibility of their being carnivorous animals. But tell a gamekeeper this, and he will laugh you {045}to scorn. The words of the Druidess have come true enough in this instance; and if a nest of eggs is found destroyed, or a young pheasant torn or slain, the hedgehog is declared to be the culprit, and his unhappy race is persecuted even unto death.

Tradition says, however, that death has never fallen upon the Great Boar himself, or that if his body has really perished, as one would suppose to have been the case long ago, his spirit still haunts the locality which his power and his crimes rendered so celebrated in those days of yore. Certain it is, that if you happen to know the site of the Boar’s lair, which of course I know, Brother Rhine, but which is hidden from the knowledge of all mortals save those favoured by Fairyland power, you may sometimes hear tidings of its former occupant. Wander forth on a clear moonlight night, hide yourself securely among the brushwood or behind the gigantic oaks which still exist, and you will see all that is left of the monster who was so long the scourge and terror of the place. A large hedgehog, bearing the weight of many years upon his back, will issue from beneath the roots of some of the old trees, followed by several smaller beings of the same species. Slowly and sadly he will creep, with feeble steps and decrepit gait, down the open space in front of the trees, and pass before you, uttering a low grunt of retrospective misery as he crawls over the altered scenes of his departed greatness. Move not; raise not a finger; keep entire silence; and as you gaze upon the unhappy wretch, let pity rather than scorn take possession of your heart; and when after his short walk he returns shaking with age and sorrow, and once more creeps into his humble hiding-place, {046}ponder over the shortness and instability of earthly power and wealth, and remember that you have beheld all that remains of that terrible being who was once so infamously notorious as the Great Boar of Windsor.

But although I told you that, so far as the Boar was concerned, my story might very well have ended here, you cannot have listened to me with the attention which you have deigned to bestow without wishing to know something more of the fortunes of the other personages of whom I have spoken. As soon as the hedgehog had retired, {047}and their apprehensions were once and for all removed, the worthy peasants broke out into what is nowadays called a “truly British cheer.” While they did this, the Priestess Bertha took the opportunity of retiring into the forest, so that when the good people had cheered enough, and were getting rather hoarse, they found that she had disappeared. The whole of their attention, therefore, was concentrated upon Smith, whom they surrounded with expressions of the warmest gratitude, and overwhelmed with thanks for the ability, courage, and discretion which he had evinced in the conduct of the whole affair. Had it been a few centuries later, they would doubtless have presented him with the freedom of their city, supposing them to have had one. As it was, they could do little but thank him, and declare themselves anxious that he should be their chief, or king, or anything else he pleased. Smith, however, stood moodily aside, leaning upon his spear, and declined to accept the offered dignity. The people were still crowding around him and urging him to complete the good work which he had just begun, by ruling over those whom he had freed from an intolerable yoke, when an event took place which entirely changed the character of the proceedings.

Suddenly there appeared among the trees and amid the people a number of Druids, clad in the vestments which they habitually wore, and brandishing the weapons with which they usually perpetrated the sacrifices which accompanied their most solemn rites. Without more ado they proceeded to seize upon Smith, and declared to the astonished people that the gods had intimated their will that he should be immediately sacrificed.

This {048}was by no means welcome news to those who heard it, nor could they readily understand why the Druids should desire the life of one who had hitherto shown the greatest reverence for them and their religion, and who had, moreover, just rendered a great public service.

Murmurs began to arise from the crowd, murmurs deep and angry, to the effect that jealousy of Smith’s influence was at the bottom of the movement, and that the Druids, who had never been able to get rid of the Boar until Smith had appeared on the scene, were ready to kill him out of the way as soon as ever he had accomplished the task which had been too much for themselves. Anxious to remove an impression which, if allowed to remain, might become the source of danger to their authority over the people, one of the chief Druids jumped upon the trunk of a fallen tree and begged leave to explain. This having been readily granted, the venerable man stated that the people ought to know by this time that reverend ecclesiastics never did anything wrong, and that mean or ignoble motives were never harboured in their holy hearts. “But,” he continued, “although Smith had certainly rendered considerable service to the people (and this the Druids would be the last to deny), he had nullified all his claims to their gratitude by the commission of an offence which struck a deep blow at the very root of that religion which was the sole basis of their social order, and their only hope alike for the present and the future. He had ventured to speak of love to the holy Druidess Bertha, and there was every reason to believe that they were privately married!”