The branches of the tree had broken my fall, but my gun had fallen
out of my hand and I had sprained my ankle, so that I was in rather an
awkward position. The boar was shot through the spine, and could not
get along, though he made frantic efforts to get at me.
It was of no use my calling out for help; everybody was calling out,
everybody was excited, firing at the lots of pigs that were running
about in all directions. At the moment when I began to think affairs
somewhat serious (I tried to get up and walk, but could not do so on
account of my ankle), as the boar was crawling towards me, looking very
mischievous, two great shepherd's dogs arrived on the scene, and went
straight in for my enemy. Poor beast! He made a gallant fight; he could
hardly move, but he could use his head, and he tore one of the dogs open
in a frightful way; then two or three men came up, but they were afraid
to go near to the boar. I made them hand me my gun that was lying on the
ground near me, with which I soon put a stop to the battle. Then all the
people began to muster round their dead enemy, and it was laughable to
see and hear how they abused and kicked the body of the pig.
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