The Ancient Art of Bonsai by Amboru Kato Kimura

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The Ancient Art of Bonsai by Amboru Kato Kimura 2nd
Edition Mikkel Aaland Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Mikkel Aaland
ISBN(s): 9780470042878, 0470042877
Edition: 2
File Details: PDF, 9.12 MB
Year: 2006
Language: english
 SERIOUS SKILLS

The Ancient Art

of of

Bonsai
ISBN-13: 978-0-4700-4287-833
ISBN-10: 0-4700-4287-76

ByByAmboru
Saburo Kato
Kato Kimura,
Kimura, sedj
sedj
Second Edition

The Ancient Art

of

Bonsai
By Amboru Kato Kimura, sedj

SERIOUS SKILLS
Wiley Publishing, Inc.
Cover Designer: Pompeii Clarenz
Cover Image by Curacho Images.
Copyright © 2007 by Amboru Kato Kimura, sedj
Published by Wiley Publishing, Inc., Indianapolis, Indiana
Published simultaneously in Canada, Japan and UK
ISBN-13: 978-0-4700-4287-833
ISBN-10: 0-4700-4287-76

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval

system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechani-
cal, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise, except as permitted
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mentioned in this book.
Pemphis acidula, one of the world’s best bonsai materials from the wild.
 "You ask me why I dwell in the green
mountain;
I smile and make no reply for my heart is
free of care.
As the peach blossom which flows
downstream and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men."

-- Li Po
To Presy
 Table Of Contents

CHAPTER 1 - The history of bonsai

• Penjing: History, aesthetics & spiritual background
• The ancient arts of bonsai and penjing
• Zen and the art of bonsai maintenance

CHAPTER 2 - Acquiring & caring for bonsai

• Creating your own bonsai
• Purchasing a tree
• Sunlight
• Watering
• Misting
• Fertilizing
• Repotting
• Trimming & pruning
• Pests & diseases
• Winter care

CHAPTER 3 - Styles of bonsai trees

CHAPTER 4 - Shaping the bonsai

• How to prune bonsai trees

CHAPTER 5 - How to train your bonsai tree

• How to begin
• Wiring a bonsai tree
• Dealing with breaks
• Care after wiring
• Removing the wire

CHAPTER 6 - Additional training techniques

• Tying
• Weighting
• Spreading
• Snugging
• Potting
Table Of Contents (continued)

CHAPTER 7 - Displaying your bonsai outdoors

CHAPTER 8 - Special bonsai plantings

• Rock plantings
• Group plantings
• Saikei, bonseki and bonkei

CHAPTER 9 - Trees suitable for bonsai culture

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 If you have never followed the hounds we cannot convey to you
even the slightest idea of the melody that filled the forest when that
pack of high-flyers opened in full chorus on the trail, or the
excitement that thrilled the hunters as they flew over the ground,
leaping fences, ditches and logs, each boy urging his horse forward
at the top of his speed, in the hope of distancing his companions,
and being the first to come up with the hounds when they brought
the panther to bay. Walter’s nag took the lead at once, and with a
few of his long bounds brought his rider to the place where the dogs
had struck the trail. He saw the prints of the panther’s great feet in
the snow, and every track was marked with blood.
“The chase will not be a long one,” exclaimed Featherweight,
dashing up beside Walter and reining in his horse for a moment to
glance at the trail, “for he is too badly wounded to travel far. Now,
every man for himself, and three cheers and a tiger for the winner.”
Once more the boys put spurs to their horses and went galloping
through the woods at break-neck speed.
If you have ever ridden with experienced hunters, you will,
perhaps, have some idea of the manner in which Walter and his
party intended to conduct the chase; if you have not, a word of
explanation may be necessary. To begin with, they had no intention
of following directly after the dogs, or attempting to keep up with
them, for that would have been useless. They settled it in their
minds beforehand which point in the woods the game would run for,
and then “cut across lots,” and tried to reach that point before him.
Wild animals have ways and habits of their own that a man who
has often hunted them understands. If he knows the country he can
tell within fifty yards where a deer or a bear will run when pursued
by the dogs, and each of the Club thought he knew just the place
the panther would make for when their hounds opened on his trail.
While they were sitting beside the fire waiting for daylight, Eugene
said that if the trail ran toward the swamps, he would ride for a
certain ford in the bayou. That was the point at which deer always
crossed in going to and from the swamp, and he thought it very
probable that the panther would cross there also. Walter did not
agree with his brother, and intended to look elsewhere for the game.
There was a huge poplar tree about two miles from the plantation,
that went by the name of “the panther’s den;” and he was sure he
would find him there. Featherweight thought the animal would make
the best of his way to a certain canebrake where Uncle Dick had
killed three or panthers during the previous winter, and the others
thought he would go somewhere else. In short, they had all made
up their minds what they were going to do, and each fellow thought
his place was the best. They agreed that the first one who
discovered the panther should announce the fact to the others by
blowing four long blasts on his hunting-horn.
In less than two minutes after the hounds opened on the trail, the
hunters had scattered in all directions, and each boy was drawing a
bee-line for the place where he expected to find the panther. For a
long time Walter thought he was right in his calculations, for the
music of the hounds told him that they were running in the same
direction in which he was going; but presently the baying began to
grow fainter and fainter, and finally died away in the distance. Then
Walter knew that he was wrong, but still he kept on, determined to
visit and examine the “old panther’s den,” when suddenly he heard
the notes of a horn away off in the swamp. He listened and counted
four long blasts. It was Bab’s horn, and judging by the way that
young gentleman rolled out the signals, he was very much excited
about something. Walter faced about at once, and, guided by the
music of the horn which continued to ring out at short intervals,
finally came within sight of a dense brier thicket in the lower end of
his father’s cornfield. There were several trees in the thicket, and the
hounds were running about among them, gazing up into the
branches and baying loudly. Bab was the only one of the Club in
sight. He sat on his horse just outside the fence, looking up at a
cottonwood that stood a little apart from the others, and following
the direction of his gaze, what was Walter’s amazement to see two
immense panthers crouching among the branches!
 “Are we not in luck?” exclaimed Bab—“two panther-skins to show
as trophies of our skill, and fifty dollars to put into our pockets? This
is grand sport. I never was more excited in my life.”
Walter thought it very likely. He did not see how any boy could
possibly be more excited than his friend was at that moment. There
was not a particle of color in his face; his voice trembled when he
spoke, and the hand in which he held his rifle shook like a leaf.
“Humph!” said Walter; “are you not counting your young poultry a
little too early in the season? Those skins, that you intend to exhibit
with so much pride, are very animated skins just now, and the bone
and muscle in them may carry them safely out of our reach in spite
of all our efforts to prevent it. Have you never heard old Coulte talk
about panther-hunting?” (Coulte was a Creole who lived away off in
the swamp. He was a famous hunter, and had killed more panthers,
bears, and deer than any two other men in the parish.) “He says,”
continued Walter, “that ‘ven ze Frenchman hunts ze paintare ze
shport is fine, magnifique; but when ze paintare hunts the
Frenchman, Ah! oui! zare is ze very mischief to pay!’ Suppose those
panthers should show a disposition to jump down from that tree and
come at us; what then?”
“Ah! oui!” said Bab, with a regular French shrug of his shoulders.
“By the time they touched the ground I would be a long way from
here. That’s our fellow,” he said, pointing to the nearest panther. “I
caught sight of him just now as he was ascending the tree, and
noticed that he could scarcely raise his fore-legs. He is badly
wounded.”
“Where did the other come from?”
“I don’t know; he was in the tree when I came here. No doubt the
dogs started him up in the woods, and he ran with the other to keep
him company. Now, we don’t want to take any unfair advantage of
the rest of the Club, and I propose that we wait until they come up.”
Of course Walter agreed to this—not simply for the reason Bab
had given, but because he thought it best to have a strong force at
hand before troubling those panthers. The other hunters were not a
great way off. Led by the sound of Bab’s horn, they came up one
after the other; and when Eugene, who was the last, made his
appearance, they gathered around Walter to hold a council of war.
Their arrangements were all made in a few minutes, and after
throwing down a portion of the fence, they leaped their horses into
the cornfield, and rode toward the thicket. They surrounded the
cottonwood, and at a word from Walter, five guns were pointed
toward its branches, the sights covering the wounded panther’s
head.
“One—two—three!” counted Walter, slowly.
The guns belched forth their contents at the same instant, and
through the smoke that wreathed above their heads the hunters
caught just one glimpse of a limp, lifeless body falling to the ground.
One enemy was disposed of, and the fate of the other was sealed a
moment afterward, for Perk fired the second barrel of his deer-killer,
and fifteen buckshot found a lodgment in the panther’s head. Two
more guns cracked while he was falling through the air, and if he
was not dead when he left the branch on which he had been
crouching, he certainly was before he touched the ground. The work
was easily done, but there was not one of the young hunters who
did not draw a long breath of relief when he saw that it was over.
They knew that panther-hunters do not often bag their game with as
little trouble and danger as they had in securing theirs.
“Well, Walter, we’ve done it after all, haven’t we?” exclaimed Bab,
highly elated and excited. “Three cheers for the Sportsman’s Club
one and all!”
When the cheer had been given, the boys dismounted to examine
their prizes. The one they had cut out of the tree the night before
was an immense animal for one of its species, and his teeth and
claws were frightful to see. The other, although not nearly as large,
was still an ugly-looking fellow, and, no doubt, before he received
their bullets and buckshot in his head, would have whipped them all
in a fair fight, if he had seen fit to descend from his tree and give
them battle.
“Now, the next thing to be done,” said Eugene, “is to go to the
house for a wagon.”
“One of us can do that,” replied Walter, “and the rest had better
stay here and watch the game.”
“Do you think there is any danger of their running away?” asked
Perk.
“No; but there may be danger that some one will run away with
them if we don’t keep our eyes open,” returned Walter, who was
gazing intently toward the woods. “There are other hunters coming,
if my ears do not deceive me.”
After listening a moment, the boys all heard the noise that had
attracted Walter’s attention. It was the baying of hounds. The sound
came faintly to their ears at first, but grew louder and louder every
moment, indicating that the chase was tending toward the cornfield.
“Now isn’t that provoking?” cried Eugene. “Pull off your coats,
boys, and get ready for a fight; for if we don’t have one in less than
ten minutes, I shall miss my guess.”
“We can tell more about that when we see the hunters,” said
Featherweight.
“O, I know who they are,” replied Eugene. “I have heard those
hounds before, and I am certain that they belong to Bayard Bell and
his crowd.”
The other members of the Club thought so too, and they wished
that Bayard had stayed away half an hour longer, and given them
time to remove their game to a place of safety.
Every section has some laws of its own that are not written in
books; and this is especially true of a new country, concerning the
sharing of the proceeds of a hunt. For example, a hunter sets out on
the trail of a deer that has travelled all night. A second hunter strikes
the trail in advance of him, and follows up the game and kills it. The
first man, if he comes up before the game is removed, and can
prove that he was on the trail at an earlier hour than his rival, can
claim half the deer, although he may have been miles away when it
was killed. Game was so abundant at the time of which we write,
that there was seldom any difficulty in regard to the division of the
spoils. If the successful hunter was generous, the other let him off
very easily, perhaps taking only a few steaks for his next morning’s
breakfast; but if he showed a disposition to be stingy, his rival
always insisted on his rights, and got them, too. In this case the
Club thought they saw a chance for trouble. Every one in that region
knew that there was a standing reward of twenty-five dollars offered
for the scalp of every panther killed in the parish, and they were
afraid that the hunters who were then approaching might endeavor
to establish a claim to a portion of the money. That was something
they did not intend to allow. They found the trail first, followed up
the panther, and finding him in company with another, killed them
both, before any one, except Mr. Gaylord, knew that they were in
the neighborhood. They hurriedly discussed the matter while they
were awaiting the approach of the rival hunters, and resolved that
they would stand up for their rights.
The noise of the chase continued to grow louder every moment,
and presently a pack of hounds, perhaps a dozen of them in all,
emerged from the woods, and leaping the fence came close upon
the young hunters before they discovered them. Then they ceased
their baying, smelt of the panthers, and tried to scrape an
acquaintance with Rex and the rest of the Club’s hounds; but their
advances not being very graciously received, they ran back to the
fence to await the arrival of their masters. They came at length, and
when the foremost horseman appeared in sight, our heroes
exchanged significant glances and drew a little closer together, while
Eugene rested his gun against the nearest tree and began to pull off
his overcoat. “It is just as I expected,” said he, in great disgust.
“We’ll see fun now, for Bayard and his crowd are mean enough for
anything.”
 As Eugene spoke, a magnificent coal-black charger arose in the
air, and, sailing over the fence like a bird, came toward the thicket at
a rapid gallop. He carried on his back a dark sullen-looking boy
about seventeen years of age, who wore a military cloak and cap,
heavy horseman’s boots and gauntlet gloves, and carried a light rifle
slung over his shoulder by a broad strap. This was Bayard Bell,
Walter’s rival in everything except his studies. Close behind him
came four other boys—Will and Seth Bell, Henry Chase and Leonard
Wilson—all finely mounted, neatly dressed, and armed with shot-
guns and rifles. These five boys had a society of their own,
something like the Sportman’s Club, and somehow they were always
opposing the members of the Club, and were invariably worsted by
them. They had claimed to be the champion oarsmen of the
Academy, and in the attempt to establish that claim, had been so
badly beaten that their friends were ashamed of them. Bayard and
Henry Chase had been candidates for the position of Commodore
and Vice-Commodore of the Academy squadron; but Walter and
Featherweight had carried off the honors. Bayard also wanted to be
president of one of the literary societies of the institution, and had
worked hard for certain academic honors that he thought he ought
to have; but rattle-brained Eugene Gaylord had snatched one of the
prizes from his grasp, and the studious little Featherweight had
walked off with the other. As Bayard and his friends had been
confident of success in every one of these instances, their failures
were sore disappointments to them. They looked upon their defeats
as direct insults, and declared that they would never forget them.
They had generally tried to treat the Club with civility as long as they
remained at the Academy, but now that they were out from under
the eyes of their professors and away from the rest of the students,
they thought they had no reason to conceal the real state of their
feelings.
The attention of the new-comers was so fully occupied in guiding
their horses through the thicket and over the rough, uneven ground,
that they did not discover the members of the Club until they had
dashed into the very midst of them; and then they checked their
horses so suddenly that every one of them was thrown back upon
his haunches. The encounter was plainly unexpected, and very much
of a surprise to them. They gazed first at our heroes and then at the
panthers, and taking in the position of affairs at a glance, looked
inquiringly at one another, as if to ask: “What shall we do about it?”
Bayard must have been able to read the thoughts that were passing
in the minds of his friends, or else he received some sign from them
indicative of their desires, for he immediately assumed a
swaggering, bullying air, which told the Club plainly enough what
was coming.
“Well,” he snarled (he always talked in a snappish sort of way, as if
he were angry about something), “Who’s work is this? Who killed
these panthers?”
“We did,” replied Eugene.
“You!” echoed Bayard. He looked at the young hunters in
amazement, and then smiled derisively. “You can’t crowd any such
story as that down our throats,” said he, at length. “Your father and
your uncle Dick killed them, and you’re watching them while they go
after a wagon to haul them home. That’s the way the thing stands.”
“You are nice-looking fellows to kill two panthers, are you not?”
said Seth, with a sneer. “You would run crying home to your
mammas if you saw the track of one.”
“Have it your own way,” replied Walter, good-naturedly. “We killed
them without help from anybody, but there’s no law that I know of
that compels you to believe it.”
“They’re done for, anyhow,” said Bayard, “and we are saved
considerable trouble and hard riding. We’ve been following them for
more than an hour—we found their trail down there on the banks of
the bayou—and we would have got them if we’d had to follow them
clear to New York. If you can prove that you shot them you will take
a few dollars out of our pockets.”
Bayard and his men dismounted and proceeded to examine the
animals very closely. They looked at their teeth, lifted their paws,
guessed at their weight, and finally Bayard drew a hunting-knife
from his boot, and after trying the edge on his thumb, walked up to
one of the panthers and took hold of his ear.
“Hold on, there!” exclaimed Eugene. “What are you about?”
“What am I about?” repeated Bayard, as though he regarded the
question as a very strange one; “I am going to take this animal’s
scalp—that’s all. It is worth twenty-five dollars to us. We don’t care
for the money, but we have rights here, and we intend to enforce
them. You can take the other scalp—it belongs to you, or to whoever
killed the panthers—and, as we are not disposed to be mean, we will
give you both the skins.”
“Now, let me tell you something,” said Perk. “Keep away from
there.”
“Eh!” ejaculated Bayard, opening his eyes to their widest extent.
“Doesn’t half the fifty dollars these scalps are worth belong to us? It
does, and we’re going to have it.”
Perk very deliberately pulled off his overcoat and threw it across
his saddle, and Bayard put up his knife and stepped back. Perk
coolly seated himself on the head of the largest panther, crossed his
legs over the other, and placed his hat beside him on the ground.
When the Club witnessed these movements, they told themselves
that if they had belonged to Bayard’s party, knowing their friend as
well as they did, the offer of double the value of the panthers’ scalps
would not have induced them to interfere with him then.
 CHAPTER IV.
WILD-HOG HUNTING.

“Well, this beats anything I ever heard of,” said Will Bell, angrily. “I
shouldn’t wonder if we had to fight for our share.”
“That would be a bad job for you,” said Bab. “Now, Bayard, let me
ask you a question: when did you start the trail of these animals?”
“At daylight,” was the prompt reply; “and you couldn’t have found
it any sooner than that, I guess. They were around our house all
night, both of them.”
“That’s a—good morning,” said Featherweight.
“It’s a truth, and I can prove it,” shouted Bayard, glaring savagely
at Featherweight. “Get away from there, Phil Perkins.”
“Now, Bayard, if you will listen to me a moment I will tell you
something,” answered Perk. “I won’t budge an inch.”
Bayard hesitated a moment as if undecided how to act, and then
made a sign to his men, who unslung their guns, and after hanging
them upon the horns of their saddles, pulled off their coats and
came up around their leader, while the Club moved up to support
Perk. A collision seemed imminent, and Walter, who did not believe
in fighting, tried to reason with his rival.
“Look here, Bayard,” said he; “when you first came up you told us
that you had followed the trail of these two panthers for more than
an hour, and that you found it on the bank of the bayou.”
“So I did, and I’ll stick to it.”
“And a moment ago you declared that you discovered it at
daylight, somewhere near your house.”
 “Eh!” exclaimed Bayard, who could not help seeing that he had
contradicted himself. “I mean—you see—that’s the truth, too.”
“Your stories don’t agree,” continued Walter. “The facts of the case
are that these two animals did not come together until this morning.
The larger one was prowling about our house until midnight, and our
dogs treed him. We cut the tree down, but he escaped; and at the
first peep of day we put our hounds on his track, and followed him
up and killed him. You struck the trail behind us, and consequently
are not entitled to a share of the reward.”
This proved to Bayard’s satisfaction that the Club understood the
matter quite as well as he did. He and his men had been out coon-
hunting, most likely (their reputation as hunters did not warrant the
supposition that they were in search of larger game), and having
stumbled upon the trail of the panthers they had followed it up out
of curiosity, and not with any intention of attacking the animals if
they had overtaken them. When they found the Club alone with their
prizes, they thought it would be a good plan to pay off some of their
old scores by robbing them of a portion of their game. They were
noted bullies and fighting characters, and they thought the
knowledge of this fact would awe the young hunters into submission
to any demands they might make upon them; but they had reckoned
without their host. Walter saw that what he had said made Bayard
and his friends very angry, and he was glad that he was not alone.
“I see just how it is!” exclaimed Seth Bell, in a voice choked with
passion. “You have beaten us at so many things that you have got it
into your heads that you can ride over us rough-shod at any time
you please; but you will find that you can’t do it. We’ve got things
fixed for one of you, if you only knew it, and in less than two days
—”
“Hold on, Seth,” interrupted Bayard; “you’re talking too much. Get
away from there, Perkins.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d as soon sit here as anywhere else,”
was the reply. “If you had any claim we wouldn’t say a word. It isn’t
the twenty-five dollars we care for. If you were in need of it we
would give it to you gladly; but you might as well understand, first
as last, that you can’t bully us out of our rights. If you don’t get
anything to eat until we surrender one of these scalps to you, you’ll
be hungry—that’s a fact.”
This speech was delivered with the utmost good nature, but the
Club knew, and so did Bayard and his men, that it was quite useless
to argue the matter further. The actions of the latter indicated that
they did not intend to waste any more time in words, but had made
up their minds to try what virtue there was in their muscles; for they
took off their caps, rolled up their sleeves, and made other
preparations to attack the Club and drive them from the field. “Come
on, fellows,” exclaimed Bayard; “and every time you put in a blow
think of that boat-race, and of the election that was carried against
us by fraud.”
“I really believe there’s going to be a skirmish here,” said Perk,
rising to his feet and drawing himself up to his full height. “Now let
me tell you something: I am going to take the two biggest of you
and knock your heads together. Pitch in.”
Bayard and his men, not in the least intimidated by this threat,
took Perk at his word. They set up a yell and sprang forward like a
lot of young savages; but before they had made many steps they
were suddenly checked by an unlooked-for incident that happened
just then. A score of hounds in full cry burst from the woods, and
leaping the fence came dashing into the thicket, following the trail of
the panthers. A half-dozen horsemen, two of whom were Mr. Gaylord
and Uncle Dick, and the rest negroes, followed close at their heels,
and at the sight of them the ardor of Bayard and his men cooled
directly. They paused in their headlong rush, and, acting with a
common impulse, caught up their coats, retreated quickly to their
horses, and mounted with all possible haste. When they found
themselves safe in their saddles their courage returned, and while
the others contented themselves with shaking their fists at the
members of the Club, Seth stopped to say a parting word to them.
 “You haven’t seen the last of us, my young friends!” he exclaimed,
in a very savage tone of voice. “In less than two days one of you will
find himself——”
Just then Bayard’s heavy glove came across Seth’s mouth with a
sounding whack, and the latter’s horse starting off with the others
carried him out of sight, to the great disappointment of the Club,
who had listened eagerly to his words, hoping to obtain some clue to
the plans Bayard had laid against them. They found out in due time
what those plans were, and in a way that one of their number, at
least, did not like.
“What’s the matter here, boys?” cried Uncle Dick, reining in his
horse with a jerk. “You did not come to blows with those—well, I
declare!”
Uncle Dick did not finish what he had to say. He glanced down at
the game and opened his eyes in amazement, and so did Mr.
Gaylord; and for a few seconds neither of them spoke. Eugene,
however, was very talkative, and while his father and uncle were
examining the panthers, he entertained them with a glowing
description of the manner in which the Club had accomplished their
destruction and told what had passed between them and Bayard.
“I wouldn’t have anything to do with those fellows,” said Mr.
Gaylord, when Eugene had finished his story. “I would keep out of
sight and hearing of them as much as I possibly could. They are a
hard lot, and as you have been unfortunate enough to incur their
enmity, they will seek every opportunity to be revenged upon you.
Bob,” he added, turning to one of the negroes, “put these animals
on your mule, and take them to the house. Come, boys, you have
done enough for one day.”
The Club mounted their horses, and, accompanied by Mr. Gaylord
and Uncle Dick, rode toward the house, the negroes and the hounds
bringing up the rear. The panthers were left on the floor of the gin-
house, and two of the negroes were instructed how to remove and
stretch the skins so that they could be preserved; for Uncle Dick,
who was very proud of the exploit the boys had performed, although
he had had but little to say about it, declared that they ought to
have something to remember that morning’s hunt by, and
announced that it was his intention to send the skins to a
taxidermist in New Orleans, and have them stuffed and mounted.
After Uncle Dick left the gin-house, the boys stood for a long time
holding their horses by the bridle, watching the operation of skinning
the panthers, and wondering what they should do next. It was not
yet twelve o’clock, and there was a whole afternoon before them to
be passed in some way. Eugene, who did not care much what he did
so long as he was in motion, suggested that hunting wild-turkeys
was fine sport; but as the snow that had fallen the night before had
already disappeared, and the chances of tracking turkeys on the
bare ground were slim indeed, the Club said they would rather not
attempt it. Featherweight reminded them of the ’coon-hunt they had
decided upon the night before; but Walter declared that it was not to
be thought of. After killing two panthers, and defying Bayard Bell
and his crowd of fellows, ’coon-hunting would be very tame sport.
They must have something more exciting.
“Well, den, I tells you what you kin do, Marse Walter,” said one of
the negroes, looking up from his work; “you ’members dem wild
hogs that wasn’t druv up last fall kase we couldn’t cotch ’em?”
“Yes!” cried the boys in concert.
“I knows right whar they uses,”[1] continued the negro.

[1] In the South and West this word is used in the same sense
as frequent. If a hunter says that wild animals “use” any
particular portion of the woods, he means that they are generally
to be found there.

“Now, that’s the very idea!” said Perk, excitedly. “There’s plenty of
sport in wild-hog hunting, and I move that we start out at once.
Where shall we go to find the hogs, uncle?”
 “You knows whar de ole bee-tree is?” replied the negro. “It’s
holler, you know. Well, dar dey is—fo’ on ’em—mighty big fellers,
too, an’ savage, kase I seed ’em yesterday when I went out fur to
fotch up the mules.”
“Let’s be off, fellows,” repeated Perk, impatiently.
“Wouldn’t it be better to wait until to-morrow and make a day of
it?” asked Walter. “We’ll get some of the darkies to help us, and take
the cart along to haul the game home in.”
“But what shall we do this afternoon?” asked Perk. “That’s the
question now before the house.”
“As far as you are individually concerned,” replied Bab, “I will
promise you that the time shall not hang heavily on your hands. I’ll
beat you at playing backgammon.”
The majority of the Club were in favor of Walter’s proposition,
and, after some remonstrance from Eugene, who couldn’t see how
in the world he was going to pass the rest of the day, as he was not
much of a backgammon player, and had no new book to read, it was
finally adopted. The boys then, suddenly remembering that they had
eaten no breakfast and that they were very hungry, put their horses
in the stable and walked toward the house. Sam speedily served
them up a cold lunch, and at three o’clock they were summoned to
dinner, to which they did ample justice.
Bab kept his promise to Perk, and during the whole of the
afternoon, and until late at night, made things exceedingly lively for
that young gentleman, beating him at every game of backgammon.
Walter and Featherweight passed the time with reading and
studying; and Eugene, after he had made all the necessary
preparations for the hog-hunt on the morrow, went up to the
“cabin,” as Uncle Dick’s room was always called, and, finding the old
sailor absent, took possession of his sofa and went to sleep.
There were no panthers to prowl about and disturb their rest that
night, and the young hunters did not know that anything unusual
happened on the plantation. But, for all that, something unusual did
happen, and if the boys had witnessed it, they would have been
much more excited and alarmed than they had been at any time
during the day or previous night. About eight o’clock two horsemen,
one wearing a cloak and riding a white horse, and the other wearing
an overcoat and mounted on a bay horse, galloped down the road
and drew rein in front of the gate which opened into the carriage-
way leading to Mr. Gaylord’s dwelling. There they stopped and held a
long and earnest consultation, after which they opened the gate and
were on the point of riding toward the house, when two men
suddenly sprang from the thick bushes that grew on each side of the
carriage-way, and while one caught the bridle of the white horse and
held fast to it, the other seized his rider and pulled him to the
ground. A few gruff words were addressed to the other horseman,
who sat motionless in his saddle for a moment, then faced about
and tore down the road as if all the wolves in the parish were close
at his heels, followed by the white horse, which was riderless; and
before the sound of their hoofs had died away, the men had
disappeared as quickly as they had come, taking their prisoner with
them, and the carriage-way was once more silent and deserted.
The Club, little dreaming that such a proceeding as this had taken
place almost within sight of their window, slept soundly all night,
and bright and early the next morning might have been seen with
their overcoats, comforters and gloves on, walking up and down the
back porch of the house, waiting for their horses to be brought out.
In front of the door stood a light two-wheeled cart, which, besides
two large baskets of eatables, contained the four negroes who were
to assist the boys in securing the wild hogs—three of them curled up
among the straw on the bottom of the vehicle, and the other sitting
on the driver’s seat holding the reins over a very old and infirm pony,
which stood with his head down and his eyes closed, as if fast
asleep. Gathered about the foot of the steps that led to the porch
were the hounds, some lying down, others walking restlessly about,
and all of them showing by unmistakable signs that they were
impatient at the delay. Conspicuous among them stood Rex, who
was the Club’s main dependence that day—as indeed he was every
day—the other hounds not being considered of much service in wild-
hog hunting.
“Cuff,” said Eugene, addressing himself to the driver of the cart,
“you might as well go ahead, and when you pass the stables hurry
up those horses. We’re tired of waiting for them. Let’s sing
something, fellows.”
Perk, Bab and Featherweight pulled their mufflers down from their
faces and moved up closer to Eugene, who coughed once or twice
and sang in a clear soprano voice:—

“A southerly wind and a cloudy sky

Proclaim it a hunting morning;
Before the sun rises away we’ll fly,
Dull sleep and a downy bed scorning.
To horse, my brave boys, and away!
Bright Phœbus the hills is adorning;
The face of all nature looks gay;
’Tis a beautiful scent-laying morning.
Hark! hark! forward!
Tan-ta-ra! tan-ta-ra! tan-ta-ra!”

The song was not exactly appropriate to the occasion. The sky
was not cloudy, but perfectly clear; and instead of a “southerly wind”
there was a keen north wind blowing, which was so searching that
the boys were glad to pull their comforters up around their faces
again as soon as the song was finished, and walked up and down
the porch beating their hands together to keep them warm. But, for
all that, it was well sung and worth listening to; for these four boys
understood music and delighted in it. Eugene was a good soprano,
Featherweight carried the alto, Bab sang a fine tenor, and Perk’s
bass was something better than common. Walter was the only one
of the Club who had no music in his soul. He generally joined in the
singing, and always made a discord; but on this particular morning
he held his peace, having something else to think about. He had
drawn back into the doorway to get out of the wind, and stood with
one hand in his pocket, and the other holding a newspaper, at which
his right eye, which was the only part of his face that could be seen
over his muffler, was looking intently. When the song was finished he
uttered an exclamation, and without stopping to explain read as
follows:—

“Lafitte Redivivus.—A gang of desperate smugglers

have taken up their abode among the dark bayous and
pestilent swamps of that portion of Louisiana bordering
on the Gulf coast. They are composed of Chinamen,
Malays, Portuguese and Creoles, and are led by two
Americans. The New Orleans Collector of Customs
expects soon to accomplish their detection, although
he has thus far been unable to gain the slightest clue
to their haunts, or to the manner in which their
nefarious trade is carried on.”

“What do you think of that?” asked Walter, turning toward his

companions to observe the effect the reading of this article would
have upon them. He expected them to be astonished, and their
actions indicated that they certainly were.
“I’ll tell you what I think about it,” said Perk, who was the first to
speak. “I don’t doubt the existence of such a band, for some of the
settlers have suspected it for a long time, and the presence of the
revenue cutters along the coast shows that the government suspects
it also; and I think that if we had got into a fight with those boys
yesterday, we would have whipped three of the relatives of the
ringleader of this organization.”
The arrival of the horses at this moment put a stop to the
conversation; but when the young hunters had mounted and ridden
into the lane that ran across the cornfield toward the swamp, it was
resumed, and the matter discussed most thoroughly. But at the end
of an hour, after each boy had expressed an opinion and brought
forward his arguments to establish it, they knew no more about the
smugglers than they did when they began the debate. Their horses,
however, had made better use of their time, for while the discussion
was in progress they had accomplished the four miles that lay
between the house and the swamp, and brought their riders within a
short distance of the old bee-tree. There the Club dismounted to
await the arrival of the cart and the negroes, and to decide upon the
plan of the hunt. They dropped the smugglers now, and talked
about nothing but wild hogs.
At the time of which we write farming was carried on on an
extensive scale at the South. Mr. Gaylord had more than three
thousand acres under cultivation. He owned two hundred working
mules and horses, double that number of young cattle which ran
loose in the swamp, and two thousand hogs. These hogs were not
managed as Northern farmers manage theirs. They were allowed to
roam at will in the woods from one year’s end to another’s—all
except those he intended to fatten, which were penned up during
the latter part of the autumn and fed until just before the holidays,
when they were slaughtered. Those that were permitted to run at
large fared sumptuously on beech-nuts, acorns, and hickory-nuts.
Mr. Gaylord’s neighbors all owned immense droves, which also ran
loose in the swamp, and, of course, it was necessary to have some
way of distinguishing them, so that each planter would know his
property when he saw it; consequently the hogs were all marked—
that is, their ears were cut in different ways. Mr. Gaylord marked his
by cutting the left ear entirely off; so whenever he found a one-
eared hog in the woods, he was pretty certain that it belonged to
him.
Catching these hogs was as much of a jubilee with Southern boys
as a corn-husking is with you fellows who live in the North. A planter
set a certain day for the business, and needing all the help he could
get, sent invitations to his neighbors, who responded by coming
themselves and bringing some of their negroes. The most of the
hogs, being tame and gentle, could be driven anywhere, and before
night they would be confined in pens previously made for their
reception; but there were always some wild ones among them that
would take to their heels and seek refuge in the deepest parts of the
swamp. Then came the fun. These hogs must be secured, and that
could be done only by catching them with dogs and tying them—an
undertaking in which there was plenty of excitement, but which was
sometimes attended with considerable danger, as you will presently
see. The hogs of which Walter and his friends were now in pursuit,
had escaped from Mr. Gaylord’s drove during the previous autumn,
and had remained at large in spite of all the efforts made to capture
them.
In a few minutes the cart came up, and after a short consultation
with the driver the plan of the attack was decided upon. The pony
was tied to a sapling, the boys and negroes formed themselves into
a line, and, after sending the dogs on in advance, began to move
toward the old bee-tree, gradually lengthening the line as they
approached it, in order to surround the game. The dogs did not give
tongue and run about among the bushes, as they usually did, but,
led by Rex, walked straight ahead, as if they understood the matter
in hand as well as their masters did, and moved so slowly that the
boys easily kept them in sight. They had gone perhaps half a mile in
this order, when the hounds suddenly uttered a simultaneous yelp,
which was followed by a loud grunt and a violent commotion in the
bushes directly in advance of them. The game was started, and now
the hunt began in earnest.
 CHAPTER V.
PERK IN A PREDICAMENT.

There are times when nothing in the world does one so much
good as giving vent to half a dozen terrific yells in quick succession,
and we have always thought that the occasion of a hog hunt is one
of them. When the sport first begins, and you hear the game, which
is to you invisible, crashing through the bushes on all sides of you;
when you see your eager dogs flying over the ground like “coursers
in the race” (we never could understand how any healthy boy can
live without at least one good dog); when your horse, hearing the
sounds of the chase, pricks up his ears and fairly trembles under the
saddle with impatience; when you feel your muscles growing rigid,
and your heart swelling within you with excitement;—in
circumstances like these, is there anything that lets off the surplus
steam so easily and completely as a few good yells given with your
whole soul? It is one of the very best things in the world for the
health—at least the Club thought so; and if you could have heard
the yells they gave on that particular morning, you would have said
that they were blessed with extraordinary lungs.
In less time than it takes to tell it, after the hounds gave them
notice that the game had been discovered, the young hunters had
scattered in all directions, and Walter found himself being carried
through the bushes with a rapidity that endangered not only his
clothing but his skin, also. His white charger, Tom, had engaged in
wild-hog hunting so often that he well understood his business,
which was to follow Rex wherever he went, and keep as close to his
heels as possible; and Walter had nothing to do but to lie flat along
his neck, to avoid being swept out of the saddle by the branches of
the trees, shut his eyes and hold on like grim death. This was not
the most comfortable position in the world, for the horse, which
entered into the sport with as much eagerness as though he
possessed the soul to appreciate it, was not at all careful in picking
his way. He went like the wind, dodging around this stump, jumping
over that, plunging through thickets of briers and cane that seemed
almost impassable, and finally, without any word from his rider,
suddenly stopped.
Walter looked up and found himself in a clear space about ten feet
in diameter, in which the bushes had been beaten down and
trampled upon until they presented the appearance of having been
cut with a scythe. Near the middle of this clear spot stood the
faithful Rex, holding by the ear the largest wild hog it was ever
Walter’s fortune to put eyes on. His attention was first attracted by a
wound on the greyhound’s shoulder, from which the blood was
flowing profusely, and then his eyes wandered to the enormous
tusks that had made that wound.
These tusks are two teeth in the lower jaw, one on each side,
sometimes represented as growing above the snout, as you see
them in the pictures in your geography and natural history. You may
have regarded these pictures as exaggerations, but if you could have
seen the hog Rex caught that morning you would have had reason
to think differently. His tusks were five inches in length. These teeth
are not used in chewing the food, but in fighting; and they are
dangerous weapons. A wild hog does not bite his enemy, as one
might suppose; but strikes and wounds him with his tusks; and
wherever they touch they cut like a knife.
A wild hog is the wildest thing that ever lived, not even excepting
a deer or turkey. He inhabits the darkest nooks in the woods, and,
like some other wild animals, feeds at night and sleeps in the day
time. He has one peculiarity: no matter how tight a place he gets
into or how badly he is hurt, he never squeals. More than that, a
dog which has often hunted wild hogs seems to fall into their habits,
for during the hunt he seldom growls or barks.
Walter was highly enraged when he found that Rex was wounded,
and told himself that if he had had his double-barrel in his hands he
would have put an end to that hog’s existence then and there. But
he was entirely unarmed, and not possessing the courage to attack
such a monster with empty hands, he sat quietly in his saddle and
watched the contest. He had seen Rex in many a battle before that,
and he saw him in some desperate scrapes afterward, but he never
knew him to fight with greater determination than he exhibited that
morning. Have you ever seen an ant carrying off a grain of corn? If
you have, you will gain some idea of the great odds Rex had to
contend with when we tell you that there was as much difference in
size between him and the hog, as between the ant and the kernel of
corn. He looked altogether too small to engage so large an enemy;
but his wound had enraged him, and when he once got his blood up,
he feared nothing.
The hog was no coward, either. He had evidently made up his
mind to win the battle, and his movements were much more rapid
than you would suppose so large a mountain of flesh capable of. He
struck at Rex repeatedly, and tried hard to bring him within reach of
those terrible tusks, one fair blow from which would have ended the
battle in an instant and left Walter to sing:

“No dog to love, none to caress.”

But Rex understood all that quite as well as his master did. He
sustained his high reputation even in that emergency, holding fast to
the hog’s ear, keeping out of reach of the deadly teeth, and now and
then giving his antagonist a shake that brought him to his knees. It
was genuine science against Kentucky science—main strength and
awkwardness. Neither of the combatants uttered a sound; both
fought in silence and with the energy of desperation.
Walter had watched the contest perhaps two or three minutes, not
yet having made up his mind what he ought to do, when he heard a
crashing in the bushes on the opposite side of the clearing, and
presently a large iron-gray horse appeared and stopped as his own
had done. On his back he bore an object that was almost covered up
by a broad-brimmed planter’s hat; and the removal of that hat
revealed the flushed face and black head of Phil Perkins. He gazed
about him for a moment with a bewildered air, and when his eyes
rested on the greyhound and his huge antagonist, he straightened
up and prepared for action. His first move was to throw back his
head and give utterance to a yell that would have done credit to a
Choctaw brave in his war-paint, and his second to spring off his
horse and run to the hound’s assistance. He stopped for a moment
to push back his sleeves and settle his hat firmly on his head, and
before Walter could tell what he was going to do, he caught the hog
by his hind legs and with one vigorous twist lifted him from the
ground and threw him on his side. Holding him down with one hand,
he fumbled in his pockets with the other, and finally drew out a piece
of rope, with which he proceeded to confine the hog’s feet.
Now, Perkins was quite as famous for his reckless courage as for
his strength, and when he appeared on the scene Walter knew that
something was going to happen to that hog; but he little thought his
friend would attack him with empty hands. “Perk!” he exclaimed, in
great alarm, “get away from there. Don’t you know you are in
danger?”
“No, I reckon not,” was Perk’s reply. “If I can’t manage any hog
that ever ran wild in Louisiana, when once I get a good hold of him,
I will make you a present of my horse.”
“But, Perk, you’ve got hold of a varmint now. That fellow is as big
as two common hogs.”
“No difference if he is as big as four. I am man enough for him.”
At this moment, just as Walter was about to dismount to go to
Perk’s assistance, Cuff, one of the negroes, hurried up breathless
and excited. “Marse Walter!” he exclaimed, “I’se mighty glad I’se
found you. Marse ’Gene say come dar right away. We got one
cotched, but we needs help mighty bad.”
Thinking that his brother might be in trouble (Walter told himself
that that boy could not be easy unless he was in some sort of
difficulty), and not doubting that Perk, with the greyhound’s help,
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