River Legends; Or, Father Thames and Father Rhine. Baron Edward Hugessen Knatchbull-Hugessen Brabourne
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Perhaps the most curious and most disagreeable of these in the days I speak of was a personage familiarly termed the Wild Boar of Windsor. This creature was of enormous size and strength, and was generally acknowledged as the king of his tribe.
Wild boars were at that time numerous in England, and I believe, if the truth were known, that fairies and Fairyland power had much to do with their existence. That power has passed away now, or at least has so greatly diminished that, although there are plenty of persons left who may be correctly described by a word which sounds exactly like the name of the animal in question, yet the fairies have nothing to do with this. Magic power no longer converts the objects of its wrath into brute beasts or hideous monsters, as was frequently the case in the good old times of which I speak. Whether the Wild Boar in question was the victim of some such vengeance, or whether he had always been what he appeared in those days, it is not necessary to inquire. Anyhow, he was certainly more than mortal. He had apparently the gift of prophecy, for his grunts were often repeated by his subservient followers as having foretold subsequent events with singular accuracy, and he was not unfrequently sought out by persons who desired to be acquainted beforehand with future events, which has in all ages been a foolish weakness to which human nature has been subject.
This Boar had a numerous family, who were daily fed out of silver dishes, sitting all in a row and eating with as much decorum as could be expected. It is not, however, of his family or domestic life that I am about to tell you to-day, but of the extraordinary events which occurred in connection with the efforts made by mankind to rid themselves of this exceedingly troublesome creature. For although, as I have already said, the ignorant peasants of the neighbourhood held the Boar in great reverence, and used to creep timidly into the forest in search of the knowledge which he was said to possess, and which they certainly lacked, there were others who regarded the kingly Boar as an unmitigated nuisance. This was scarcely wonderful, since he and his tribe had the most unpleasant habit of issuing forth from the forest, and devastating the country far and wide, making everybody as uncomfortable as possible.
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Ever since I have known this country, which is now a good many years ago, the people who inhabit it have liked to be as comfortable as they could be, especially when living quietly in their own homes, intrusion into which they have always greatly resented. “An Englishman’s house is his castle” is a very old proverb amongst them, and they have a strong attachment to the particular localities in which they have been bom and bred. So that when this Boar ravaged right and left, respected no man’s castle, uprooted everybody’s crops, and made himself generally disagreeable, it was quite natural that the worthy people who suffered from his depredations should feel exceedingly annoyed. After a while, this annoyance took the form of an earnest desire to get rid of the monster. The question, however, of the means to be employed to accomplish this desirable result was by no means easy of solution. To dig pits, such as were in those days commonly used for the destruction of wild animals, would have been an utterly useless proceeding when employed against a creature of such supernatural sagacity. Guns had not been invented; no dog could be found strong and fierce enough to attack the monster; and the more the poor people thought of the matter the more hopeless did their case appear. Law and order were not then what they are now, and there existed no county constabulary to whom, in the present day, the business would at once be referred with a perfect certainty that the wrong-doer would be forthwith arrested and punished. Nor had the pious founder of Eton College as yet existed, or doubtless aid would have been sought by the sufferers from the provost and fellows of that famous abode of learning. Their prayers at least would have been invoked, for these saintly men have always been persons of great age, profound wisdom, and extreme piety, and the only doubt might have been lest, as the Boar had been so long in existence, they might not have considered him as one of the institutions of their country, and declined to take any steps against him in consequence. But, as they themselves did not then exist, the question did not arise, and the Boar continued supreme.
For aught I know, he might have continued so down to this day but for the circumstances which I am about to relate.
A poor woman of the neighbourhood dreamed that she was about to become the mother of the largest family that the world had ever seen. This being a thing which her husband, being in straitened circumstances, deemed by no means desirable, he received the news with disgust only tempered by disbelief, and treated his helpmate to language of a rough and discourteous character. His frame of mind changed, however, when, as years rolled on, one child only claimed him for its father, which of course entitled him to sneer at his wife and her dreams as a good husband would naturally do under such circumstances. The child, however, was one of no ordinary description. Not only was he the largest and most strongly made child ever seen in these parts, but he showed from an early age a singular and precocious intelligence. Before the time when infants are supposed to be able to convey their meaning to their friends by intelligible utterances, a very remarkable instance of this precocity occurred. The father and mother (whose names have not been handed down to posterity) were discussing the future of their promising babe in his presence, and one asked of the other the question what distinguishing name should be given to so fine a child. The astonishment of the parents may be imagined when the infant, suddenly sitting upright in his mother’s lap, and steadfastly regarding his father, winked his left eye violently, laid the first finger of his right hand against his little nose in a confidential manner, and emphatically pronounced the word “Smith.”
Whether this proceeding was, by the powers of magic, ordered and decreed with a view to the fulfilment of the dream of the child’s mother, is a question upon which (like most others) various opinions may be entertained. Certain, however, it is that the result justifies the idea, inasmuch as the astonished parents obeyed the commands of their offspring, and gave him that name which has since been borne by so many of the inhabitants of this island, and of which, (despite all other accounts bearing the stamp of probability) this child was the inventor and founder.
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As the babe grew older, his wondrous strength was the subject of general remark. His favourite plaything was a club, much thicker at one end than the other, and nearly as tall as himself. This he would brandish about over his head to the imminent danger of the bystanders, or would lovingly encircle with his arm, leaning his head against it, as he sat upon the ground pondering over some plans only known to himself with a more than childish gravity.
These, you must know, were the days of the worthy Druids, who guided the religious feelings of the country, and, as has been occasionally the fashion of ecclesiastics in all ages, used the ignorance and superstition of the people to establish their own authority.‘Take them all in all, I don’t know that they were worse than other priests whom I have seen upon my banks in later ages; but they had an awkward habit of occasionally discovering that their personal enemies were required by the gods as a sacrifice, and thus not unfrequently managed to propitiate their own vengeance and that of the irate deities at one and the same moment. Smith’s father, having been unlucky enough to fall under the ban of one of these respectable gentlemen, was sacrificed one fine morning, in spite of all his protestations; and, his mother having died previously, the child was left an orphan, poor and desolate. Under these circumstances you will wonder what became of him.
There were no poor-laws, and consequently no workhouses, in those days. “Relieving officers” were unknown, and even parish beadles had not come into being. Indeed, if this had been the case, I should have no legend to relate to you upon my present theme. Smith would have lived a different life altogether.