70 THE ODYSSEY OF AN ANIMAL COLLECTOR 
the cage can be seen a long way off, as they are always struggling 
to right themselves. 
The eyes of wild pigs do not reflect, and I remember cautiously 
stalking a curious rustling noise with my beam trained on the 
spot; on this occasion, as always, I wore crépe-soled shoes. I got 
nearer and nearer and was quite bewildered by some sort of 
activity, but no eyes showed up. I stood still almost at the center 
of disturbance, and then made out the form of a pig rooting in the 
ground for all he was worth. As he was partly hidden, I moved 
to get a better view, and at that moment trod on a stick. This was 
the signal for a mighty roar as a whole family stampeded through 
the undergrowth. This shows the extraordinary manner in which 
a light puts some animals off their guard, for without one I could 
not have approached anywhere near them. Wild pigs are nocturnal 
creatures and however numerous are rarely seen, as they rest in 
the daytime in the most inaccessible dense jungle far from the 
peregrinations of man. 
For most of the year they remain fairly safe, but toward the 
end of the dry season when the bush, interspersed with long grass, 
burns so easily, the pig’s life is not an enviable one. At this season 
the natives organize drives; they wait till there is a favorable 
strong wind, and then set off to a spot to the leeward side of a 
large patch of dense bush and grass. They are armed with spears 
and knobkerries and are accompanied by numerous mangy dogs 
that know all about hunting. When all is ready, other natives set 
fire to the bush—perhaps half a mile away. In the heat of the day 
the flames leap high into the air, while the wind drives the fire at 
great speed. The terrific roar of thousands of sticks exploding 
under the heat, and the smell of smoke coming nearer and nearer, 
is a signal for all forms of animal life to clear out. 
The pigs stampede from their hiding-places, following paths 
and animal tracks, or anywhere where progress is not hindered 
by thick bush. The natives, of course, know more or less where 
they will pass, and wait concealed with their spears poised, and 
with the dogs ready to pounce out and stop any passing pig and 
bring it to bay. When this happens the nearest natives leap out 
and spear it. In this way there is a huge slaughter annually, and 
