On going to his assistance, I found Sir Pertap bleeding profusely, but standing erect, facing the boar and holding the creature (who was upright on his hind-legs) at arms' length by his mouth.

The spear without the impetus given by the horse at full speed is not a very effective weapon against the tough hide of a boar's back, and on realizing that mine did not make much impression, Pertap Sing, letting go his hold of the boar's mouth, quickly seized his hind-legs, and turned him over on his back, crying: '_Maro, sahib, maro!_' ('Strike, sir, strike!') which I instantly did, and killed him.

Anyone who is able to realize the strength and weight of a wild boar will appreciate the pluck and presence of mind of Sir Pertap Sing in this performance.

Fortunately, my wife and daughter, who had been following the pig-stickers in a light cart, were close at hand, and we were able to drive my friend home at once.

The wound was found to be rather a bad one, but it did not prevent Sir Pertap from attending some tent-pegging and other amusements in the afternoon, though he had to be carried to the scene.
A few months after my return to England the boar's head arrived, set up, and with a silver plate attached to it, on which was an inscription commemorating the adventure.
At Ahmedabad, where the train stopped while we lunched, I was presented with an address by the President and members of the Municipality, who, 'with loyal devotion to Her Imperial Majesty the Queen and Empress of India, to whose glorious reign we sincerely wish a continuance of brilliant prosperity,' expressed their hope that Lady Roberts and I would have 'a happy voyage home and enjoyment of perfect health and prosperity in future.' The day before we left Bombay for England, the members of the Byculla Club gave me a parting dinner.