Half-way between the Crocodile and Komati Rivers, a few miles south of
the old road, there are half a dozen or more small kopjes between which
lie broad richly grassed depressions, too wide and flat to be; called
valleys. The fall of the country is slight, yet the rich loamy soil has
been washed out in places into dongas of considerable depth. There is
no running water there in winter, but there are a few big pools--long
narrow irregularly shaped bits of water--with shady trees around them.
I came upon the place by accident one day, and thereafter we kept it
dark as our own preserve; for it was full of game, and a most delightful
spot. It was there that Snarleyow twice cleaned out the hunter's pot.
Apart from the discovery of this preserve, the day was memorable for the
reason that it was my first experience of a big mixed herd; and I
learned that day how difficult the work may be when several kinds of
game run together. After a dry and warm morning the sight of the big
pool had prompted an off-saddle; Snowball was tethered in a patch of
good grass, and Jock and I were lying in the shade.
When he began to sniff and walk up wind I took the rifle and followed,
and only a little way off we came into dry vlei ground where there were
few trees and the grass stood about waist high. Some two hundred yards
away where the ground rose slightly and the bush became thicker there
was a fair-sized troop of impala, perhaps a hundred or more, and just
behind, and mostly to one side of them, were between twenty and thirty
tsessebe. We saw them clearly and in time to avoid exposing ourselves:
they were neither feeding nor resting, but simply standing about, and
individual animals were moving unconcernedly from time to time with an
air of idle loitering. I tried to pick out a good tsessebe ram, but the
impala were in the way, and it was necessary to crawl for some distance
to reach certain cover away on the right.
Crawling is hard work and very rough on both hands and knees in the
Bushveld, frequent rests being necessary; and in one of the pauses I
heard a curious sound of soft padded feet jumping behind me, and looking
quickly about caught Jock in the act of taking his observations. The
grass was too high for him to see over, even when he stood up on his
hind legs, and he was giving jumps of slowly increasing strength to get
the height which would enable him to see what was on. I shall never
forget that first view of Jock's ballooning observations; it became a
regular practice afterwards and I grew accustomed to seeing him stand on
his hind legs or jump when his view was shut out--indeed sometimes when
we were having a slow time I used to draw him by pretending to stalk
something; but it is that first view that remains a picture of him. I
turned at the instant when he was at the top of his jump; his legs were
all bunched up, his eyes staring eagerly and his ears had flapped out,
giving him a look of comic astonishment. It was a most surprisingly
unreal sight: he looked like a caricature of Jock shot into the air by a
galvanic shock. A sign with my hand brought him flat on the ground,
looking distinctly guilty, and we moved along again; but I was shaking
with silent laughter.
At the next stop I had a look back to see how he was behaving, and to my
surprise, although he was following carefully close behind me, he was
looking steadily away to our immediate right. I subsided gently on to
my left side to see what it was that interested him, and to my delight
saw a troop of twenty to twenty-five Blue Wildebeeste. They, too, were
`standing any way,' and evidently had not seen us.
I worked myself cautiously round to face them so as to be able to pick
my shot and take it kneeling, thus clearing the tops of the grass; but
whilst doing this another surprising development took place. Looking
hard and carefully at the wildebeeste two hundred yards away, I became
conscious of something else in between us, and only half the distance
off, looking at me. It had the effect of a shock; the disagreeable
effect produced by having a book or picture suddenly thrust close to the
face; the feeling of wanting to get further away from it to re-focus
one's sight.
What I saw was simply a dozen quagga, all exactly alike, all standing
alike, all looking at me, all full face to me, their fore feet together,
their ears cocked, and their heads quite motionless--all gazing steadily
at me, alive with interest and curiosity. There was something quite
ludicrous in it, and something perplexing also: when I looked at the
quagga the wildebeeste seemed to get out of focus and were lost to me;
when I looked at the wildebeeste the quagga `blurred' and faded out of
sight. The difference in distance, perhaps as much as the very marked
difference in the distinctive colourings, threw me out; and the effect
of being watched also told. Of course I wanted to get a wildebeeste,
but I was conscious of the watching quagga all the time, and, for the
life of me, could not help constantly looking at them to see if they
were going to start off and stampede the others.
Whilst trying to pick out the best of the wildebeeste a movement away on
the left made me look that way: the impala jumped off like one animal,
scaring the tsessebe into a scattering rout; the quagga switched round
and thundered off like a stampede of horses; and the wildebeeste simply
vanished. One signal in one troop had sent the whole lot off. Jock and
I were left alone, still crouching, looking from side to side, staring
at the slowly drifting dust, and listening to the distant dying sound of
galloping feet.
It was a great disappointment, but the conviction that we had found a
really good spot made some amends, and Snowball was left undisturbed to
feed and rest for another two hours. We made for the waggons along
another route taking in some of the newly discovered country in the home
sweep, and the promise of the morning was fulfilled. We had not been
more than a few minutes on the way when a fine rietbuck ram jumped up
within a dozen yards of Snowball's nose. Old Rocky had taught me to
imitate the rietbuck's shrill whistle and this one fell to the first
shot. He was a fine big fellow, and as Snowball put on airs and
pretended to be nervous when it came to packing the meat, I had to
blindfold him, and after hoisting the buck up to a horizontal branch
lowered it on to his back.
Snowball was villainously slow and bad to lead. He knew that whilst
being led neither whip nor spur could touch him, and when loaded up with
meat he dragged along at a miserable walk: one had to haul him. Once--
but only once--I had tried driving him before me, trusting to about 400
pounds weight of koodoo meat to keep him steady; but no sooner had I
stepped behind with a switch than he went off with a cumbrous plunge and
bucked like a frantic mule until he rid himself of his load, saddle and
all. The fact is one person could not manage him on foot, it needed one
at each end of him, and he knew it: thus it worked out at a compromise:
he carried my load, and I went his pace!
We were labouring along in this fashion when we came on the wildebeeste
again. A white man on foot seems to be recognised as an enemy; but if
accompanied by animals, either on horseback, driving in a vehicle,
leading a horse, or walking among cattle, he may pass unnoticed for a
long while: attention seems to be fixed on the animals rather than the
man, and frank curiosity instead of alarm is quite evidently the feeling
aroused.
The wildebeeste had allowed me to get close up, and I picked out the big
bull and took the shot kneeling, with my toe hooked in the reins to
secure Snowball, taking chance of being jerked off my aim rather than
let him go; but he behaved like an angel, and once more that day a
single shot was enough.
It was a long and tedious job skinning the big fellow, cutting him up,
hauling the heavy limbs and the rest of the meat up into a suitable
tree, and making all safe against the robbers of the earth and the air;
and most troublesome of all was packing the head and skin on Snowball,
who showed the profoundest mistrust of this dark ferocious-looking
monster.
Snowball and I had had enough of it when we reached camp, well after
dark; but Jock I am not so sure of: his invincible keenness seemed at
times to have something in it of mute reproach--the tinge of
disappointment in those they love which great hearts feel, and strive to
hide! I never outstayed Jock, and never once knew him `own up' that he
had had enough.
No two days were quite alike; yet many were alike in the sense that they
were successful without hitch and without interest to any but the
hunters; many others were marked by chases in which Jock's part--most
essential to success--too closely resembled that of other days to be
worth repeating. On that day he had, as usual, been the one to see the
wildebeeste and had `given the word' in time; the rest was only one
straight shot. That was fair partnership in which both were happy; but
there was nothing to talk about.
There was very little wanton shooting with us, for when we had more
fresh meat than was required, as often happened, it was dried as
`bultong' for the days of shortage which were sure to come.
I started off early next morning with the boys to bring in the meat, and
went on foot, giving Snowball a rest, more or less deserved. By nine
o'clock the boys were on their way back, and leaving them to take the
direct route I struck away eastwards along the line of the pools, not
expecting much and least of all dreaming that fate had one of the worst
days in store for us: "From cloudless heavens her lightnings glance" did
not occur to my mind as we moved silently along in the bright sunshine.
We passed the second pool, loitering a few minutes in the cool shade of
the evergreens to watch the green pigeons feeding on the wild figs and
peering down curiously at us; then moved briskly into more open ground.
It is not wise to step too suddenly out of the dark shade into strong
glare, and it may have been that act of carelessness that enabled the
koodoo to get off before I saw them. They cantered away in a string
with the cows in the rear, between me and two full-grown bulls. It was
a running shot--end on--and the last of the troop, a big cow, gave a
stumble; but catching herself up again she cantered off slowly. Her
body was all bunched up and she was pitching greatly, and her hind legs
kept flying out in irregular kicks, much as you may see a horse kick out
when a blind fly is biting him.
There was no time for a second shot and we started off in hot pursuit;
and fifty yards further on where there was a clear view I saw that the
koodoo was going no faster than an easy canter, and Jock was close
behind.
Whether he was misled by the curious action, and believed there was a
broken leg to grip, or was simply over bold, it is impossible to know.
Whatever the reason, he jumped for one of the hind legs, and at the same
moment the koodoo lashed out viciously. One foot struck him under the
jaw close to the throat, `whipped' his head and neck back like a bent
switch, and hurled him somersaulting backwards.
I have the impression--as one sees oneself in a nightmare--of a person
throwing up his arms and calling the name of his child as a train passed
over it.
Jock lay limp and motionless, with the blood oozing from mouth, nose,
and eyes. I recollect feeling for his heart-beat and breath, and
shaking him roughly and calling him by name; then, remembering the pool
near by, I left him in the shade of a tree, filled my hat with water,
ran back again and poured it over him and into his mouth, shaking him
again to rouse him, and several times pressing his sides--bellows
fashion--in a ridiculous effort to restore breathing.
The old hat was leaky and I had to grip the rough-cut ventilations to
make it hold any water at all, and I was returning with a second supply
when with a great big heart-jump, I saw Jock heel over from his side and
with his fore legs flat on the ground raise himself to a resting
position, his head wagging groggily and his eyes blinking in a very
dazed way.
He took no notice when I called his name, but at the touch of my hand
his ears moved up and the stumpy tail scraped feebly in the dead leaves.
He was stone deaf; but I did not know it then. He lapped a little of
the water, sneezed the blood away and licked his chops; and then, with
evident effort, stood up.
But this is the picture which it is impossible to forget. The dog was
still so dazed and shaken that he reeled slightly, steadying himself by
spreading his legs well apart, and there followed a few seconds' pause
in which he stood thus; and then he began to walk forward with the
uncertain staggery walk of a toddling child. His jaws were set close;
his eyes were beady black, and he looked `fight' all over. He took no
notice of me; and I, never dreaming that he was after the koodoo,
watched the walk quicken to a laboured trot before I moved or called;
but he paid no heed to the call. For the first time in his life there
was rank open defiance of orders, and he trotted slowly along with his
nose to the ground. Then I understood; and, thinking he was maddened by
the kick and not quite responsible for himself, and--more than that--
admiring his pluck far too much to be angry, I ran to bring him back;
but at a turn in his course he saw me coming, and this time he obeyed
the call and signal instantly, and with a limp air of disappointment
followed quietly back to the tree.
The reason for Jock's persistent disobedience that day was not even
suspected then; I put everything down to the kick; and he seemed to me
to be `all wrong,' but indeed there was excuse enough for him.
Nevertheless it was puzzling that at times he should ignore me in
positively contemptuous fashion, and at others obey with all his old
readiness: I neither knew he was deaf, nor realised that the habit of
using certain signs and gestures when I spoke to him--and even of using
them in place of orders when silence was imperative--had made him almost
independent of the word of mouth. From that day he depended wholly upon
signs; for he never heard another sound.
Jock came back with me and lay down; but he was not content. Presently
he rose again and remained standing with his back to me, looking
steadily in the direction taken by the koodoo. It was fine to see the
indomitable spirit, but I did not mean to let him try again; the koodoo
was as good as dead no doubt, yet a hundred koodoo would not have
tempted me to risk taking him out: to rest him and get him back to the
camp was the only thought. I was feeling very soft about the dog then.
And while I sat thus watching him and waiting for him to rest and
recover, once more and almost within reach of me he started off again.
But it was not as he had done before: this time he went with a spring
and a rush, and with head lowered and meaning business. In vain I
called and followed: he outpaced me and left me in a few strides.
The koodoo had gone along the right bank of the donga which, commencing
just below the pool, extended half a mile or more down the flat valley.
Jock's rush was magnificent, but it was puzzling, and his direction was
even more so; for he made straight for the donga.
I ran back for the rifle and followed, and he had already disappeared
down the steep bank of the donga when, through the trees on the opposite
side, I saw a koodoo cow moving along at a slow cramped walk. The donga
was a deep one with perpendicular sides, and in places even overhanging
crumbling banks, and I reached it as Jock, slipping and struggling,
worked his way up the other wall writhing and climbing through the tree
roots exposed by the floods. As he rushed out the koodoo saw him and
turned; there was just a chance--a second of time: a foot of space--
before he got in the line of fire; and I took it. One hind leg gave
way, and in the short sidelong stagger that followed Jock jumped at the
koodoo's throat and they went down together.
It took me several minutes to get through the donga, and by that time
the koodoo was dead and Jock was standing, wide-mouthed and panting, on
guard at its head: the second shot had been enough.
It was an unexpected and puzzling end; and, in a way, not a welcome one,
as it meant delay in getting back. After the morning's experience there
was not much inclination for the skinning and cutting up of a big animal
and I set to work gathering branches and grass to hide the carcase,
meaning to send the boys back for it.
But the day's experiences were not over yet: a low growl from Jock made
me look sharply round, to see half a dozen kaffirs coming through the
bush with a string of mongrel hounds at their heels.
So that was the explanation of the koodoo's return to us! The natives,
a hunting party, had heard the shot and coming along in hopes of meat
had met and headed off the wounded koodoo, turning her back almost on
her own tracks. There was satisfaction in having the puzzle solved, but
the more practical point was that here was all the help I wanted; and
the boys readily agreed to skin the animal and carry the four quarters
to the camp for the gift of the rest.
Then my trouble began with Jock. He flew at the first of the kaffir
dogs that sneaked up to sniff at the koodoo. Shouting at him produced
no effect whatever, and before I could get hold of him he had mauled the
animal pretty badly. After hauling him off I sat down in the shade,
with him beside me; but there were many dogs, and a succession of
affairs, and I, knowing nothing of his deafness, became thoroughly
exasperated and surprised by poor old Jock's behaviour.
His instinct to defend our kills, which was always strong, was roused
that day beyond control, and his hatred of kaffir dogs--an implacable
one in any case--made a perfect fury of him; still, the sickening awful
feeling that came over me as he lay limp and lifeless was too fresh, and
it was not possible to be really angry; and after half a dozen of the
dogs had been badly handled there was something so comical in the way
they sheered off and eyed Jock that I could only laugh. They sneaked
behind bushes and tried to circumvent him in all sorts of ways, but fled
precipitately as soon as he moved a step or lowered his head and humped
his shoulders threateningly. Even the kaffir owners, who had begun to
look glum, broke into appreciative laughter and shouts of admiration for
the white man's dog.
Jock kept up an unbroken string of growls, not loud, of course, but I
could feel them going all the while like a volcano's rumbling as my
restraining hand rested on him, and when the boys came up to skin the
koodoo I had to hold him down and shake him sharply. The dog was mad
with fight; he bristled all over; and no patting or talking produced
more than a flicker of his ears. The growling went on; the hair stood
up; the tail was quite unresponsive; his jaws were set like a vice; and
his eyes shone like two black diamonds. He had actually struggled to
get free of my hand when the boys began to skin, and they were so scared
by his resolute attempt that they would not start until I put him down
between my knees and held him.
I was sitting against a tree only three or four yards from the koodoo,
and the boys, who had lighted a fire in anticipation of early tit-bits
which would grill while they worked, were getting along well with the
skinning, when one of them saw fit to pause in order to hold forth in
the native fashion on the glories of the chase and the might of the
white man. Jock's head lay on his paws and his mouth was shut like a
rat-trap; his growling grew louder as the bombastic nigger, all
unconscious of the wicked watching eyes behind him, waved his
blood-stained knife and warmed to his theme.
"Great you thought yourself," proclaimed the orator, addressing the dead
koodoo in a long rigmarole which was only partly understood by me but
evidently much approved by the other boys as they stooped to their work,
"Swift of foot and strong of limb. But the white man came, and--there!"
I could not make out the words with any certainty; but whatever the
last word was, it was intended as a dramatic climax, and to lend
additional force to his point the orator let fly a resounding kick on
the koodoo's stomach.
The effect was quite electrical! Like an arrow from the bow Jock flew
at him! The warning shout came too late, and as Jock's teeth fastened
in him behind the terrified boy gave a wild bound over the koodoo,
carrying Jock like a streaming coat-tail behind him.
The work was stopped and the natives drew off in grave consultation. I
thought that they had had enough of Jock for one day and that they would
strike work and leave me, probably returning later on to steal the meat
while I went for help from the waggons. But it turned out that the
consultation was purely medical, and in a few minutes I had an
interesting exhibition of native doctoring. They laid the late orator
out face downwards, and one burly `brother' straddled him across the
small of the back; then after a little preliminary examination of the
four slits left by Jock's fangs, he proceeded to cauterise them with the
glowing ends of sundry sticks which an assistant took from the fire and
handed to him as required. The victim flapped his hands on the ground
and hallooed out "My babo! My babo!" but he did not struggle; and the
operator toasted away with methodical indifference.
The orator stood it well!
I took Jock away to the big tree near the pool: it was evident that he,
too, had had enough of it for one day.