on his throat, he suddenly realized his strength, and with one great
wrench he tore himself free, snapping and snarling in true savage
fashion, and showing his fang-like teeth in an appalling manner. He
would have sprung straight at the throat of his master, but that at
that moment there was a flash of fire, a terrific bang, and Jinks,
scared out of his wits, fled, howling in the most miserable way.
This was the last Jinks saw of his master, or his master saw of him,
for some time, for after that he returned no more to the home which
had sheltered him so long, but roamed the country at will, and made
night hideous by his screams and howls. He wandered about for some
time, seeking for a companion of some sort, but the only animals at
all like himself were one or two domestic dogs which lived in the
neighborhood, and of these, for some reason or other Jinks was afraid,
and so kept at a safe distance.
Now, in his old life, Jinks had always slept at night and moved about
in the daytime, but now he got into the habit of hiding himself by day
in woody jungles and such places, and at night going out and wandering
about in search of food. He wondered once or twice what had made him
feel so differently. He did not know that it was partly due to the
fact that he had tasted fresh blood. True, it was only chicken's
blood, but it was blood all the same, and it had awakened the latent
thirst for it in him, and this, combined with the fact that he had
just reached the age of an adult jackal, accounted for his suddenly
getting so wild and savage.
All this, however, Jinks could not understand. He only knew that he
felt lonely and miserable, and that his restlessness would not let him
keep still more than a few minutes at a time. At last he began to get
very hungry, for he was not accustomed to getting his own food, and
did not know the way in which to set about it. He began to wish he
could find another chicken, and his mouth watered at the very thought.
Then one evening he came across some sheep feeding in a field, and,
being hungry and desperate, he killed one, and then gorged himself to
such a degree that he could scarcely walk away.
He had a good, long sleep after this in one of the shady jungles, and
when he woke up was too lazy, for a time, to trouble himself about
anything. His loneliness, however, increased daily, and as the days
went on he grew so miserable that he gave vent every now and then to
dismal, blood-curdling howls, which echoed and re-echoed through the
woods, scaring all the wild creatures and striking terror into their
hearts.
Then, one night, when he was very hungry again, and could not find
anything to eat, he suddenly remembered that he had left some of the
flesh on the sheep he had killed a few nights ago. He would go and
find it, and if the vultures had not finished it he would have a good
feed. He had almost forgotten the way, but when he had gone a short
distance he could smell it, for it had become rotten by that time, and
was nothing but putrid flesh. Jinks had never tasted putrid flesh, but
he did not seem to feel any dislike to it, for as he smelt it he
licked his lips in pleasurable anticipation, and hurried on in his
quick, silent way.
He was not happy, however, and when he was nearly there gave one of
his piercing cries--something between a wild scream and a dismal howl
--a cry which, to his bewilderment and surprise, called forth a
perfect chorus of screams, shrieks and howls which startled him almost
to death. He stood absolutely motionless for a few moments, with one
paw uplifted, and his eyes and ears strained to the utmost. Horrible
as the shrieks were, there was something familiar and comforting about
them, and he felt joyous and frightened at the same time.
When the howls began to die away, he felt impelled to send forth
another shrieking scream, and this was again answered in the same way
as before. This time Jinks did not stop to listen; he went hurriedly
forward to find out what it was.
And what a sight met his eyes! There, just in front of him, was a
whole pack of animals exactly like himself crowded round the carcass
of the sheep he had killed a few nights ago. Nearly all the animals,
at the moment he came upon them, were standing with uplifted heads,
their sharp noses pointing at the peaceful moon, howling and screaming
at the top of their voices. In a few moments some of them stopped, and
continued their occupation of tearing off the rotten flesh of the dead
sheep, and swallowing it greedily. Dozens of vultures hovered
overhead, and, watching their opportunity, dived down every now and
again and tore a piece of flesh from the carcass with their powerful
beaks, and then hurried off, making unearthly noises which, joined to
the howls of the jackals, made the most awful discord imaginable.
When the jackals had all stopped howling, Jinks moved slowly forward,
with a deprecating air, for he was not sure of his reception. And,
indeed, had he known what sort of a reception he would get, it is
doubtful whether he would ever have ventured forward at all. For the
moment the jackals caught sight of him, with one accord they left the
carcass of the sheep, and with a few swift bounds surrounded him. They
very soon let him know he was a stranger, and an unwelcome one, and
before he had time to realize the state of affairs he had received
several sharp bites.
His smell was against him, to begin with, for a tame jackal loses much
of the strongness of the odor peculiar to him, and a pack of jackals
rather prides itself on the strongness of its smell, for this smell
keeps away many things that are unpleasant to them in the shape of
enemies.
But Jinks was not going to stand still and be bitten to death, so he
promptly turned upon his assailants, and bit and tore some of them so
savagely that the others paused. One old jackal, being keenly jealous
of new arrivals in the shape of strange jackals, took upon himself to
catch Jinks by his foreleg, a mistake he had reason to regret, for
Jinks--who was abnormally strong, and possessed the peculiar little
excrescence shaped like a cone on his head, and which generally
denotes a leader of a pack--suddenly seized his opponent by his
throat, and refused to let go until he was dead. Then, shaking him as
though he had been a little terrier, he laid him down with a growl,
and looked round as much as to say:
"Now, then, who comes next?"
None of the jackals seemed to be particularly anxious, for now that
Jinks was standing among so many of his fellows, he found he was just
a little taller than any of them, and this little gave him. an immense
advantage. He snapped and bit one or two more just to show them he was
still ready to go on; but, although they all howled and screamed
again, they were not anxious to fight. The newcomer had killed their
leader, and they were afraid of him.
Jinks wasted no time. He had not stayed long enough in captivity to
become really tame or timid, and this one fight had made a jackal of
him, and he took care to let them know it. He was wildly excited, and
daring enough at that moment for anything, and his daring and
recklessness inspired the jackals with respect, and, in spite of a few
dissenting voices, Jinks promptly took the leadership of the pack
without more ado. It all came as natural to him as though he had been
a wild, free thing all his life, and dependent on his own resources
for food and shelter.
In that moment he forgot all his past life, and only realized that he
was a strong, full-grown animal; that he was the leader of the pack,
and that the others, for some unaccountable reason, were afraid of
him, and ready to acknowledge that he was their master.
And so Jinks, having chosen his position, kept it. And this was not
the only thing he chose and kept. He chose several wives from the
pack, and took care to have the best and youngest, no matter how much
he had to fight for them, or how much the others resented it. He was
quite willing to prove his right to them by as many fights as might be
needed; but if he fancied a wife he never rested until he had won her,
and then woe betide anyone who so much as looked at her.
But it was not long before the pack knew better than to dispute Jinks'
will; he was a splendid leader, daring, brave and as full of pluck and
cunning as any jackal could wish.
So he reigned supreme for many years, and fine doings there were
sometimes among the pack.
[Illustration: "JINKS WAS NEVER SO HAPPY AS WHEN HE WAS LEADING HIS
PACK."]
Jinks' pack was the largest for miles round, and numbered over two
hundred animals, not to speak of young pups. He had quite a large
family of his own by this time, for a jackal mother generally has four
or five pups at a time, and Jinks had a good many wives. He was proud
of them all, in his way, but he cared more for the chase and hunting
expeditions than anything else, and was never so happy as when he was
leading his pack either after sheep and antelopes, or taking it to
visit some of the farm-houses, towns or villages in search of food.
The pack grew to be famous, after a time, for its ravages and daring,
and the distant sound of its awful howling would make the unfortunate
inhabitants of the various places shrink and shiver with terror. It
came to such a pass, after awhile, that a price was set upon each
jackal's head, and a few of them were killed off, but only a few.
There was so much danger attendant on attacking such a large number,
that only one or two men were daring enough to attempt it.
One of these daring men was Jinks' old master, and so terrible had
been the mischief done by the jackals, not only to his sheep and
cattle, but to his fruits and crops, that he determined, come what
might, to destroy as many of the vicious creatures as he could. The
villagers and farmers had been obliged to keep their livestock locked
up, and even then, in a few cases, the daring brutes had broken in,
taken what they wanted, killed a few animals besides, just to show
they had been there, and then made off.
The consequence was, that the jackals had to depend on antelopes and
smaller animals, and, these being very scarce, they were almost
famished. Jinks was obliged to lead his pack to one of the towns where
there was plenty of offal and refuse of all kinds, and here the
jackals did good service, for, having cleared the streets of putrid
and pestilential matter, the town, which had been down with fever,
recovered its health and regained its strength.
Having cleared the towns and villages of all the refuse, the jackals
grew more daring still. The live stock was still locked up, and in
such a way now that, do what they would, they could not get in the
sheds and houses; so they betook themselves to the bungalows, and
actually entered the larders and helped themselves.
It happened one night that Jinks led his pack to his old home--the
place where he had been so carefully reared. Whether he remembered the
place it is impossible to say, but his master was waiting for them
with a number of other men, and, as they were all armed with guns, the
pack had a warm reception.
As a rule, no matter how much the inhabitants of the bungalows were
prepared, the moment that horrible, howling scream began they lost
their nerve, and became so frightened and bewildered that they were
only too thankful if the jackals took what they wanted in the shape of
food and they escaped with their lives.
But Jinks' old master and the men who were with him were made of
different stuff, and when, with their usual howl, the animals sprang
upon the house, they were met with a volume of fire and smoke that
frightened and subdued them for a moment. When they recovered
themselves, they were met with more fire and smoke, and, as the latter
cleared away, numbers of them could be seen stretched out on the
ground, limp and senseless.
Among these was Jinks--brave, plucky, crafty, treacherous Jinks--who
had led his pack to the home which had nourished and fed him, and to
the master who had tended and cared for him.
As soon as the pack found that their leader had fallen with so many
others of their kin, and as the horrible smoke and fire kept on, the
remaining members of it turned and fled, howling, moaning and
screaming at the top of their voices.
When all had gone but the dead or dying, Jinks' master came forward to
where Jinks' handsome body was lying motionless.
"I really believe this is Jinks," his old master said, in surprise.
And Jinks he proved to be, for he remembered that peculiar, little,
bony projection on Jinks' head, and, although it could not be seen,
being covered by a funny little tuft of hair, he felt for it and found
it, and this, with the size and markings of the animal, were
conclusive.
"Poor old Jinks!" his master said, regretfully, stroking the still
handsome head and body. "He was a beautiful animal, but just as
treacherous as the rest of his kind."
Now, as a matter of fact, Jinks was not dead yet, and at the sound of
the old, familiar voice he opened his eyes, now dim and misty with
suffering, and looked at his old master in the way he had been used to
do when he was only a pup and dependent on him for everything. And, at
the sight of this, his master, who had grown very, very fond of his
pet after having him all those years, broke down completely and cried
like a child. His friends persuaded him to go away, and, feeling that
he could not bear to see his old pet actually die, he consented and
went into the house, where he did his best to forget the sad episode.
And what about Jinks? Well, as soon as his master had disappeared,
Jinks, although wounded, took himself off in a stealthy manner and
rejoined his pack. He had intended to feign death[Footnote: It is a
well-known fact that jackals will sometimes feign death as a means of
escape.--Author.] until attention was taken from him, but the sound of
his master's voice had been too much for him, and he had opened his
eyes in spite of himself. He had, however, been crafty enough to close
them again and keep perfectly still until they all drew off, and then
he slunk away, as I have just told you.
He was sick and feeble for some time after this, and his pack despised
him for it, but after awhile he recovered and was himself again. But
whether he had had a shock, or whether he still had a tiny bit of
affection for his old master in that treacherous heart of his, will
never be known.
As soon as he was strong again lie led his pack to a new neighborhood,
and, as he was never seen or heard of again, he probably shared the
fate of most wild animals and died a tragic death.
PERO, THE PORCUPINE
Not far away was a funny, bristly-looking ball, which moved and
rustled and squirmed about, and yet for the life of him the little
dog, Jock, could not make out what it was.
There seemed to be no head nor tail, nor beginning nor end. But it was
not still for a single moment, and the long, sharp things that rustled
so much, and made such a curious sound, were from ten to fifteen
inches long.
These things, which looked like quills, were thick in the middle,
tapering to each end, and had little black and white rings all the way
round them.
Jock could not imagine what it could be, but at this moment the round,
prickly ball began to move towards him, and Jock backed away, sniffing
and snarling, and keeping at a safe distance from those sharp-pointed
things which looked like big, thick needles.
When the prickly ball was quite close to him, it moved round, and
then, to his surprise, Jock saw a peculiar head with small ears, tiny
eyes--very like a pig's--and a thick, heavy nose or muzzle.
It was evidently an animal, but Jock had never seen anything like it
before. The front part of its body was covered with hair, and upon the
head and neck there were some very long, stiff hairs, which formed a
curious sort of crest, and this crest the animal moved up and down in
the fiercest manner imaginable. All the rest of its body was covered
with long, sharp quills or spines, which looked like hundreds of
small, prickly spears sticking out all over it. Its legs were short,
and on its feet were sharp and strong claws.
Suddenly Jock knew what it was. It was a porcupine.
Now Jock had not been out in West Africa very long, and, though he had
been told by his dog friends of the porcupine, this was the first time
he had really seen one, and he did not care for the experience at all.
However, he was not going to be afraid of a porcupine, and, as it did
not look particularly fierce, but rather stupid, and moved in a very
slow and clumsy manner--the curious rustling appearing to be the only
noise it could make--Jock stuck up his tail, drew himself up and
barked. Barked loudly and angrily, and tauntingly, and the porcupine,
instead of going away or running at him, or doing any of those things
Jock expected it would do, simply turned its back and rustled its
quills more fiercely than before.
This made Jock angrier than ever, and he barked and growled and
snapped, his teeth, and, had it not been for the prickly spines, would
have given the porcupine a good bite. As it was, he felt nothing but
contempt for it, but his contempt was short-lived.
Before he realized what was going to happen, Pero, the porcupine, came
at him backwards, and suddenly Jock was pierced in over a dozen places
by those sharp, cruel quills.
In an instant his barking and snarls were changed to dismal howls of
pain. In vain he tried to turn and run away. He was fastened to the
porcupine as though with so many nails, and his agony was almost
unbearable.
Pero suddenly walked away from him, and, without once looking back,
shambled in her clumsy, plantigrade[Footnote: A plantigrade is an
animal which walks on the soles of its feet.-Author.] fashion back to
the mound of earth, where she had been carefully burrowing a hole for
her winter home. It would have been finished by this time if Jock had
not disturbed her, and she was naturally angry.
[Illustration: "JOCK HAD NEVER SEEN ANYIHING LIKE IT BEFORE"]
She cared nothing whatever for the dog's howls or moans of pain. She
had done with him now and had left him several of her quills as
mementoes of the occasion.
In vain Jock tried to get rid of them, but Pero had driven them well
in, and was wise enough to know that where she once drove her quills
there they stayed, until, perhaps, they worked themselves out in the
opposite direction.
For the quills of a porcupine are so peculiarly made that when once
they are driven into the flesh, instead of working their way out, they
go deeper and deeper, often boring right into the vital parts of an
animal, and so killing it.
In days gone by some people believed that the porcupine was a most
dangerous animal, and that whenever it saw an enemy approaching it
just threw some of its little, pointed spears at him and so killed
him. But this belief came from an old fable, for the porcupine cannot
throw its quills, but he can push them in, in the same way that Pero
pushed her's into the terrier, and then leave them to work their
mischief.
Had Jock been a wiser dog, he would have known better than to have had
anything to do with the porcupine. But he was only an ordinary English
terrier, and, as I told you, had not been long in West Africa.
A horse would have known better, for all horses are afraid of
porcupines, and will never face an irritated one if they can possibly
get away. As a rule, the very rustle of a porcupine's quills will make
a horse take to his highest speed in terror.
Neither leopards or tigers care to face this animal, for they seem to
know instinctively how dangerous its quills are.
Once having inserted her quills, Pero paid no further attention to
Jock, but went on burrowing and burrowing with her curious, snout-like
nose, and never rested until she had made a nice little cave in the
earth, where she could be warm and comfortable all through the winter.
She was in a great hurry, for it would soon be time to go to sleep,
and before going to sleep she had some important duties to perform and
would be very busy.
Meanwhile, poor little Jock limped off painfully. He had eight or nine
quills sticking into his shoulders and one had gone into his sensitive
nostrils.
In vain he tried to get rid of them. The longer they were in his flesh
the deeper they went. If he had gone home his human friends might have
taken them out for him, and so saved his life; but he was frightened
and bewildered, and, like all animals when in pain or trouble, his
first thought was to go away to some quiet place and hide himself in
his misery. Having found such a place, there he stayed, poor little
dog, in terrible pain, until one of the quills, which was nearly
twelve inches long, went so deep as to touch his heart.
So Jock stayed in the hiding-place he had chosen for himself, and no
one ever found out what had become of him.
Pero went on placidly with her work in her clumsy manner, and never
stopped until she had finished her winter home. Then she knew she must
go out and collect some food.
Her food consisted of plants, the bark of trees, and fruits of
different kinds; and then there were succulent roots and plants to be
found and dug out of the ground, and these provided both food and
drink, for the moisture was quite enough to quench the porcupine's
thirst.
After this Pero rested a little, for she was very, very tired.
It was September now, and by the end of the month or the beginning of
October she would be busy again.
So she made the most of her time, eating and taking things easy.
Having finished her work, she felt entitled to do this, and one
morning, when the bright, clear daylight penetrated the mouth of her
winter home, it fell on two funny little objects, and these funny
little objects were baby porcupines.
[Illustration: "BUT OH! WHAT HAVOC HE MADE!"]
They were not prickly like their mother, but just soft, helpless mites
with curiously-shaped bodies, and funny little heads and snouts, which
made them look very much like pigs.
An animal covered with hundreds of sharp quills, from ten to twelve
inches in length, each of which can pierce like a little stiletto,
does not sound like a particularly comfortable thing to have for a
mother. But the baby porcupines were quite happy, and their mother,
clumsy as she was, was clever enough never to let any of the quills
touch her little ones. She was warm and soft enough underneath, and
her babies were just as comfortable as any other animals' babies are.
Although Pero had laid in her stock for the winter, she went out every
night to get food. By doing this she achieved two things: she kept her
winter stock, and she got fresh food for the time being.
Everything went on very well, and Pero and her babies were perfectly
happy in their little home, when one night Pero had a startling
adventure.
She was going along doing her best to walk quietly, although this was
next to impossible, for the quills in her tail would rustle, no matter
how carefully she walked, when she suddenly became conscious of a
tall, dark form coming towards her. She knew well enough what that
was. It was a man, and anything in the shape of a man had to be most
carefully guarded against.
Without an instant's hesitation, Pero suddenly doubled her nose
between her forelegs, and rolled herself into a tight ball, leaving
all her long, prickly spikes outside. This was a very convenient way
of avoiding danger, but the only drawback to it was that, while she
was coiled up, she could see nothing and hear very little.
However, she knew that the wisest thing was to keep perfectly still.
And when she did this she was seldom touched. This time, however,
something turned her over, and over, and over, till she felt sick and
faint and dizzy; so dizzy at last that she suddenly unrolled herself a
little bit in order to see where she was. To her great joy, she saw
that she was near her burrow, and, with a wonderfully quick movement
for so clumsy a creature, and with a peculiar rustling of all her
quills, Pero crept quickly into her hole, leaving the man perfectly
astonished.
For some time she lay there with her babies, quivering and shaking
with fright--for the man was trying to get in. The light was getting
broader and brighter, and at last, in sheer terror, Pero began to
burrow further into the mound.
She went at it with nose and head and paws, as hard as she could go,
scraping quickly with her sharp-clawed little feet, throwing the earth
behind till she nearly smothered her babies, and pushing her snout-
like nose into the earth as hard and fast as she could.
How long she would have gone on with this can never be known, but one
of the babies, nearly suffocated with the earth, set up a little,
whimpering cry, and Pero's motherly heart responded at once.
She knew it was a cry of pain--of distress--and so she suddenly gave
up the burrowing and turned back to her little one.