Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick ( Chapter 15 )( Page 3 ) Paradise Camp

There is a certain courtesy and a good deal of formality observed amongthe natives which is appreciated by but few of the white men who come in contact with them.  One reason for this failure in appreciation is that native courtesy is in its method and expression sometimes just the reverse of what we consider proper; and if actions which seem suggestive of disrespect were judged from the native's standpoint, and according to his code, there would be no misunderstanding.  The old man, passing and ignoring the group of boys, came towards us as we sat in the shade for the midday rest, and slowly came to a stand a few yards off, leaning on his long flint-lock quietly taking stock of us each in turn, and waiting for us to inspect him.  Then, after three or four minutes of this, he proceeded to salute us separately with "Sakubona, Umlungu!" delivered with measured deliberation at intervals of about a quarter of a minute, each salutation being accompanied by the customary upward movement of the head--their respectful equivalent of our nod or bow.  When he had done the round, his two attendants took their turns, and when this was over, and another long pause had served to mark his respect, he drew back a few paces to a spot about half-way between us and where the kaffirs sat, and, tucking his loin skins comfortably under him, squatted down.  Ten minutes more elapsed before he allowed his eyes to wander absently round towards the boys and finally to settle on them for a repetition of the performance that we had been favoured with.  But in this case it was they who led off with the "Sakubona, Umganaam!" which he acknowledged with the raising of the head and a soft murmur of contented recognition, "A-he." Once more there was silence for a spell, while he waited to be questioned in the customary manner and to give an account of himself, before it would be courteous or proper to introduce the subject of his visit.  It was Jim's voice that broke the silence--clear and imperative, as usual, but not uncivil.  It always was Jim who cut in, as those do who are naturally impatient of delays and formalities. "Velapi, Umganaam?"  (Where do you come from, friend?) he asked, putting the question which is recognised as courteously providing the stranger with an opening to give an account of himself; and he is expected and required to do so to their satisfaction before he in turn can ask all about them, their occupations, homes, destination and master, and his occupation, purpose and possessions. The talk went round in low exchanges until at last the old man moved closer and joined the circle; and then the other voices dropped out, only to be heard once in a while in some brief question or that  briefest of all comments--the kaffir click and "Ow!"  It may mean anything, according to the tone, but it was clearly sympathetic on that occasion. The old man's voice went on monotonously in a low-pitched impassive tone; but the boys hung intent on every word to the end.  Then one or two questions, briefly answered in the same tone of detached philosophic indifference, brought their talk to a close.  The old fellow tapped his carved wood snuff-box with the carefully-preserved long yellowish nail of one forefinger, and pouring some snuff into the palm of his hand, drew it into each nostril in turn with long luxurious sniffs; and then, resting his arms on his knees, he relapsed into complete silence.  We called the boys to start work again, and they came away, as is their custom, without a word or look towards the man whose story had held them for the last half-hour.  Nor did he speak or stir, but sat on unmoved, a picture of stoical indifference.  But who can say if it be indifference or fatalism or the most astute diplomacy?  Among white men opinions differ: I put it down as fatalism. We asked no questions, for we knew it was no accident that had brought the old man our way: he wanted something, and we would learn soon enough what it was.  So we waited. As we gathered round the fallen tree to finish the cleaning and slip it down to the track Jim remarked irrelevantly that tigers were `schelms,' and it was his conviction that there were a great many in the kloofs round about.  At intervals during the next hour or so he dropped other scraps about tigers and their ways, and how to get at them and what good sport it was, winding up with a short account of how two seasons back an English `Capitaine' had been killed by one only a few miles away. Jim was no diplomatist: he had tiger on the brain, and showed it; so when I asked him bluntly what the old man had been talking about, the whole story came out.  There was a tiger--it was of course the biggest ever seen--which had been preying on the old chief's kraal for the last six months: dogs, goats and kaffir sheep innumerable had disappeared, even fowls were not despised; and only two days ago the climax had been reached when, in the cool of the afternoon and in defiance of the yelling herd boy, it had slipped into the herd at the drinking-place and carried off a calf--a heifer-calf too!  The old man was poor: the tiger had nearly ruined him; and he had come up to see if we, "who were great hunters," would come down and kill the thief, or at least lend him a tiger-trap, as he could not afford to buy one. In the evening when we returned to camp we found the old fellow there, and heard the story told with the same patient resignation or stoical indifference with which he had told it to the boys; and, if there was something inscrutable in the smoky eyes that might have hidden a more calculating spirit, it did not trouble us--the tiger was what we wanted; the chance seemed good enough; and we decided to go.  Tigers--as they are almost invariably called, but properly, leopards--were plentiful enough and were often to be heard at night in the kloofs below; but they are extremely wary animals and in the inhabited parts rarely move about by day; however, the marauding habits and the audacity of this fellow were full of promise.