Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick ( Chapter 18 )( Page 1 ) Snowball and Tsetse

Snowball was an `old soldier'--I say it with all respect!  He had been through the wars; that is to say, he had seen the ups and downs of life and had learnt the equine equivalent of "God helps those who help themselves."  For Snowball was a horse. Tsetse was also an old soldier, but he was what you might call a gentleman old soldier, with a sense of duty; and in his case the discipline and honour of his calling were not garments for occasion but part of himself.  Snowball was no gentleman: he was selfish and unscrupulous, a confirmed shirker, often absent without leave, and upon occasions a rank deserter--for which last he once narrowly escaped being shot. Tsetse belonged to my friend Hall; but Snowball was mine!  What I know about him was learnt with mortification of the spirit and flesh; and what he could not teach in that way was `over the head' of the most indurated old dodger that ever lived. Tsetse had his peculiarities and prejudices: like many old soldiers he was a stickler for etiquette and did not like departures from habit and routine; for instance, he would not under any circumstances permit mounting on the wrong side--a most preposterous stand for an old salted shooting horse to take, and the cause of much inconvenience at times. On the mountains it often happened that the path was too narrow and the slope too steep to permit one to mount on the left side, whereas the sharp rise of the ground made it very easy on the right.  But Tsetse made no allowance for this, and if the attempt were made he would stand quite still until the rider was off the ground but not yet in the saddle, and then buck continuously until the offender shot overhead and went skidding down the slope.  To one encumbered with a rifle in hand, and a kettle or perhaps a couple of legs of buck slung on the saddle, Tsetse's protest was usually irresistible. Snowball had no unpractical prejudices: he objected to work--that was all.  He was a pure white horse, goodness knows how old, with enormously long teeth; every vestige of grey or other tinge had faded out of him, and his eyes had an aged and resigned look: one warmed to him at sight as a "dear old pet of a Dobbin!" who ought to be passing his last years grazing contentedly in a meadow and giving bareback rides to little children.  The reproach of his venerable look nearly put me off taking him--it seemed such a shame to make the dear old fellow work; but I hardened my heart and, feeling rather a brute, bought him because he was `salted' and would live in the Bushveld: beside that, all other considerations were trivial.  Of course he was said to be a shooting horse, and he certainly took no notice of a gun fired under his nose or from his back--which was all the test I could apply at the time; and then his legs were quite sound; his feet were excellent; he had lost no teeth yet; and he was in tip top condition.  What more could one want? "He looks rather a fool of a horse!"  I had remarked dubiously to Joey the Smith, who was `willin' to let him go,' and I can recall now the peculiar glint in Joey's eye and the way he sort of steadied himself with a little cough before he answered feelingly: "He's no fool, sonny!  You won't want to get a cleverer horse as long as you live!"  And no more I did--as we used to say!  Snowball had one disfigurement, consisting of a large black swelling as big as a small orange behind his left eye, which must have annoyed him greatly; it could easily have been removed, and many suggestions were made on the subject but all of them were firmly declined.  Without that lump I should have had no chance against him: it was the weak spot in his defence: it was the only cover under which it was possible to stalk him when he made one of his determined attempts to dodge or desert; for he could see nothing that came up behind him on the left side without turning his head completely round; hence one part of the country was always hidden from him, and of course it was from this quarter that we invariably made our approaches to attack. So well did Snowball realise this that when the old villain intended giving trouble he would start off with his head swung away to the right, and when far enough away to graze in security--a hundred yards or so was enough--would turn right about and face towards the waggons or camp, or wherever the danger-quarter was; then, keeping us well in view, he would either graze off sideways, or from time to time walk briskly off to occupy a new place, with the right eye swung round on us like a search-light.