Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 20)( Page 6 ) Jantje

At night as he lay unable to sleep the bats came and made faces at him; a night adder rose up before his face and slithered out its forked tongue--the two black beady eyes glinting the firelight back; and whichever way he looked there was a honey-bird, silent and angry, yet with a look of satisfaction, as it watched.  So it went all night: no sleep for him; no rest! In the morning he rose early and taking his gun and chopper set out in search of hives: he would give all to the honey-bird he had cheated, and thus make amends. He had not gone far before, to his great delight, there came a welcome chattering in answer to his low whistle, and the busy little fellow flew up to show himself and promptly led the way, going ahead ten to twenty yards at a flight.  Jantje followed eagerly until they came to a small donga with a sandy bottom, and then the honey-bird calling briskly, fluttered from tree to tree on either bank, leading him on. Jantje, thinking the hive must be near by, was walking slowly along the sandy bed and looking upwards in the trees, when something on the ground caught his eye and he sprang back just as the head of a big puff-adder struck where his bare foot had been a moment before.  With one swing of his chopper he killed it; he took the skin off for an ornament, the poison-glands for medicine, and the fangs for charms, and then whistled and looked about for the honey-bird; but it had gone. A little later on, however, he came upon another, and it led him to a big and shady wild fig tree.  The honey-bird flew to the trunk itself and cheeped and chattered there, and Jantje put down his gun and looked about for an easy place to climb.  As he peered through the foliage he met a pair of large green eyes looking full into his: on a big limb of the tree lay a tiger, still as death, with its head resting on its paws, watching him with a cat-like eagerness for its prey.  Jantje hooked his toe in the reim sling of his old gun and slowly gathered it up without moving his eyes from the tiger's, and backing away slowly, foot by foot, he got out into the sunshine and made off as fast as he could. It was the honey-bird's revenge: he knew it then! He sat down on some bare ground to think what next to do; for he knew he must die if he did not find honey and make good a hundred times what he had cheated. All day long he kept meeting honey-birds and following them; but he would no longer follow them into the bad places, for he could not tell whether they were new birds or the one he had robbed!  Once he had nearly been caught; the bird had perched on an old ant-heap, and Jantje,  thinking there was a ground hive there, walked boldly forward.  A small misshapen tree grew out of the ant-heap, and one of the twisted branches caught his eye because of the thick ring around it: it was the coil of a long green mamba; and far below that, half hidden by the leaves, hung the snake's head with the neck gathered in half-loop coils ready to strike at him. After that Jantje kept in the open, searching for himself among rocks and in all the old dead trees for the tell-tale stains that mark the hive's entrance; but he had no luck, and when he reached the river in the early afternoon he was glad of a cool drink and a place to rest. For a couple of hours he had seen no honey-birds, and it seemed that at last his pursuer had given him up, for that day at least.  As he sat in the shade of the high bank, however, with the river only a few yards from his feet he heard again a faint chattering: it came from the river-side beyond a turn in the bank, and it was too far away for the bird to have seen Jantje from where it called, so he had no doubt about this being a new bird.  It seemed to him a glorious piece of luck that he should find honey by the aid of a strange bird and be able to take half of it back to the hive he had emptied the day before and leave it there for the cheated bird. There was a beach of pebbles and rocks between the high bank and the river, and as Jantje walked along it on the keen lookout for the bird, he spotted it sitting on a root half-way down the bank some twenty yards ahead.  Close to where the chattering bird perched there was a break in the pebbly beach, and there shallow water extended up to the perpendicular bank.  In the middle of this little stretch of water, and conveniently placed as a stepping-stone, there was a black rock, and the bare-footed Jantje stepped noiselessly from stone to stone towards lit. An alarmed cane-rat, cut off by Jantje from the river, ran along the foot of the bank to avoid him; but when it reached the little patch of shallow water it suddenly doubled back in fright and raced under the boy's feet into the river. Jantje stopped!  He did not know why; but there seemed to be something wrong.  Something had frightened the cane-rat back on to him, and he stared hard at the bank and the stretch of beach ahead of him.  Then the rock he meant to step on to gave a heave, and a long blackish thing curved towards him; he sprang into the air as high as he could, and the crocodile's tail swept under his feet! Jantje fled back like a buck--the rattle on the stones behind him and crash of reeds putting yards into every bound. For four days he stayed in camp waiting for some one to find a hive and give him honey enough to make his peace; and then, for an old snuff-box and a little powder, he bought a huge basket full of comb, young and old, from a kaffir woman at one of the kraals some miles away, and put it all at the foot of the tree he had cleaned out. Then he had peace. The boys believed every word of that story: so, I am sure, did Jantje himself.  The buffalo story was obviously true, and Jantje thought nothing of it: the honey-bird story was not, yet he gloried in it; it touched his superstitious nature, and it was impossible for him to tell the truth or to separate fact from fancy and superstition.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 20)( Page 5 ) Jantje

He laughed almost hysterically, his eyes disappearing altogether and every tooth showing, as I lifted his arm to investigate; and then in high-pitched falsetto tones he shouted in a sort of ecstasy of delight, "Die ouw buffels, Baas!  Die buffels bull, Baas!" "Buffalo!  Did he toss you?"  I asked.  Jantje seemed to think it the best joke in the world and with constant squeals of laughter and graphic gestures gabbled off his account. His master, it appears, had shot at and slightly wounded the buffalo, and Jantje had been placed at one exit from the bush to prevent the herd from breaking away.  As they came towards him he fired at the foremost one; but before he could reload the wounded bull made for him and he ran for dear life to the only tree near--one of the flat-topped thorns.  He heard the thundering hoofs and the snorting breath behind, but raced on hoping to reach the tree and dodge behind it; a few yards short, however, the bull caught him, in spite of a jump aside, and flung him with one toss right on top of the thorn-tree. When he recovered consciousness he was lying face upwards in the sun, with nothing to rest his head on and only sticks and thorns around him. He did not know where he was or what had happened; he tried to move, but one arm was useless and the effort made him slip and sag, and he thought he was falling through the earth.  Presently he heard regular tramping underneath him and the breath of a big animal: and the whole incident came back to him.  By feeling about cautiously he at last located the biggest branch under him, and getting a grip on this he managed to turn over and ease his right side.  He could then see the buffalo: it had tramped a circle round the tree and was doing sentry over him.  Now and again the huge creature stopped to sniff, snort and stamp, and then resumed the round, perhaps the reverse way.  The buffalo could not see him and never once looked up, but glared about at its own accustomed level; and, relying entirely on its sense of smell, it kept up the relentless vengeful watch for hours, always stopping in the same place, to leeward, to satisfy itself that the enemy had not escaped. Late in the afternoon the buffalo, for the first time, suddenly came to a stand on the windward side of the tree, and after a good minute's silence turned its tail on Jantje and with angry sniffs and tosses stepped swiftly and resolutely forward some paces.  There was nothing to be seen; but Jantje judged the position and yelled out a warning to his master whom he guessed to be coming through the bush to look for him, and at the same time he made what noise he could in the tree top to make the buffalo think he was coming down.  The animal looked round from time to time with swings and tosses of the head and threatening angry sneezes, much as one sees a cow do when standing between her young calf and threatened danger: it was defending Jantje, for his own purposes, and facing the danger. For many minutes there was dead silence: no answer came to Jantje's call, and the bull stood its ground glaring and sniffing towards the bush.  At last there was a heavy thud below, instantly followed by the report of the rifle--the bullet came faster than the sound; the buffalo gave a heavy plunge and with a grunting sob slid forward on its chest. Round the camp fire at night Jantje used to tell tales in which fact, fancy, and superstition were curiously mingled; and Jantje when not out of humour was free with his stories.  The boys, for whose benefit they were told, listened open mouthed; and I often stood outside the ring of gaping boys at their fire, an interested listener. The tale of his experiences with the honey-bird which he had cheated of its share was the first I heard him tell.  Who could say how much was fact, how much fancy, and how much the superstitions of his race?  Not even Jantje knew that!  He believed it all. The Honey-bird met him one day with cheery cheep-cheep, and as he whistled in reply it led him to an old tree where the beehive was: it was a small hive, and Jantje was hungry; so he ate it all.  All the time he was eating, the bird kept fluttering about, calling anxiously, and expecting some honey or fat young bees to be thrown out for it; and when he had finished, the bird came down and searched in vain for its share. As he walked away the guilty Jantje noticed that the indignant bird followed him with angry cries and threats. All day long he failed to find game; whenever there seemed to be a chance an angry honey-bird would appear ahead of him and cry a warning to the game; and that night as he came back, empty handed and hungry, all the portents of bad luck came to him in turn.  An owl screeched three times over his head; a goat-sucker with its long wavy wings and tail flitted before him in swoops and rings in most ghostly silence--and there is nothing more ghostly than that flappy wavy soundless flitting of the goat-sucker; a jackal trotted persistently in front looking back at him; and a striped hyena, humpbacked, savage, and solitary, stalked by in silence, and glared.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 20)( Page 4 ) Jantje

One day I was watching the ants as they travelled along their route-- sometimes stopping to hobnob with those they met, sometimes hurrying past, and sometimes turning as though  sent back on a message or reminded of something forgotten--when a little dry brown bean lying in a spot of sunlight gave a jump of an inch or two.  At first it seemed that I must have unknowingly moved some twig or grass stem that flicked it; but as I watched it there was another vigorous jump.  I took it up and examined it but there was nothing unusual about it, it was just a common light brown bean with no peculiarities or marks; it was a real puzzle, a most surprising and ridiculous one.  I found half a dozen more in the same place; but it was some days before we discovered the secret.  Domiciled in each of them was a very small but very energetic worm, with a trap-door or stopper on his one end, so artfully contrived that it was almost impossible with the naked eye to locate the spot where the hole was.  The worm objected to too much heat and if the beans were placed in the sun or near the fire the weird astonishing jumping would commence. The beans were good for jumping for several months, and once in Delagoa, one of our party put some on a plate in the sun beside a fellow who had been doing himself too well for some time previously: he had become a perfect nuisance to us and we could not get rid of him.  He had a mouth full of bread, and a mug of coffee on the way to help it down, when the first bean jumped.  He gave a sort of peck, blinked several times to clear his eyes, and then with his left hand pulled slightly at his collar, as though to ease it.  Then came another jump, and his mouth opened slowly and his eyes got big.  The plate being hollow and glazed was not a fair field for the jumpers--they could not escape; and in about half a minute eight or ten beans were having a rough and tumble. With a white scared face our guest slowly lowered his mug, screened his eyes with the other hand, and after fighting down the mouthful of bread, got up and walked off without a word. We tried to smother our laughter, but some one's choking made him look back and he saw the whole lot of us in various stages of convulsions. He made one rude remark, and went on; but every one he met that day made some allusion to beans, and he took the Durban steamer next morning. The insect life was prodigious in its numbers and variety; and the birds, the beasts, and the reptiles were all interesting.  There is a goodness-knows-what-will-turn-up-next atmosphere about the Bushveld which is, I fancy, unique.  The story of the curate, armed with a butterfly net, coming face to face with a black-maned lion may or may not be true--in fact; but it is true enough as an illustration; and it is no more absurd or unlikely than the meeting at five yards of a lioness and a fever-stricken lad carrying a white green-lined umbrella-- which is true!  The boy stood and looked: the lioness did the same. "She seemed to think I was not worth eating, so she walked off," he used to say--and he was Trooper 242 of the Imperial Light Horse who went back under fire for wounded comrades and was killed as he brought the last one out. I had an old cross-bred Hottentot-Bushman boy once--one could not tell which lot he favoured--who was full of the folklore stories and superstitions of his strange and dying race, which he half humorously and half seriously blended with his own knowledge and hunting experiences.  Jantje had the ugly wrinkled dry-leather face of his breed, with hollow cheeks, high cheek-bones, and little pinched eyes, so small and so deeply set that no one ever saw the colour of them; the peppe  corns of tight wiry wool that did duty for hair were sparsely scattered over his head like the stunted bushes in the desert; and his face and head were seamed with scars too numerous to count, the souvenirs of his drunken brawls.  He resembled a tame monkey rather than ahuman creature, being, like so many of his kind without the moral side or qualities of human nature which go to mark the distinction between man and monkey.  He was normally most cheery and obliging; but it meant nothing, for in a moment the monkey would peep out, vicious, treacherous and unrestrained.  Honesty, sobriety, gratitude, truth, fidelity, and humanity were impossible to him: it seemed as if even the germs were not there to cultivate, and the material with which to work did not exist. He had certain make-believe substitutes, which had in a sense been grafted on to his nature, and appeared to work, while there was no real use for them; they made a show, until they were tested; one took them for granted, as long as they were not disproved: it was a skin graft only, and there seemed to be no real `union' possible between them and the tough alien stock.  He differed in character and nature from the Zulu as much as he did from the white man; he was as void of principle as- well, as his next of kin, the monkey; yet, while without either shame of, or contempt for, cowardice; he was wholly without fear of physical danger, having a sort of fatalist's indifference to it; and that was something to set off against his moral deficit.  I put Jantje on to wash clothes the day he turned up at the waggons to look for work, and as he knelt on the  ocks stripped to the waist I noticed a very curious knotted line running up his right side from the lowest rib into the armpit.  The line was whiter than his yellow skin; over each rib there was a knot or widening in the line; and under the arm there was a big splotchy star--all markings of some curious wound.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 20)( Page 3 ) Jantje

There were numbers of little squirrel-like creatures there too.  Our fellows used to call them ground-squirrels and "tree-rats"; because they live underground, yet climb trees readily in search of food; they were little fellows like meerkats, with bushy tails ringed in brown, black and white, of which the waggon-boys made decorations for their slouch hats. Jock wanted a go at them: they did not appear quite so much beneath notice as the birds. Along the water's edge one came on the lagavaans, huge repulsive water-lizards three to four feet long, like crocodiles in miniature, sunning themselves in some favourite spot in the margin of the reeds or on the edge of the bank; they give one the jumps by the suddenness of their rush through the reeds and plunge into deep water. There were otters too, big black-brown fierce fellows, to be seen swimming silently close under the banks.  I got a couple of them, but was  lways nervous of letting Jock into the water after things, as one never knew where the crocodile lurked.  He got an ugly bite from one old dog-otter which I shot in shallow water; and, mortally wounded as he was, the otter put up a rare good fight before Jock finally hauled him out. Then there were the cane-rats, considered by some most excellent and delicate of meats, as big and tender as small sucking-pigs.  The cane-rat, living and dead, I was one of the stock surprises, and the subject of jokes and tricks upon the unsuspecting: there seems to be no sort of ground for associating the extraordinary fat thing, gliding among the reeds or swimming silently under the banks, with either its live capacity of rat or its more attractive dead _role_ of roast sucking-pig. The hardened ones enjoyed setting this treat before the hungry and unsuspecting, and, after a hearty meal, announcing--"That was roast rat: good, isn't it?"  The memory of one experience gives me water in the gills now!  It was unpleasant, but not equal to the nausea and upheaval which supervened when, after a very savoury stew of delicate white meat, we were shown the fresh skin of a monkey hanging from the end of the buck-rails, with the head drooping forward, eyes closed, arms dangling lifeless, and limp open hands--a ghastly caricature of some hanged human, shrivelled and shrunk within its clothes of skin.  I felt like a cannibal. The water tortoises in the silent pools, grotesque muddy fellows, were full of interest to the quiet watcher, and better that way than as the "turtle soup" which once or twice we ventured on and tried to think was good! There were certain hours of the day when it was more pleasant and profitable to lie in the shade and rest.  It is the time of rest for the Bushveld--that spell about middle-day; and yet if one remains quiet, there is generally something to see and something worth watching.  There were the insects on the ground about one which would not otherwise be seen at all; there were caterpillars clad in spiky armour made of tiny fragments of grass--fair defence no doubt against some enemies and a most marvellous disguise; other caterpillars clad in bark, impossible to detect until they moved; there were grasshoppers like leaves, and irregularly shaped stick insects, with legs as bulky as the body, and all jointed by knots like irregular twigs--wonderful mimetic creatures. Jock often found these things for me.  Something would move and interest him; and when I saw him stand up and examine a thing at his feet, turning it over with his nose or giving it a scrape with his paw, it was usually worth joining in the inspection.  The Hottentot-gods always attracted him as they reared up and `prayed' before him; quaint things, with tiny heads and thin necks and enormous eyes, that sat up with fore legs raised to pray, as a pet dog sits up and begs.