Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 21)( Page 3 ) Monkeys And Wildebeeste

The grimacing little imps invariably tempt one to tease or chase them, just to see their antics and methods; and when I rose, openly watching them and stepping about for a better view, they abandoned the silent methods and bounded freely from branch to branch for fresh cover, always ducking behind something if I pointed the gun or a stick or even my arm at them, and getting into paroxysms of rage and leaning over slang and cheek me whenever it seemed safe. Jock was full of excitement, thoroughly warmed up and anxious to be at them, running about from place to place to watch them, tacking and turning and jumping for better views, and now and then running to the trunk and scraping at it.  Whenever he did this there was a moment's silence; the idea of playing a trick on them struck me and I caught Jock up and put him in the fork of a big main branch about six feet from the ground.  The effect was magical: the whole of the top of the tree seemed to whip and rustle at once, and in two seconds there was not a monkey left. Then a wave in the top of a small tree some distance off betrayed them and we gave chase--a useless romping schoolboy chase.  They were in the small trees away from the river and it was easy to see and follow them; and to add to the fun and excitement I threw stones at the branches behind them.  Their excitement and alarm then became hysterical, and as we darted about to head them off they were several times obliged to scamper a few yards along the ground to avoid me and gain other trees. It was then that Jock enjoyed himself most: he ran at them and made flying leaps and snaps as they sprang up the trees out of reach.  It was like a caricature of children in one of their make-believe chases; the screams, grimaces, and actions were so human that it would have seemed like a tragedy had one of them been hurt.  They got away into the big trees once more, to Jock's disappointment but greatly to my relief; for I was quite pumped from the romp and laughter. The river at this point was broken into several sluices by islands formed of piles of rocks on which there were a few stunted trees and dense growths of tall reeds, and here and there little spits and fringes of white sand were visible.  There was plenty of small game in that part, and it was a great place for crocodiles.  As we were then about half a mile below where Mungo had been left I strolled along the bank on the look out for a shot, frequently stopping to examine suspicious-looking rocks on the sand spits or at the borders of the reed fringes on the little islands. The shooting of crocodiles was an act of war: it was enmity and not sport or a desire for trophies that prompted it, and when it did not interfere with other chances we never missed a practice shot at these fellows.  I picked out several `rocks,' so suspicious looking that I would have had a shot at them had there been a clear chance, and twice, while I was trying to make them out, they slid silently into the water before there was time to fire. However, further on there came a better chance than any: there was something so peculiar about the look of this `rock' that I picked a good spot and sat down to watch it; and presently the part nearest me turned slightly, just enough to show that it was a crocodile lying on the flat sand with his nose towards me and his tail hidden in the reeds.  It was fifty yards away, and from where I sat there was not much to aim at, as a Martini bullet would glance from almost any part of that polished hard case if it struck at such an angle. I was sitting on the bank above the shelving beach of the river on which a dense mass of reeds grew, and the waving feathery tops partly obscured the sight.  I know the bullet hit him somewhere, because he bounded with astonishing strength and activity several feet in the air and his tail slashed through the reeds like a mighty scythe.  The huge jaws opened and he gave a horrible angry bellow--something between a roar and a snarl--as he plunged into the river, sending masses of spray and water flying every way.  He made straight across, apparently at me, swimming on top of the water at amazing speed and throwing up a wave on either side and a white swirl of foam from the propelling tail. It was certainly a most surprising and unheard-of proceeding, and as he reached my side of the stream, and because hidden from me by the screen of reeds at my feet, I turned and bolted.  It may be that he came at me with murderous intent; or it may be that, blinded by rage or pain, he came towards me simply because he happened to be facing that way; but, whatever the reason, it was painfully clear that if he meant business he would be on to me before it was possible to see him in the reeds.  That was enough for me.  It had never occurred to me that there was going to be any fun in this for the crocodile; but one's sense of humour and justice was always being stimulated in the Bushveld. With twenty yards of open ground between us I turned and waited; but no crocodile appeared, nor was there a sound to be heard in the reeds.  A few minutes wait; a cautious return; a careful scrutiny; and then resort to sticks and stones; but all to no purpose: there was neither sign nor sound of the crocodile; and not being disposed to go into the reeds to look for something which I did not want, but might want me, I returned to Mungo--a little wiser, it is true, but not unduly `heady' on that account. Half an hour's jogging along the bank having failed to propose anything, I struck away from the river taking a line through the bush towards camp, and eventually came across a small herd of blue wildebeeste. Mungo's pricked ears and raised head warned me; but the grass being high it was not easy to see enough of them from the ground to place an effective shot, and before a chance offered they moved off slowly.  I walked after them, leading Mungo and trying to get a fair opening on slightly higher ground. Presently half a dozen blackish things appeared above the tall grass; they were the heads of the wildebeeste- all turned one way, and all looking at us with ears wide spread.  Only the upper halves of the heads were visible through the thinner tops of the grass, and even an ordinary standing shot was not possible.  I had to go to a tree for support in order to tip-toe for the shot, and whilst in the act of raising my rifle the heads disappeared; but I took chance and fired just below where the last one had shown up. The wildebeeste were out of sight, hidden by grass six feet high, but a branch of the tree beside me served as a horizontal bar and hoisting myself chin high I was able to see them again.  In front of us there was a dry vlei quite free of bush, some two hundred yards across and four hundred yards long, and the wildebeeste had gone away to the right and were skirting the vlei, apparently meaning to get round to the opposite side, avoiding the direct cut across the vlei for reasons of their own. It occurred to me that there must be a deep donga or perhaps a mud hole in front which they were avoiding; but that it might be possible for me to get across, or even half-way across, in time to have another shot at them the next time they stopped to look back, as they were almost certain to do; so I ran straight on.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 21)( Page 2 ) Monkeys And Wildebeeste

The day he caught the monkey he was well pleased, and may possibly have told the truth. Baboons and monkeys, he said, can count just like men, but they can only count two!  If one man goes into a mealie field and waits for them with a gun, their sentry will see him, and he may wait for ever; if two go and one remains, it is useless, for they realise that only one has come out where two went in; but if three go in, one may remain behind to lie in wait for them, for the monkeys, seeing more than one return, will invade the mealie field as soon as the two are safely out of the way.  That was only Jantje's explanation of the well-known fact  that monkeys and baboons know the difference between one and more than one. But, as Jantje explained, their cleverness helped him to catch them.  He went alone and came away alone, leaving his trap behind, knowing that they were watching his every movement, but knowing also that their intense curiosity would draw them to it the moment it seemed safe.  The trap he used was an old calabash or gourd with a round hole in it about an inch in diameter; and a few pumpkin seeds and mealies and a hard crust of bread, just small enough to get into the calabash, formed the bait. After fastening the gourd by a cord to a small stump, he left it lying on its side on the ground where he had been sitting.  A few crumbs and seeds were dropped near it and the rest placed in the gourd, with one or two showing in the mouth.  Then he walked off on the side where he would be longest in view, and when well out of sight sped round in a circuit to a previously selected spot where he could get close up again and watch. The foremost monkey was already on the ground when he got back and others were hanging from low branches or clinging to the stems, ready to drop or retreat.  Then began the grunts and careful timid approaches, such as one sees in a party of children hunting for the hidden `ghost' who is expected to appear suddenly and chase them; next, the chattering garrulous warnings and protests from the timid ones--the females--in the uppe branches; the sudden start and scurry of one of the youngsters; and the scare communicated to all, making even the leader jump back a pace; then his angry grunt and loud scolding of the frightened ones-- angry because they had given him a fright, and loud because he was reassuring himself. After a pause they began the careful roundabout approach and the squatting and waiting, making pretences of not being particularly interested, while their quick eyes watched everything; then the deft picking up of one thing--instantly dropped again, as one picks up a roasted chestnut and drops it in the same movement, in case it should be hot; and finally the greedy scramble and chatter. I have seen all that, but not, alas, the successful ending, when trying to imitate Jantje's methods.  Jantje waited until the tugs at the gourd became serious, and then, knowing that the smaller things had been taken out or shaken out and eaten and that some enterprising monkey had put its arm into the hole and grabbed the crust, he ran out. A monkey rarely lets go any food it has grabbed, and when, as in this case, the hand is jammed in a narrow neck, the letting go cannot easily be done instinctively or inadvertently; the act requires a deliberate effort.  So Jantje caught his monkey, and flinging his ragged coat over the captive sat down to make it safe.  By pushing the monkey's arm deeper into the gourd the crust became released and the hand freed; he  then gradually shifted the monkey about until he got the head into the shoulders of the loose old coat, and thence into the sleeve; and worked away at this until he had the creature as helpless as a mummy with the head appearing at the cuff-opening and the body jammed in the sleeve like a bulging overstuffed sausage.  The monkey struggled, screamed, chattered, made faces, and cried like a child; but Jantje gripping it between his knees worked away unmoved. He next took the cord from the calabash and tied one end securely round the monkey's neck, to the shrinking horror of that individual, and the other end to a stout bush stick about seven or eight feet long; and then slipped monkey cord and stick back through the sleeve and had his captive safe; the cord prevented it from getting away, and the stick from getting too close and biting him.  When they sat opposite and pulled faces at each other the family likeness was surprising.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 21)( Page 1) Monkeys And Wildebeeste

Mungo was not a perfect mount, but he was a great improvement on Snowball; he had a wretched walk, and led almost as badly as his predecessor; but this did not matter so much because he could be driven like a pack donkey and relied on not to play pranks.  In a gallop after game he was much faster than Snowball, having a wonderfully long stride for so low a pony. A horse made a good deal of difference in the hunting in many ways, not the least of which was that some sort of excursion was possible on most days.  One could go further in  the time available and, even if delayed, still be pretty sure of catching up to the waggons without much difficulty. Sometimes after a long night's trekking I would start off after breakfast for some `likely' spot, off-saddle there in a shady place, sleep during the heat of the day, and after a billy of tea start hunting towards the waggons in the afternoon. It was in such a spot on the Komati River, a couple of hundred yards from the bank, that on one occasion I settled down to make up lost ground in the matter of sleep, and with Mungo knee-haltered in good grass and Jock beside me, I lay flat on my back with hat covering my eyes and was soon comfortably asleep. The sleep had lasted a couple of hours when I began to dream that it was raining and woke up in the belief that a hail storm--following the rain--was just breaking over me.  I started up to find all just as it had been, and the sunlight beyond the big tree so glaring as to make the eyes ache.  Through half-closed lids I saw Mungo lying down asleep and made out Jock standing some yards away quietly watching me. With a yawn and stretch I lay back again; sleep was over but a good lazy rest was welcome: it had been earned, and, most comforting of all, there was nothing else to be done.  In the doze that followed I was surprised to feel quite distinctly something like a drop of rain strike my leg, and then another on my hat. "Hang it all, it is raining," I said, sitting up again and quite wide awake this time.  There was Jock still looking at me, but only for the moment of moving, it appears; for, a minute later he looked up into the tree above me with ears cocked, head on one side, and tail held lazily on the horizontal and moving slowly from time to time. It was his look of interested amusement. A couple of leaves fluttered down, and then the half-eaten pip of a `wooden orange' struck me in the face as I lay back again to see what was going on above.  The pip gave me the line, and away up among the thick dark foliage I saw a little old face looking down at me; the quick restless eyes were watchfully on the move, and the mouth partly opened in the shape of an O--face and attitude together a vivid expression of surprise and indignation combined with breathless interest. As my eyes fairly met those above me, the monkey ducked its head forward and promptly `made a face' at me without uttering a sound.  Then others showed up in different places, and whole figures became visible now as the monkeys stole softly along the branches to get a better look at Jock and me: there were a couple of dozen of them of all sizes. They are the liveliest, most restless, and most inquisitive of creatures; ludicrously nervous and excitable; quick to chattering anger and bursts of hysterical passion, which are intensely comical, especially when they have been scared.  They are creatures whose method of progress most readily betrays them by the swaying of a branch or quivering of leaves, yet they can steal about and melt away at will, like small grey ghosts, silent as the grave. I had often tried to trap them, but never succeeded: Jantje caught them, as he caught everything, with cunning that out-matched his wilder kindred; pitfalls, nooses, whip-traps, fall-traps, foot-snares, drags, slip knots of all kinds, and tricks that I cannot now remember, were in his repertory; but he disliked showing his traps, and when told to explain he would half sulkily show one of the common kind.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 20)( Page 8 ) Jantje

The Jackal asked that he might be Umpire for the Things of the Earth. "You are too small to be seen!" objected the Lion gruffly. "No!  No!" urged the Jackal, "I will stand on a big ant-heap and hold my bushy tail on high where all will see it shining silver and gold in the sunlight." "Good!" said the Lion.  "It is better so, perhaps, for you would never fight; and as soon as one begins to run, others follow!" The Things of the Air gathered in their numbers, and the Eagle led them, showing them how to make up for their weakness by coming swiftly down in numbers where they found their enemies alone or weak; how to keep the sun behind them so that it would shine in their enemies' eyes and blind them; and how the loud voiced ones should attack on the rear and scream suddenly, while those with bill and claw swooped down in front and struck at the eyes. And for a time it went well with the Things of the Air.  The little birds and locusts and butterflies came in clouds about the Lion and he could see nothing as he moved from place to place; and the Things of the Earth were confused by these sudden attacks; and, giving up the fight, began to flee from their places. Then the Jackal, believing that he would not be found out, cheated: he kept his tail up to make them think they were not beaten.  The Lion roared to them, so that all could hear, to watch the hill where the Jackal stood and see the sign of victory; and the Things of the Earth, being strong, gathered together again and withstood the enemy and drove them off. The battle was going against the Things of the Air when the Go'way bird came to the Eagle and said: "It is the Jackal who has done this.  Long ago we had won; but, Cheat and Coward, he kept his tail aloft and his people have returned and are winning now." Then the Eagle, looking round the field, said, "Send me the Bee." And when the Bee came the Eagle told him what to do; and setting quietly about his work, as his habit is, he made a circuit through the trees that brought him to the hill where the Jackal watched from the ant-heap. While the Jackal stood there with his mouth open and tongue out, laughing to see how his cheating had succeeded, the Bee came up quietly behind and, as Jantje put it, "stuck him from hereafter!" The Jackal gave a scream of pain and, tucking his tail down, jumped from the ant-heap and ran away into the bush; and when the Things of the Earth saw the signal go down they thought that all was lost, and fled. So was the Great Battle won!

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 20)( Page 7 ) Jantje

How much of fact there may have been in it I cannot say: honey-birds gave me many a wild goose chase, but when they led to anything at all it was to hives, and not to snakes, tigers and crocodiles.  Perhaps it is right to own up that I never cheated a honey-bird!  We pretended to laugh at the superstition, but we left some honey all the same--just for luck!  After all, as we used to say, the bird earned its share and deserved encouragement. Round the camp fire at nights it was no uncommon thing to see some one jump up and let out with whatever was handiest at some poisonous intruder.  There was always plenty of dead wood about and we piled on big branches and logs freely, and as the ends burnt to ashes in the heart of the fire we kept pushing the logs further in.  Of course, dead trees are the home of all sorts of `creepy-crawly' things, and as the log warmed up and the fire eat into the decayed heart and drove thick hot smoke through the cracks and corridors and secret places in the logs the occupants would come scuttling out at the butt ends.  Small snakes were common--the big ones usually clearing when the log was first disturbed--and they slipped away into the darkness giving hard quick glances about them; but scorpions, centipedes and all sorts of spiders were by far the most numerous. Occasionally in the mornings we found snakes under our blankets, where they had worked in during the night for the warmth of the human body; but no one was bitten, and one made a practice of getting up at once, and with one movement, so that unwelcome visitors should not be warned or provoked by any preliminary rolling.  The scorpions, centipedes and tarantulas seemed to be more objectionable; but they were quite as anxious to get away as we were, and it is wonderful how little damage is done. One night when we had been watching them coming out of a big honeycombed log like the animals from the Ark, and were commenting on the astonishing number and variety of these things, I heard Jantje conveying in high-pitched tones fanciful bits of information to the credulous waggon-boys.  When he found that we too were listenin --and Jantje had the storyteller's love for a `gallery'--he turned our way and dropped into a jargon of broken English, helped out with Hottentot-Dutch, which it is impossible to reproduce in intelligible form. He had made some allusion to `the great battle,' and when I asked for an explanation he told us the story.  It is well enough known in South Africa, and similar stories are to be found in the folklore of other countries, but it had a special interest for us in that Jantje gave it as having come to him from his own people.  He called it "The Great Battle between the Things of the Earth and the Things of the Air." For a long time there had been jealousy between the Things of the Earth and the Things of the Air, each claiming superiority for themselves; each could do something the others could not do; and each thought their powers greater and their qualities superior.  One day a number of them happened to meet on an open plain near the river's bank, and the game of brag began again as usual.  At last the Lion, who was very cross, turned to the old Black Aasvogel, as he sat half asleep on a dead tree, and challenged him. "You only eat the dead: you steal where others kill.  It is all talk with you; you will not fight!" The Aasvogel said nothing, but let his bald head and bare neck settle down between his shoulders, and closed his eyes. "He wakes up soon enough when we find him squatting above the carcase," said the Jackal.  "See him flop along then." "When _we_ find him!" the Aasvogel said, opening his eyes wide. "Sneaking prowler of the night!  Little bastard of the Striped Thief!" "Come down and fight," snarled the Hyena angrily.  "Thief and scavenger yourself!" So the Things of the Air gathered about and joined in backing the Black Aasvogel; and the Things of the Earth kept on challenging them to come down and have it out; but nobody could hear anything because the Jackal yapped incessantly and the Go'way bird, with its feathers all on end and its neck craned out, screamed itself drunk with passion. Then the Eagle spoke out: "You have talked enough.  Strike--strike for the eyes!" and he swept down close to the Lion's head, but swerving to avoid the big paw that darted out at him, he struck in passing at the Jackal, and  took off part of his ear. "I am killed!  I am killed!" screamed the Jackal, racing for a hole to hide in.  But the other beasts laughed at him; and when the Lion called them up and bade them take their places in the field for the great battle, the Jackal walked close behind him holding his head on one side and showing each one what the Eagle had done. "Where is my place?" asked the Crocodile, in a soft voice, from the bank where no one had noticed him come up. The Things of the Earth that were near him moved quietly away. "Your place is in the water," the Lion answered.  "Coward and traitor whom no one trusts!  Who would fight with his back to you?" The Crocodile laughed softly and rolled his green eyes from one to
another; and they moved still further away. "What am I?" asked the Ostrich.  "Kindred of the Birds, I am of the winged ones; yet I cannot fight with them!" "Let him fly!" said the Jackal, grinning, "and we shall then see to whom he belongs!  Fly, old Three Sticks!  Fly!" The Ostrich ran at him, waltzing and darting with wings outspread, but the Jackal dodged away under the Lion and squealed out, "Take your feet off the ground, Clumsy, and fly!" Then it was arranged that there should be two Umpires, one for each party, and that the Umpires should stand on two high hills where all could see them.  The Ostrich was made Umpire for the Things of the Air, and as long as the fight went well with his party he was to hold his head high so that the Things of the Air might see the long thin neck upright and, knowing that all was well, fight on.