Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 23)( Page 1 ) The Fighting Baboon

On the way to Lydenburg, not many treks from Paradise Camp, we were outspanned for the day.  Those were the settled parts; on the hills and in the valleys about us were the widely scattered workings of the gold diggers or the white tents of occasional prospectors. The place was a well-known and much-frequented public outspan, and a fair-sized wayside store marked its importance.  After breakfast we went to the store to `swap' news with the men on the spot and a couple of horsemen who had offsaddled there. There were several other houses of sorts; they were rough wattle and daub erections which were called houses, as an acknowledgment of pretensions expressed in the rectangular shape and corrugated iron roof. One of these belonged to Seedling, the Field Cornet and only official in the district.  He was the petty local Justice who was supposed to administer minor laws, collect certain revenues and taxes, and issue passes.  The salary was nominal, but the position bristled with opportunities for one who was not very particular; and the then occupant of the office seemed well enough pleased with the arrangement, whatever the public may have thought of it. He was neither popular nor trusted: many tales of great harshness and injustice to the natives, and of corruption and favouritism in dealing with the whites, added to habitual drunkenness and uncertain temper, made a formidable tally in the account against him; he was also a bully and a coward, and all knew it; but unfortunately he was the law--as it stood for us! Seedling, although an official of the Boer Government, was an Englishman; there were several of them on the goldfields in those days, and for the most part, they were good fellows and good officials--this one was an exception.  We all knew him personally: he was effusively friendly; and we suffered him and--paid for the drinks.  That was in his public capacity: in his private capacity he was the owner of the fighting baboon of evil and cruel repute. If ever fate's instruments moved unconscious of their mission and the part they were to play, it is certain that Jock and Jim Makokel' did so that day--the day that was the beginning of Seedling's fall and end. It is not very clear how the trouble began.  We had been sitting on the little store-counter and talking for over an hour, a group of half a dozen, swapping off the news of the goldfields and the big world against that from Delagoa and the Bushveld; Seedling had joined us early and, as usual, began the morning with drinks.  We were not used to that on the road or out hunting; indeed, we rarely took any drink, and most of us never touched a drop except in the towns.  The transport-rider had opportunities which might easily become temptations--the load often consisting of liquor, easy to broach and only to be paid for at the end of the trip; but we had always before us the lesson of the failures. Apart from this, however, we did not take liquor, because we could not work as well or last as long, run as fast or shoot as straight, if we did.  And that was reason enough! We had one round of drinks which was `called' by one of the horsemen, and then, to return the compliment, another round called by one of us. A few minutes later Seedling announced effusively that it was his `shout.'  But it was only ten in the morning, and those who had taken spirits had had enough, indeed, several had only taken a sip of the second round in order to comply with a stupid and vicious custom; I would not and could not attack another bottle of sour gingerbeer; and thus Seedling's round was reduced to himself and the proprietor.  No man however thirsty would drink alone in those days--it was taken a mark of meanness or evidence of `soaking'--and the proprietor had to be ready at any time to `take one for the good of the house.' A quarter of an hour passed, and Seedling, who had said nothing since his `shout' was declined, turned away and strolled out, with hands thrust deep in the pockets of his riding breeches and a long heavy sjambok dangling from one wrist.  There was silence as he moved through the doorway, and when the square patch of sunlight on the earth floor was again unbroken the man behind the counter remarked,--

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 22)( Page 6 ) The Old Crocodile

Had the crocodile risen in front of Jock that would have been the end-- one snap would have done it; but it passed clear underneath, and, coming up just beyond him, the great lashing tail sent the dog up with the column of water a couple of feet in the air.  He did as he had done when the koodoo bull tossed him: his head was round straining to get at the crocodile before he was able to turn his body in the water; and the silence was broken by a yell of wild delight and approval from the bank. Before us the water was too deep and the stream too strong to stand in; Jim in his eagerness had gone in shoulder high, and my rifle when aimed only just cleared the water.  The crocodile was the mark for more assegais from the bank as it charged up stream again, with Jock tailing behind, and it was then easy enough to follow its movements by the shafts that were never all submerged.  The struggles became perceptibly weaker, and as it turned again to go with the stream every effort was concentrated on killing and landing it before it reached the rocks and rapids. I moved back for higher ground and, finding that the bed shelved up rapidly down stream, made for a position where there would be enough elevation to put in a brain shot.  The water was not more than waist high then, and as the crocodile came rolling and thrashing down I waited for his head to show up clearly.  My right foot touched a sloping rock which rose almost to the surface of the water close above the rapids, and anxious to get the best possible position for a last shot, I took my stand there.  The rock was the ordinary shelving bedrock, uptilted at an easy angle and cut off sheer on the exposed side, and the wave in the current would have shown this to any one not wholly occupied with other things; but I had eyes for nothing except the crocodile which was then less than a dozen yards off, and in my anxiety to secure a firm footing for the shot I moved the right foot again a few inches--over the edge of the rock.  The result was as complete a spill as if one unthinkingly stepped backwards off a diving board: I disappeared in deep water, with the knowledge that the crocodile would join me there in a few seconds. One never knows how these things are done or how long they take: I was back on the rock--without the rifle--and had the water out of my eyes in time to see the crocodile roll helplessly by, six feet away, with Jock behind making excited but ridiculously futile attempts to get hold of the tail; Jim--swimming, plunging and blowing like a maddened hippo-- formed the tail of the procession, which was headed by my water logged hat floating heavily a yard or so in front of the crocodile. While a crowd of yelling niggers under the generalship of Jim were landing the crocodile, I had time to do some diving, and managed to fish out my rifle. My Sunday change was wasted.  But we got the old crocodile; and that was something, after all.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 22)( Page 5 ) The Old Crocodile

Then the whole world seemed to burst into indescribable turmoil; shouts and yells burst out on all sides; the kaffirs rushed down to the banks-- the men armed with sticks and assegais, and the women and children with nothing more formidable than their voices; the crocodile was alive--very much alive--and in the water; the waggon-boys, headed by Jim, were all round me and all yelling out together what should or should not be done, and what would happen if we did or did not do it.  It was Babel and Bedlam let loose. With the first plunge the crocodile disappeared, but it came up again ten yards away thrashing the water into foam and going up stream like a paddle-boat gone reeling roaring mad--if one can imagine such a thing! I had another shot at him the instant he reappeared, but one could neither see nor hear where it struck; and again and again I fired whenever he showed up for a second.  He appeared to be shot through the lungs; at any rate the kaffirs on the other bank, who were then quite close enough to see, said that it was so.  The waggon-boys had run down the bank out on to the first sand spit and I followed them, shouting to the kaffirs opposite to get out of the line of fire, as I could no longer shoot without risk of hitting them. The crocodile after his first straight dash up stream had tacked about in all directions during the next few minutes, disappearing for short spells and plunging out again in unexpected places.  One of these sudden reappearances brought him once more abreast, and quite near to us, and Jim with a fierce yell and with his assegai held high in his right hand dashed into the water, going through the shallows in wild leaps.  I called to him to come back but against his yells and the excited shouts of the ever-increasing crowd my voice could not live; and Jim, mad with excitement, went on.  Twenty yards out, where increasing depth steadied him, he turned for a moment and seeing himself alone in the water called to me with eager confidence, "Come on, Baas." It had never occurred to me that any one would be such an idiot as to go into water after a wounded crocodile.  There was no need to finish off this one, for it was bound to die, and no one wanted the meat or skin. Who, then, would be so mad as to think of such a thing?  Five minutes earlier I would have answered very confidently for myself; but there are times when one cannot afford to be sensible.  There was a world of unconscious irony in Jim's choice of words "_Come_ on!" and "_Baas_!" The boy giving the lead to his master was too much for me; and in I went! I cannot say that there was much enjoyment in it for the first few moments--not until the excitement took hold and all else was forgotten. The first thing that struck me was that in the deep water my rifle was worth no more than a walking-stick, and not nearly as useful as an assegai; but what drove this and many other thoughts from my mind in a second was the appearance of Jock on the stage and his sudden jump into the leading place. In the first confusion he had passed unnoticed, probably at my heels as usual, but the instant I answered Jim's challenge by jumping into the water he gave one whimpering yelp of excitement and plunged in too; and in a few seconds he had outdistanced us all and was leading straight for the crocodile.  I shouted to him, of course in vain--he heard nothing; and Jim and I plunged and struggled along to head the dog off. As the crocodile came up Jock went straight for him--his eyes gleaming, his shoulders up, his nose out, his neck stretched to the utmost in his eagerness--and he ploughed along straining every muscle to catch up. When the crocodile went under he slackened and looked anxiously about, but each fresh rise was greeted by the whimpering yelps of intense suppressed excitement as he fairly hoisted himself out of the water with the vigour of his swimming. The water was now breast-high for us, and we were far out in the stream, beyond the sand spit where the crocodile had lain, when the kaffirs on the bank got their first chance and a flight of assegais went at the enemy as he rose.  Several struck and two remained in him; he rose again a few yards from Jim, and that sportsman let fly one that struck well home.  Jock, who had been toiling close behind for some time and gaining slowly, was not five yards off then; the floundering and lashing of the crocodile were bewildering, but on he went as grimly and eagerly as ever.  I fired again--not more than eight yards away--but the water was then up to my arms, and it was impossible to pick a vital part; the brain and neck were the only spots to finish him, but one could see nothing beyond a  great upheaval of water and clouds of spray and blood-stained foam. The crocodile turned from the shot and dived up stream, heading straight for Jock: the din of yelling voices stopped instantly as the huge open-mouthed thing plunged towards the dog; and for one sick horrified moment I stood and watched--helpless.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 22)( Page 4 ) The Old Crocodile

Some of Tom's stories were truly incredible, but not those in which he figured to advantage: he was too brave a man to have consciously gained credit he did not deserve.  He died, slowly starved to death by the cruel disease--the brave, kindly, cheery spirit, smiling unbeaten to the end. That was what Jim referred to when he called me to kill the murderer of women and children.  It pleased him and others to say that this was the same crocodile; and I believe it was.  The locality was the same, and the kraal boys said that it was in the old place from which all its murderous raids had been made; and that was all we knew. I took the rifle and went with the herd boy; Jim followed close behind, walking on his toes with the waltzy springy movement of an ostrich, eager to get ahead and repeatedly silenced and driven back by me in the few hundred yards' walk to the river. A queer premonitory feeling came over me as I saw we were making straight for the bathing pool; but before reaching the bank the herd boy squatted down, indicating that somewhere in front and below us the enemy would be found.  An easy crawl brought me to the river bank and, sure enough, on the very spot where I had stood to wash, only fifty yards from us, there was an enormous crocodile.  He was lying along the sand spit with his full length exposed to me.  Such a shot would have been a moral certainty, but as I brought the rifle slowly up it may have glinted in the sun, or perhaps the crocodile had been watching us all the time, for with one easy turn and no splash at all he slid into the river and was gone. It was very disgusting and I pitched into Jim and the other boys behind for having made a noise and shown themselves; but they were still squatting when I reached them and vowed they had neither moved nor spoken.  We had already turned to go when there came a distant call from beyond the river.  To me it was merely a kaffir's voice and a sound quite meaningless: but to the boys' trained ears it spoke clearly.  Jim pressed me downwards and we all squatted again. "He is coming out on another sandbank," Jim explained. Again I crawled to the bank and lay flat, with the rifle ready.  There was another sand streak a hundred yards out in the stream with two out croppings of black rock at the upper end of it--they were rocks right enough, for I had examined them carefully when bathing.  This was the only other sandbank in sight: it was higher than it appeared to be from a distance and the crocodile whilst hidden from us was visible to the natives on the opposite bank as it lay in the shallow water and emerged inch by inch to resume its morning sun bath.  The crocodile was so slow in showing up that I quite thought it had been scared off again, and I turned to examine other objects and spots up and down the stream; but presently glancing back at the bank again I saw what appeared to be a third rock, no bigger than a loaf of bread.  This object I watched until my eyes ached and swam; it was the only possible crocodile; yet it was so small, so motionless, so permanent looking, it seemed absurd to doubt that it really was a stone which had passed unnoticed before. As I watched unblinkingly it seemed to grow bigger and again contract with regular swing, as if it swelled and shrank with breathing; and knowing that this must be merely an optical delusion caused by staring too long, I shut my eyes for a minute.  The effect was excellent: the rock was much bigger; and after that it was easy to lie still and wait for the cunning old reptile to show himself. It took half an hour of this cautious manoeuvring and edging on the part of the crocodile before he was comfortably settled on the sand with the sun warming all his back.  In the meantime the waggon-boys behind me had not stirred; on the opposite side of the river kaffirs from the neighbouring kraal had gathered to the number of thirty or forty, men, women and children, and they stood loosely grouped, instinctively still silent and watchful, like a little scattered herd of deer.  All on both sides were watching me and waiting for the shot.  It seemed useless to delay longer; the whole length of the body was showing, but it looked so wanting in thickness, so shallow in fact, that it was evident the crocodile was lying, not on the top, but on the other slope of the sand spit; and probably not more than six or eight inches--in depth--of body was visible. It was little enough to aim at, and the bullet seemed to strike the top of the bank first, sending up a column of sand, and then, probably knocked all out of shape, ploughed into the body with a tremendous thump. The crocodile threw a back somersault--that is, it seemed to rear up on its tail and spring backwards; the jaws divided into a huge fork as, for a second, it stood up on end; and it let out an enraged roar, seemingly aimed at the heavens.  It was a very sudden and dramatic effect, following on the long silence.