I put him back with the other puppies and returned to the tree where Ted and the rest were sitting. What an age it seemed! 0. The figures of weights and measurements of animals are gathered from many sources, and refer only to first-class specimens. He was stone deaf; but I did not know it then. He was like the old bull in a herd—he walked his course; none molested and none disputed; the way opened before him. The reason for Jock’s persistent disobedience that day was not even suspected then; I put everything down to the kick; and he seemed to me to be ‘all wrong,’ but indeed there was excuse enough for him. This charming holiday resort, midway between Nelspruit and Barberton, on the scenic Panorama Route, is a unique and accessible get-away. Five of the puppies were fat strong yellow little chaps with dark muzzles—just like their father, as Ted said; and their father was an imported dog, and was always spoken of as the best dog of the breed that had ever been in the country. One day a gang of about thirty of these Shangaans, each carrying his load of blankets, clothing, pots, billies and other valuables on his head, was coming along a footpath beside the road some twenty yards away from the waggons. To one caught in it, all the world seems deluged and overwhelmed; yet a mile away it may be all peace and sunshine. The stick came down with a whirr and a crash that crimped every nerve in my body; and the Shangaan dropped like a log. It looked slowly round, giving one long full gaze back at us which seemed to be “Good-bye, and—thank you!” and cantered out into the dark. Our line was much the same as Mungo’s and would take us some seven or eight paces off the road—more than that was not possible owing to the barrier of thorns on that side. Again I crawled to the bank and lay flat, with the rifle ready. Then the night became one long torment: the spells of rest might extend from a quarter of an hour to an hour; then from the dead sleep of downright weariness I would be roused by the deep far-reaching voice; “Funa ’nyama, Inkos” wove itself into my dreams, and waking I would find Jim standing beside me remorselessly urging the same request in Zulu, in broken English, and in Dutch—“My wanta meat, Baas,” “Wil fleisch krij, Baas,” and the old, old, hatefully familiar explanation of the difference between “man’s food” and “piccanins’ food,” interspersed with grandiose declarations that he was “Makokela—Jim Makokel’,” who “catchum lion ’live.” Sometimes he would expand this into comparisons between himself and the other boys, much to their disadvantage; and on these occasions he invariably worked round to his private grievances, and expressed his candid opinions of Sam. It was after that that the natural effect of such a meeting and such a chance began to tell. The Man With The Black Dog: A True Modern-Day Jock Of The Bushveld - Kindle edition by Cesare, Mario. He had made some allusion to ‘the great battle,’ and when I asked for an explanation he told us the story. That night we made the fire close to our sleeping-place and moved the kaffirs further away, but next morning the pot was again empty—cleaned and polished as if it had been washed out. Only once he made a mistake; and he paid for it—very nearly with his life. At that moment I had not a shadow of doubt about the way—no more, indeed, than if we had been on the road itself: no suspicion of the truth occurred to me; yet the simple fact is we were not then on the koodoo trail at all, but, having made a complete circle, had come on to our own trail at the molehill and were now doing the circle the second time—but the reverse way now. Every one knows that a dog can feel angry, frightened, pleased, and disappointed. A crocodile has taken one of the oxen.” The waggon-boys heard it also, and armed with assegais and sticks were on the bank almost as soon as I was; but there was no sign of crocodile or bullock. There were friends enough—all kind and true—and in their wisdom they said: “Here it is safe: yonder all is chance, where many indeed are called, but few—so few—are chosen. But we’ve learned some things that we won’t forget.” And as I dropped off to sleep again I felt a few feeble sleepy pats against my leg, and knew it was Jock’s tail wagging “Good night.”. It was a hard day, and by nightfall it was easy to pick out the oxen who would not last out a week. Even a good span with a good driver may well come to grief in trying to pass another that is stuck—for the sight and example are demoralising—but old Charlie did not turn a hair; he went steadily on, giving a brisker call and touching up his oxen here and there with light flicks. I felt compassion for. I called for water. An’ dawgs is the same.”. The kaffirs were too scared to risk being caught by him, but the dogs from the surrounding kraals prowled about after dark, scavenging and thieving where they could; and what angered Tom most of all was the killing of his fowls. Sir James Percy FitzPatrick, KCMG, known as Percy FitzPatrick, was a South African author, politician, mining financier and pioneer of the fruit industry. Rooiland the restless, when dissatisfied with the grass or in want of water, would cast about up wind for a few minutes and then with his hot eyeballs staring and nostrils well distended choose his line, going resolutely along and only pausing from time to time to give a low moan for signal and allow the straggling string of unquestioning followers to catch up. Another short spell of tip-toe walking and intent listening, and then it came to me that one shot as a signal was useless; I should have fired more and at regular intervals, like minute-guns at sea. Evidently the final rush was a manoeuvre to get Jock clear of his heels and flanks as he started, and thus secure a lead for the next run. It is the story of Sir Percy FitzPatrickâ€™s experiences as a young transport driver and prospector in the Eastern Transvaal Lowveld. Jock of the Bushveld is a true story written by the South African writer Percy FitzPatrick. Judging by the laughter, there was only one person present who did not understand the joke, and I had to ask—with some misgiving—who was this Jim who needed so much care and feeding, and caused such a scare. Then there came a lull in the shouts from the waggon and in answer to the little voorlooper’s warning shout, “Pas op, Baas!” (Look out, Master! We stood on the edge of our burn, waiting for the ground to cool, and at my feet a pair of tock-tockie beetles, hump backed and bandy-legged, came toiling slowly and earnestly along; they reached the edge of our burn, touched the warm ash, and turned patiently aside—to walk round it! The two stood for a few seconds sniffing at a particular spot and then both together looked steadily upstream: there was another pause and they moved very slowly and carefully forward a yard or so and sniffed again with their noses almost touching. It was nearly four hours since he had disappeared, and it was as sure as anything could be that something extraordinary must have happened or he would have come back to me long before this. Jock suddenly switched up his head, put it a bit sideways as a man would do, listening over his shoulder with his nose rather up in the air. To see what your friends thought of this book, because it's a South African Novel that I have found difficult to get. I looked out at the driving rain and the glistening earth, as shown up by constant flashes of lightning: it was a world of rain and spray and running water. If this were all, it would be like shooting in a well-stocked cover, but it is not only man that is on the watch for game at the drinking-places. A couple of times he stopped entirely and stood in the road, facing straight back and growling; and I followed suit. Jantje fled back like a buck—the rattle on the stones behind him and crash of reeds putting yards into every bound. How free!’ Be wise and do not venture. The dog was still so dazed and shaken that he reeled slightly, steadying himself by spreading his legs well apart, and there followed a few seconds’ pause in which he stood thus; and then he began to walk forward with the uncertain staggery walk of a toddling child. 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. Jock of the Bushveld, Africa’s Best Loved Dog Hero. He was the best of companions, and through the years that we hunted together I never tired of watching him. One could not imagine anything so small being in so great a rage. No two days were quite alike; yet many were alike in the sense that they were successful without hitch and without interest to any but the hunters; many others were marked by chases in which Jock’s part—most essential to success—too closely resembled that of other days to be worth repeating. I fastened Jock up in the tent-waggon lest the sight of him should prove too tempting; he was bristling like a hedgehog and constantly working out beyond the cattle, glaring and growling incessantly towards the bush. “The best dog I ever owned was a golden brindle,” said the old man thoughtfully, after I had laughed at the idea of selling my dog. 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. One result of this was that it was always jamming, and unless the cartridges were kept well greased the empty shells would stick and the ejector fail to work; and this was almost sure to happen when the carbine became hot from quick firing. “Water!” roared Jim, “bring water”; and glaring round he made a spring—stick in hand—at the nearest kaffir. I believe he watched my lips; he was so quick to obey the order when it came. What with the hot sun, the heavy sand, and the pace at which we had gone, I was so pumped that I finished the last hundred yards at a walk, and had plenty of time to see what was going on; but even when I got up to them the struggle was so fierce and the movements so quick that for some time it was not possible to get hold of the duiker to finish it off. 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. On ahead of us to the right the trees seemed fewer and the light stronger; and there I came upon some rising ground bare of bush. 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! We skinned and cut up the buck and pushed on again; but the roughness of the trail and the various stoppages had delayed us greatly, and we failed to get the expected bag. That was Jim, when the fit was on him—transported by some trifling and unforeseen incident from the hum-drum of the road to the life he once had lived with splendid recklessness. He had gone out to shoot bush-pheasants, and came unexpectedly on a lioness playing with her cubs: the cubs hid in the grass, but she stood up at bay to protect them, and he, forgetting that he had taken the big ‘looper’ cartridges from his gun and reloaded with Number 6, fired. Jim Hill requests your company to dinner to-morrow, Sunday!”. De accommodatie beschikt over een zonneterras. The main version of how Jock died is told as follows : When Fitzpatrick went to live in Barberton, he realised Jock was miserable living in a town and gave the dog to his friend Tom Barnett, who ran a supply store in what became Mozambique. Snowball was an ‘old soldier’—I say it with all respect! It was strange to look about and see the naked country all round us, where but a few minutes earlier the tall grass had shut us in; but the big bare ant-heap was untouched, and there we flung ourselves down, utterly done. The title might state: "Jock", but listening it to it today, I almost want to "retitle" it. Many people used to ask what breed the puppies were—I suppose it was because poor cross faithful old Jess was not much to look at, and because no one had a very high opinion of yellow dogs in general, and nobody seemed to remember any famous yellow bull-terriers. We tried a little way up and down, but found deeper water, more mud and reeds, and no break in the bank; there was not even a lagavaan slide, a game path, or a drinking-place. Jock, who had no screen and whose feet had no protection, was in my arms; and we strove to shield ourselves from the furnace-blast with the branches we had used to beat out the fire round the big tree which was our main shelter. I understood then—at last—that of his deliberate kindliness he had come out that morning meaning to make a happy day of it for a youngster; and he did it. The rawest of beginners would have needed no explanation. so few are free and well. The dassies too—watchful, silent and rubber-footed—played hide-and-seek with them in the cracks and crevices; but the dogs had no chance there. It was horrible! In cleverness they were well-matched—neither scored in attack; neither made or lost a point. Afterwards, when we were alone, one of them told me Ted had trained her not to feed from any one else, adding, “You must not feed another man’s dog; a dog has only one master!”. Willing, but unused to fend for himself—unfit by training for the wild rough life, heart and energy all to waste, the little he did know of no value there—the struggle with the ebbing tide went on; it was the wearing hopeless fight against that which one cannot grapple, and cannot even see. The shot was the end; and as the splendid head dropped slowly over, Jock let go his hold. No, that could not be happiness! In a little while he seemed satisfied that all was well, and with head thrown slightly forward and the sure clean tread of his kind, he took his line unhesitatingly down the hill. We stayed there a couple of hours, and that is the only time he really opened out. The knees seemed to give way: they could not remain standing. In this chase I saw him time after time try at the sable’s flanks and run up abreast of his shoulder and make flying leaps at the throat; but he never got in front where the horns could reach him, and although he passed and repassed behind to try on the other side when he had failed at the one, and looked up eagerly at the hind legs as he passed them, he made no attempt at them. I walked like a machine, with rifle on shoulder and glad to be rid of the broken bandolier, then transferred to Mungo; and Jock trotted at my heels. When Rooiland had ‘trek fever’ there was no rest for herd boys. But in there the roar was deafening; the rain beat down with such force that it drove through the canvas-covered waggon-tent and greased buck-sail in fine mist. When I got up abreast he half turned and looked me over with eyes slightly narrowed and a faint but ominous smile on one side of his mouth, and drawled out gently: “You’d oughter brought some fire crackers!” If only he had sworn at me it would have been endurable. Jim’s gone. But the position was more difficult than it looked: as soon as the Shangaans saw my head appearing over the rise, they scattered like chaff before the wind, and ran as if they would never stop. Snowball got a scare, because Hall in his anxiety to get me out rushed up to him on the warty side to get the reins off; and the old ruffian waltzed around, dragging Hall through the thorns, while Snarleyow and I waited in the water for help. Once they caught an ant-bear in the open, and there was a rough-and-tumble; we had no weapons—not even sticks—with us, and the dogs had it all to themselves. It’s all ‘chalked up’ for him, an’ I got to wipe it off the slate when the next loads comes and he collects my customs’ duties. Would it not have been better for him—happier for me? 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. It was the sound of two voices from the next waggons. In grim silence he hung on while the duiker plunged, and, when it fell, tugged and worried as if to shake the life out of it. You got ter walk soft an’ keep yer head shut!”, In reply to my apology he said that there was “no bell an’ curtain in this yere play; you got ter be thar waitin’.”. The swims were very delightful but somewhat different from ordinary bathes; however remote may have been the risk of meeting a crocodile when you dived, or of being grabbed by one as you swam, the idea was always there and made it more interesting. Half an hour was wasted in watching and searching; but we saw no more of crocodile or bullock, and as there was nothing to be done I turned up stream to find a shallower and a safer crossing. 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. Time after time he would close his eyes as if the sight of the meat was more than he could bear, and his mouth would water so from the savoury smell that long streels of dribble would hang down on either side. There was something very familiar in this, and it was with a queer feeling of pride and excitement that I asked: “Did he ever say to you ‘My catchum lion ’live’?”, “By gum! The slithering tongue and wide-open mouth looked like a big red gash splitting his head in two; he was so blown, his breath came and went like the puffing of a diminutive steam-engine at full speed, and his eyes with all the wickedness of fight—but none of the watchfulness—gone out of them, flickered incessantly from the buck to me: one sign from either would have been enough! We were still looking excitedly about—trying to make out what the baboons were doing, watching the others still coming down the Berg, and peering anxiously for a sight of the tiger—when once more Jim’s voice gave us a shock. I used to think that perhaps if he were given a chance he might grow up like poor old Jess herself, ugly, cross and unpopular, but brave and faithful. The old Martini carbine had one bad fault; even I could not deny that; years of rough and careless treatment in all sorts of weather—for it was only a discarded old Mounted Police weapon—had told on it, and both in barrel and breech it was well pitted with rust scars. Time and again, as for part of a second I singled one out and tried to aim, others would come racing straight for us, compelling me to switch round to face them, only to find them swerve with a dart or a mighty bound when within a few paces of me. Jim favoured me with a hard searching look, a subdued grunt, and a click expressive of things he could not put into words, and without another word he turned and walked back towards his waggon. Jock went in front: it was best so, and quite safe, for, whilst certain to spot anything long before we could, there was not the least risk of his rushing it or making any noise. The one I had seen and shot was but one of a herd all dozing peacefully in the shade, and strangest of all, it was the one that was farthest from me. We had been out perhaps an hour, and by unceasing watchfulness I had learnt many things: they were about as well learnt and as useful as a sentence in a foreign tongue got off by heart; but to me they seemed the essentials and the fundamentals of hunting. Still, there were other chances; and I thought of very little else all day long, wondering if any of the good ones would be left; and if so, which? If I had only known it, it was a hopeless chase for an inexperienced hunter: they were simply playing with me. What they could they did: what they had they gave. The slightest whisper of a “Hst” from me would have brought him to a breathless standstill at any moment; but even this was not likely to be needed, for he kept as close a watch on my face as I did on him. But Jim—only Jim—sat on his rough three-legged stool, elbows on knees and hands clasped together, staring intently into the coals. There were the trees and spaces we had passed, a blackened stump, an ant-bear hole; all familiar. Generally a water-bottle filled with unsweetened cold tea and a cartridge belt were all we took besides the rifle. In a single bound he was lost among the trees, and the clattering of loose stones and the crackle of sticks in his path had ceased before the cold shiver-down-the-back, which my spell-breaking shout provoked, had passed away. A broken leg shows at once; but a body shot is very difficult to place, and animals shot through the lungs, and even through the lower part of the heart, often go away at a cracking pace and are out of sight in no time, perhaps to keep it up for miles, perhaps to drop dead within a few minutes. The splendid horns of the Koodoo and Sable, and a score of others only less beautiful, could be seen nailed up in crude adornment of the roughest walls; nailed up, and then unnoticed and forgotten! It was slow and difficult work, as the bush was very dense and the ground rough. At times it looked as if they were bound to stampede over us and simply trample us down in their numbers; for in their panic they saw nothing, and not one appeared to know what or where the danger was. “Velapi, Umganaam?” (Where do you come from, friend?) There was never a trace of feeling to be detected when these affairs were squared off, but I knew how he hated the treatment, and it helped a little from time to time to keep him right. What’s the truth of it? When he grew up and had learned his lessons there was no need for these exercises. ORIBI (n), a small antelope (Ourebia scoparia). Ketshwayo, after years of arrogant and unquestioned rule, had loosed his straining impis at the people of the Great White Queen. And if—as in the end I thought—Rocky had taken the world as it is and backed himself against it—living up to his ideal, playing a ‘lone hand’ and playing it fair in all conditions, treading the unbeaten tracks, finding his triumph in his work, always moving on and contented so to end: the crown, “He was a man!”—then surely Rocky’s had achieved success! Sam lead a Bible. I then put old Snowball at it, fully expecting trouble; but the old soldier was quite at home; he walked quietly to the edge, sat down comfortably, and slid into the water—launching himself with scarce a ripple just like an old hippo. When we turned back at the molehill, beginning to do the circle for the second time, we must have passed quite close to Cigarette Kopje again, but again it was from a different opening in the bush, and this time I had thought of nothing and seen nothing except the things I picked out and recognised as we hurried along. It was a fight for life and a grand sight; for the koodoo, in spite of his wound, easily held his own. I did not quite know what he meant, and it seemed safer not to inquire. Shame at losing myself and dread of the others’ chaff kept me very quiet, and all they knew for many months was that we had had a long fruitless chase after koodoo and hard work to get back in time. On either side of me the once dry dongas emptied their soil-stained and débris-laden contents in foaming cataracts, each deepening the yellowy red of the river at its banks; but out in mid-stream the river was undisturbed, and its normal colour—the clear yellow of some ambers—was unchanged. This is widely regarded as a classic of "animal literature" that I have long meant to read. The tug on the leading rein, on which Hall had thrown all his weight when Tsetse used it to lever himself up, had jerked Hall flat on his face; but he was up in a minute, and releasing Tsetse threw back the rein to get Snowball to face it while the example was fresh. That was fair partnership in which both were happy; but there was nothing to talk about. Something—an instinct or sympathy quickened by the day’s experience, that I had never quite known before—taught me to understand, and I jumped up, thinking, “He sees something that he knows: he is pleased.” As I walked over to him, he looked back at me with his mouth open and tongue out, his ears still down and tail wagging—he was smiling all over, in his own way. The charm of a life of freedom and complete independence—a life in which a man goes as and where he lists, and carries his home with him—is great indeed; but great too was the fact that hunting would go with it. He was as sound as a bell, very clever on his feet, never lost his condition, and, although not fast, could last for ever at his own pace. Height, 48 inches; weight. For this feature the ‘one other’ cause is alone put forward as a defence. Instead of fifteen to eighteen miles a day, as we should have done, we were then making between four and eight—and sometimes not one. One shot, out of three or four fired in desperation as they were melting away, hit something; the unmistakable thud of the bullet told me so. The cattle soon filled themselves and lay down to sleep; the boys did the same; and we, when breakfast was over, got into the shade of the waggons, some to sleep and others to smoke. Most like you won’t see a buck for a week! It was a couple of minutes before he could get me to see the stembuck standing in the shade of a thorn-tree. KERRIE, or KIRRIE, native sticks used for fighting, frequently knobbed; hence, knob-kerrie. That night I slept hard, but woke up once dreaming that several lions were looking down at me from the top of a big flat rock and Jock was keeping them off. and did not we of Barberton many years later locate the spot by the enormous pile of bones, and name it “Elephants’ Kloof?”. They had crossed the stream and were walking—very slowly and abreast—near the water’s edge. But the fate of numbers is unheeded still; for the few are those who count, and lead; and those who follow do not think ‘How few,’ but cry ‘How strong! We had told many stories illustrating this, when my friend asked the question: “Have dogs a sense of humour?” Now I know that Jock looked very foolish the day he fought the table-leg—and a silly old hen made him look just as foolish another day—but that is not quite what my friend meant. And then, without the slightest sign, cause or warning that I could detect, in one instant every sound ceased. Ten or twelve shots faintly heard in the distance told me that the others were on to the koodoo, and knowing the preference of those animals for the bush I took cover behind a big stump and waited. jumping buck). 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. The victim flapped his hands on the ground and hallooed out “My babo! Jock, the runt of the littler, the smallest of puppies, lived to enjoy a full and adventurous life at the side of his master. Pezulu the Great—who was Pezulu the Second—was not like that: he was a game cock, all muscle and no frills, with a very resolute manner and a real love of his profession; he was a bit like Jock in some things; and that is why I fancy perhaps Jock and he were friends in a kind of way. 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. An’ bymbye he gets ter believe it’s born in him ter go right, an’ knows everything, an’ can’t go wrong; an’ ef things don’t pan out in the end he reckon it’s jus’ bad luck! 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