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 predecessor1; but this did not matter so much because he could be driven like a pack donkey and relied on not to play pranks2. In a gallop3 after game he was much faster than Snowball, having a wonderfully long stride for so low a pony4.
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 catching5 up to the waggons6 without much difficulty.
Sometimes after a long night’s trekking7 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 standing8 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 doze9 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 foliage10 I saw a little old face looking down at me; the quick restless eyes were watchfully11 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 promptly12 ‘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 inquisitive14 of creatures; ludicrously nervous and excitable; quick to chattering16 anger and bursts of hysterical17 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; pitfalls18, nooses19, 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.
The day he caught the monkey he was well pleased, and may possibly have told the truth. Baboons21 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 sentry22 will see him, and he may wait for ever; if two go and one remains23, 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 gourd25 with a round hole in it about an inch in diameter; and a few pumpkin26 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 stump27, he left it lying on its side on the ground where he had been sitting. A few crumbs28 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 previously29 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 grunts31 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 garrulous32 warnings and protests from the timid ones—the females—in the upper branches; the sudden start and scurry33 of one of the youngsters; and the scare communicated to all, making even the leader jump back a pace; then his angry grunt30 and loud scolding of the frightened ones—angry because they had given him a fright, and loud because he was reassuring34 himself.
After a pause they began the careful roundabout approach and the squatting35 and waiting, making pretences36 of not being particularly interested, while their quick eyes watched everything; then the deft37 picking up of one thing—instantly dropped again, as one picks up a roasted chestnut38 and drops it in the same movement, in case it should be hot; and finally the greedy scramble39 and chatter15.
I have seen all that, but not, alas40, the successful ending, when trying to imitate Jantje’s methods. Jantje waited until the tugs41 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 instinctively42 or inadvertently; the act requires a deliberate effort. So Jantje caught his monkey, and flinging his ragged43 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 bulging44 overstuffed sausage. The monkey struggled, screamed, chattered45, 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 stout46 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 likeness47 was surprising.
The grimacing48 little imps49 invariably tempt50 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 pointed51 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, thoroughly52 warmed up and anxious to be at them, running about from place to place to watch them, tacking53 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 rustle54 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 romping55 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 darted56 about to head them off they were several times obliged to scamper57 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, grimaces58, 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 romp13 and laughter.
The river at this point was broken into several sluices59 by islands formed of piles of rocks on which there were a few stunted60 trees and dense61 growths of tall reeds, and here and there ............