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28 - Jock of the Bushveld by Sir James Percy Fitzpatrick · Jock of the Bushveld

• 0:01
  Speaker 1: And Jock, But I never saw my dog again. For
• 0:06
  Speaker 1: a year or so. He lived something of the old
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  Speaker 1: felt life, trekking and hunting. From time to time I
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  Speaker 1: heard of him from Ted and others. Stories seemed to
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  Speaker 1: gather easily about him, as they do about certain people,
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  Speaker 1: and many knew Jock and were glad to bring news
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  Speaker 1: of him. The things they thought wonderful and admirable made
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  Speaker 1: pleasant news for them to tell, and welcome news to me.
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  Speaker 1: And they were heard with contented pride, but without surprise,
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  Speaker 1: as just like him, there was nothing more to be said.
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  Speaker 1: One day I received word from Ted that he was
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  Speaker 1: off to Scotland for a few months and had left
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  Speaker 1: Jock with another old friend, Tom Barnet, Tom at whose
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  Speaker 1: store under the big fig tree seedling lies buried. And
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  Speaker 1: although I was glad that he'd been left with a
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  Speaker 1: good friend like Tom, who would care for him as
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  Speaker 1: well as any one could, the life there was not
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  Speaker 1: of the kind to suit him For a few months.
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  Speaker 1: It would not matter, but I had no idea of
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  Speaker 1: letting him end his days as a watchdog at a
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  Speaker 1: trader's store in the Kaffer Country. Tom's trouble was with
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  Speaker 1: thieves for the natives about. They were not a good lot,
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  Speaker 1: and their dogs were worse. When Jock saw or scented him,
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  Speaker 1: they had the poorest sort of luck or chance. He
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  Speaker 1: fought to kill, and not as town dogs fight. He
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  Speaker 1: had learnt his work in a hard school, and he
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  Speaker 1: never stopped or slackened until the work was done. So
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  Speaker 1: his fame soon spread, and it brought Tom more peace
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  Speaker 1: than he had enjoyed for many a day. Natives no
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  Speaker 1: longer wondered at will into the reed enclosed yard. Kaffer
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  Speaker 1: dogs ceased to sneak into the store and through the house,
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  Speaker 1: stealing everything they could get. Jock took up his place
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  Speaker 1: at the door, and hungry mongrels watched him from a
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  Speaker 1: distance or sneaked up a little closer when from time
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  Speaker 1: to time he trotted round to the yard at the
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  Speaker 1: back of the building to see how things were going there.
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  Speaker 1: All was well enough during the day, but the trouble
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  Speaker 1: occurred at night. The Kaffirs were too scared to risk
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  Speaker 1: being caught by him, but the dogs from the surrounding
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  Speaker 1: kraals prowled about after Doc, scavenging and thieving where they could.
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  Speaker 1: And what angered Tom most of all was the killing
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  Speaker 1: of his fowls. The yard at the back of the
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  Speaker 1: store was enclosed by a fence of close packed reeds,
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  Speaker 1: and in the middle of the yard stood the old
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  Speaker 1: fowl house, with a clear space of bare ground all
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  Speaker 1: round it. On many occasions kaffer dogs had found their
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  Speaker 1: way through the reed fence and killed fowls perching about
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  Speaker 1: the yard, and several times they had burgled the fowl
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  Speaker 1: house itself. In spite of Jock's presence and reputation, this
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  Speaker 1: night robbing still continued. For while he slept peacefully in
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  Speaker 1: front of the store, the robbers would do their work
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  Speaker 1: at the back. Poor old fellow. They were many, and
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  Speaker 1: he was one. They prowled night and day, and he
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  Speaker 1: had to sleep. Sometimes they were watchful, and he was deaf,
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  Speaker 1: so he had no chance at all unless he saw
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  Speaker 1: or scented them. There were two small windows looking out
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  Speaker 1: onto the yard, but no door in the back of
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  Speaker 1: the building. Thus, in order to get into the yard,
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  Speaker 1: it was necessary to go out of the front door
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  Speaker 1: and round the side of the house. On many occasions, Tom,
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  Speaker 1: roused by the screaming of the fowls, had seized his
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  Speaker 1: gun and run round to get a shot at the thieves.
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  Speaker 1: But the time so lost was enough for a kaffer dog,
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  Speaker 1: and the noise made in opening the reed gate gave
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  Speaker 1: ample warning of his coming. The result was that Tom
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  Speaker 1: generally had all his trouble for nothing, but it was
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  Speaker 1: not always so. Several times he roused Jock as he
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  Speaker 1: ran out, and invariably got some satisfaction out of what followed.
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  Speaker 1: Once Jock caught one of the thieves struggling to force
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  Speaker 1: a way through the fence and held on to the
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  Speaker 1: hind leg till Tom came up with his gun. On
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  Speaker 1: other occasions he had caught them in the yard. On others,
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  Speaker 1: again he had run them down in the bush and
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  Speaker 1: finished it orf theair, without help or hindrance. That was
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  Speaker 1: the kind of life to which Jock seemed to have
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  Speaker 1: settled down. He was then in the very prime of life,
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  Speaker 1: and I still hoped to get him back to me
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  Speaker 1: some day, to a home where he would end his
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  Speaker 1: days in peace. Yet it seemed impossible to picture him
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  Speaker 1: in a life of ease and idleness, a watch dog
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  Speaker 1: and a house, sleeping away his life on a mat,
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  Speaker 1: his only excitement keeping off strange kaffirs and stray dogs,
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  Speaker 1: or burrowing for rats and moles in a garden, with
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  Speaker 1: old age, deafness, and infirmities growing year by year to
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  Speaker 1: make his end miserable. I had often thought that it
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  Speaker 1: might have been better that he died fighting, hanging on
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  Speaker 1: with his indomitable pluck and tenacity, tackling something with all
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  Speaker 1: the odds against him, doing his duty and his best,
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  Speaker 1: as he had always done, and died as Rocky's dog
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  Speaker 1: had died. If on that last day of our hunting together,
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  Speaker 1: he had got at the lioness and gone under in
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  Speaker 1: the hopeless fight, if the sable bull had caught him
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  Speaker 1: and finished him with one of the scythelike sweeps of
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  Speaker 1: the scimitar horns, if he could have died like Nelson
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  Speaker 1: in the hour of victory. Would it not have been
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  Speaker 1: better for him, happier for me? I often thought so.
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  Speaker 1: For to fade away slowly, to lose his strength and
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  Speaker 1: fire and intelligence, to outlive his character and no longer
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  Speaker 1: be himself. No, that could not be happiness. Well, Jock
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  Speaker 1: is dead. Jock, the innocent cause of Seedling's downfall and death,
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  Speaker 1: lies buried under the same big fig tree. The graves
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  Speaker 1: stand side by side. He died as he lived, true
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  Speaker 1: to his trust, And this is how it happened, as
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  Speaker 1: it was faithfully told to me. It was a bright,
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  Speaker 1: moonlight night. Think of the scores we had spent together,
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  Speaker 1: the mild, glorious nights of the bushvelt. And once more
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  Speaker 1: Tom was roused by a clatter of falling boxes and
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  Speaker 1: the wild screams of fowls in the yard. Only the
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  Speaker 1: night before the thieves had beaten him again, but this
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  Speaker 1: time he was determined to be even with them. Jumping
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  Speaker 1: out of bed, he opened the little window looking out
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  Speaker 1: onto the fowlhouse, and with his gun resting on the sill,
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  Speaker 1: waited for the thief. He waited long and patiently, and
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  Speaker 1: by and by the screaming of the fowls subsided enough
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  Speaker 1: for him to hear the gurgling and scratching about in
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  Speaker 1: the fowl house, and he settled down to a still
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  Speaker 1: longer watch. Evidently the caffadog was enjoying his stolen meal
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  Speaker 1: in there. Go on finish it, Tom muttered, grimly, I'll
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  Speaker 1: have you this time if I wait till morning, sir.
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  Speaker 1: He stood at the window, waiting and watching until every
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  Speaker 1: sound had died away outside. He listened intently. There was
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  Speaker 1: not a stir there was nothing to be seen in
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  Speaker 1: the moonlit yard, nothing to be heard, not even a
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  Speaker 1: breath of air to rustle the leaves in the big
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  Speaker 1: fig tree. Then, in the same days stillness, the dim
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  Speaker 1: form of a dog appeared in the doorway, stepping softly
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  Speaker 1: out of the fowl house and stood in the deep
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  Speaker 1: shadow of the little porch. Tom lifted the gun slowly
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  Speaker 1: and took careful aim. When the smoke cleared away, the
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  Speaker 1: figure of the dog lay still stretched out on the
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  Speaker 1: ground where it had stood, and Tom went back to
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  Speaker 1: bed satisfied. The morning sun slanting across the yard shone
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  Speaker 1: in Tom's eyes. As he pushed the reed gate open
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  Speaker 1: and made his way towards the fowl house. Under the porch,
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  Speaker 1: where the sunlight touched it, something shone like burnished gold.
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  Speaker 1: He was stretched on his side. It might have been
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  Speaker 1: in sleep, but on the snow white chest there was
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  Speaker 1: one red spot. And inside the fowl house lay the
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  Speaker 1: caffter dog dead. Jock had done his duty. End of
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  Speaker 1: Chapter twenty seven