"Yes, yes," said Guy and Tom together. "Fire away, Poeskop!"
"Well," proceeded the little Bushman, "there was once a jackal that lived in Namaqualand, not far from the sea. He saw one day a wagon laden with fish; and as he was fond of fish, and wanted a change of food, he tried to get into the wagon from behind. But it was filled up, and he could not do so. But he bethought himself of a plan. So he ran and lay in the road as if dead. He was a silver-backed jackal, and had a beautiful skin; and the fore-louper [ox-leader] came along and picked him up, and said to the driver, 'Here's a fine jackal skin for your vrouw!' 'Throw it up,' said the driver, and the boy threw the jackal into the wagon. It was a fine night, just like this, and the jackal busied himself in throwing the fish out of the wagon as far as he was able, sniggering to himself as he did so. Then, presently, he slipped down, and went back along the road to his feast. But he found, to his great annoyance, that a great spotted hyæna and his wife had already found and eaten up most of the fish. Master Jackal thought a little, and decided to hide his vexation, and then explained to the hyæna his plan; and the hyæna said it was good, and he would try it one of these days. So a little while after the hyæna saw the wagon coming from the sea again, laden with fish, and, just as the jackal had done, stretched himself out for dead on the road in front. The fore-louper boy came up, and seeing a mangy hyæna said, 'Here's an ugly brute!' As he said this, he dealt the hyæna a heavy kick. The hyæna flinched, and the boy, smelling a rat, as you English say, ran back to the wagon-driver and told him. The two returned with sticks, and belaboured the hyæna within an inch of his life. But the hyæna, as he had been told to do by the jackal, lay still till they had finished with him. Then he got up, sore all over, and dragged himself off. He told his misfortune to the jackal, who pretended to sympathize.
"'Ah!' said the hyæna, 'it was your handsome skin that helped you. Never mind, I shall find another way next time.'
"The jackal sniggered to himself, and went off with his tail up, having enjoyed a very pleasant revenge."
There was much laughter at this simple Bushman yarn.
"Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "what part of the country do your people come from, and what race are you?"
"Well, baas," returned the little man, "my people are San or hunting Hottentots, and my clan is the Matsana Khoi-San, who lived once in the country north-east of the Ovampo tribes. We say that our forefathers were once paramount in all this country, from Ovampoland to the Orange River. But we have had many wars and troubles, and have been hunted about by stronger tribes, until there are few of us remaining. And so we live in the deserts with the wild beasts, and pick up our living as best we can. There are other Bushmen tribes among us--that is, San-Hottentots--the Ai-San and the Kun-San, and the Au-ai-San and the An-San, and others. They lead hard lives, and have many enemies. My mother was taken by a lion one night, when I was a child, and my father was killed soon after in a raid by the Ovampos. These people made a slave of me, and sold me afterwards to a white trader from Walfish Bay, who treated me well, and gave me my freedom. I was with him a long time, and he was a good master."
"How did you get your name, Poeskop?" queried Tom. "Did your father give it you?"
"No, Baas Tom," said the Bushman. "That was given me by a Dutchman with whom I worked for some time. He had been in the Old Colony, and knew all about the coast. He said my face reminded him of a seafish called poeskop, so he called me by that name, and it has stuck to me ever since. My Bushman name was Akabip."
Poeskop pronounced this word with two appalling clicks of the tongue, which Guy and Tom vainly tried to imitate. The little man went into fits of laughter over their struggles, and they all roared together.