XVIII. RELIGION AND SUPERSTITION--Continued
DUTIES OF THE PROPHET -- A PROPHET AND HIS CLIENTS -- PROBABLE RESULT OF THE INQUIRY -- A KAFFIR’S RELIEF IN CHARMS -- CHARM-STICKS AND THEIR VARIOUS PROPERTIES -- COURAGE AND THUNDER CHARMS -- A SOUTH AFRICAN THUNDERSTORM -- LOVE, LION, AND FATIGUE CHARMS -- THE KAFFIR CATTLE DOCTOR -- ILLNESS OF A CHIEF -- THE WIZARD SUMMONED -- SMELLING THE WIZARD -- A TERRIBLE SCENE -- KONA’S ILLNESS AND ITS RESULTS -- A FEMALE PROPHET AND HER PROCEEDINGS -- INGENIOUS MODE OF EXTORTION -- THE IMPOSTURE DETECTED -- HEREDITARY CHARACTER OF PROPHECY -- A PROPHETESS AT HOME -- DEMEANOR OF FEMALE PROPHETS -- SURGERY AND MEDICINE -- A PRIMITIVE MODE OF CUPPING -- A FALSE PROPHET AND HIS FATE -- A SINGULAR SUPERSTITION -- KAFFIR VAMPIRES -- THE NIGHT CRY -- PROCURING EVIDENCE.
The object for which the Kaffir prophet is generally consulted is the discovery of witchcraft. Now, the reader must understand that the belief in witchcraft is universal throughout Africa, and in no part of that continent is it so strong as in Kaffirland. There is scarcely an ill that can befall mankind which is not believed to be caused by witchcraft, and, consequently, the prophet has to find out the author of the evil. The most harmless discovery that he can make is, that the charm has not been wrought by any individual, but has been the work of offended spirits. All illness, for example, is thought to be caused by the spirits of the departed, either because they are offended with the sufferer, or because they have been worked upon by some necromancer.
Mr. Shooter has so well described the course of proceeding in such a case that his own words must be given:--
“When people consult a prophet, they do not tell him on what subject they wish to be enlightened. He is supposed to be acquainted with their thoughts, and they merely intimate that they wish to have the benefit of his knowledge. Probably he will ‘take time to consider,’ and not give his responses at once. Two young men visiting him, in consequence of their brother’s illness, found the prophet squatting by his hut, and saluted him. He then invited them to sit down, and, retiring outside the kraal, squatted near the gate, to take snuff and meditate. This done to his satisfaction, he sends a boy to call the visitors into his presence; when they immediately join him, and squat.
“The prophet asks for his ‘assagai’--a figurative expression for his fee--when the applicants reply that they have nothing to give at present; after a while, they will seek something to pay him with. ‘No,’ answers the prophet, not disposed to give credit; ‘you want to cheat me--everybody tries to do so now. Why don’t you give me two shillings?’ They offer him a small assagai; but he is not satisfied with the weapon, and, pointing to a larger one, says, ‘That is mine.’ The man who had brought this excuses himself by saying that it does not belong to him; but the prophet persists, and it is given. Having no hope of extorting a larger fee, the prophet says, ‘Beat and hear, my people.’ Each of the applicants snaps his fingers, and replies, ‘I hear.’ The beating is sometimes, and perhaps more regularly, performed by beating the ground with sticks. The prophet now pretends to have a vision, indistinct at first, but becoming eventually clearer, until he sees the actual thing which has occurred. This vision he professes to describe as it appears to him. We may imagine him saying, for instance, ‘A cow is sick--no, I see a man; a man has been hurt.’ While he runs on in this way, the applicants reply to every assertion by beating, as at first, and saying, ‘I hear.’ They carefully abstain from saying whether he is right or wrong; but when he approaches the truth, the simple creatures testify their joy by beating and replying with increased vigor.
“The prophet’s simulated vision is not a series of guesses, in which he may possibly hit upon the truth, but a systematic enumeration of particulars, in which he can scarcely miss it. Thus, he may begin by saying that the thing which the applicants wish to know relates to some animal with hair, and, going through each division of that class, suggests whatever may be likely to occur to a cow, a calf, a dog. If he find no indication that the matter relates to one of this class, he takes another, as human beings, and proceeds through it in the same manner. It is obvious that a tolerably clever practitioner may, in this way, discover from the applicants whatever may have happened to them, and send them away with a deep impression of his prophetic abilities, especially if he have any previous knowledge of their circumstances. The following sketch will give the reader a general idea of the prophet’s manner of proceeding. A few particulars only, as being sufficient for illustration, are given:--
“‘Beat and hear, my people.’
“They snap their fingers, and say, ‘I hear.’
“‘Attend, my people.’
“They beat, and say, ‘I hear.’
“‘I don’t know what you want; you want to know something about an animal with hair. A cow is sick; what’s the matter with her? I see a wound on her side--no; I’m wrong. A cow is lost; I see a cow in the bush. Nay, don’t beat, my people; I’m wrong. It’s a dog; a dog has ascended a hut.[1] Nay, that’s not it, I see now; beat vigorously; the thing relates to people. Somebody is ill--a man is ill--he is an old man. No; I see a woman--she has been married a year: where is she? I’m wrong; I don’t see yet.’
[1] This, it will be remembered, is one of the evil omens which a Kaffir fears.
“Perhaps he takes snuff, and rests a while.
“‘Beat and hear, my people. I see now; it’s a boy--beat vigorously. He is sick. Where is he sick? Let me see--there’ (placing his hand on some part of his own person). ‘No--beat and attend, my people--I see now. THERE!’ (indicating the actual place). ‘Where is he? Not at his kraal; he is working with a white man. How has he been hurt? I see him going to the bush--he has gone to fetch wood; a piece of wood falls upon him; he is hurt; he cannot walk. I see water; what’s the water for? They are pouring it over him; he is fainting--he is very ill. The spirits are angry with him--his father is angry; he wants beef. The boy received a cow for his wages; it was a black cow. No; I see white. Where is the white? a little on the side. The spirit wants that cow; kill it, and the boy will recover.’”
Fortunate indeed are the spectators of the scene if the necromancer makes such an announcement, and any one of these would be only too glad to compound for the sacrifice of a cow, if he could be sure of escaping accusation as a wizard. In the case of a “boy,” or even of a married man of no great rank or wealth, such will probably be the result of the inquiry--the prophet will get his fee, the spectators will get a feast, and the patient may possibly get better. But when a chief is ill, the probability is that some one will be accused of witchcraft, and if the king is ailing such an accusation is a matter of certainty.
In the eye of a Kaffir, any one may be a witch or a wizard--both sexes being equally liable to the impeachment--and on that subject no man can trust his neighbor. A husband has no faith in his own wife, and the father mistrusts his children. As a natural consequence, the faith in charms is coextensive with the belief in witchcraft, and there is scarcely a Kaffir who does not carry with him a whole series of charms, each being destined to avert some particular evil. The charms are furnished to them by the prophets, and as they never are of the least intrinsic value, and are highly paid for, the business of a prophet is rather a lucrative one. Anything will serve as a charm,--bits of bone, scraps of skin, feathers, claws, teeth, roots, and bits of wood. A Kaffir will often have a whole string of such charms hung round his neck, and, to a European, a superstitious Kaffir has often a very ludicrous aspect. One man, who seems to have been peculiarly impressible to such observances, had bedecked his head with pigs’ bristles set straight, so as to stand out on all sides, like the quills of a hedgehog, while round his neck he had strung a quantity of charms, the principal of which were pieces of bone, the head of a snake, the tooth of a young hippopotamus, and a brass door-handle. Sometimes the charms are strung on the same thong with the beads, needles, knives, snuff boxes, and other decorations of a Kaffir’s toilet, but generally they are considered worthy of a string to themselves.
But the generality of charms are made of various roots and bits of wood, which are hung round the neck, and nibbled when the wearer feels a need of their influence. One powerful set of charms is intended for the purpose of securing the wearer against the feeling of fear, and the prophets have very ingeniously managed to invent a separate charm for every kind of fear. For example, if a Kaffir has to go out at night, and is afraid of meeting ghosts, he has recourse to his ghost-charm, which he nibbles slightly, and then sallies out in bold defiance of the shades below. When he has come to his journey’s end, he finds that he has met no ghosts, and, consequently, he has unlimited faith in his charm. If he should go into action as a soldier, he takes care to have his enemy-charm ready for use, and just before he enters the battle bites off a portion of the wood, masticates it thoroughly, and then blows the fragments toward the foe, confident that he is thus taking away from the courage of the enemy, and adding the subtracted amount to his own. The only misgiving which disturbs his mind is, that the enemy is doing exactly the same thing, and he cannot be quite sure that the opposing charm may not be more potent than his own. The prophet rather fosters than discourages this feeling, because the soldier--knowing that, if he retreats, he will be executed as a coward--is so anxious to possess a double share of courage that he will pay largely in order to secure a powerful charm.
Frequently, when a soldier has been thus disgraced, his friends abuse the prophet for furnishing so impotent a charm. His reply, however, is always easy: “He only gave me a goat, and could only expect goat-charms; if he wanted ox-charms, he ought to have given me a cow, or at least a calf.” Even if an adequate fee has been paid, the answer is equally ready--the man was a wizard, and the spirits of his ancestors were angry with him for troubling them so much with his conjurations.
Very few Kaffirs will venture out during the stormy season without a thunder-charm as a preservative against lightning. This object looks just like any other charm, and is, in fact, nothing more than a small piece of wood or root. The Kaffir’s faith in it is unbounded, and, in consequence of the awful severity of thunderstorms, the sale of such charms is a very lucrative part of the prophet’s business. We can scarcely wonder that the Kaffir has recourse to such preservatives, for he well knows that no art of man can avail against the terrific storms of that country. Even in our own country we often witness thunderstorms that fill the boldest with awe, while the weaker-minded of both sexes cower in abject fear at the crashing thunder and the vivid lightning streaks. But the worst storm that has been known in England or the United States is as nothing compared to the ordinary thunderstorms of Southern Africa--storms in which the native, who has been accustomed to them all his life, can do nothing but crouch to the ground, and lay his hand on his mouth in silence. What an African storm can be may be imagined from the following account by Mr. Cole:--
“Emerging after a few days from these freezing quarters, I found myself in the plains of the Graaf-Reinet district. It was pleasant to feel warm again, but what I gained in caloric I decidedly lost in the picturesque: never-ending plains of burnt grass, treeless, riverless, houseless--such were the attractions that greeted my eyes. How anything in the vegetable or animal kingdom could exist there seemed a perfect mystery. Yet the mystery is soon explained. I was there when there had been a long-continued drought--one of those visitations to which these districts are especially subject. One day the clouds began to gather, the wind fell, the air became oppressively sultry, and all gave notice of an approaching storm. My horses became restive and uneasy, and for myself I felt faint and weary to excess. My after-rider looked alarmed, for truly the heavens bore a fearful aspect. I can conceive nothing more dismal than the deep, thick, black, impenetrable masses of clouds that surrounded us. It might have been the entrance to the infernal regions themselves that stood before us. Suddenly we saw a stream of light so vivid, so intensely bright, and of such immense height (apparently), that for a moment we were half blinded, while our horses snorted and turned sharp round from the glare. Almost at the same instant burst forth a peal of thunder, like the artillery of all the universe discharged at once in our ears.
“There was no time to be lost: we struck spurs to our horses’ flanks, and galloped to a mountain side, a little way behind us, where the quick eye of my Hottentot had observed a cave. In a few minutes--moments rather--we were within it, but not before the storm had burst forth in all its fury. One moment the country round us was black as ink--the next it was a sheet of living flame, whiter than the white heat of the furnace. One long-continued, never-ceasing roar of thunder (not separate claps as we hear them in this country) deafened our ears, and each moment we feared destruction; for, more than once, huge masses of rock, detached by the lightning blast from the mountain above us, rolled down past our cavern with the roar of an avalanche. The Hottentot lay on his face, shutting out the sight, though he could not escape the sound. At length the rain-spouts burst forth, and to describe how the water deluged the earth would be impossible; suffice it, that though we had entered the cave from the road without passing any stream, or apparently any bed of one, when we again ventured forth from our place of shelter, three hours later, a broad and impassable torrent flowed between ourselves and the road, and we had to crawl along the mountain sides on foot, with great difficulty, and in the momentary danger of losing our footing on its slippery surface, and being dashed into the roaring torrent, for about two miles ere we could find a fordable spot. Two days later these plains were covered with a lovely verdure.”
Other charms are intended for softening the heart of a girl whom a man wants to marry, or of her father, in order to induce him to be moderate in his demand for cows, or of the chief if he should have to prefer a request. All these charms are exactly alike to the look, and it is needless to say that they do not possess the least efficacy in one way or another.
There are some charms which undoubtedly do possess some power, and others which owe their force to the imagination of the user. The many charms which they possess against various kinds of fear belong to this class. For example, if a man meets a lion or a leopard, and nibbles a little scrap of wood, it is plain that the efficiency of these charms is wholly imaginary. In many instances this is undoubtedly the case. If a man, meeting a lion, nibbles a little piece of lion-charm, and the animal moves off, leaving him unmolested, his fears are certainly allayed by the use of the charm, though his escape is due to the natural dread of man implanted in the nature of the inferior animal, and not to the power of the charm. In battle, too, a man who thinks that his charms will render the enemy afraid of him is much more likely to fight with doubled valor, and so to bring about the result attributed to the charm. In cases of illness, too, we all know how powerful is the healing effect of the imagination in restoration of health.
But there are many instances where the material used as a charm possesses medicinal properties, of which the prophet is perfectly aware. There is, for example, one charm against weariness, the efficacy of which clearly depends upon the properties of the material. One of my friends, who was quite weary after a day’s hard hunting, was persuaded by one of his Kaffir servants to eat a little of his fatigue-charm. It was evidently made from the root of some tree, and was very bitter, though not unpleasantly so. He tried it, simply from curiosity, and was agreeably surprised to find that in a few minutes he felt his muscular powers wonderfully restored, so that he was enabled to resume his feet, and proceed briskly homeward, the extreme exhaustion having passed away. Imagination in this case had nothing to do with the success of the charm, and it is evident that the prophet who sold it to the Kaffir was aware of its medicinal properties.
So deeply rooted in the Kaffir mind is the idea that all sickness is caused by witchcraft of some kind or other, that even if cattle are ill, their sickness is supposed to have been caused by some supernatural power. The first course that is taken is necessarily the propitiation of the spirits, in order that they may overrule the machinations of the evil-doer, and preserve the cattle, which constitute the wealth and strength of the kraal. One of the best oxen is therefore sacrificed to them with the usual ceremonies, and, when it is dead, the gall and contents of the stomach are scattered over the cattle pen, and the spirits are solemnly invoked.
Here is one of these curious prayers, which was obtained from a Kaffir. “Hail! friend! thou of this kraal, grant us a blessing, beholding what we have done. You see this distress; remove it, since we have given you an animal. We know not what more you want, whether you still require anything more or not. Grant us grain that it may be abundant, that we may eat, and not be in want of anything, since we have given you what you want. This kraal was built by yourself, father, and now why do you diminish your own kraal? Build on, as you have begun, let it be larger, that your offspring, still hereabout, may increase, increasing knowledge of you, whence cometh great power.”
The flesh of the slaughtered ox is then taken into a hut, the door is closed, and no one is allowed to enter for a considerable time, during which period the spirits are supposed to be eating the beef. The door is then opened, the beef is cooked, and all who are present partake of it. If the propitiatory sacrifice fails, a prophet of known skill is summoned, and the herd collected in the isi-baya, or central enclosure, in readiness against his arrival. His first proceeding is to light a fire in the isi-baya and burn medicine upon it, taking care that the smoke shall pass over the cattle. He next proceeds to frighten the evil spirit out of them by a simple though remarkable proceeding. He takes a firebrand in his hand, puts a lump of fat in his mouth, and then walks up to one of the afflicted oxen. The animal is firmly held while he proceeds to masticate the fat, and then to eject it on the firebrand. The mixed fat and water make a great sputtering in the face of the ox, which is greatly terrified, and bursts away from its tormentors.
This process is repeated upon the entire herd until they are all in a state of furious excitement, and, as soon as they have reached that stage, the gate of the enclosure is thrown open, and the frightened animals dash out of it. All the inhabitants of the kraal rush after them, the men beating their shields with their knob-kerries, the women rattling calabashes with stones in them, and all yelling and shouting at the top of their voices. The cattle, which are generally treated with peculiar kindness, are quite beside themselves at such a proceeding, and it is a considerable time before they can recover their equanimity. This may seem to be rather a curious method of treating the cattle disease, but, as the fee of the prophet is forfeited if the animals are not cured, it is to be presumed that the remedy is more efficacious than it appears to be.
When a chief of rank happens to be ill, and especially if the king himself should be ailing, no one has the least doubt that sorcery was the cause of the evil. And, as the chiefs are given to eating and drinking, and smoking and sleeping, until they are so fat that they can hardly walk, it is no wonder that they are very frequently ill. It thus becomes the business of the prophet to find out the wizard, or “evil-doer,” as he is called, by whom the charm was wrought.
To doubt that the illness was caused by witchcraft would be a sort of high treason, and afford good grounds for believing that the doubter is himself the wizard. For a Kaffir chief always chooses to think himself above the common lot of humanity--that he is superior to others, and that he cannot die like inferior men. It is evident, therefore, that any ailment which may attack him must be caused by witchcraft, and that, if the evil-doer can be detected, the spell will lose its potency, and the sufferer be restored to health.
Charms which cause ill-health are usually roots, tufts of hair, feathers, bits of bone, or similar objects, which have been in the possession of the victim, or at least have been touched by him. These are buried in some secret spot by the wizard, who mutters spells over them, by means of which the victim droops in health in proportion as the buried charm decays in the ground. The object of the prophet, therefore, is twofold; first, to point out the wizard, and, secondly, to discover the buried charms, dig them up, and reverse the spell.
The “evil-doer” is discovered by a process which is technically named “smelling.” A large circle is formed of spectators, all of whom squat on the ground, after the usual manner of Kaffirs. When all is ready, the prophet clothes himself in his full official costume and proceeds into the circle, where he is received with a great shout of welcome. Though every one knows that before an hour has elapsed one at least of their number will be accused of witchcraft, and though no one knows whether he himself may not be the victim, no one dares to omit the shout of welcome, lest he should be suspected as the wizard. The prophet then begins to pace slowly in the circle, gradually increasing his speed, until at last he breaks into a dance, accompanying his steps with a measured chant. Louder and louder peals the chant, quicker and wilder become the steps of the magic dancer, until at last the man lashes himself into a state of insane fury, his eyes rolling, tears streaming down his cheeks, and his chant interrupted by shrieks and sobs, so that the spectators may well believe, as they most firmly do, that he is possessed by the spirits of departed chiefs.
Then comes the anxious part of the ceremony. The prophet leaps in great bounds over the arena, first rushing to one part and then to another, inhaling his breath violently, like a dog trying to discover a lost scent, and seeming to be attracted to or repelled from certain individuals by a power not his own. Each Kaffir sits in trembling awe, his heart sinking when he sees the terrible prophet coming toward him, and his courage returning as the seer turns off in another direction. At last the choice is made. The prophet stops suddenly opposite one portion of the circle, and begins to sniff violently, as if trying to discover by the sense of smell who the offender may be. The vast assembly look on in awe-struck silence, while the prophet draws nearer and nearer, as if he were supernaturally attracted to the object of which he is in search. Suddenly he makes a dash forward, snatches his wand of office out of his belt, touches the doomed man with it and runs off. The hapless victim is instantly seized by the executioners, and hurried off before the chief in order to be examined.
In the mean while, the prophet is followed by a number of people who wish to see him discover the buried charm. This part of the proceeding is very similar to that which has been mentioned. He dances through the kraal, entering hut after hut, and pretending to be satisfied by the sense of smell that the charm is not to be found in each place. By degrees he approaches nearer the right spot, on which he throws his assagai, and tells the people to dig and find the charm, which, of course, he has previously taken care to place there. How this part of the performance is sometimes managed will be presently narrated.
The wretched man who is once accused openly as being accessory to the illness of his king has no hope of mercy, and yields to the dreadful fate that awaits him. The nominal examination to which he is subjected is no examination at all, but merely a succession of the severest tortures that human ingenuity can suggest, prolonged as long as life is left in him. He is asked to confess that he has used witchcraft against his king, but invariably denies his guilt, though he well knows the result of his answer. Torture after torture is inflicted upon him, fire applied in various ways being the principal instrument employed. The concluding torture is generally the same, namely, breaking a hole in an ant’s nest, tying him hand and foot and thrusting him into the interior, or fastening him in the ground, and breaking upon him a nest of large ants, noted for the fierceness of their tempers, and the agonizing venom of their stings. How ruthlessly cruel a Kaffir can be when he is excited by the fear of witchcraft can be imagined from the following account of the trial and execution of a supposed wizard. The reader must, moreover, be told that the whole of the details are not mentioned. The narrative is taken from Major W. Ross King’s interesting “Campaigning in Kaffirland,” a work which describes the Kaffirs of 1851-2:--
“The same Kona, some years before, having fallen sick, a ‘witch doctor’ was consulted, according to custom, to ascertain the individual under whose evil influence he was suffering; and, as usual, a man of property was selected, and condemned to forfeit his life for his alleged crime. To prevent his being told of his fate by his friends, a party of men left Macomo’s kraal early in the morning to secure the recovery of the sick young chief by murdering one of his father’s subjects. The day selected for the sacrifice appeared to have been a sort of gala day with the unconscious victim; he was in his kraal, had just slaughtered one of his cattle, and was merrily contemplating the convivialities of the day before him, over which he was about to preside. The arrival of a party of men from the ‘great place’ gave him no other concern than as to what part of the animal he should offer them as his guests. In a moment, however, the ruthless party seized him in his kraal; when he found himself secured with a rheim round his neck, he calmly said, ‘It is my misfortune to be caught unarmed, or it should not be thus.’
“He was then ordered to produce the matter with which he had bewitched the son of his chief. He replied, ‘I have no bewitching matter; but destroy me quickly, if my chief has consented to my death.’ His executioners said they must torture him until he produced it, to which he answered, ‘Save yourselves the trouble, for torture as you will I cannot produce what I have not.’ He was then held down on the ground, and several men proceeded to pierce his body all over with long Kaffir needles. The miserable victim bore this with extraordinary resolution; his tormentors tiring, and complaining of the pain it gave their hands, and of the needles or skewers bending.
“During this time a fire had been kindled, in which large flat stones were placed to heat; the man was then directed to rise, they pointed out to him the fire, telling him it was for his further torture unless he produced the bewitching matter. He answered, ‘I told you the truth when I said, Save yourselves the trouble; as for the hot stones, I can bear them, for I am innocent; I would pray to be strangled at once, but that you would say I fear your torture.’ Here his wife, who had also been seized, was stripped perfectly naked, and cruelly beaten and ill-treated before his eyes. The victim was then led to the fire, where he was thrown on his back, stretched out with his arms and legs tied to strong pegs driven into the ground, and the stones, now red-hot, were taken out of the fire and placed on his naked body--on the groin, stomach, and chest, supported by others on each side of him, also heated and pressed against his body. It is impossible to describe the awful effect of this barbarous process, the stones slipping off the scorched and broiling flesh, being only kept in their places by the sticks of the fiendish executioners.
“Through all this the heroic fellow still remained perfectly sensible, and when asked if he wished to be released to discover his hidden charm, said, ‘Release me.’ They did so, fully expecting they had vanquished his resolution, when, to the astonishment of all, he stood up a ghastly spectacle, broiled alive! his smoking flesh hanging in pieces from his body! and composedly asked his tormentors, ‘What do you wish me to do now?’ They repeated their demand, but he resolutely asserted his innocence, and begged them to put him out of his misery; and as they were now getting tired of their labor, they made a running noose on the rheim around his neck, jerked him to the ground, and savagely dragged him about on the sharp stones, then placing their feet on the back of his neck, they drew the noose tight, and strangled him. His mangled corpse was taken into his own hut, which was set on fire and burnt to ashes. His sufferings commenced at ten A. M. and only ended at sunset.”
Kona, whose illness was the cause of this fearful scene, was a son of Macomo, the well-known Kaffir chief, who resisted the English forces for so long a time.
It seems strange that the Kaffir should act in this manner; naturally, he is by no means of a vindictive or cruel nature. Hot-tempered he is, and likely enough to avenge himself when offended, by a blow of a club or the point of an assagai. But, after the heat of the moment has passed away, his good-humor returns, and he becomes as cheerful and lively as ever. Even in war, as has already been mentioned, he is not generally a cruel soldier, when not excited by actual combat, and it seems rather strange that when a man toward whom he has felt no enmity, and who may, perhaps, be his nearest relative, is accused of a crime--no matter what it may be--he should be guilty, in cold blood, of deliberate cruelty too terrible to be described. The fact is, this conduct shows how great is his fear of the intangible power of witchcraft. Fear is ever the parent of cruelty, and the simple fact that a naturally kind-hearted and good-tempered man will lose all sense of ruth, and inflict nameless tortures on his fellow, shows the abject fear of witchcraft which fills a Kaffir’s mind.
Sometimes the prophet is not able to hide a charm in a convenient place, and is obliged to have recourse to other means. If, for example, it would be necessary to show that the “evil-doer” had buried the charm in his own hut, the prophet would not be able to gain access to the spot, and would therefore have the earth dug up, and try to convey surreptitiously some pieces of root or bone into the hole. Mr. Isaacs once detected a notable prophetess in this proceeding, and exposed the trick before the assembled people.
Some of his immediate followers were ill, and they sent for a prophetess who knew that the white man did not believe in her powers. So she sent him a message, saying that, if he would give her a cow, she would detect the charms that were destroying his people, and would allow him to be present when she dug up the enchanted roots. So he sent a cow, and two days afterward had another message, stating that the cow was too small, and she must have a larger one, or that the difference must be made up in calico. At the same time she asked for the services of one of his men, named Maslamfu. He sent the calico, but declined the latter portion of the request, knowing that the man was only wanted as a means of gaining information. The expected day arrived, and, on account of the celebrity of the prophetess, vast numbers of men belonging to various tribes came in bodies, each headed by a chief of a kraal. Messenger after messenger came to announce her advance, but she did not make her appearance, and at last a courier came to say that the spirit would not allow her to proceed any further until some beads were sent to her. The chiefs, of whose arrival she had heard, and on whose liberality she doubtlessly depended, made a collection straightway, got together a parcel of beads, and sent the present by the messenger.
The beads having softened her heart, she made her solemn entry into the kraal, followed by a guard of fifty warriors, all in full panoply of war. The procession moved in solemn march to the centre of the isi-baya, and then the warriors formed themselves in a line, their large shields resting on the ground and covering the body as high as the chin, and their assagais grasped in their right hands. She was also accompanied by Maslamfu, the very man whom she had asked for, and who was evidently an old attendant of her own. The prophetess was decorated in the usual wild and extravagant manner, and she had improved her complexion by painting her nose and one eyelid with charcoal, and the other eyelid with red earth. She had also allowed all her hair to grow, and had plastered it together with a mixture of charcoal and fat. The usual tufted wand of office was in her hand.
Having now made her appearance, she demanded more beads, which were given to her, in order that she should have no excuse for declining to proceed any further in her incantations. She then began her work in earnest, leaping and bounding from one side of the enclosure to the other, and displaying the most wonderful agility. During this part of the proceedings she sang a song as an accompaniment to her dance, the words of the song itself either having no meaning, or being quite incomprehensible to the hearers. The burden of each stanza was, however, simple enough, and all the assembled host of Kaffirs joined in it at the full stretch of their lungs. After rushing to several huts, and pretending to smell them, she suddenly stopped before the white men, who were carefully watching her, and demanded another cow, on the plea that if the noxious charm were dug up without the sacrifice of a second cow, the spirits would be offended. At last she received the promise of a cow, under the proviso that the rest of the performance was to be satisfactory.
After a variety of strange performances, she suddenly turned to her audience, and appointed one of them to dig up the fatal soil. The man was a great muscular Kaffir, but he trembled like a child as he approached the sorceress, and was evidently so terrified that she was obliged to lay a spell upon him which would counteract the evil influence of the buried charm. She gave him an assagai by way of a spade, a pot for the roots, and directed him successively to three huts, making him dig in each, but was baffled by the vigilant watch which was kept upon all her movements. Having vainly searched the three huts, she suddenly turned and walked quickly out of the kraal, followed by the still terrified excavator, her husband, and Maslamfu, and proceeded to a garden, into which she flung an assagai, and told her man to dig up the spot on which the spear fell. “Being now outdone, and closely followed by us, and finding all her efforts to elude our vigilance were vain, for we examined into all her tricks with the most persevering scrutiny, she suddenly turned round, and at a quick pace proceeded to the kraal, where she very sagaciously called for her snuff box. Her husband ran to her, and presented one. This attracted my notice, as Maslamfu had hitherto performed the office of snuff box bearer, and I conjectured that, instead of snuff in the box, her husband had presented her with roots. I did not fail in my prediction; for, as she proceeded to the upper part of the kraal, she took the spear from the man appointed to dig, and dug herself in front of the hut where the people had been sick, took some earth, and added it to that in the pot; then proceeded as rapidly as possible to the calf kraal, where she dug about two inches deep, and applied two fingers of the left hand to scoop a little earth out, at the same time holding the roots with her other two fingers; then, in a second, closed her hand, mixing the roots with the earth, and putting them into the pot, saying to the man, ‘These are the things you have been looking for.’”
The natural end of this exposure was, that she was obliged to escape out of the turmoil which was caused by her manifest imposture; and it is needless to say that she did not ask for the cows.
The female professors of the art of witchcraft go through a series of ceremonies exactly similar to those which have been already described, and are capable of transmitting to any of their descendants the privilege of being admitted to the same rank as themselves. As may be gathered from the preceding account, they perform the ordinary duties of life much as do other women, whether married or single; and it is, perhaps, remarkable that, so far from celibacy being considered a necessary qualification for the office, neither men nor women seem to be eligible for it unless they are married. When once admitted into the college of prophets, the members of it always endeavor to inspire awe into the public by the remarkable style of adornment which they assume; and they are considered at liberty to depart from the usual sumptuary laws which are so strictly enforced among the Kaffir tribes, and to dress according to their individual caprice. One of the female prophets was visited by Captain Gardiner, and seems to have made a powerful impression upon him, both by her dress and her demeanor.
“This woman may be styled a queen of witches, and her appearance bespeaks her craft. Large coils of entrails stuffed with fat were suspended round her neck; while her thick and tangled hair, stuck over in all directions with the gall-bladders of animals, gave to her tall figure a very singularly wild and grotesque appearance. One of her devices, which occurred about six months ago, is too characteristic to be omitted. Tpāi had assembled his army, and was in the act of going out to war, a project which, for some reason, she thought it necessary to oppose. Finding that all her dissuasions were ineffectual, she suddenly quitted the place, and, accompanied only by a little girl, entirely concealed herself from observation. At the expiration of three or four days, she as mysteriously returned; and holding her side, apparently bleeding from an assagai-wound, pretended to have been received, in her absence, from the spirit of her late husband Maddegān, she presented herself before Tpāi. ‘Your brother’s spirit,’ she exclaimed, ‘has met me, and here is the wound he has made in my side with an assagai; he reproached me for remaining with people who had treated me so ill.’ Tpāi, either willingly or actually imposed upon by this strange occurrence, countermanded the army; and, if we are to credit the good people in these parts, the wound immediately healed! For several months subsequent to this period, she took it into her head to crawl about upon her hands and knees; and it is only lately, I understand, that she has resumed her station in society as a biped.”
One of the female prophets had a curious method of discovering an “evil-doer.” She came leaping into the ring of assembled Kaffirs, with great bounds of which a woman seems hardly capable. It is possible that she previously made use of some preparation which had an exciting effect on the brain, and assisted in working herself up to a pitch of terrible frenzy. With her person decorated with snakes, skulls, heads and claws of birds, and other strange objects--with her magic rattle in one hand, and her staff of office in the other--she flew about the circle with such erratic rapidity that the eye could scarcely follow her movements, and no one could in the least anticipate what she would do next. Her eyes seemed starting from her head, foam flew from her clenched jaws, while at intervals she uttered frantic shrieks and yells that seemed scarcely to belong to humanity. In short, her appearance was as terrible as can well be imagined, and sure to inspire awe in the simple-minded and superstitious audience which surrounded her. She did not go through the usual process of smelling and crawling, but pursued her erratic course about the ring, striking with her wand of office the man who happened to be within its reach, and running off with an incredible swiftness.
The illustration No. 1, on page 188, represents her engaged in her dread office. She has been summoned by a rich chief, who is seen in the distance, lying on his mat, and attended by his wives. The terrified culprit is seen in the foreground, his immediate neighbors shrinking from him as the prophetic wand touches him, while others are pointing him out to the executioners.
There is very marked distinction between the Kaffir prophetess and an ordinary woman, and this distinction lies principally in the gait and general demeanor. As has already been observed, the women and the men seem almost to belong to different races, the former being timid, humble, and subdued, while the latter are bold, confident, and almost haughty. The prophetess, however, having assumed so high an office, takes upon herself a demeanor that shows her appreciation of her own powers, and walks about with a bold, free step, that has in it something almost regal.
In one point, both sexes are alike when they are elevated to prophetical rank. They become absolutely ruthless in their profession, and lost to all sense of mercy. No one is safe from them except the king himself; and his highest and most trusted councillor never knows whether the prophetic finger may not be pointed at him, and the prophetic voice denounce him as a wizard. Should this be the case, his rank, wealth, and character will avail him nothing, and he will be seized and tortured to death as mercilessly as if he were one of the lowest of the people.
Mixed up with these superstitious deceptions, there is among the prophets a considerable amount of skill both in surgery and medicine. Partly from the constant slaughter and cutting-up of cattle, and partly from experience in warfare and executions, every Kaffir has a tolerable notion of anatomy--far greater, indeed, than is possessed by the generality of educated persons in our own country. Consequently, he can undertake various surgical operations with confidence, and in some branches of the art he is quite a proficient. For example, a Kaffir prophet has been known to operate successfully in a case of dropsy, so that the patient recovered; while in the reducing of dislocated joints, the setting of fractured bones, and the treatment of wounds, he is an adept.
A kind of cupping is much practised by the Kaffirs, and is managed in much the same way as among ourselves, though with different and ruder instruments. Instead of cupping glasses, they use the horn of an ox with a hole bored through the smaller end. The operator begins his work by pressing the large end of the horn against the part which is to be relieved, and, applying his mouth to the other end, he sucks vigorously until he has produced the required effect. A few gashes are then made with the sharp blade of an assagai, the horn is again applied, and suction employed until a sufficient amount of blood has been extracted.
As the Kaffirs are acquainted with poisons, so are they aware of the medicinal properties possessed by many vegetable productions. Their chief medicines are obtained from the castor-oil plant and the male fern, and are administered for the same complaints as are treated by the same medicines in Europe and America. Sometimes a curious mixture of surgery and medicine is made by scarifying the skin, and rubbing medicine into it. It is probable the “witch doctors” have a very much wider acquaintance with herbs and their properties than they choose to make public; and this conjecture is partly carried out by the efficacy which certain so-called charms have on those who use them, even when imagination does not lend her potent aid. Possessing such terrible powers, it is not to be wondered at that the prophets will sometimes use them for the gratification of personal revenge, or for the sake of gain. In the former case of action, they are only impelled by their own feelings; but to the latter they are frequently tempted by others, and an unprincipled prophet will sometimes accumulate much wealth by taking bribes to accuse certain persons of witchcraft.
How Tchaka contrived to work upon the feelings of the people by means of the prophets has already been mentioned. Mr. Shooter narrates a curious instance where a false accusation was made by a corrupt prophet. One man cherished a violent jealousy against another named Umpisi (i. e. The Hyæna), and, after many attempts, succeeded in bribing a prophet to accuse his enemy of witchcraft. This he did in a very curious manner, namely, by pretending to have a vision in which he had seen a wizard scattering poison near the hut. The wizard’s name, he said, was Nukwa. Now, Nukwa is a word used by women when they speak of the hyæna, and therefore signified the same as Umpisi. Panda, however, declined to believe the accusation, and no direct indictment was made. A second accusation was, however, more successful, and the unfortunate man was put to death. Afterward, Panda discovered the plot, and in a rude kind of way did justice, by depriving the false prophet of all his cattle, forbidding him to practise his art again, and consigning the accuser to the same fate which he had caused to be inflicted on his victim.
The Kaffirs very firmly believe in one sort of witchcraft, which is singularly like some of the superstitious of the Middle Ages. They fancy that the wizards have the power of transforming the dead body of a human being into a familiar of their own, which will do all their work, and need neither pay nor keep.
The “evil-doer” looks out for funerals, and when he finds that a body has been interred upon which he can work his spell without fear of discovery, he prepares his charms, and waits until after sunset. Shielded by the darkness of midnight, he digs up the body, and, by means of his incantations, breathes a sort of life into it, which enables the corpse to move and to speak; the spirit of some dead wizard being supposed to have entered into it. He then heats stones or iron in the fire, burns a hole in the head, and through this aperture he extracts the tongue. Further spells are then cast around the revivified body, which have the effect of changing it into the form of some animal, such as a hyæna, an owl, or a wild-cat; the latter being the form most in favor with such spirits. This mystic animal then becomes his servant, and obeys all his behests, whatever they be. By day, it hides in darkness; but at night it comes forth to do its master’s bidding. It cuts wood, digs and plants the garden, builds houses, makes baskets, pots, spears, and clubs, catches game, and runs errands.
But the chief use to which it is put is to inflict sickness, or even death, upon persons who are disliked by its master. In the dead of night, when the Kaffirs are all at home, the goblin servant glides toward a doomed house, and, standing outside, it cries out, “Woe! woe! woe! to this house!” The trembling inmates hear the dread voice; but none of them dares to go out or to answer, for they believe that if they so much as utter a sound, or move hand or foot, they will die, as well as the person to whom the message is sent. Should the wizard be disturbed in his incantations, before he has had time to transform the resuscitated body, it wanders through the country, powerful, a messenger of evil, but an idiot, uttering cries and menaces, but not knowing their import.
In consequence of this belief, no Kaffir dares to be seen in communication with any creature except the recognized domestic animals, such as cattle and fowls. Any attempt to tame a wild animal would assuredly cause the presumptuous Kaffir to be put to death as an “evil-doer.” A rather curious case of this kind occurred in Natal.
A woman who was passing into the bush in order to cut wood, saw a man feeding a wild-cat--the animal which is thought to be specially devoted to the evil spirit. Terrified at the sight, she tried to escape unseen; but the man perceived her, pushed the animal aside, and bribed her to be silent about what she had seen. However, she went home, and straightway told the chief’s head wife, who told her husband, and from that moment the man’s doom was fixed. Evidence against a supposed wizard is always plentiful, and on this occasion it was furnished liberally. One person had overheard a domestic quarrel, in which the man had beaten his eldest wife, and she threatened to accuse him of witchcraft; but he replied that she was as bad as himself, and that if he was executed, she would suffer the same fate. Another person had heard him say to the same wife, that they had not been found out, and that the accusers only wanted their corn. Both man and wife were summoned before the council, examined after the usual method, and, as a necessary consequence, executed on the spot.
XIX. SUPERSTITION--Concluded
RAIN-MAKING -- EFFECTS OF A DROUGHT -- THE HIGHEST OFFICE OF A KAFFIR PROPHET, ITS REWARDS AND ITS PERILS -- HOW THE PROPHET “MAKES RAIN” -- INGENIOUS EVASIONS -- MR. MOFFATT’s ACCOUNT OF A RAIN-MAKER, AND HIS PROCEEDINGS -- SUPPOSED POWERS OF EUROPEANS -- KAFFIR PROPHETS IN 1857 -- PROGRESS OF THE WAR, AND GRADUAL REPULSE OF THE KAFFIRS -- KRELI, THE KAFFIR CHIEF, AND HIS ADVISERS -- STRANGE PROPHECY AND ITS RESULTS -- THE PROPHETS’ BELIEF IN THEIR OWN POWERS -- MORAL INFLUENCE OF THE PROPHETS -- THE CELEBRATED PROPHET MAKANNA AND HIS CAREER -- HIS RISE, CULMINATION, AND FALL -- MAKANNA’S GATHERING SONG -- TALISMANIC NECKLACE -- THE CHARM-STICK OF THE KAFFIRS -- WHY THE PROPHETS ARE ADVOCATES OF WAR -- A PROPHET WHO TOOK ADVICE.
The highest and most important duty which falls to the lot of the prophets is that of rain-making. In Southern Africa, rain is the very life of the country; and, should it be delayed beyond the usual time, the dread of famine runs through the land. The Kaffirs certainly possess storehouses, but not of sufficient size to hold enough grain for the subsistence of a tribe throughout the year--nor, indeed, could the Kaffirs be able to grow enough food for such a purpose.
During a drought, the pasture fails, and the cattle die; thus cutting off the supply of milk, which is almost the staff of life to a Kaffir--certainly so to his children. The very idea of such a calamity makes every mother in Kaffirland tremble with affright, and there is nothing which they would not do to avert it, even to the sacrifice of their own lives. Soon the water-pools dry up, then the wells, and lastly the springs begin to fail; and consequently disease and death soon make dire havoc among the tribes. In this country, we can form no conception of such a state of things, and are rather apt to suffer from excess of rain than its absence; but the miseries which even a few weeks’ drought in the height of summer can inflict upon this well-watered land may enable us to appreciate some of the horrors which accompany a drought in Southern Africa.
Among the prophets, or witch doctors, there are some who claim the power of forcing rain to fall by their incantations. Rain-making is the very highest office which a Kaffir prophet can perform, and there are comparatively few who will venture to attempt it, because, in case of failure, the wrath of the disappointed people is sometimes known to exhibit itself in perforating the unsuccessful prophet with an assagai, knocking out his brains with a knob-kerrie, or the more simple process of tearing him to pieces. Those, however, who do succeed, are at once raised to the very summit of their profession. They exercise almost unlimited sway over their own tribe, and over any other in which there is not a rain-maker of equal celebrity. The king is the only man who pretends to exercise any authority over these all-powerful beings; and even the king, irresponsible despot though he be, is obliged to be submissive to the rain-maker while he is working his incantations.
It is, perhaps, not at all strange that the Kaffirs should place implicit faith in the power of the rain-makers; but it is a strange fact that the operators themselves believe in their own powers. Of course there are many instances where a rain-maker knowingly practises imposture; but in those cases he is mostly driven to such a course by the menaces of those who are employing him; and, as a general fact, the wizard believes in the efficacy of his own charms quite as firmly as any of his followers.
A prophet who has distinguished himself as a rain-maker is soon known far and wide, and does not restrict his practice to his own district. Potentates from all parts of the country send for him when the drought continues, and their own prophets fail to produce rain. In this, as in other countries, the prophet has more honor in another land than in his own, and the confidence placed in him is boundless. This confidence is grounded on the fact that a rain-maker from a distant land will often produce rain when others at home have failed. The reason is simple enough, though the Kaffirs do not see it. By the time that the whole series of native prophets have gone through their incantations, the time of drought is comparatively near to a close; and, if the prophet can only manage to stave off the actual production of rain for a few days, he has a reasonable chance of success, as every hour is a positive gain to him.
It is needless to mention that the Kaffirs are well acquainted with the signs of the weather, as is always the case with those who live much in the open air. The prophets, evidently, are more weather-wise than the generality of their race, and, however much a rain-maker may believe in himself, he never willingly undertakes a commission when the signs of the sky portend a continuance of drought. Should he be absolutely forced into undertaking the business, his only hope of escape from the dilemma is to procrastinate as much as possible, while at the same time he keeps the people amused. The most common mode of procrastination is by requesting certain articles, which he knows are almost unattainable, and saying that until he has them his incantations will have no effect. Mr. Moffatt narrates a very amusing instance of the shifts to which a prophet is sometimes put, when the rain will not fall, and when he is forced to invoke it.
“The rain-maker found the clouds in our country rather harder to manage than those he had left. He complained that secret rogues were disobeying his proclamations. When urged to make repeated trials, he would reply, ‘You only give me sheep and goats to kill, therefore I can only make goat-rain; give me for slaughter oxen, and I shall let you see ox-rain.’ One day, as he was taking a sound sleep, a shower fell, on which one of the principal men entered his house to congratulate him, but to his utter amazement found him totally insensible to what was transpiring. ‘Hélaka rare!’ (Hallo, by my father!) ‘I thought you were making rain,’ said the intruder, when, arising from his slumbers, and seeing his wife sitting on the floor shaking a milk-sack in order to obtain a little butter to anoint her hair, he replied, pointing to the operation of churning, ‘Do you not see my wife churning rain as fast as she can?’ This reply gave entire satisfaction, and it presently spread through the length and breadth of the town, that the rain-maker had churned the shower out of a milk-sack.
“The moisture caused by this shower was dried up by a scorching sun, and many long weeks followed without a single cloud, and when these did appear they might sometimes be seen, to the great mortification of the conjurer, to discharge their watery treasures at an immense distance. This disappointment was increased when a heavy cloud would pass over with tremendous thunder, but not one drop of rain. There had been several successive years of drought, during which water had not been seen to flow upon the ground; and in that climate, if rain does not fall continuously and in considerable quantities, it is all exhaled in a couple of hours. In digging graves we have found the earth as dry as dust at four or five feet depth, when the surface was saturated with rain.
“The women had cultivated extensive fields, but the seed was lying in the soil as it had been thrown from the hand; the cattle were dying for want of pasture, and hundreds of living skeletons were seen going to the fields in quest of unwholesome roots and reptiles, while many were dying with hunger. Our sheep, as before stated, were soon likely to be all devoured, and finding their number daily diminish, we slaughtered the remainder and put the meat in salt, which of course was far from being agreeable in such a climate, and where vegetables were so scarce.
“All these circumstances irritated the rain-maker very much; but he was often puzzled to find something on which to lay the blame, for he had exhausted his skill. One night, a small cloud passed over, and the only flash of lightning, from which a heavy peal of thunder burst, struck a tree in the town. Next day, the rain-maker and a number of people assembled to perform the usual ceremony on such an event. It was ascended, and ropes of grass and grass roots were bound round different parts of the trunk, which in the Acacia giraffa is seldom much injured. A limb may be torn off, but of numerous trees of that species which I have seen struck by lightning, the trunk appears to resist its power, as the fluid produces only a stripe or groove along the bark to the ground. When these bandages were made he deposited some of his nostrums, and got quantities of water handed up, which he poured with great solemnity on the wounded tree, while the assembled multitude shouted ‘Pùla pùla.’ This done the tree was hewn down, dragged out of the town, and burnt to ashes. Soon after this unmeaning ceremony, he got large bowls of water, with which was mingled an infusion of bulbs. All the men of the town then came together, and passed in succession before him, when he sprinkled each with a zebra’s tail which he dipped in the water.
“As all this and much more did not succeed, he had recourse to another stratagem. He knew well that baboons were not very easily caught among the rocky glens and shelving precipices, therefore, in order to gain time, he informed the men that, to make rain, he must have a baboon; that the animal must be without a blemish, not a hair was to be wanting on its body. One would have thought any simpleton might have seen through his tricks, as their being able to present him with a baboon in that state was impossible, even though they caught him asleep. Forth sallied a band of chosen runners, who ascended the neighboring mountain. The baboons from their lofty domiciles had been in the habit of looking down on the plain beneath at the natives encircling and pursuing the quaggas and antelopes, little dreaming that one day they would themselves be objects of pursuit. They hobbled off in consternation, grunting, and screaming and leaping from rock to rock, occasionally looking down on their pursuers, grinning and gnashing their teeth. After a long pursuit, with wounded limbs, scratched bodies, and broken toes, a young one was secured, and brought to the town, the captors exulting as if they had obtained a great spoil. The wily rogue, on seeing the animal, put on a countenance exhibiting the most intense sorrow, exclaiming, ‘My heart is rent in pieces; I am dumb with grief’; and pointing to the ear of the baboon, which was scratched, and the tail, which had lost some hairs, added, ‘Did I not tell you I could not make rain if there was one hair wanting?’
“After some days another was obtained; but there was still some imperfection, real or alleged. He had often said that, if they would procure him the heart of a lion, he would show them that he could make rain so abundant that a man might think himself well off to be under shelter, as when it fell it might sweep whole towns away. He had discovered that the clouds required strong medicine, and that a lion’s heart would do the business. To obtain this the rain-maker well knew was no joke. One day it was announced that a lion had attacked one of the cattle out-posts, not far from the town, and a party set off for the twofold purpose of getting a key to the clouds and disposing of a dangerous enemy. The orders were imperative, whatever the consequences might be, which, in this instance, might have been very serious, had not one of our men shot the terrific animal dead with a gun. This was no sooner done than it was cut up for roasting and boiling; no matter if it had previously eaten some of their relations, they ate it in its turn. Nothing could exceed their enthusiasm when they returned to the town, bearing the lion’s heart, and singing the conqueror’s song in full chorus; the rain-maker prepared his medicines, kindled his fires, and might be seen upon the top of the hill, stretching forth his puny hands, and beckoning the clouds to draw near, or even shaking his spear, and threatening that, if they disobeyed, they should feel his ire. The deluded populace believed all this, and wondered the rains would not fall.
“Asking an experienced and judicious man, the king’s uncle, how it was that so great an operator on the clouds could not succeed, ‘Ah,’ he replied, with apparent feeling, ‘there is a cause for the hardheartedness of the clouds if the rain-maker could only find it out.’ A scrutinizing watch was kept upon everything done by the missionaries. Some weeks after my return from a visit to Griqua Town, a grand discovery was made, that the rain had been prevented by my bringing a bag of salt from that place in my wagon. The charge was made by the king and his attendants, with great gravity and form. As giving the least offence by laughing at their puerile actions ought always to be avoided when dealing with a people who are sincere though deluded, the case was on my part investigated with more than usual solemnity. Mothibi and his aid-de-camp accompanied me to the storehouse, where the identical bag stood. It was open, with the white contents full in view. ‘There it is,’ he exclaimed, with an air of satisfaction. But finding, on examination, that the reported salt was only white clay or chalk, they could not help laughing at their own incredulity.”
An unsuccessful Kaffir prophet is never very sorry to have white men in the country, because he can always lay the blame of failure upon them. Should they be missionaries, the sound of the hymns is quite enough to drive away the clouds; and should they be laymen, any habit in which they indulged would be considered a sufficient reason for the continuance of drought. The Kaffir always acknowledges the superior powers of the white man, and, though he thinks his own race far superior to any that inhabit the earth, he fancies that the spirits which help him are not so powerful as those who aid the white man, and that it is from their patronage, and not from any mental or physical superiority, that he has obtained his pre-eminence. Fully believing in his own rain-making powers, he fancies that the white men are as superior in this art as in others, and invents the most extraordinary theories in order to account for the fact. After their own prophets have failed to produce rain, the Kaffirs are tolerably sure to wait upon a missionary, and ask him to perform the office. The process of reasoning by which they have come to the conclusion that the missionaries can make rain is rather a curious one. As soon as the raw, cold winds begin to blow and to threaten rain, the missionaries were naturally accustomed to put on their overcoats when they left their houses. These coats were usually of a dark color, and nothing could persuade the natives but that the assumption of dark clothing was a spell by which rain was compelled to fall.
It has just been mentioned that the prophets fully believe in their own supernatural powers. Considering the many examples of manifest imposture which continually take place, some of which have already been described, most Europeans would fancy that the prophets were intentional and consistent deceivers, and their opinion of themselves was something like that of the old Roman augurs, who could not even look in each other’s faces without smiling. This, however, is not the case. Deceivers they undoubtedly are, and in many instances wilfully so, but it is equally certain that they do believe that they are the means of communication between the spirits of the dead and their living relatives. No better proof of this fact can be adduced than the extraordinary series of events which took place in 1857, in which not only one prophet, but a considerable number of them took part, and in which their action was unanimous. In that year, the Kaffir tribes awoke to the conclusion that they had been gradually but surely yielding before the European settlers, and they organized a vast conspiracy by which they hoped to drive every white man out of Southern Africa, and to re-establish their own supremacy. The very existence of the colony of Natal was a thorn in their sides, as that country was almost daily receiving reinforcements from Europe, and was becoming gradually stronger and less likely to be conquered. Moreover, there were continual defections of their own race; whole families, and even the population of entire villages, were escaping from the despotic sway of the native monarch, and taking refuge in the country protected by the white man’s rifle. Several attempts had been previously made under the celebrated chief Sandilli, and the equally famous prophet-warrior Makanna, to dispossess the colonists, and in every case the Kaffir tribes had been repulsed with great loss, and were at last forced to offer their submission.
In 1857, however, a vast meeting was convened by Kreli, in order to organize a regularly planned campaign, and at this meeting a celebrated prophet was expected to be present. He did not make his appearance, but sent a messenger, saying that the spirit had ordered the Kaffirs to kill all their cattle. This strange mandate was obeyed by many of the people, but others refused to obey the prophet’s order, and saved their cattle alive. Angry that his orders had been disobeyed, the prophet called another meeting, and had a private interview with Kreli, in which he said that the disobedience of the people was the reason why the white men had not been driven out of the land. But, if they would be obedient, and slay every head of cattle in the country, except one cow and one goat, the spirits of the dead would be propitiated by their munificence, and would give their aid. Eight days were to be allowed for doing the murderous work, and on the eighth--at most on the ninth day--by means of spells thrown upon the surviving cow and goat, the cattle would all rise again, and they would repossess the wealth which they had freely offered. They were also ordered to throw away all the corn in their granaries and storehouses. As a sign that the prophecy would be fulfilled, the sun would not rise until half-past eight, it would then turn red and go back on its course, and darkness, rain, thunder, and lightning would warn the people of the events that were to follow.
The work of slaughter then began in earnest: the goats and cattle were exterminated throughout the country, and, except the two which were to be the reserve, not a cow or a goat was left alive. With curious inconsistency, the Kaffirs took the hides to the trading stations and sold them, and so fast did they pour in that they were purchased for the merest trifle, and many thousands could not be sold at all, and were left in the interior of the country. The eighth day arrived, and no signs were visible in the heavens. This did not disturb the Kaffirs very much, as they relied on the promised ninth day. On that morning not a Kaffir moved from his dwelling, but sat in the kraal, anxiously watching the sun. From six in the morning until ten they watched its course, but it did not change color or alter its course, and neither the thunder, lightning, nor rain came on in token that the prophecy was to be fulfilled.
The deluded Kaffirs then repented themselves, but too late, of their credulity. They had killed all their cattle and destroyed all their corn, and without these necessaries of life they knew that they must starve. And they did indeed starve. Famine in its worst form set in throughout the country; the children died by hundreds; none but those of the strongest constitutions survived, and even these were mere skeletons, worn away by privations, and equally unable to work or to fight. By this self-inflicted blow the Kaffirs suffered far more than they would have done in the most prolonged war, and rendered themselves incapable of resistance for many years.
That the prophets who uttered such strange mandates must have been believers in the truth of their art is evident enough, for they sacrificed not only the property of others, but their own, and we have already seen how tenaciously a Kaffir clings to his flocks and herds. Moreover, in thus destroying all the food in the country, they knew that they were condemning to starvation not only the country in general, but themselves and their families, and a man is not likely to utter prophecies which, if false, would reduce him from wealth to poverty, and condemn himself, his family, and all the country to the miseries of famine, did he not believe those prophecies to be true. Although the influence exercised by the prophets is, in many cases, wielded in an injurious manner, it is not entirely an unmixed evil. Imperfect as their religious system is, and disastrous as are too often the consequences, it is better than no religion at all, and at all events it has two advantages, the one being the assertion of the immortality of the soul, and the second the acknowledgment that there are beings in the spiritual world possessed of far greater powers than their own, whether for good or evil.
One of the most extraordinary of these prophets was the celebrated Makanna, who united in his own person the offices of prophet and general, and who ventured to oppose the English forces, and in person to lead an attack on Grahamstown. This remarkable man laid his plans with great care and deliberation, and did not strike a blow until all his plots were fully developed. In the first place he contrived to obtain considerable military information by conversation with the soldiers, and especially the officers of the regiments who were quartered at Grahamstown, and in this manner contrived to learn much of the English military system, as well as of many mechanical arts.
The object which he proposed to himself is not precisely known, but as far as can be gathered from his actions, he seems to have intended to pursue a similar course to that which was taken by Tchaka among the more modern Zulus, and to gather together the scattered Amakosa tribes and to unite them in one great nation, of which he should be sole king and priest. But his ambition was a nobler one than that of Tchaka, whose only object was personal aggrandizement, and who shed rivers of blood, even among his own subjects, in order to render himself supreme. Makanna was a man of different mould, and although personal ambition had much to do with his conduct, he was clearly inspired with a wish to raise his people into a southern nation that should rival the great Zulu monarchy of the north, and also, by the importation of European ideas, to elevate the character of his subjects, and to assimilate them as far as possible with the white men, their acknowledged superiors in every art.
That he ultimately failed is no wonder, because he was one of those enthusiasts who do not recognize their epoch. Most people fail in being behind their day, Makanna failed in being before it. Enjoying constant intercourse with Europeans, and invariably choosing for his companions men of eminence among them, his own mind had become sufficiently enlarged to perceive the infinite superiority of European civilization, and to know that if he could only succeed in infusing their ideas into the minds of his subjects, the Kosa nation would not only be the equal of, but be far superior to the Zulu empire, which was erected by violence and preserved by bloodshed. Conscious of the superstitious character of his countrymen, and knowing that he would not be able to gain sufficient influence over them unless he laid claim to supernatural powers, Makanna announced himself to be a prophet of a new kind. In this part of his line of conduct, he showed the same deep wisdom that had characterized his former proceedings, and gained much religious as well as practical knowledge from the white men, whom he ultimately intended to destroy. He made a point of conversing as much as possible with the clergy, and, with all a Kaffir’s inborn love of argument, delighted in getting into controversies respecting the belief of the Christians, and the inspiration of the Scriptures.
Keen and subtle of intellect, and possessed of wonderful oratorical powers, he would at one time ask question after question for the purpose of entangling his instructor in a sophism, and at another would burst into a torrent of eloquence in which he would adroitly make use of any unguarded expression, and carry away his audience by the spirit and fire of his oratory. In the mean while he was quietly working upon the minds of his countrymen so as to prepare them for his final step; and at last, when he had thoroughly matured his plans, he boldly announced himself as a prophet to whom had been given a special commission from Uhlanga, the Great Spirit.
Unlike the ordinary prophets, whose utterances were all of blood and sacrifice, either of men or animals, he imported into his new system of religion many ideas that he had obtained from the Christian clergy, and had the honor of being the first Kaffir prophet who ever denounced vice and enforced morality on his followers. Not only did he preach against vice in the abstract, but he had the courage to denounce all those who led vicious lives, and was as unsparing toward the most powerful chiefs as toward the humblest servant.
One chief, the renowned Gaika, was direfully offended at the prophet’s boldness, whereupon Makanna, finding that spiritual weapons were wasted on such a man, took to the spear and shield instead, led an extemporized force against Gaika, and defeated him.
Having now cleared away one of the obstacles to the course of his ambition, he thought that the time had come when he might strike a still greater blow. The English had taken Gaika under their protection after his defeat, and Makanna thought that he could conquer the British forces as he had those of his countryman. Accordingly, he redoubled his efforts to make himself revered by the Kaffir tribes. He seldom showed himself, passing the greater part of his time in seclusion; and when he did appear in public, he always maintained a reserved, solemn, and abstracted air, such as befitted the character which he assumed, namely, a prophet inspired, not by the spirits of the dead, but by the Uhlanga, the Great Spirit himself. Now and then he would summon the people about him, and pour out torrents of impetuous eloquence, in which he announced his mission from above, and uttered a series of prophecies, wild and extravagant, but all having one purport; namely, that the spirits of their fathers would fight for the Kaffirs, and drive the inhabitants into the sea.
Suddenly he called together his troops, and made a descent upon Grahamstown, the whole attack being so unexpected that the little garrison were taken by surprise; and the commander was nearly taken prisoner as he was riding with some of his officers. More than 10,000 Kaffir warriors were engaged in the assault, while the defenders numbered barely 350 Europeans and a few disciplined Hottentots. The place was very imperfectly fortified, and, although a few field-guns were in Grahamstown, they were not in position, nor were they ready for action.
Nothing could be more gallant than the conduct of assailants and defenders. The Kaffirs, fierce, warlike, and constitutionally brave, rushed to the attack with wild war cries, hurling their assagais as they advanced; and when they came to close quarters, breaking their last weapon, and using it as a dagger. The defenders on the other hand contended with disciplined steadiness against such fearful odds, but the battle might have gone against them had it not been for a timely succor. Finding that the place could not be taken by a direct assault, Makanna detached several columns to attack it both in flank and rear, while he kept the garrison fully employed by assailing it in front. Just at that moment, an old experienced Hottentot captain, named Boezak, happened to arrive at Grahamstown with a party of his men. Without hesitation he led his little force against the enemy, and, being familiar with Kaffir warfare, and also practised marksmen, he and his followers neglected the rank and file of the enemy, and directed their fire upon the leaders who were conducting the final charge. In a few seconds a number of the most distinguished chiefs were shot down, and the onset received a sudden check.
The Amakosa warriors soon recovered themselves and returned to the charge, but the English had taken advantage of the brief respite, and brought their field-guns to bear. Volley after volley of grape-shot was poured into the thickest columns of the enemy, and the front ranks fell like grass before the mower’s scythe. Still, the courage of the Kaffirs, stimulated by the mystic utterances of their prophet-general, was not quelled, and the undaunted warriors charged up to the very mouths of the guns, stabbing with their last spears at the artillerymen. But brave as they might be, they could not contend against the deadly hail of grape-shot and musketry that ceaselessly poured into their ranks, while as soon as a leader made himself conspicuous, he was shot by Boezak and his little body of marksmen. Makanna rallied his forces several times, but at last they were put to flight, and he was obliged to accompany his discomfited soldiers.
Short as was this battle, it was a terrible one for the Kaffirs. Fourteen hundred bodies were found dead on the field, while at least as many more died of their wounds. After this decisive repulse, Makanna surrendered himself to the English, and was sent as a prisoner to Robben Island. Here he remained for a year, with a few followers and slaves whom he was permitted to retain. One day he disarmed the guard, and tried to escape in a boat, but was drowned in the attempt.
The subjoined spirited rendering of Makanna’s gathering song is by Mr. Pringle, the poet-traveller in Southern Africa.
MAKANNA’S GATHERING.
“Wake! Amakosa, wake! And arm yourselves for war, As coming winds the forest shake, I hear a sound from far: It is not thunder in the sky. Nor lion’s roar upon the hill, But the voice of him who sits on high, And bids me speak his will!
“He bids me call you forth, Bold sons of Kahabee, To sweep the White Man from the earth, And drive them to the sea: The sea, which heaved them up at first, For Amakosa’s curse and bane, Howls for the progeny she nursed, To swallow them again.
“Then come, ye chieftains bold, With war-plumes waving high; Come, every warrior young and old, With club and assagai. Remember how the spoiler’s host Did through the land like locusts range! Your herds, your wives, your comrades lost,-- Remember, and revenge!
“Fling your broad shields away, Bootless against such foes; But hand to hand we’ll fight to-day, And with the bayonets close. Grasp each man short his stabbing spear, And, when to battle’s edge we come, Rush on their ranks in full career, And to their hearts strike home!
“Wake! Amakosa, wake! And muster for the war: The wizard-wolves from Keisi’s brake, The vultures from afar, Are gathering at Uhlanga’s call, And follow fast our westward way-- For well they know, ere evening fall, They shall have glorious prey!”
There is now before me a remarkable necklace, which was taken from the neck of a Kaffir who was killed in the attack of the 74th Highlanders on the Iron Mount. (See illustration No. 1, on p. 167.) This stronghold of the dark enemies was peculiarly well adapted for defence, and the natives had therefore used it as a place wherein they could deposit their stores; but, by a false move on their part, they put themselves between two fires, and after severe loss had to abandon the post. The necklace belongs to the collection of Major Ross King, who led the 74th in the attack. It has evidently been used for superstitious purposes, and has belonged to a Kaffir who was either one of the prophets, or who intended to join that order. It is composed of human finger-bones, twenty-seven in number, and as only the last joint of the finger is used, it is evident that at least three men must have supplied the bones in question. From the nature of the ornament, it is likely that it once belonged to that class of which doctors make a living, by pretending to detect the evil-doers who have caused the death of chiefs and persons of rank.
As another example of the superstitious ideas of the Kaffirs, I may here describe one of the small bags which are sometimes called knapsacks, and sometimes “daghasacs,” the latter name being given to them because their chief use is to hold the “dagha,” or preparation of hemp which is so extensively used for smoking, and which was probably the only herb that was used before the introduction of tobacco from America.
Sometimes the daghasac is made of the skin of some small animal, taken off entire; but in this instance it is made of small pieces of antelope skin neatly joined together, and having some of the hair still left in the interior. The line of junction between the upper and lower pieces of skin is ingeniously concealed by the strings of black and white beads which are attached to it; and the same beads serve also to conceal a patch which is let in in one side. The bag is suspended over the shoulders of the wearer by means of a long chain formed of iron wire, the links of which are made so neatly that, but for a few irregularities, they would be taken for the handiwork of an European wire-worker.
From the end of the bag hang two thongs, each of which bears at the extremity a valued charm. One of these articles is a piece of stick, about three inches in length, and about as thick as an artist’s pencil; and the other is a small sea-shell. The bone necklace, which has just been described, does really look like a charm or an amulet; but these two objects are so perfectly harmless in appearance that no one would detect their character without a previous acquaintance with the manners and customs of the natives. The stick in question is formed of a sort of creeper, which seems to be invariably used in the manufacture of certain charms. It has small dark leaves and pale-blue flowers, and is found plentifully at the Cape, growing among the “Boerbohne,” and other bushes, and twining its flexible shoots among their branches.
Major King, to whose collection the daghasac belongs, possesses a large specimen of the same stick, five feet in length and perfectly straight. It was taken from the centre of a bundle of assagais that had fallen from the grasp of a Kaffir, who was killed in a skirmish by the Highlanders. This stick was employed as a war charm, and probably was supposed to have the double effect of making certain the aim of the assagais and of guarding the owner from harm. Vast numbers of those wooden charms were issued to the soldiers by the celebrated prophet Umlangeni, who prophesied that by his incantations the bullets of the white man would turn to water as soon as they were fired. As the charm cost nothing except the trouble of cutting the stick to the proper length, and as he never issued one without a fee of some kind, it is evident that the sacred office became in his hands a very profitable one.
As war occupies so much of the Kaffir’s mind, it is to be expected that the prophets encourage rather than suppress the warlike spirit of the nation. During times of peace, the objects for which the prophet will be consulted are comparatively few. Anxious parents may come to the prophet for the purpose of performing some ceremony over a sick child; or, with much apparent anxiety, a deputation from the tribe may call him to attend upon the chief, who has made himself ill by eating too much beef and drinking too much beer; or he may be summoned in case of sickness, which is always a tolerably profitable business, and in which his course of treatment is sure to be successful; or if he should enjoy the high but perilous reputation of being a rain-maker, he may be called upon to perform his incantations, and will consequently receive a goodly number of presents.
These, however, are the sum of the prophet’s duties in times of peace, and he is naturally inclined to foster a warlike disposition among the people. The reader will remember that when Tchaka found that his subjects were in danger of settling down to a quiet agricultural life, he induced one of the prophets to stir up a renewal of the old martial spirit. And we may be sure that he found no unwilling agents in the prophets, at least three of whom must have been engaged in the deception.
In war, however, the prophet’s services are in constant demand, and his influence and his wealth are equally increased. He retains all the privileges which he enjoyed in time of peace, in addition to those which belong to him as general adviser in time of war. From the beginning to the end of the war every one consults the prophet. When the king forms the conception of making war, he is sure to send for the prophet, and ask him to divine the result of the coming contest, and whatever his advice may be it is implicitly followed. Then, after war has been announced, another ceremony is necessary in order to propitiate the spirits of ancestors, and cause them to fight for their descendants, who sacrifice so many oxen to them, and thus enrich their cattle pen in the shades below. Next comes the grand series of ceremonies when the troops are mustered, and another, scarcely less grand, when they march off.
In the mean time almost every soldier will want a charm of some kind or other, and will pay for it. Moreover, he will generally owe the sacrifice of a cow, or at least a goat, if he return home safely at the end of a campaign, and of all sacrifices the prophet gets his share. The old men and wives who remain at home, and are sure to feel anxious about their husbands and children who are with the army, are equally sure to offer sacrifices as propitiations to the spirits. When the army returns the prophet is still in request, as he has to superintend the various sacrifices that have been vowed by the survivors and their friends. As to those who fell they have already paid their fees, and for the failure of the charm there is always some excuse, which the simple people are quite ready to believe.
Mr. Baines has kindly sent me an account of one of these prophets, and the manner in which he performed his office. Besides the snakes, skins, feathers, and other strange ornaments with which a Kaffir prophet is wont to bedeck himself, he had hung round his neck a string of bones and skulls, an amulet of which he evidently was exceedingly proud. He was consulted by some of the soldiers about the result of the expedition, and straightway proceeded to work. Taking off the necklace he flung it on the ground, and then squatted down beside it, scanning carefully the attitude assumed by every bone, and drawing therefrom his conclusions. (See the engraving No. 2, on page 188.) At last he rose, and stated to his awe-struck clients that before the war was over many of them would eat dust, i. e. be killed.
This announcement had a great effect upon the dark soldiers, and their spirits were sadly depressed by it. The commander, however, was a man who was independent of such actions, and did not intend to have his men disheartened by any prophet. So he sent for the seer in question, and very plainly told him that his business was to foretell success, and not failure; and that, if he did not alter his line of prophecy, he must be prepared to take the consequences. Both the seer and the spirits of departed chiefs took this rather strong hint, and after that intimation the omens invariably proved to be favorable, and the soldiers recovered their lost equanimity.
XX. FUNERAL RITES
BURIAL OF THE DEAD -- LOCALITIES OF THE TOMBS -- THE CHIEF’S LAST RESTING-PLACE -- SACRIFICES AND LUSTRATION -- BODIES OF CRIMINALS -- REPUGNANCE TOWARD DEAD BODIES -- ORDINARY RITES -- FUNERAL OF A CHILD -- THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF MNANDE -- HER GENERAL CHARACTER, AND SUSPICIOUS NATURE OF HER ILLNESS -- TCHAKA’s BEHAVIOR -- ASSEMBLAGE OF THE PEOPLE AND TERRIBLE MASSACRE -- MNANDE’S COMPANIONS IN THE GRAVE -- THE YEAR OF WATCHING -- A STRANGE ORDINANCE -- HOW TCHAKA WENT OUT OF MOURNING -- A SUMMARY MODE OF SEPULTURE -- ABANDONMENT OF THE AGED SICK -- MR. GALTON’S STORY.
Closely connected with the religion of any country is the mode in which the bodies of the dead are disposed of.
Burial in the earth is the simplest and most natural mode of disposing of a dead body, and this mode is adopted by the Kaffirs. There are slight variations in the method of interment and the choice of a grave, but the general system prevails throughout Kaffirland. The body is never laid prostrate, as among ourselves; but a circular hole is dug in the ground, and the body is placed in it in a sitting position, the knees being brought to the chin, and the head bent over them. Sometimes, and especially if there should be cause for haste, the Kaffirs select for a grave an ant-hill, which has been ransacked by the great ant-bear or aard-vark, and out of which the animal has torn the whole interior with its powerful claws, leaving a mere oven-shaped shell as hard as a brick. Generally, however, a circular hole is dug, and the body is placed in it, as has been already mentioned. As to the place of burial, that depends upon the rank of the dead person. If he be the head man of a kraal he is always buried in the isi-baya, or cattle enclosure, and the funeral is conducted with much ceremony. During the last few days of illness, when it is evident that recovery is impossible, the people belonging to the kraal omit the usual care of the toilet, allowing their hair to grow as it likes, and abstaining from the use of grease or from washing. The worst clothes are worn, and all ornaments are removed. They also are bound to fast until the funeral, and there is a humane custom that the children are first supplied with an abundant meal, and not until they have eaten are they told of their father’s death.
The actual burial is performed by the nearest relatives, and on such an occasion it is not thought below the dignity of a man to assist in digging the grave. The body is then placed in the grave; his spoon, mat, pillow, and spears are laid beside him: the shafts of the latter are always broken, and the iron heads bent, perhaps from some vague idea that the spirit of the deceased will come out of the earth and do mischief with them. Should he be a rich man, oxen are also killed and placed near him, so that he may go into the land of spirits well furnished with cattle, implements, and weapons. If the person interred should not be of sufficient rank to be entitled to a grave in the isi-baya, he is buried outside the kraal, and over the grave is made a strong fence of stones or thorn-bushes, to prevent the corpse from being disturbed by wild beasts or wizards. As soon as the funeral party returns, the prophet sends the inhabitants of the kraal to the nearest stream, and after they have washed therein he administers some medicine to them, and then they are at liberty to eat and drink, to milk their cattle, and to dress their hair. Those, however, who dug the grave and handled the body of the dead man are obliged to undergo a double course of medicine and lustration before they are permitted to break their fast.
It is not every Kaffir who receives the funeral rites. Those who have been killed by order of the king are considered unworthy of receiving honorable sepulture, and no matter what may be the crime of which they are accused, or whether indeed they have not been killed through some momentary caprice of the despot, their bodies are merely dragged away by the heels into the bush, and allowed to become the prey of the vultures and hyænas. Except when heated by conflict, the Kaffir has an invincible repugnance to touching a dead body, and nothing can show greater respect for the dead than the fact, that the immediate relatives conquer this repugnance, and perform the last office in spite of their natural aversion to such a duty, and with full knowledge of the long and painful fast which they must undergo.
The friends of the family then assemble near the principal hut, and loudly bewail the loss which the kraal has sustained. An ox is killed, and its flesh cooked as a feast for the mourners, the animal itself being offered as a sacrifice to the departed chief. Having finished their banquet, and exhausted all their complimentary phrases toward the dead, they generally become anything but complimentary to the living. Addressing the eldest son, who has now succeeded to his father’s place, they bewail his inexperience, condole with the wives upon their hard lot in being under the sway of one so inferior in every way to the deceased, and give the son plenty of good advice, telling him not to beat any of his mothers if he can keep them in order without manual correction, to be kind to all his brothers and sisters, and to be considerate towards the dependants. They enforce their arguments by copious weeping. Tears always come readily to a Kaffir, but, if there should be any difficulty in shedding them, a liberal use of pungent snuff is sure to produce the desired result.
Such is the mode in which ordinary men and chiefs are buried. The funerals of children are conducted in a much quicker and simpler manner, as may be seen by the following extract from Gardiner’s work on Southern Africa. He is describing the funeral of a child belonging to a Kaffir with whom he was acquainted:--
“After threading an intricate path, and winding about for some little distance, they stopped. Inquiring if that was the spot they had chosen, Kolelwa replied, ‘You must show us.’ On being again told that it was left entirely for his decision, they proceeded a few paces further, and then commenced one of the most distressing scenes I ever witnessed, a father with his own hand opening the ground with his hoe, and scooping out a grave for his own child, assisted only by one of his wives--while the bereaved mother, in the bitterness of her grief, seated under some bushes like another Hagar, watched every movement, but dared not trust herself nearer to the mournful spot.
“When all was prepared Kolelwa returned, with the wife who had assisted him, for the body--Nombuna, the mother, still remaining half concealed among the trees. Everything was conducted so silently that I did not perceive their return, until suddenly turning to the spot I observed the woman supporting the body so naturally upon her lap, as she sat on the ground, that at first I really supposed it had been a living child. Dipping a bundle of leafy boughs into a calabash of water, the body was first washed by the father, and then laid by him in the grave; over which I read a selection from the Burial Service (such portions only as were strictly applicable); concluding with a short exhortation to those who were present. The entire opening was then filled in with large fagots, over which earth was thrown, and above all a considerable pile of thorny boughs and branches heaped, in order to render it secure from the approach of wild animals.”
In strange contrast with this touching and peaceful scene stand the terrible rites by which Tchaka celebrated the funeral of his mother Mnande. It has already been mentioned, on page 124, that Tchaka was suspected, and not without reason, of having been accessory, either actively or passively, to his mother’s death; and it was no secret that she was a turbulent, quarrelsome, bad-tempered woman, and that Tchaka was very glad to be rid of her. Now, although a Kaffir is much despised if he allows his mother to exercise the least authority over him when he has once reached adult age, and though it is thought rather a praiseworthy act than otherwise for a young man to beat his mother, as a proof that he is no more a child, the murder of a parent is looked upon as a crime for which no excuse could be offered.
Irresponsible despot as was Tchaka, he was not so utterly independent of public opinion that he could allow himself to be spoken of as a parricide, and accordingly, as soon as his mother was beyond all chance of recovery, he set himself to work to make his people believe that he was really very sorry for his mother’s illness. In the first place, he cut short a great elephant-hunting party at which he was engaged; and although he was fully sixty miles from the kraal in which his mother was residing, he set off at once, and arrived at home in the middle of the following day. At Tchaka’s request, Mr. Fynn went to see the patient, and to report whether there was any chance of her recovery. His account of the interview and the subsequent ceremonies is as follows:--
“I went, attended by an old chief, and found the hut filled with mourning women, and such clouds of smoke that I was obliged to bid them retire, to enable me to breathe within it. Her complaint was dysentery, and I reported at once to Tchaka that her case was hopeless, and that I did not expect that she would live through the day. The regiments which were then sitting in a semi-circle around him were ordered to their barracks: while Tchaka himself sat for about two hours, in a contemplative mood, without a word escaping his lips; several of the elder chiefs sitting also before him. When the tidings were brought that she had expired, Tchaka immediately arose and entered his dwelling; and having ordered the principal chiefs to put on their war dresses, he in a few minutes appeared in his. As soon as the death was publicly announced, the women and all the men who were present tore instantly from their persons every description of ornament.
“Tchaka now appeared before the hut in which the body lay, surrounded by his principal chiefs, in their war attire. For about twenty minutes he stood in a silent, mournful attitude, with his head bowed upon his shield, on which I saw a few large tears fall. After two or three deep sighs, his feelings becoming ungovernable, he broke out into frantic yells, which fearfully contrasted with the silence that had hitherto prevailed. This signal was enough: the chief and people, to the number of about fifteen thousand, commenced the most dismal and horrid lamentations....
“The people from the neighboring kraals, male and female, came pouring in; each body, as they appeared in sight, at the distance of half a mile, joining to swell the terrible cry. Through the whole night it continued, none daring to take rest or refresh themselves with water; while, at short intervals, fresh bursts were heard as more distant regiments approached. The morning dawned without any relaxation, and before noon the number had increased to about sixty thousand. The cries became now indescribably horrid. Hundreds were lying faint from excessive fatigue and want of nourishment; while the carcasses of forty oxen lay in a heap, which had been slaughtered as an offering to the guardian spirits of the tribe.
“At noon the whole force formed a circle, with Tchaka in their centre, and sang a war song, which afforded them some relaxation during its continuance. At the close of it, Tchaka ordered several men to be executed on the spot, and the cries became, if possible, more violent than ever. No further orders were needed; but, as if bent on convincing their chief of their extreme grief, the multitude commenced a general massacre--many of them received the blow of death while inflicting it on others, each taking the opportunity of revenging his injuries, real or imaginary. Those who could no more force tears from their eyes--those who were found near the river, panting for water--were beaten to death by others mad with excitement. Toward the afternoon I calculated that not fewer than seven thousand people had fallen in this frightful, indiscriminate massacre. The adjacent stream, to which many had fled exhausted to wet their parched tongues, became impassable from the number of dead bodies which lay on each side of it; while the kraal in which the scene took place was flowing with blood.”
On the second day after Mnande’s death her body was placed in a large grave, near the spot where she had died, and ten of the best-looking girls in the kraal were enclosed alive in the same grave. (See the illustration opposite.) Twelve thousand men, all fully armed, attended this dread ceremony, and were stationed as a guard over the grave for a whole year. They were maintained by voluntary contributions of cattle from every Zulu who possessed a herd, however small it might be. Of course, if Tchaka could celebrate the last illness and death of his mother with such magnificent ceremonies, no one would be likely to think that he had any hand in her death. Extravagant as were these rites, they did not quite satisfy the people, and the chiefs unanimously proposed that further sacrifices should be made. They proposed that every one should be killed who had not been present at Mnande’s funeral; and this horrible suggestion was actually carried out, several regiments of soldiers being sent through the country for the purpose of executing it.
Their next proposal was that the very earth should unite in the general mourning, and should not be cultivated for a whole year; and that no one should be allowed either to make or eat amasi, but that the milk should be at once poured out on the earth. These suggestions were accepted; but, after a lapse of three months, a composition was made by large numbers of oxen offered to Tchaka by the chiefs. The last, and most astounding, suggestion was, that if during the ensuing year any child should be born, or even if such an event were likely to occur, both the parents and the child should be summarily executed. As this suggestion was, in fact, only a carrying out, on a large scale, of the principle followed by Tchaka in his own households, he readily gave his consent; and during the whole of the year there was much innocent blood shed.
After the year had expired, Tchaka determined upon another expiatory sacrifice, as a preliminary to the ceremony by which he went out of mourning. This, however, did not take place, owing to the remonstrances of Mr. Fynn, who succeeded in persuading the despot to spare the lives of his subjects. One reason why Tchaka acceded to the request was his amusement at the notion of a white man pleading for the life of “dogs.”
The whole of the able-bodied part of the population had taken warning by the massacre of the previous year, and presented themselves at the ceremony. They were arranged in regiments, and, as soon as the chief made his appearance, they moved simultaneously to the tops of the hills that surrounded the great kraal in which the ceremony was to take place. Upward of a hundred thousand oxen were brought together to grace the ceremony, their bellowing being thought to be a grateful sound to the spirits of the dead. Standing amidst this savage accompaniment to his voice, Tchaka began to weep and sob loudly, the whole assembly echoing the sound, as in duty bound, and making a most hideous din. This noisy rite began in the afternoon, and closed at sunset, when Tchaka ordered a quantity of cattle to be killed for a feast. Next day came the ceremony by which Tchaka was released from his state of mourning. Every man who owned cattle had brought at least one calf with him, and when the king took his place in the centre of the kraal, each man cut open the right side of the calf, tore out the gall-bladder, and left the wretched creature to die. Each regiment then moved in succession before Tchaka, and, as it marched slowly round him, every man sprinkled gall over him. After he had been thus covered with gall, he was washed by the prophets with certain preparations of their own; and with this ceremony the whole proceedings ended, and Tchaka was out of mourning.
It has already been mentioned that in some instances, especially those where the dead have been murdered by command of the king, or have been tortured to death as wizards, the bodies are merely dragged into the bush, and are left to be devoured by the hyænas and the vultures. Cases are also known where a person on the point of death has been thrown into the river by the relatives before life was quite extinct. The actors in these strange tragedies seem to have thought that the dying person need not be particular about an hour more or less in the world, especially as by such a proceeding they freed themselves from the hated duty of handling a dead body. Sometimes those who are sick to death receive even a more horrible treatment than the comparatively merciful death by drowning, or by the jaws of crocodiles; the dying and the very old and infirm being left to perish, with a small supply of food and drink, enough to sustain life for a day or two. Mr. Galton relates one such instance that occurred within his own experience.
“I saw a terrible sight on the way, which has often haunted me since. We had taken a short cut, and were a day and a half from our wagons, when I observed some smoke in front, and rode to see what it was. An immense black-thorn tree was smouldering, and, from the quantity of ashes about, there was all the appearance of its having burnt for a long time. By it were tracks that we could make nothing of--no footmarks, only an impression of a hand here and there. We followed them, and found a wretched woman, most horribly emaciated; both her feet were burnt quite off, and the wounds were open and unhealed. Her account was that, many days back, she and others were encamping there; and when she was asleep, a dry but standing tree, which they had set fire to, fell down and entangled her among its branches: there she was burnt before she could extricate herself, and her people left her. She had since lived on gum alone, of which there were vast quantities about: it oozes down from the trees, and forms large cakes in the sand. There was water close by, for she was on the edge of a river-bed. I did not know what to do with her; I had no means of conveying her anywhere, nor any place to convey her to.
“The Damaras kill useless and worn-out people--even sons smother their sick fathers; and death was not far from her. I had three sheep with me; so I off-packed, and killed one. She seemed ravenous; and, though I purposely had off-packed some two hundred yards from her, yet the poor wretch kept crawling and dragging herself up to me, and would not be withheld, for fear I should forget to give her the food I promised. When it was ready, and she had devoured what I gave her, the meat acted as it often does in such cases, and fairly intoxicated her; she attempted to stand, regardless of the pain, and sang, and tossed her lean arms about. It was perfectly sickening to witness the spectacle. I did the only thing I could; I cut the rest of the meat in strips, and hung it within her reach, and where the sun would jerk (i. e. dry and preserve) it. It was many days’ provision for her. I saw she had water, firewood, and gum in abundance, and then I left her to her fate.”
This event took place among the Damaras; but Captain Gardiner mentions that among the Zulus a dying woman was carried into the bush, and left there to perish in solitude. That such a custom does prevail is evident, and it is likely that it may be more frequently practised than is generally supposed. People of rank are tended carefully enough during sickness; but men and women of low condition, especially if they are old and feeble, as well as prostrated with sickness, are not likely to have much chance of being nursed in a country where human life is so little valued.
XXI. DOMESTIC LIFE
SLEEPING ACCOMMODATION -- HOW SOLDIERS ON THE CAMPAIGN SLEEP -- THE KAFFIR’S BED -- IGNORANCE OF WEAVING -- PORTABLE FURNITURE -- A SINGULAR PROJECTILE -- THE KAFFIR’S PILLOW -- ITS MATERIAL AND USUAL SHAPE -- A KAFFIR’S IDEAS OF ORNAMENT -- MODE OF REPOSING -- DINGAN AT HOME -- DOMESTIC DISCIPLINE -- KAFFIR MUSIC -- ENERGETIC PERFORMANCE -- SOME NATIVE MELODIES -- QUALITY OF VOICE -- MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS -- THE “HARP” AND MODE OF PLAYING IT -- PECULIAR TONES OF THE HARP -- THE KAFFIR’S FLUTE -- EARTHENWARE AMONG THE KAFFIRS -- WOMEN THE ONLY POTTERS -- HOW THE POTS ARE MADE -- GENERAL FORM OF THE POTS AND THEIR USES -- EARTHEN GRAIN-STORES -- THRESHING OUT GRAIN BEFORE STOWAGE -- THE TREES OF AFRICA -- THE THORNS AND THEIR PROPERTIES -- THE GRAPPLE-PLANT -- THE WAIT-A-BIT, AND HOOK-AND-SPIKE THORNS -- MONKEY-ROPES -- VARIOUS TIMBERS.
The sleeping accommodation of a Kaffir is of the simplest kind, and to European minds forms about as uncomfortable a set of articles as can be imagined. Indeed, with many of the young unmarried men, the only permanent accommodation for sleeping is that which is furnished by the floor of the hut, or the ground itself if they should be forced to sleep in the open air. Soldiers on a campaign always sleep on the ground, and as they are forced to leave all their clothes behind them, they seek repose in the most primitive manner imaginable. It has already been mentioned that, in order to secure celerity of movement, a Kaffir soldier carries nothing but his weapon, and is not even encumbered by dress. Hence he has a notable advantage over European soldiers, who would soon perish by disease were they obliged to go through a campaign without beds, tents, kit, or commissariat.
Our Highland soldiers are less dependent on accessory comforts than most European regiments, and will contentedly wrap themselves in their plaids, use their knapsacks as pillows, and betake themselves to sleep in the open air. But they have at all events their plaid, while the Kaffir warrior has nothing but his shield, which he may use as a bed if he likes, and it is, perhaps, fortunate for him that long training in hard marches renders him totally indifferent as to the spot on which he is to lie. His chief care is that the place which he selects should not be wet, or be in the close neighborhood of ants’ nests or snakes’ haunts, and his next care is to arrange his body and limbs so as to fit the inequalities of the ground. As to the hardness of his extemporized couch, he thinks little or nothing of it.
But when our Kaffir lad is admitted into the ranks of men, and takes to himself his first wife, he indulges in the double luxury of a bed and a pillow--the former being made of grass stems and the latter of wood. This article of furniture is almost the same throughout Southern Africa, and, among the true Kaffir tribes, the bed of the king himself and that of his meanest subject are identical in material and shape. It is made of the stems of grasses, some three feet in length, and about as thick as crowquills. These are laid side by side, and are fastened together by means of double strings which pass round the grass stems, and are continually crossed backward and forward so as to form them into a mat about three feet in width and six in length. This method of tying the grass stems together is almost identical with that which is employed by the native tribes that inhabit the banks of the Essequibo River, in tying together the slender arrows which they project through their blow-guns. The ends of the grass stems are all turned over and firmly bound down with string, so as to form a kind of selvage, which protects the mat from being unravelled.
On looking at one of these sleeping-mats, the observer is apt to fancy that a vast amount of needless trouble has been taken with it--that the maker would have done his work quicker and better, and that the article itself would have looked much more elegant, had he woven the materials instead of lashing them with string. But the Kaffir has not the faintest idea of weaving, and even the primitive hand-loom, which is so prevalent in different parts of the world, is not to be found in Southern Africa.
The Kaffir can dress skins as well as any European furrier. He can execute basket-work which no professional basket-maker can even imitate, much less rival. He can make spear blades and axes which are more suitable to his country than the best specimens of European manufacture. But he has not the least notion of the very simple operation of weaving threads into cloth. This ignorance of an almost universal art is the more remarkable because he can weave leather thongs and coarse hairs into elaborate ornaments, and can string beads together so as to form flat belts or even aprons. Still, such is the fact, and a very curious fact it is.
When the sleeper awakes in the morning, the bed is rolled into a cylindrical form, lashed together with a hide thong, and suspended out of the way in the hut. The student of Scripture will naturally be reminded of the command issued to the paralytic man, to “take up his bed and walk,” the bed in question being the ordinary thin mattress in use in the East, which is spread flat on the ground when in use, and is rolled up and put away as soon as the sleeper rises from his couch. If a Kaffir moves from one residence to another, his wife carries his bed with her, sometimes having her own couch balanced on the top of her head, and her husband’s strapped to her shoulders. This latter mode of carrying the bed may be seen in the illustration “Dolls,” on page 33, where the woman is shown with the bed partly hidden under her kaross.
Should the Kaffir be a man of rather a luxurious disposition, he orders his wife to pluck a quantity of grass or fresh leaves, and by strewing them thickly on the ground and spreading the mat over them, he procures a bed which even an ordinary European would not despise. Although the bed is large enough to accommodate a full-sized man, it is wonderfully light. My own specimen, which is a very fair example of a Kaffir bed, weighs exactly two pounds and one ounce, so that the person who carries it is incommoded not so much by its weight as by its bulk. The bulk is, however, greatly diminished by the firmness with which it is rolled up, so that it is made into a cylinder only three or four inches in diameter. The reader may remember a story of a runaway bride, named Uzinto, who rather astonished a Kaffir chief by pitching her bed headlong through the door of the hut. By reference to the illustration on page 209, it is easy to see how readily the bed could be thrown through the narrow entrance, and how sharp a blow could be struck by it if thrown with any force.
The pillow used by the Kaffir is even less comfortable than his bed, inasmuch as it consists of nothing but a block of wood. The shape and dimensions of these pillows are extremely variable. The specimens that I have are fifteen inches in length and nearly six in height, and, as they are cut out of solid blocks of the acacia tree, the weight is considerable.
Upon the pillow the maker has bestowed great pains, and has carved the eight legs in a very elaborate manner, cutting them into pyramidal patterns, and charring the alternate sides of each little pyramid, so as to produce the contrast of black and white which seems to be the Kaffir’s ideal of beauty in wood-carving. It may here be noticed that the Kaffir is not at all inventive in patterns, and that a curious contrast exists between his architecture and his designs. The former, it may be remarked, is all built upon curved lines, while in the latter the lines are nearly straight. It is very seldom indeed that an uncivilized Kaffir draws a pattern which is not based upon straight lines, and even in those instances where he introduces circular patterns the circles are small.
Comfortless as these pillows seem to us, they are well enough suited to the Kaffir; even the married men, whose heads are closely shaven, and who have not even the protection of their hair against the hardness of the wood, are far better pleased with their pillow than they would be with the softest cushion that could be manufactured out of down and satin. Nor is this taste peculiar to the Kaffir, or even to the savage. No Englishman who has been accustomed to a hard and simple mattress would feel comfortable if obliged to sleep in a feather-bed; and many travellers who have been long accustomed to sleep on the ground have never been able to endure a bed afterward. I have known several such travellers, one of whom not only extended his dislike of English sleeping accommodations to the bed, but to the very pillow, for which article he always substituted a block of oak, slightly rounded at the top.
The illustration, “Dingan at home,” on page 209, represents the mode in which a Kaffir reposes. The individual who is reclining is the great Kaffir monarch, Dingan, and the reader will observe that his bed is a mere mat, and that his pillow is only a block of wood. The hut which is here represented is the celebrated one which he built at his garrison town Ukunginglove, and it was specially noted because it was supported by twenty pillars. The fireplace of this hut was remarkable for its shape, which, instead of being the simple circle in general use among the Kaffirs, resembled in form that ornament which is known to architects by the name of quatrefoil. A few of his wives are seen seated round the apartment, and, as Dingan was so great a man, they were not permitted to stand upright, or even to use their feet in any way, so that, if they wished to move from one part of the hut to another, they were obliged to shuffle about on their knees. The illustration is taken from a sketch by Captain Gardiner, who was invited by Dingan to an interview in the house, and during which interview he rather astonished his guest by retiring for a short time, and then presenting himself with his face, limbs, and body entirely covered with red and white spots, like those on toy horses.
The reader can form, from the contemplation of this drawing, a tolerably accurate idea of the luxuries afforded by the wild, savage life which some authors are so fond of praising.
As to music, the Kaffir has rather curious ideas on the subject. His notion of melody is but very slight, while his timing is perfection itself. The songs of the Kaffir tribes have already been mentioned, and the very fact that several hundred men will sing the various war songs as if they were animated with a single spirit shows that they must all keep the most exact time. In this point they aid themselves by the violent gestures in which they indulge. A Kaffir differs from an European vocalist in this point, namely, that he always, if possible, sits down when he sings. He and his companions will squat in a circle, sometimes three or four rows deep, and will shout some well-known song at the top of their voices, swaying their polished bodies backward and forward as if they were one man, and aiding the time by thumping the ground with their knob-kerries, and bringing their elbows violently against their ribs so as to expel the notes from their lungs with double emphasis.
[Music]
Some of the tunes which are sung by the Kaffirs at their dances are here given, the music being taken from the Rev. J. Shooter’s work. The reader will at once see how boldly the time is marked in them, and how well they are adapted for their purpose. Neither are they entirely destitute of tune, the last especially having a wild and quaint sort of melody, which is calculated to take a strong hold of the ear, and to haunt the memories of those who have heard it sung as only Kaffirs can sing it. Among some of the Bosjesman tribes a sort of harmony--or rather sustained discord--is employed, as will be seen in a succeeding page, but the Zulus seem to excel in unison songs, the force of which can be imagined by those who are familiar with the grand old hymns and Gregorian tunes that have been suffered to lie so long in obscurity.
Of course, the quality of a Kaffir’s voice is not that which would please an European vocalist. Like all uncultivated songsters, the Kaffir delights in strong contrasts, now using a high falsetto, and now dropping suddenly into a gruff bass. It is a very remarkable fact that this method of managing the voice is tolerably universal throughout the world, and that the accomplished vocalist of Kaffirland, of China, of Japan, of Persia, and of Arabia, sings with exactly that falsetto voice, that nasal twang, and that abrupt transition from the highest to the lowest notes, which characterize our uneducated singers in rural districts. Put a Wiltshire laborer and a Chinese gentleman into different rooms, shut the doors so as to exclude the pronunciation of the words, ask them to sing one of their ordinary songs, and the hearer will scarcely be able to decide which room holds the English and which the Chinese vocalist. In the specimens of music which have been given, the reader will notice in several places the sudden rise or drop of a whole octave, and also the curiously jerking effect of many passages, both eminently characteristic of music as performed in country villages where modern art has not modified the voice.
The musical instruments of the Kaffir are very few, and those of the most simple kind. One is the whistle that is often diverted from its normal duty as a mere whistle, to become a musical instrument, which, although it has no range of notes, can at all events make itself heard through any amount of vocal accompaniment. And, as a Kaffir thinks that a song is no song unless it is to be sung with the whole power of the lungs, so does he think that the whistle in question is a valuable instrument in his limited orchestra.
There is, however, one musical instrument which is singularly soft and low in its tones, and yet which is in great favor with the Kaffir musicians. This is the instrument which is sometimes called a harp, sometimes a guitar, and sometimes a fiddle, and which has an equal right to either title, inasmuch as it has not the least resemblance to either of those instruments. For the sake of brevity, we shall take the first of these names, and call it a harp. At first sight, the spectator would probably take it for an ordinary bow, to which a gourd had been tied by way of ornament, and, indeed, I have known the instrument to be thus described in a catalogue.
The instrument which is represented in the illustration entitled “Harp” on page 155 is taken from a specimen which was brought from the Natal district by the late H. Jackson, Esq., to whom I am indebted for so many of the weapons and implements which appear in this work. The bow is about five feet in length, and is made exactly as if it were intended to be used for propelling arrows. The true Kaffir, however, never uses the bow in warfare, or even in hunting, thinking it to be a cowardly sort of weapon, unworthy of the hand of a warrior, and looking upon it in much the same light as the knights of old looked first on the cross-bows, and afterward on fire-arms, neither of which weapons give fair play for a warrior’s skill and strength. The cord is made of twisted hair, and is much longer than the bow, so that it can be tightly or loosely strung according to the tone which the dusky musician desires to produce. Near one end of the bow a round hollow gourd is firmly lashed by means of a rather complicated arrangement of leathern thongs. When the gourd is in its place, and the string is tightened to its proper tension, the instrument is complete.
When the Kaffir musician desires to use it, he holds it with the gourd upon his breast, and strikes the cord with a small stick, producing a series of sounds which are certainly rather musical than otherwise, but which are so faint as to be scarcely audible at the distance of a few yards. Although the sound is so feeble, and the instrument is intended for time rather than tone, the Kaffirs are very fond of it, and will play on it by the hour together, their enthusiasm being quite unintelligible to an European ear.
Generally the performer is content with the tones which he obtains by stringing the bow to a certain note, but an expert player is not content with such an arrangement. He attaches a short thong to the string, and to the end of the thong he fastens a ring. The forefinger of the left hand is passed through the ring, and the performer is able as he plays to vary the tone by altering the tension of the string. The object of the calabash is to give depth and resonance to the sound, and it is remarkable that a similar contrivance is in use in many parts of the world, hollow bamboo tubes, earthenware drums, and brass vessels being used for the same purpose.
The reader may perhaps remember that in the middle ages, and indeed in some districts up to a comparatively later time, a single-stringed fiddle was used in the country. It was simply a bow, with a blown bladder inserted between the string and the staff, and looked very much like the Kaffir instrument with the gourd turned inside, so as to allow the string to pass over it. Instead of being merely struck with a small stick, it was played with a rude kind of bow; but, even in the hands of the most skilful performer, its tones must have been anything but melodious. The Kaffir harp is used both by men and women. There is also a kind of rude flageolet, or flute, made of a reed, which is used by the Kaffirs. This instrument is, however, more general among the Bechuanas, and will be described in a future page.
* * * * *
In the course of the work, mention has been made of the earthenware pots used by the Kaffirs. These vessels are of the rudest imaginable description, and afford a curious contrast to the delicate and elaborate basket-work which has been already mentioned. When a Kaffir makes his baskets, whether he be employed upon a small milk-vessel or a large store-house, he invents the most delicate and elaborate patterns, and, out of the simplest possible materials, produces work which no European basket-maker can surpass. But when vessels are to be made with clay the inventive powers of the maker seem to cease, and the pattern is as inferior as the material. Perhaps this inferiority may be the result of the fact that basket-making belongs to the men, who are accustomed to cut patterns of various kinds upon their spoons and gourds, whereas the art of pottery, which implies really hard work, such as digging and kneading clay, is handed over to the women, who are accustomed to doing drudgery.
The Kaffir has no knowledge of machinery, and, just as he is ignorant of the rudest form of a loom for weaving thread into fabrics, so is he incapable of making the simplest kind of a wheel by which he may aid the hand in the shaping of pottery. This is perhaps the more remarkable, as the love of the circular form is so strong in the Kaffir mind that we might naturally imagine him to invent a simple kind of wheel like that which is employed by the peasants of India. But, as may be conjectured from the only attempts at machinery which a Kaffir makes, namely, a bellows whereby he saves his breath, and the extremely rude mill whereby he saves his teeth, the construction of a revolving wheel is far beyond him. In making their pots the women break to pieces the nests of the white ant, and, after pounding the material to a fine powder, mix it with water, and then knead it until it is of a proper consistency. They then form the clay into rings, and build up the pots by degrees, laying one ring regularly upon another until the requisite shape is obtained. It is evident therefore, that the manufacture of a tolerably large pot is a process which occupies a considerable time, because it has to be built up very slowly, lest it should sink under its own weight.
The only tool which is used in the manufacture of Kaffir pottery is a piece of wood, with which the operator scrapes the clay rings as she applies them, so as to give a tolerably smooth surface, and with which she can apply little pieces of clay where there is a deficiency. The shapes of these pots and pans are exceedingly clumsy, and their ungainly look is increased by the frequency with which they become lop-sided in consequence of imperfect drying. Examples of these articles may be seen in several parts of this work. At the farther end of the illustration No. 1, on page 63, may be seen several of the larger pots, which are used for holding grain after it has been husked.
The operation of husking, by the way, is rather a peculiar one, and not at all pleasant for the spectators who care for their eyes or faces. The dry heads of maize are thrown in a heap upon the hard and polished floor of the hut, and a number of Kaffirs sit in a circle round the heap, each being furnished with the ever-useful knob-kerrie. One of them strikes up a song, and the others join in full chorus, beating time with their clubs upon the heads of maize. This is a very exciting amusement for the performers, who shout the noisy chorus at the highest pitch of their lungs, and beat time by striking their knob-kerries upon the grain. With every blow of the heavy club, the maize grains are struck from their husks, and fly about the hut in all directions, threatening injury, if not absolute destruction, to the eyes of all who are present in the hut. Yet the threshers appear to enjoy an immunity which seems to be restricted to themselves and blacksmiths; and while a stranger is anxiously shading his eyes from the shower of hard maize grains, the threshers themselves do not give a thought to the safety of their eyes, but sing at the top of their voice, pound away at the corn cobs, and make the grains fly in all directions, as if the chorus of the song were the chief object in life, and the preservation of their eyesight were unworthy of a thought.
After the maize has been thus separated from the husk, a large portion is hidden away in the subterranean granaries, which have already been mentioned, while a considerable quantity is placed in their large earthen jars for home consumption. In boiling meat, two pots are employed, one being used as a cover inverted over the other, and the two are luted tightly together so as to preserve the flavor of the meat. Except for the three purposes of preserving grain, cooking food, and boiling beer, the Kaffir seldom uses earthenware vessels, his light baskets answering every purpose, and being very much more convenient for handling.
From the preceding pages, the reader may form a tolerable idea of the habits and customs of the tribes which inhabit this portion of the world, and of whom one race has been selected as the typical example. Of the many other tribes but slight notice will be taken, and only the most salient points of their character will be mentioned. On the whole it will be seen that the life of a South African savage is not so repulsive as is often thought to be the case, and that, bating a few particulars, a Kaffir lives a tolerably happy and peaceful life. He is of course called upon to serve in the army for a certain time, but he shares this liability with inhabitants of most civilized nations, and when he returns after the campaign he is rewarded for good conduct by a step in social rank, and the means wherein to maintain it.
Domestic life has, of course, its drawbacks among savages as among civilized nations; and there are, perhaps, times when the gallant soldier, who has been rewarded with a wife or two for his courage in the field, wishes himself once more engaged on a war march. The natural consequence of the low esteem in which the women are viewed, and the state of slavery in which they are held, is that they are apt to quarrel fiercely among themselves, and to vent upon each other any feelings of irritation that they are forced to suppress before their lords and masters.
Even among ourselves we see how this querulous spirit is developed in proportion to want of cultivation, and how, in the most degraded neighborhoods, a quarrel starts up between two women on the very slightest grounds, and spreads in all directions like fire in tow. So, in a Kaffir kraal, a couple of women get up a quarrel, and the contagion immediately spreads around. Every woman within hearing must needs take part in the quarrel, just like dogs when they hear their companions fighting, and the scene in the kraal becomes, as may be seen by the illustration No. 2, page 209, more lively than pleasant. Even this drawback to domestic life is not without its remedy, which generally takes the shape of a stick, so that the men, at least, pass tolerably tranquil lives. Their chief characteristics are the absolute power of their king, and their singular subservience to superstition; but, as they have never been accustomed to consider their lives or their property their own, they are quite happy under conditions which would make an Englishman miserable.
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Any account of Southern Africa would be imperfect without a short description of one or two of the conspicuous trees, especially of the thorns which render the “bush” so impervious to an European, but which have no effect on the naked and well-oiled skin of a Kaffir. Frequently the traveller will pursue his journey for many days together, and will see scarcely a tree that does not possess thorns more or less formidable. These thorns may be roughly divided into two groups, namely, the straight and the hooked.
The straight thorns are produced by trees belonging to the great group of Acacias, in which Southern Africa is peculiarly rich. They are too numerous to be separately noticed, and it is only needful to say that the two chief representatives of this formidable tree are the Kameel-dorn (Acacia giraffæ) and the Karroo-dorn (Acacia Capensis). The former tree has sharp brown thorns, very thick and strong, and is remarkable for the fact that its pod does not open like that of most trees of the same group. It is called by the Dutch colonists the Kameel-dorn, because the giraffe, or kameel, grazes upon its delicate leaves; but its native name is Mokáala, and by that title it is known throughout the greater part of Southern Africa. The wood of the Kameel-dorn varies in color, being pale-red toward the circumference of the trunk, and deepening toward the centre into dark reddish-brown. The very heart of the tree, which is extremely heavy, and of a very dark color, is used in the manufacture of knob-kerries, and similar articles, the chief of which are the handles of the feather-headed sticks, which have already been mentioned in the chapter upon hunting. The tree is found almost exclusively on rich sandy plains where is little water.
The other species, which is known by the name of Karroo-dorn, or White-thorn, is generally found on the banks of rivers or water-courses, and is therefore a most valuable tree to the thirsty traveller, who always looks out for the Karroo-thorn tree, knowing that it is generally on the bank of some stream, or that by digging at its foot he may find water. The leaves of this tree are extremely plentiful; but they are of so small a size that the tree affords but very little shade, and the effect of the sunbeams passing through a thick clump of these trees is most singular. Several stems generally rise from the same root, and it is a remarkable fact that the older trees can easily be known by the dead branches, which snap across, and then fall downward, so that their tips rest on the ground, while at the point of fracture they are still attached to the tree. Insects, especially the wood-devouring beetles, are supposed to be the cause of this phenomenon, as the dead branches are always found to be perforated with their burrows.
Every branch and twig of this tree is covered with the sharp white thorns, which grow in pairs, and vary much in length, averaging generally from two to four inches. They are sometimes even seven inches in length; and deficiency in length is more than compensated by great thickness, one of them in some cases measuring nearly two inches in circumference. They are white in color, and are hollow, the thickness of their walls scarcely exceeding that of a quill. They are, however, exceedingly strong, and are most formidable impediments to any who encounter them. There is a story of a lion, which I could not bring myself to believe until I had seen these thorns, but which now seems perfectly credible. The lion had sprung at his prey, but had slipped in his spring, and fallen into a thorn-bush, where he lay impaled among the sharp spikes, and so died from the effects of his many wounds. If the bush had been composed of such thorns as those which have been described, it would have been a much more wonderful thing for him to have escaped than to have perished.
The danger, as well as annoyance, which is caused by these thorns may be imagined from an accident which befell one of Le Vaillant’s oxen. The animal happened to be driven against an acacia, and some of the thorns penetrated its breast, of course breaking into the wound. All those which could be seen were extracted with pincers; but several of them had broken beneath the skin, and could not be touched. These caused so violent an inflammation that, after waiting for twenty-four hours in hopes of saving its life, it was found necessary to put it to death.
This thorn is very useful for various reasons. In the first place, its bark is employed in the manufacture of the strings with which the natives weave their mats together, and which they often use in tying together the flexible sticks which form the framework of their huts. From the thorns of the tree the young maidens form various ornaments, and with these thorns they decorate their heads, if they should not be fortunate enough to procure the quills of the porcupine for that purpose. Moreover, the dried wood makes an excellent fire, burning easily and rapidly, and throwing out a brisk and glowing, though rather transient heat.
Several of the acacias are useful as food-providers, the gum which exudes from them being eaten as a regular article of diet. The reader may remember that the poor Damara woman, who was left to die in the wilderness, was supplied with gum as an article of food. Several of the trees supply the gum in very large quantities. Mr. Burchell, the well-known traveller, thinks that the gum which exudes from these trees is so clear and good that it might largely take the place of the gum-arabic of commerce, and form as regular article of merchandise as the ivory, hides, and feathers, which form the staple of South African trade. “On the branches of these acacias, which have so great a resemblance to the true acacia of the ancients, or the tree which yields the gum-arabic, as to have been once considered the same species, I frequently saw large lumps of very good and clear gum.
“Wherever they had been wounded by the hatchets of the natives, there most commonly the gum exuded; and by some similar operations it is probable that the trees might, without destroying them, be made to produce annually a large crop. And if a computation could be made of the quantity that might be obtained from those trees only which line the banks of the Gariep and its branches, amounting to a line of wood (reckoning both sides) of more than two thousand miles, one would feel inclined to suppose that it might be worth while to teach and encourage the natives to collect it. This they certainly would be ready to do, if they heard that tobacco could always be obtained in exchange.
“But if to the acacias of the river are added the myriads which crowd almost every river in extra-tropical Southern Africa, or even between the Cape and the Gariep only, we may feel satisfied that there are trees enough to supply a quantity of this drug more than equal to the whole consumption of Great Britain. Of the productiveness of the Acacia Capensis as compared with that of the Acacia vera, I have no information that enables me to give an opinion; but with respect to the quality, I think we may venture to pronounce it to be in no way inferior.”
These are fair representatives of the straight-thorned plant of Southern Africa. The best example of the hook-thorned vegetation is that which is described by Burchell as the Grapple-plant; but it is better known by the expressive name of Hook-thorn. The scientific title of this plant is Uncaria procumbens, the former name being given to it on account of the hooks with which it is armed, and the latter to the mode in which it grows along the ground.
When in blossom, this is a singularly beautiful plant, the large flowers being of a rich purple hue, and producing a most lovely effect as they spread themselves over the ground, or hang in masses from the trees and shrubs. The long, trailing branches are furnished throughout their length with sharp barbed thorns, set in pairs. Unpleasant as are the branches, they become worse when the purple petals fall and the seed-vessels are developed. Then the experienced traveller dreads its presence, and, if he can do so, keeps clear of the ground which is tenanted by such a foe. The large seed-vessels are covered with a multitude of sharp and very strong hooked thorns. When the seed is ripe, the vessel splits along the middle, and the two sides separate widely from each other, so that they form an array of hooks which reminds the observer of the complicated devices used by anglers in pike-fishing. The illustration No. 1, on page 247, represents a still closed seed-vessel, and, formidable as it looks, its powers are more than doubled when it is open and dry, each half being covered with thorns pointing in opposite directions. The thorns are as sharp as needles, and nearly as strong as if they were made of the same material.
The reader may easily imagine the horrors of a bush which is beset with such weapons. No one who wears clothes has a chance of escape from them. If only one hooked thorn catches but his coat-sleeve, he is a prisoner at once. The first movement bends the long, slender branches, and hook after hook fixes its point upon him. Struggling only trebles the number of his thorned enemies, and the only mode by which he can free himself is to “wait-a-bit,” cut off the clinging seed-vessels, and, when he is clear of the bush, remove them one by one. This terrible plant was most fatal to the English soldiers in the last Kaffir wars, the unwieldy accoutrements and loose clothing of the soldier being seized by the thorns, and holding the unfortunate man fast, while the naked Kaffir could glide among the thorns unharmed, and deliver his assagai with impunity. If the reader would like to form an idea of the power of these thorns, he can do so by thrusting his arm into the middle of a thick rose-bush, and mentally multiplying the number of thorns by a hundred, and their size by fifty. In shape the thorns have a singular resemblance to the fore-claws of the lion, and they certainly, though inanimate, are scarcely less efficacious.
There is one of the acacia tribe (Acacia detinens) which is nearly as bad in its way as the grapple-plant. In Burchell’s “Travels” there is a very good account of this shrub, which is known to the colonists by the title of Vacht-een-bidgt, or Wait-a-bit thorn. “The largest shrubs were about five feet high--a plant quite unknown to me, but well known to the Klaarwater people... and is the same thorny bush which gave us so much annoyance the night before, where it was above seven feet high.
“I was preparing to cut some specimens of it, which the Hottentots observing, warned me to be very careful in doing so, otherwise I should be certainly caught fast in its branches. In consequence of this advice. I proceeded with the utmost caution; but, with all my care, a small twig got hold of one sleeve. While thinking to disengage it quietly with the other hand, both arms were seized by these rapacious thorns; and the more I tried to extricate myself, the more entangled I became; till at last it seized my hat also, and convinced me that there was no possibility for me to free myself but by main force, and at the expense of tearing all my clothes. I therefore called out for help, and two of my men came and released me by cutting off the branches by which I was held. In revenge for the ill-treatment, I determined to give to the tree a name which should serve to caution future travellers against allowing themselves to venture within its clutches.” The monitory name to which allusion has been made is that of detinens as applied to that particular species of acacia.
Besides these plants, there is one which deserves a brief mention, on account of its remarkable conformation. This is the Three-thorn, a species of Rhigozum, which is very common in parts of Southern Africa. It is a low shrub, somewhere about three or four feet in height, and its branches divide very regularly into threes, giving it a quaint and altogether singular aspect. There is another remarkable species, called the Haak-en-steek, or the Hook-and-prick thorn. In this species the thorns are very curiously arranged. First comes a short, hooked thorn; and if the traveller contrives to be caught by this hook, and tries to pull himself away, he forces down upon himself a pair of long, straight thorns, two inches in length, and as sharp as needles.
It will be seen that the variety of thorns which beset the traveller is very great indeed. Dr. Kirk ingeniously divides them into three classes, namely, those which tear the flesh, those which tear the clothes, and those which tear both--this last class being by far the largest.
The reader may remember that the “Stink-wood” has occasionally been mentioned. This same tree with the unsavory name seems to have been rather neglected, if we may believe the account written by Le Vaillant nearly a century ago. He remarks of this tree, that it grows plentifully in several parts of Southern Africa, and is found near Algoa Bay, whence it is transported to the Cape, and there used in the manufacture of furniture. The tree is a very slow-growing one, and, like such trees, produces wood of a very hard texture. When freshly cut it is pale, but after the lapse of time it gradually darkens into a rich chestnut varied with black. Like the hard woods, it is susceptible of a very high polish, and possesses besides the invaluable property of being free from worms, which seem to perceive even in the dried wood the unpleasant odor which distinguishes it when green. In general look and mode of growth this tree much resembles the oak of our own country.
When a traveller first enters a South African forest, he is rather surprised by two circumstances; the first being that the trees do not surpass in size those which grace an ordinary English copse, and that in many cases they are far inferior both in size and beauty. The next point that strikes his attention is, the vast number of creepers which spread their slender branches from tree to tree, and which, in some instances, envelope the supporting tree so completely that they wholly hide it from view. They have the faculty of running up the trunks of trees, pushing their branches to the very extremity of the boughs, and then letting drop their slender filaments, that are caught by lower boughs and hang in festoons from them. At first the filaments are scarcely stronger than packthread, but by degrees they become thicker and thicker, until they are as large as a man’s arm. These creepers multiply in such profusion that they become in many places the chief features of the scenery, all the trees being bound together by the festoons of creepers which hang from branch to branch.
The Dutch settlers call them by the name of Bavians-tow, or Baboon-ropes, because the baboons and monkeys clamber by means of them to the extremities of the branches where the fruit grows. The scientific name for the plant is Cynanchum obtusifolium. The natives, ever watchful for their own interests, make great use of these creepers, and the Kaffirs use them largely in lashing together the various portions of their huts. The fruit of the Bavians-tow is only found at the extremity of the branches, where the young filaments shoot out. When ripe it is something like a cherry, and is of a bright crimson color. It goes by the popular name of “wild grape,” and is much liked by monkeys, birds, and men. From the fruit a kind of spirit is distilled, and a very good preserve can be made from it.
These baboon-ropes are not the only parasitic growths upon trees. In many parts of the country there is a kind of long, fibrous moss which grows upon the trees, and is often in such profusion that it completely covers them, hiding not only the trunk and branches, but even the twigs and leafage. This mossy growth extends to a considerable length, in some cases attaining as much as ten or twelve feet. It is yellow in color, and when short is very soft and fine, so that it can be used for most of the purposes to which cotton or tow are applied. But, when it reaches the length of six or seven feet, it becomes hard and wiry, and is comparatively useless. I have now before me a quantity of this tow-like lichen, which had been used in packing a large box full of Kaffir weapons and implements. There is a tree which furnishes a very useful timber, called from its color, “Geele-hout,” a yellow wood. This tree is a species of Taxus, but there are at least two species which produce the wood. The timber is much used for beams, planks, and building purposes generally.
Many travellers have thought that these and several other trees would form valuable articles of merchandise, and that they might be profitably imported to Europe. That they afford really valuable woods, and that some of them would be extremely useful in delicate and fancy work, is indisputable. The only difficulty is, that to cut and transport them at present involves so much expense that the arrangement would hardly be sufficiently profitable for the investment of so much capital.
XXII. THE HOTTENTOT RACES
THE CONTRASTED RACES -- MUTUAL REPULSION BETWEEN THE KAFFIR AND THE HOTTENTOT -- NATIVE ALLIES -- APPEARANCE OF THE HOTTENTOT RACE; THEIR COMPLEXION AND FEATURES -- RESEMBLANCE TO THE CHINESE -- THE SUN AND ITS SUPPOSED EFFECT ON COLOR -- THE HOTTENTOT IN YOUTH AND AGE -- RAPID DETERIORATION OF FORM -- SINGULAR FORMATION OF HOTTENTOT WOMEN -- PORTRAIT-TAKING WITH A SEXTANT -- GROWTH OF THE HAIR -- GENERAL CHARACTER OF THE HOTTENTOTS -- DRESS OF THE MEN -- WOMEN’S DRESS AND ORNAMENTS -- OSTRICH EGG SHELLS USED AS AN ORNAMENT -- A CURIOUS FRONTLET -- GREASE, SIBILO, AND BUCHU -- NATURE OF THE SIBILO, AND THE MODE IN WHICH IT IS PROCURED -- USE OF THE BUCHU -- MODE OF PREPARING SKINS -- THE TANNING-VAT -- ROPE-MAKING -- BOWLS AND JARS -- HIDE ROPES AND THEIR MANUFACTURE -- THE HOTTENTOT SPOON -- A NATIVE FLY-TRAP -- MAT-MAKING -- HOTTENTOT ARCHITECTURE -- SIMPLE MODE OF AVOIDING VERMIN -- NOMAD HABITS OF THE HOTTENTOTS -- THE DIGGING-STICK.
Before proceeding with the general view of the remaining tribes which inhabit Africa, it will be necessary to give a few pages to the remarkable race which has lived for so long in close contact with the Kaffir tribes, and which presents the curious phenomenon of a pale race living in the same land with a black race, and yet having preserved its individuality. About three centuries ago, the whole of Southern Africa was inhabited by various tribes belonging to a large and powerful nation. This nation, now known collectively under the name of Hottentot, was at that time the owner and master of the land, of which it had held possession for a considerable period. Whether or not the Hottentots were the aboriginal inhabitants of Southern Africa, is rather doubtful; but the probability is, that they came from a distant source, and that they dispossessed the aborigines, exactly as they themselves were afterward ejected by the Kaffirs, and the Kaffirs supplanted by the Europeans.
The Hottentots have a deadly and almost instinctive hatred of the Kaffir race. The origin of this feeling is evidently attributable to the successive defeats which they suffered at the hands of the Kaffirs, and caused them to be merely tolerated inhabitants of a land in which they were formerly the masters. The parents have handed down this antipathy to their children, and, as is often the case, it seems to have grown stronger in each generation, so that the semi-civilized Hottentot of the present day, though speaking the European language, and wearing European clothing, hates the Kaffirs as cordially as did his wild ancestors, and cannot even mention their name without prefixing some opprobrious epithet.
In consequence of this feeling, the Hottentot is an invaluable cow-herd, in a land where Kaffirs are professional cow-stealers. He seems to detect the presence of a Kaffir almost by intuition, and even on a dark night, when the dusky body of the robber can hardly be seen, he will discover the thief, work his stealthy way toward him, and kill him noiselessly with a single blow. In the late South African war, the Hottentots became most useful allies. They were docile, easily disciplined, and were simply invaluable in bush-fighting, where the English soldier, with all his apparatus of belts and accoutrements, was utterly useless.
It is rather a remarkable fact that, in every country into which the English have carried their arms, the natives have become the best allies against their own countrymen, and have rendered services without which the English could scarcely have kept their footing. No one can track up and capture the Australian native rebel so effectually as a native policeman. The native African assists them against those who at all events inhabit the same land, though they may not happen to belong to the same race. The natives of China gave them great assistance in the late Chinese war, and the services which were rendered them by native forces during the great Indian mutiny can hardly be overrated.
However much the Hottentot may dislike the Kaffir, the feeling of antagonism is reciprocal, and the vindictive hatred borne by the defeated race toward their conquerors is scarcely less intense than the contemptuous repugnance felt by the victors toward the vanquished.
Neither in color nor general aspect do the Hottentots resemble the dark races around them. Their complexion is sallow, and much like that of a very dark person suffering from jaundice. Indeed, the complexion of the Hottentots much resembles that of the Chinese, and the general similitude between the two nations is very remarkable. (See page 224.) One of my friends who lived long in South Africa had a driver who dressed like a Hottentot, and who, to all appearance, was a Hottentot. One day, however, he astonished his master by declaring himself a Chinese, and proving the assertion by removing his hat and showing the long pig-tail twisted round his head. He was, in fact, a Chinese Coolie, who had been imported into Southern Africa, and who, after the fashion of his people, had accommodated himself to the manners and customs of those among whom he lived. Mr. Moffatt, the missionary author, mentions that he saw two Chinese children, whom he would have taken for Hottentots had he not been informed of their true character.
The existence of this light-colored race in such a locality affords a good proof that complexion is not entirely caused by the sun. There is a very popular idea that the hot sun of tropical countries produces the black color of the negro and other races, and that a low temperature bleaches the skin. Yet we have the Hottentots and their kindred tribes exhibiting pale skins in a country close to the tropics, while the Esquimaux, who live amid eternal ice, are often so dark that they might almost be mistaken for negroes, but for the conformation of their faces and the length of their hair.
The shape of the Hottentot face is very peculiar, as may be seen by reference to any engravings which illustrate scenes in Hottentot life. The cheek-bones project sharply from the face, and the long chin is narrow and pointed. These characteristics are not so visible in youth, but seem to grow stronger with age. Indeed, an old Hottentot, whether man or woman, seems to have scarcely any real face, but to be furnished with a mere skin drawn tightly over the skull.
What were the manners and customs of the Hottentots before they were dispossessed by the Kaffirs, or deteriorated by contact with bad specimens of European civilization, is extremely difficult to say, as no trustworthy historian of their domestic economy has lived among them. Kolben, whose book of travels has long been accepted as giving a true account of the Hottentot, is now known to be utterly unworthy of belief, insomuch as his information is second-hand, and those from whom he obtained it have evidently amused themselves by imposing upon his credulity.
As this work treats only of the normal habits and customs of the various parts of the world, and has nothing to do with the modifications of civilization, the account of the Hottentot will be necessarily brief.
In shape the Hottentots alter strangely according to their age. When children, they are not at all agreeable objects--at least, to an unaccustomed eye, being thin in the limbs, with an oddly projecting stomach, and a corresponding fall in the back. If tolerably well fed, they lose this strange shape when they approach the period of youth, and as young men and girls are almost models of perfection in form, though their faces are not entitled to as much praise. But they do not retain this beauty of form for any long period, some few years generally comprehending its beginning and its end. “In five or six years after their arrival at womanhood”, writes Burchell, “the fresh plumpness of youth has already given way to the wrinkles of age; and, unless we viewed them with the eye of commiseration and philanthropy, we should be inclined to pronounce them the most disgusting of human beings.” Their early, and, it may be said, premature symptoms of age, may perhaps, with much probability, be ascribed to a hard life, an uncertain and irregular supply of food, exposure to every inclemency of weather, and a want of cleanliness, which increases with years. These, rather than the nature of the climate, are the causes of this quick fading and decay of the bloom and grace of youth.
The appearance of an ordinary Hottentot woman can be seen by reference to the illustration No. 2, opposite, taken from a sketch by the author whose words have just been quoted. The subject of the drawing looks as if she were sixty years old at the very least, though, on account of the early deterioration of form, she might be of any age from twenty-seven upward. It is hardly possible to conceive that so short a period would change the graceful form of the Hottentot girl, as shown on the same page, into the withered and wrinkled hag who is here depicted, but such is really the case, and the strangest part is, that it is scarcely possible to tell whether a woman is thirty or sixty years of age by her looks alone.
Not the least remarkable point in the Hottentot women is the singular modification of form to which they are often, though not universally, subject--a development of which the celebrated “Hottentot Venus” afforded an excellent example. A very amusing description of one of these women is given by Mr. Galton, in his well-known work on Southern Africa:--
“Mr. Hahn’s household was large. There was an interpreter and a sub-interpreter, and again others, but all most excellently well-behaved, and showing to great advantage the influence of their master. These servants were chiefly Hottentots, who had migrated with Mr. Hahn from Hottentotland, and, like him, had picked up the language of the Damaras. The sub-interpreter was married to a charming person, not only a Hottentot in figure, but in that respect a Venus among Hottentots. I was perfectly aghast at her development, and made inquiries upon that delicate point as far as I dared among my missionary friends. The result is, that I believe Mrs. Petrus to be the lady who ranks second among all the Hottentots for the beautiful outline that her back affords, Jonker’s wife ranking as the first; the latter, however, was slightly passée, while Mrs. Petrus was in full embonpoint.
“I profess to be a scientific man, and was exceedingly anxious to obtain accurate measurement of her shape; but there was a difficulty in doing this. I did not know a word of Hottentot, and could never, therefore, explain to the lady what the object of my foot-rule could be; and I really dared not ask my worthy missionary host to interpret for me. I therefore felt in a dilemma as I gazed at her form, that gift of bounteous nature to this favored race, which no mantua-maker, with all her crinoline and stuffing, can do otherwise than humbly imitate. The object of my admiration stood under a tree, and was turning herself about to all points of the compass, as ladies who wish to be admired usually do. Of a sudden my eye fell upon my sextant; the bright thought struck me, and I took a series of observations upon her figure in every direction, up and down, crossways, diagonally, and so forth, and I registered them carefully upon an outline drawing for fear of any mistake. This being done, I boldly pulled out my measuring tape, and measured the distance from where I was to the place where she stood, and, having thus obtained both base and angles, I worked out the result by trigonometry and logarithms.”
This remarkable protuberance, which shakes like jelly at every movement of the body, is not soft as might be imagined, but firm and hard. Mr. Christie, who is rather above the middle size, tells us that he has sometimes stood upon it without being supported by any other part of the person. The scientific name for this curious development is Steatopyga. It does not cause the least inconvenience, and the women find it rather convenient as affording a support whenever they wish to carry an infant.
Another peculiarity in this curious race is the manner in which the hair grows on the head. Like that of the negroes it is short, crisp, and woolly, but it possesses the peculiarity of not covering the entire head, but growing in little patches, each about as large as a pea. These patches are quite distinct, and in many instances are scattered so sparingly over the head, that the skin can be plainly seen between them. Perhaps this odd growth of the hair affords a reason for the universal custom of wearing a cap, and of covering the head thickly with grease and mineral powder. The original manners and customs of the Hottentots have entirely vanished, and, unlike the fiercer and nobler Kaffir tribes, they have merged their own individuality in that of the white settlers. They always dress in European apparel, but it has been noticed by those who have lived in the country, that the Hottentot, though fully clothed, is far less modest in appearance than the Kaffir, who wears scarcely any clothing at all. In this point seems to be one of the great distinctions between the Hottentot and other races. It is quite true that Le Vaillant and travellers antecedent to him have written of the Hottentots in the most glowing terms, attributing to them almost every virtue that uncivilized man is likely to possess, and praising them for the absence of many vices that disgrace civilized humanity.
Now, the fact is, that Le Vaillant was evidently a man of exceptional abilities in the management of inferiors, and that he possessed an intuitive knowledge of character that is very seldom to be found. Consequently the men who were submissive, docile, and affectionate under his firm, yet determined sway, might have been captious, idle, and insubordinate under a less judicious leader. They looked upon him as a being infinitely superior to themselves, untouched by the impulsive and unreasoning motives by which these children of nature are led, and in consequence yielded to the subtle and all-powerful influence which a higher nature exercises over a lower.
The Hottentots with whom our author came in contact were free from the many vices which degrade the Hottentot of the present day, but it is clear that they were innocent simply because they were ignorant. Those of the present time have lost all their ancient simplicity, and have contrived to imbue themselves with the vices in which the advent of the white men enabled them to indulge, without at the same time improving their intellectual or social condition.
We will now endeavor to see the Hottentot as he used to be before he was conquered by the Kaffirs, and reduced to servitude by the European colonists.
The general appearance of the Hottentot may be seen by reference to the illustration No. 2, opposite, which represents a young man named Klaas, who was the favorite attendant of Le Vaillant, and of whom the traveller speaks in the highest terms. He has, therefore, been selected as a favorable specimen of his nation. The reader will understand that in the following account of the Hottentot tribes, they are described as they used to be, and not as they are at the present day.
The ordinary dress of a Hottentot man can be tolerably imagined from the portrait of Klaas. Over his shoulder is thrown a large mantle, or kaross, made of cow-hide tanned and softened, and worn with the fur inward. This mantle is most in fashion, and when engaged in his ordinary occupations the Hottentot throws it off, so as to be unencumbered. Around his waist are a number of leathern thongs, mingled with strings of beads and other ornaments, and to one of these thongs are fastened two aprons, one in front and the other behind. That one in front is called the “jackal,” because it is generally made of a piece of jackal skin or similar fur. The second apron, if it may be so named, is not universally worn, though a Hottentot of taste does not consider himself dressed without it. It is simply a triangular flap of leather, barely a foot in length, two inches in width at the top, where it joins the girdle, and widening to four inches at the bottom. This curious appendage is ornamented with bits of metal, steel, beads, and other decorations, and the owner seems to take a great pride in this odd article of dress. Of course it is not of the least use, and may be compared to the tails of a modern dress-coat, or the bag attached to the collar of a court suit.
Some families among the Hottentots vary the shape of the “staart-rheim,” as the Dutch colonists call it, and make it of different forms. Some have it square, and others circular or oblong, while some, who are possessed of more than ordinary ingenuity, make it into the form of a crescent or a cross. This article of dress still survives among some of the African tribes, as will be seen on a future page.
Round the ankles are fastened thongs of hide. These articles gave rise to the absurd statement that Hottentots wore the intestines of animals until they became softened by putridity, and then ate them, carefully keeping up the supply by adding fresh thongs in the place of those which were eaten. The real fact is, that these leathern bands act as a defence against the thorns among which the Hottentots have to walk, and for that purpose they are used by both sexes. It is true that, in some cases, the wearers have been reduced to such a state of starvation that they have been obliged to eat the hide circlets from their limbs, and eat them with the aid of what rude cooking could be extemporized. But it will be remarked that the Kaffir soldiers have been reduced to eat their shields and the leathern thongs which bound the assagai-heads to the shaft, and no one would therefrom infer that the Kaffirs made their shields an ordinary article of diet.
The feet are protected from sharp stones and thorns by a simple kind of shoe, or sandal, which is little more than a piece of stout leather, larger than the sole of the foot, and tied on by thongs. The feet of the card-players, on page 237, show this sandal. It is not worn, however, when the Hottentot is engaged in his ordinary vocations, and is only employed when he is on a journey, and the ground which he has to traverse is exceptionally rough and thorny. These sandals are in use throughout a large portion of Southern Africa, and the best are made by the Bachapins, a sub-tribe of the Bechuanas.
The dress of the women is essentially the same as that of the men, although it is more complicated, and there is more of it. As is the case with the Kaffir, the children of both sexes wear no clothing at all until they are eight or nine years old, and then the girls assume the little leathern apron called the “makkâbi.” This portion of dress is somewhat similar to that which is worn by the Kaffir girls, and is simply a flat piece of leather cut into thin strips. The thongs are generally longer than those worn by the Kaffir, and sometimes reach nearly to the knee. Over this is sometimes, but not universally, worn a second apron of skin, ornamented with beads, bits of shining metal, and similar decorations. The beads are arranged in patterns, an idea of which can be gained from the illustration No. 1, page 219, which represents a Gonaqua Hottentot girl, about sixteen years of age. This girl was a special favorite of Le Vaillant’s, and certainly seems from his account to have been a singularly favorable instance of unsophisticated human nature. The attitude in which she is depicted is a very characteristic one, being that which the Hottentot girls are in the habit of assuming. It is remarkable, by the way, that the pleasing liveliness for which the Hottentot youth are notable departs together with youth, the demeanor of the men and women being sedate and almost gloomy.
Around the loins is fastened a much larger apron without any decoration. This is of variable size and shape, but the usual form is that which is shown in the illustration. Its name is “musesi,” and, like the “staart-rheim” of the men, is not thought to be a necessary article of clothing, being put on more for ceremony than for use. This apron is also variable in size, sometimes being so long as nearly to touch the ground, and sometimes barely reaching to the knee. The Dutch settlers called these aprons the “fore-kaross,” and “hind-kaross,” words which sufficiently explain themselves.
The leather thongs which encircle the leg are mostly ornamented with wire twisted round them, and sometimes a woman will wear on her legs one or two rings entirely composed of wire. Sometimes there are so many of these rings that the leg is covered with them as high as the knee, while in a few instances four or five rings are even worn above the knee, and must be extremely inconvenient to the wearer. Beads of various colors are also worn profusely, sometimes strung together on wire, and hung round the neck, waist, wrists, and ankles, and sometimes sewed upon different articles of apparel.
Before beads were introduced from Europe, the natives had a very ingenious method of making ornaments, and, even after the introduction of beads, the native ornament was much prized. It was made by laboriously cutting ostrich shells into thin circular disks, varying in size from the sixth of an inch to nearly half an inch in diameter, and pierced through the middle. Many hundreds of these disks are closely strung together, so as to form a sort of circular rope, white as if made of ivory. Sometimes this rope is long enough to pass several times round the body, against which the shining white disks produced a very good effect.
Burchell mentions a curious kind of ornament which was worn by a young Hottentot girl, and which seemed to be greatly prized by her. It consisted of three pieces of ivory about the size and shape of sparrow’s eggs, each tied to the end of a thong, and so arranged that one of them hung over the nose and another on each cheek. As she moved her head in conversation these ivory beads swung about from side to side, and in her estimation produced a very telling effect. I have in my collection a good specimen of a similar frontlet. It consists of a leathern thong three feet in length, at each end of which is a cowrie shell. One foot in length of its centre is composed of a double row of the ostrich egg-rope which has just been described, so that, when the frontlet is tied on the head, the white egg-shell ropes cross the forehead. From the exact centre fall six short thongs, at the end of each of which is an ornament of pearly-shell or tortoise-shell. Four of these thongs are covered with native beads, made from the bone of the ostrich, and are further ornamented with a large scarlet seed in the middle. At each end of the egg-shell rope are two shell-clad thongs, exactly like those which have been described, and, when the frontlet is in its place, these ornaments hang upon each cheek. The illustration No. 5 upon page 247 shows the frontlet as it appears when bound upon the head of a Hottentot belle.
The dress of the married woman is, of course, more elaborate than that of the young girl. Although they sometimes appear with a very slight costume, they usually prefer to be tolerably well clad. With married women both the aprons are larger than with the girls, and they wear besides a shorter apron over the breast. Their kaross, too, is of comparatively large size. The Hottentot females always wear a cap of some kind, the usual material being leather, which is dressed in the same manner as the skin of which the kaross and the aprons are made.
The hair is plentifully imbued with grease, in which has been mixed a quantity of the metallic powder of which the Hottentots are immoderately fond, and which is called by the Dutch colonists “Black-klip,” or Shining Rock, on account of its glittering appearance. The natives call it by the name of Sibilo. which is pronounced as if it were written Sibeelo. The sibilo is extremely local, being only known to exist in one part of Africa, and is dug from a rock called Sensavan. It seems to be a very friable kind of iron ore, plentifully interspersed with minute particles of mica, the union of these two substances giving it the appearance which is so much admired by the natives. This substance is a “shining, powdery iron ore, of a steel-gray or bluish lustre, soft and greasy to the touch, its particles adhering to the hands or clothes, and staining them of a dark-red or ferruginous lustre. The skin is not easily freed from these glossy particles, even by repeated washings, and whenever this substance is used everything becomes contaminated, and its glittering nature betrays it on every article which the wearer handles.” Burchell goes on to say that oxidization gives to the iron ore that peculiar rust-red of which the Hottentots are so fond, while the micaceous particles impart to it that sparkling glitter which is scarcely less prized.
To the Sensavan rock come all the surrounding tribes for a supply of this precious substance, and those who are nearest are in the habit of digging it, and using it as a means of barter with more distant tribes. By degrees the rock has been quarried so deeply that a series of caverns have been worked into it, some penetrating for a considerable distance. Burchell relates an anecdote of a party of Hottentots who were engaged in digging the sibilo, and who were overwhelmed by the fall of the cavern in which they were working. The various caverns are never without inhabitants, for by day they are full of bats, and by night they form the resting-place of pigeons.
Besides the sibilo, another substance called Buchu is in universal use among the Hottentots. This is also a powder, but it is of vegetable, and not of mineral origin. It is not nearly as valuable as the sibilo, although considered to be nearly as necessary an article of adornment, so that any one who is not bedaubed with sibilo, and perfumed with buchu, is considered unworthy of entrance into polite society. Sibilo, as the reader may remember, is to be obtained only from one spot, and is therefore a peculiarly valuable material, whereas the buchu can be obtained from several sources, and is accordingly held in lower esteem.
Buchu (pronounced Bookoo) is mostly obtained from a species of Diosma, and is made by reducing the plant to a powder. It possesses a strong odor, which to the nostrils of a Hottentot is extremely agreeable, but which has exactly the opposite effect upon the more sensitive organs of an European. When a number of Hottentots are assembled in one of their rude huts, the odor of the buchu, with which the karosses as well as the hair of the natives are plentifully imbued, is so exceedingly powerful, that no one except a native can breathe in such an atmosphere. The Hottentots have a wonderful veneration for this plant, and use it for various purposes. It is thought to form an admirable application to a wound, and for this purpose the leaves of the plant are infused in strong vinegar, and are generally steeped for so long a time that they form a kind of mucilage.
There are several species of plants from which the indispensable buchu is made, and one of them is a kind of fragrant croton, named by Burchell Croton gratissimum, from its pleasant aromatic odor. It is a handsome bushy shrub, from four to seven feet in height. Both flowers and leaves possess an agreeable scent, and the buchu is made by drying and pounding the latter, which are lance-shaped, green above, and whitish below. The powder is used as a perfume, which to the nostrils of the Hottentot is highly agreeable, but to the European is simply abominable, especially when mingled with the odor of rancid grease and long-worn skin dresses.
Skins are prepared in some places after a different manner to that which has been described when treating of the Kaffirs, and undergo a kind of tanning process. When a Hottentot, wishes to make a leathern robe, or other article of dress, he deprives the skin of its hair by rolling it up with the furry side inward, and allowing it to undergo a partial putrefaction. In the mean while he prepares his tanning-vat, by fixing four stakes into the ground, connecting their tops with cross-bars, and lashing a tolerably large hide loosely to them, so as to form a rude kind of basin or tub. A quantity of the astringent bark of the karroo thorn is placed in the vat together with the skin, and a sufficient quantity of ley is poured over them until the vessel is full. The bark of this acacia not only possesses a powerful tanning principle, but at the same time imparts to the leather that reddish hue which is so much admired by Hottentots, and which is afterward heightened by the sibilo and buchu which are rubbed upon it.
Mr. Baines is, however, of opinion that this mode of preparing skins, primitive as it may appear, is not the invention of the Hottentot race, but is due to the superiority of the white settlers. The tanning-vat of hide appears simple enough to have been invented by a savage race, but, as it is only used near European settlements, the idea has probably been borrowed by the Hottentots. In places remote from the white settlers, and where their influence is not felt, the Hottentots do not tan the hides by steeping them in ley, but prepare them by manual labor in a manner somewhat similar to that which is used by the Kaffir. When a large cow-hide is to be prepared, several men take part in the proceeding, and make quite a festival of it. They sit in a circle, with the hide in their midst, and work it with their hands, occasionally rubbing in some butter or other grease. They sing songs the while, and at regular intervals they grasp the hide with both hands, and give it a violent pull outward, so as to stretch it equally in every direction.
The cord or string of which the Hottentots make so much use is twisted in a very simple manner. The bark of the ever-useful acacia is stripped from the branches, and divided into fibres by being steeped in water, and then pounded between two stones. Sometimes the rope-maker prefers to separate the fibres by chewing the bark, which is thought to have an agreeable flavor. When a sufficient quantity of fibre has been prepared, the workwoman seats herself on the ground, takes two yarns of fibre, and rolls them with the palm of her hand upon the thigh. She then brings them together, gives them a quick roll in the opposite direction, and thus makes a two-stranded rope with a rapidity that could hardly be conceived, seeing that no tools of any kind are used. If any of my readers should happen to be skilled in nautical affairs, they will see that this two-stranded rope made by the Hottentots is formed on exactly the same principle as the “knittles” which are so important in many of the nautical knots and splices.
Rope-making is entirely a woman’s business, and is not an agreeable one. Probably it is remitted to the women for that very reason. The friction of the rope against the skin is apt to abrade it, and makes it so sore that the women are obliged to relieve themselves by rolling the rope upon the calf of the leg instead of the thigh, and by the time that the injured portion has recovered the other is sore; and so the poor women have to continue their work, alternating between one portion and another, until by long practice the skin becomes quite hard, and can endure the friction without being injured by it.
Among all the tribes of Southern Africa the taste for hide ropes is universal. Ropes of some kind are absolutely necessary in any country, and in this part of the world, as well as in some others, ropes made of hide are very much preferred to those which are formed from any other material. The reason for this preference is evidently owing to the peculiarities of the country. There are plenty of fibrous plants in Southern Africa which would furnish ropes quite equal to those which are in use in Europe, but ropes formed of vegetable fibre are found to be unsuitable to the climate, and, as a natural consequence, they have been abandoned even by European colonists.
The mode of preparing the hide ropes varies but little, except in unimportant details, and is briefly as follows:--The first process is to prepare a vessel full of ley, which is made by steeping the ashes of several plants, known under the generic title of Salsola. The young shoots of these plants are collected for the purpose, burned, and the ashes carefully collected. When an ox is killed, the hide is cut into narrow strips, and these strips are placed in the tub of ley and allowed to soak for some four-and-twenty hours. At the expiration of that time, a sufficient number of the strips are joined together, loosely twisted, and passed over the horizontal branch of a tree, a heavy weight being suspended from each end, so as to keep the thongs always on the stretch. A couple of natives then set to work, one stationing himself at each end of the rope, and twisting it by means of a short stick passed between the strands, while by the aid of the sticks they drag the rope backward and forward over the bough, never allowing it to rest on the same spot for any length of time, and always twisting the sticks in opposite directions. The natural consequence is, that the rope becomes very pliant, and at the same time is equally stretched throughout its length, the regularity of the twist depending on the skill of the two rope-makers. No other treatment is required, as the powerful liquid in which the raw thongs have been steeped enacts the part of the tanning “fat,” and the continually dragging over the branch serves to make it pliant, and to avoid the danger of “kinking.”
The use of the rope among the European settlers affords a good example of the reaction that takes place when a superior race mingles with an inferior. The white men have taught the aborigines many useful arts, but at the same time have been obliged to them for instruction in many others, without which they could not maintain their hold of the country. The reader will notice that the hide ropes are made by men, because they are formed from that noble animal, the ox, whereas ropes made of ignoble vegetable fibre are handed over to the women.
A remarkable substitute for a spoon is used by this people. It consists of the stem of a fibrous plant, called Umphombo, and is made in the following manner. The stem, which is flattish, and about an inch in width, is cut into suitable lengths and soaked in water. It is then beaten between two stones, until the fibres separate from each other, so as to form a sort of brush. This is dipped in the liquid, and conveys a tolerable portion to the mouth. The mention of this brush-spoon recalls a curious method of catching flies. The reader may remember that in Southern Africa, as well as in other hot parts of the world, the flies are so numerous as to become a veritable plague. They come in swarms into the houses, and settle upon every article of food, so that the newly-arrived traveller scarcely knows how to eat his meals. Being thirsty creatures, they especially affect any liquid, and will plunge into the cup while its owner is in the act of drinking. The natives contrive to lessen this evil, though they cannot entirely rid themselves of it, and mostly do so by the following ingenious contrivance:--
They first shut the doors of the hut, and then dip a large wisp of hay in milk, and hang it to the roof. All the flies are attracted to it, and in a few seconds nothing can be seen but a large, seething mass of living creatures. A bag is then gently passed over them, and a smart shake given to the trap, which causes all the flies to fall in a mass to the bottom of the bag. The bag is then removed, so as to allow a fresh company of flies to settle on the hay wisp, and by the time that the first batch of flies is killed, another is ready for immolation. Sometimes nearly a bushel of flies will be thus taken in a day. It is most likely that the natives were led to this invention by seeing the flies cluster round their brush-spoons when they had been laid aside after use.
In some parts of the country, the flies are captured by means of the branches of a bush belonging to the genus Roridula. This is covered with a glutinous secretion, and, whenever the flies settle upon it, they are held fast and cannot escape. Branches of this useful plant are placed in different parts of the hut, and are very effective in clearing it of the little pests. Many of these flies are identical with the common house-fly of England, but there are many other species indigenous to the country.
The Hottentot is a tolerably good carver in wood, not because he has much idea of art, but because he has illimitable patience, and not the least idea of the value of time. Bowls and jars are carved from wood, mostly that of the willow tree, and the carver prefers to work while the sap is still in the wood. A kind of willow grows by the water-side, as is the case in this country, and this is cut down with the odd little hatchets which are used in this part of the world. These hatchets are made on exactly the same principle as the hoes which have been so often mentioned, and which are represented on page 57. The head, however, is very much smaller, and the blade is set in a line with the handle instead of transversely. They are so small and feeble, that the labor of several men is required to cut down a tree only eighteen inches or so in diameter; and the work which an American axeman would complete in a few minutes occupies them a day or two. When the trunk has been at last severed, it is cut into convenient lengths by the same laborious process, and the different portions are mostly shaped by the same axe. If a bowl is the article to be made, it is partly hollowed by the axe, and the remainder of the work is done with a knife bent into a hook-like shape. These bowls are, on the average, a foot or eighteen inches in diameter.
Making bowls is a comparatively simple business, but the carving of a jar is a most laborious task. In making jars, the carver is forced to depend almost entirely upon the bent knife, and from the shape of the article it is evident that, when it is hollowed, the carver must work in a very constrained manner. Still, as time is of no value, the jar is at last completed, and, like the bowl, is well rubbed with fat, in order to prevent it from splitting. Generally, these jars hold about a gallon, but some of them are barely a quarter of that size, while others are large enough to contain five gallons. An European, with similar tools, would not be able to make the smaller sizes of these jars, as he would not be able to pass his hand into the interior. The hand of the Hottentot is, however, so small and delicate, that he finds no difficulty in the task. The jar is called Bambus in the Hottentot language.
Unlike the Kaffirs, the Hottentots are rather a nomad race, and their huts are so made that they can be taken to pieces and packed for transportation in less than an hour, while a couple of hours’ labor is all that is required for putting them up afresh, even when the architect works as deliberately as is always the case among uncivilized natives. Consequently, when a horde of Hottentots travels from one place to another, a village seems to spring up almost as if by magic, and travellers who have taken many Hottentots in their train have been very much astonished at the sudden transformation of the scene.
In general construction, the huts are made on the same principle as those of the Kaffir, being formed of a cage-like framework, covered with lighter material. A Hottentot kraal is illustrated opposite. The Kaffir, however, interweaves the withes and reeds of which the hut is made among the framework, and binds them together with ropes, when, if he is going to settle determinately in one spot, or if he builds a hut in a well-established kraal, he plasters the interior with clay, so as to make the structure firm and impervious to weather. The Hottentot, on the contrary, covers his hut with reed mats, which look very much like the sleeping-mats of the Kaffirs, and can be easily lashed to the framework, and as easily removed. These mats are made of two species of reed, one of which is soft, and can be easily manipulated, while the other is hard, and gives some trouble to the maker. But the former has the disadvantage of being very liable to decay, and of lasting but a short time, whereas the latter is remarkable for its powers of endurance. These plants are called respectively the Soft Reed and the Hard Reed, and their scientific titles are Cyperus textilis and Scriptus tegetalis.
The method of making the mats is somewhat similar to that which is employed by the Kaffirs. The reeds are cut so as to measure six feet in length, and are placed in a heap by the side of the mat-maker, together with a quantity of the bark string which has already been mentioned. He pierces them with a bone or metal needle, or with a mimosa thorn if he does not possess a needle, and passes the string through the holes, so as to fasten the reeds together. Even considering the very slow and deliberate manner in which the Hottentot works, the mats can be made with considerable rapidity, and it is needless to observe that three Hottentots do not get through nearly as much work as an average Englishman.
In some cases, the Hottentot substitutes the skins of sheep or oxen for mats, but the latter are most generally in use--probably because the skins are too valuable as articles of apparel to be employed for the mere exterior of a house. Owing to the manner in which these huts are made, they are more impervious to weather than those of the Kaffir, and, as a necessary consequence, are less capable of letting out the smoke. An European can, on a pinch, exist in a Kaffir hut, but to do so in a skin-covered Hottentot house is almost impossible. To a restless and ever-moving people like the Hottentots, these mats are absolute necessaries. A hut of ordinary size can be packed on the back of an ox, while another ox can carry all the simple furniture and utensils, together with the young children; and thus a whole family can be moved at a few minutes’ notice, without much inconvenience. The huts are, in fact, nothing but tents made of mats, and resemble, in many particulars, the camel-hair tents of the equally nomad Arabs.
No one--not even the owner--knows, on seeing a Hottentot hut, whether he will find it in the same place after a few hours have elapsed. Sometimes, a Hottentot wife will set to work, pull the hut to pieces, but, instead of packing it on the back of an ox, rebuild her house within twenty or thirty yards of its original locality. The object of this strange conduct is to rid herself and family from the fleas, which, together with other vermin, swarm exceedingly in a Hottentot’s house, and drive the inmates to escape in the manner related. These unpleasant parasites are generally attacked in the early morning, the mantles, sheepskins, mats, and other articles, being taken outside the hut, and beaten soundly with a stick. Sufficient, however, remain to perpetuate the breed, and at last, as has been seen, they force the Hottentot fairly to remove the house altogether.
As to the Hottentots themselves, they suffer but comparatively little inconvenience from the bites of these creatures, against which the successive coatings of grease, buchu, and sibilo act as a partial defence. But, whenever the insects are fortunate enough to attack a clean-skinned European, they take full advantage of the opportunity, and drive him half mad. Gordon Cumming relates an amusing account of a small adventure which happened to himself in connection with these insects. He was extremely tired, and fell asleep among his followers, one of whom compassionately took off the kaross which he was wearing, and spread it over him. Presently the sleeper started up in a state of unbearable irritation from the bites of the numerous parasites with which the kaross was stocked. He was obliged instantly to remove every single article of apparel, and have them all beaten and searched before he could again resume them.
As may be seen by inspection of the illustration, the huts are not of quite the same shape as those belonging to the Kaffirs, the ends being flattened, and the apertures square instead of rounded, the door, in fact, being simply made by the omission of one mat. The nomad life of the Hottentots is necessitated by their indolent habits, and their utter want of forethought. The Kaffir is not remarkable for the latter quality, as indeed is the case with most savage nations. But the Kaffir is, at all events, a tolerable agriculturist, and raises enough grain to supply his family with food, besides, in many cases, enclosing patches of ground in which to plant certain vegetables and fruit. The Hottentot, however, never had much notion of agriculture, and what little he attempts is of the rudest description.
The unwieldy hoe with which the Kaffir women break up the ground is a sufficiently rude and clumsy instrument, but it is perfection itself when compared with the digging stick of the Hottentot. This is nothing more than a stick of hard wood sharpened at one end, and weighted by means of a perforated stone through which it is passed, and which is held in its place by a wedge. With this rude instrument the Hottentot can break up the ground faster than might be imagined, but he oftener uses it for digging up wild plants, and unearthing sundry burrowing animals, than for any agricultural purposes.
The life of a Hottentot does not tie him to any particular spot. A sub-tribe or horde, which tolerably corresponds with the kraal of the Kaffir, settles down in some locality which they think will supply nourishment, and which is near water. Here, if the spot be favorable, they will sometimes rest for a considerable time, occasionally for a space of several years. Facility for hunting has much to do with the length of time that a horde remains in one spot, inasmuch as the Hottentots are admirable hunters, and quite rival the Kaffirs in this respect, even if they do not excel them. They are especially notable for the persevering obstinacy with which they will pursue their game, thinking a whole day well bestowed if they succeed at last in bringing down their prey.