Chapter Twelve.The Hunter of the Didima.“You say, my Chief, that you wish me to relate a tale of the days of my youth, which are now so very far away. Well, I owe you homage for that you opened the door of the prison wherein my grandson lay, accused of a crime which another had committed. Last year I might have sent you a cow, which would have kept your children’s calabash always full, but now that the Rinderpest has emptied my kraal I am a poor man—so poor that I cannot even offer you a drink of sour milk. There, behind that mat, lie the calabashes splitting from dryness.Wau, but it is hard for an old man who has owned cattle all his life to look every day into an empty kraal.“Oh yes—about the tale. Well, I can tell you of an occasion when I was so near my death that for months afterwards I would start up in my sleep of nights and shriek aloud. The tale has often been told, but never the whole of it, for it is shameful for a man to relate how he wept like a woman and begged for his life. But now all the others are dead—and, for myself, why, I am only an old man of no account who will soon be dead too.“In the days I speak of Makomo was Chief over all the country. I was a young man, and had only been married a few months. My father was one who stood near the Chief. He was rich in cattle and his racing oxen were the best in the land. I had only recently been made a man. I was too young, so many said, for the rite, but the Chief’s ‘Great Son’ was to be made a man at the time, and my father wanted me to be one of his blood-brothers. Then my father said I should marry and get grandchildren for him. In those days I cared for nothing but hunting, but my father began paying dowry for a girl, so I made no objection. She came to be the grandmother of Nathaniel, whom you know. He comes home twice every year from the Mission, and tells me that I am going, when I die, to a deep pit full of a very hot kind of fire. Well, perhaps I am, but I shall meet my Chief and my old friends there, but not Nathaniel, nor his grandmother.“Makomo was a great Chief in those days, and no one ever dared to disobey him except the ‘Abatwa,’ the wild Bushmen who dwelt in the high mountains among the rocks and forests, and who shot people to death with shafts smeared with the poison of snakes. Brave as Makomo’s men were when they fought the English, they dreaded the little men of the rocks, who could kill from afar without being seen or heard.“From my earliest boyhood I loved nothing so well as hunting, and my favourite ground was the forest at the back of the Didima Mountain, which was full of buffalo, koodoo, bushbuck, and other game. On the top of the big mountain beyond it, which you call the Katberg, herds of eland used often to browse. Other young men who loved the chase would accompany me, but I was always the leader.“At a spot in the valley at the back of the Didima, far away from any other dwellings, lived a man called Bangeni, a great doctor. This man did not fear the Bushmen. For some reason or another they never interfered with him, even when they raided in the valleys far past his dwelling. He spoke their language, which sounded like the spitting of a nest of wild cats I once dug out of a hole. Men used to say that through his medicines Bangeni had the power of moving unseen from place to place, and that the Bushmen knew this and feared him accordingly. I do not know if this was the case, but it is certain that although the Bushmen were often seen in the rocks on the ridge above his kraal, and although they sometimes killed the herd-boys in the valley below, and drove off cattle, nothing of Bangeni’s was ever taken.“We all feared this man, and no one ever went to his kraal unless for medicine. Over and over again have I passed it when returning from hunting, but no matter how tired or thirsty I was I would never stop.“One day, being alone in the forest, I found a young girl sleeping. She had a beautiful face, and a bosom like that of a partridge when the millet is ripe in the fields. She arose when I approached, but did not show the least alarm. We sat together and talked from noon until the sun had nearly sunk. She was the daughter of Bangeni, and her name was Nongala. She spoke of sensible things in a low, soft voice. When we parted I already wished that my father had paid dowry for her instead of for the other one—Nathaniel’s grandmother.“After that day I never passed Bangeni’s dwelling without calling. Nathaniel’s grandmother got to hear of the girl, and I had to break several sticks upon her before she left off troubling. You know Nathaniel? Well, he is just like what she was.“As I grew older I hunted more and more. My father was rich, and I was his ‘great son,’ so, whenever I heard of a good dog I used to try and buy it. We had no guns, but we were expert with the assegai, and besides we used to drive the game into stalked pits.Mawo, but these were great days. In the valley, where the buffaloes used to crash through the forest with my dogs baying behind, the Hottentots now grow tobacco. And I am an old, old man without a single cow, and my Chief is dead, and Nathaniel says I am going to the pit to burn in this new kind of fire.“The mischief committed by the Bushmen at length became so bad that the people could stand it no longer, so Makomo called out an army for the purpose of clearing the mountains of these vermin. The occasion was that they had one day killed six herd-boys and driven a large troop of cattle off. Then Makomo saw that if he wished to hold the country any longer he must destroy the Bushmen.“Every man who could wield an assegai was called out, and the army was doctored on the night of the new moon. Next morning we went forth in three divisions, one of which held the level plateau which connects the Katberg Range with the great mountains farther back, and so cut off the retreat of the enemy. Another division went to the east of the Katberg and the third to the west of the Didima; then the three bodies moved towards each other in open order.“The Bushmen retired without fighting when they saw how strong we were, and when they found their retreat cut off from the great mountain they took refuge in the caves and chasms of a high ridge which stood apart near the southern end of the plateau. We were joyful when we knew that at length we had the murderers where our hands could reach them.“It was nearly nightfall when we formed in a ring around the rocks and scrubby bushes amidst which they lay, and our numbers were so great that no man was more than four paces from his companions on either side. Each carried a shield wherewith to ward off the poisoned arrows. For a long time it had been known that this attack must, some day, take place, and every man had been ordered to provide himself with a strong shield of ox-hide.“Throughout the night we could hear no sound except now and then hootings and cries like those of owls and night-jars. These were the signals which the enemy made to each other. Just before daybreak they made an attempt to break through the ring, but we drove them back; not more than five or six managed to escape. We had expected this attempt, and word had been sent round by the leader that should it take place the grass was to be fired. Within a few minutes the ridge was ringed with flame. The season was late summer, but the land was dry and the grass fit for burning. Not a breath of wind was stirring, so the ring of fire burnt slowly, and we closed in behind it as the ground became cool enough for our feet to bear it.“Day was breaking when the fire reached long grass and brambles just beneath the summit among which the Bushmen lay concealed. Then they sprang out like monkeys from a cornfield when the dogs are let loose, and climbed to a bare mass of stone which topped the ridge. We rushed in at them through the flame, and they met us with a shower of arrows. It was a hard, bitter fight, but when the sun arose not a Bushman was left alive. The women, and even the little children, fought as bravely as the men, and bit our feet as we trod over them in the struggle thinking they were dead. Not one uttered a cry, even in the death agony. Thirty-four of our men were struck down by the poisoned arrows, and of these more than half died in torment.“Bangeni had fallen under suspicion of being in some way leagued with the Bushmen, on account of his property not having been carried off. He was too old a man to be expected to fight, so was not with the attacking force. As our men passed his dwelling on their way to the attack they had shouted threats as to what would be done to him after ‘his friends,’ as they called the Bushmen, had been reckoned with. However, he now came forward with his medicines, and it was only the men whom he treated that recovered from their wounds. Therefore he was once more received into favour.“After this slaughter we had peace, and for several years not a Bushman was seen anywhere near the Didima, although it was known that many still existed in the great mountain beyond it. Bangeni still dwelt at the old spot, and I continued to visit his kraal and meet Nongala. Nathaniel’s grandmother became jealous, and I was compelled to break several more sticks upon her back. She often ran home, and I was glad to be rid of her, but her father always sent her back lest he should have to return the dowry cattle. Eventually I sent my brother, with three oxen, to Bangeni to ask for Nongala as my second wife, and it was arranged that I should marry her at the coming time of green corn.“One day in autumn, after the plough rains had fallen, I, with seventeen of my friends, went to hunt a troop of elands which were reported to have newly come to the top of the Katberg. We all brought our best dogs, and I had arranged through Bangeni with the Bushmen that they should help us to drive the game into a deep valley with a narrow pass at one end, where we could lie in ambush. This valley was some distance away, in the direction of the great mountain where the wild men, as we well knew, dwelt in large numbers. But we were young and had no fear. I thought that on account of my friendship with Bangeni none of the Bushmen would harm me, and that my companions would be safe as well. Besides, the suggestion towards this hunt came from the Bushmen themselves.“We found the game and drove it into the valley. When we arrived there, exhausted and out of breath, we found the bewildered herd huddled together in a rocky hollow, whilst around its sides stood a ring of the little people. Then we rushed in, and before the sun sank five of the elands lay dead. The rest broke through the circle and escaped, whilst we threw ourselves to the ground and lay there, panting.“Two of the elands had fallen close together, within a few paces of a stream of water, and the others lay at different spots, none of which were more than a hundred paces away. We seventeen collected together where the two elands lay, and in a few minutes found ourselves surrounded by those who had driven the game for us. At first we suspected no treachery, but all at once we found that each of us had several poisoned arrows pointed at him, and that the notch of every arrow rested against the string of a drawn bow. Then we saw how we had been tricked; these people had enticed us thus far from our friends for the purpose of getting us into their power.“One Bushman, who could speak our language, came forward, and with him we held a parley. They did not, he said, want to kill us but to hold us at ransom. What they wanted was cattle, and for cattle our Chief might buy our lives. To prove this they were willing to allow one of our number to go with a message to Makomo, stating their terms. At this we felt much relieved; some of our party were related to Makomo, and we knew that the cattle would be sent.“But we had not heard all, and what followed made us burn with rage. We were required to give up our arms and then to submit to being bound, hand and foot. At first we angrily refused to do this, saying that we would rather die fighting than undergo such disgrace; but when we looked at the bent bows and the arrows, each drawn back to the poison-smeared point, we felt as though hooded snakes surrounded us, poised to strike if we so much as moved hand or foot. We had seen the pain of those who died of their wounds after the fight, and we remembered how brave men had wept like women, begging of us to kill them as their blood had turned to fire. Death by spear or club we could have faced, but the thought of slowly dying from the snake-poison of the arrows made our hearts like the hearts of little children, so we yielded. One by one we cast our weapons to the ground and stepped forth to where they bound us with thongs. Each of us had his knees and ankles tied together and his hands fastened behind his back.“Our weapons were collected into a heap; our dogs were caught and tied to the bushes near the stream, and then our messenger, a man named Goloza, was allowed to go free. He was told to be back with the cattle by noon on the following day, and warned that if more than five men accompanied him we would be killed as soon as their approach was signalled.“After this the Bushmen lit fires and began to feast upon the game we had killed. They made merry around the carcases, eating such a quantity of meat that their bodies swelled until they looked like ticks on the dewlap of a cow in summer. In the early stages of the feasting they sang and danced, and then they played a curious game, in which some pretended to kill others, who, in their turn, pretended to be slain. We could hear from the noises around the other fires that similar feasting and dancing was going on at each carcase.“Our throats felt as though filled with hot ashes, for we had sweated much in the chase, but though we begged for water they would not give us a drop. My heart seems even now to grow cold when I think of all that happened during that night. Our bonds were tightly drawn and galled us sorely, but our captors laughed at and taunted us when we prayed for relief.“After they had feasted and danced through half the night, the Bushmen came and sat close to us, and some who happened to be able to speak our language began to converse with us. What they said made us lose all hope and wish for a speedy death to put us out of our pain. It appeared that their sending Goloza with the message was but a device for the purpose of getting cattle, and that they meant to kill us in any case. Their craft was such that they kept us alive in the event of Makomo sending messengers ahead for the purpose of ascertaining that we were still alive before delivering the ransom cattle. They intended to kill us as well as the messengers as soon as the cattle were in their possession. This was to be their revenge for the slaughter we had inflicted upon their friends and relatives.“We begged hard for our lives, offering large herds of cattle if our captors would let us send one of our number to collect from our kraals. We wept and moaned as we begged for mercy, but the more pitifully we pleaded the more they laughed and jeered at us. After we had amused them sufficiently thus, they returned to their feasting. Then, after placing two of their number to watch us, they fell fast asleep.“Now a Bushman, when really full of meat, must needs sleep, and then he is like a gorged vulture, for nothing will wake him until he has digested the food. If disturbed he will only sprawl about like a drunken man, and roll his eyes like a child a week old. Soon the two watchers slept too, and then the fire died down, and we lay suffering in the darkness. There was no sound except our own groans, the snoring of the Bushmen, who had sunk back, each at the place where he had been sitting, and lay huddled upon the ground, and the murmuring of the stream of water.“We strove and struggled with our bonds, but they were too cunningly tied for this to be of any avail, so we only put ourselves to greater pain. The plashing of the cool water over the stones only a few yards off maddened us, and we tried to roll towards it, but a barrier of sharp rocks stood in the way, and this we found it impossible to cross. The jackals came up and began to gnaw the bones around the fireplace; they stepped fearlessly in among the sleepers, as though quite accustomed to so doing.“We lay thus until it was nearly day. Then I heard a soft voice speak my name. I answered in a whisper, and in a moment Nongala was bending over me, cutting my bonds with a sharp knife.“I was so stiff that for a while I could hardly move a limb. Nongala went to the others, one by one, and released them as well. After a few minutes our clogged blood began to move once more, and then, suddenly, we seemed to recover our strength. The first thing we did was to recover our weapons.“Then we went softly to and fro among the sleepers and took possession of their bows and arrows. The reed shafts of the latter we broke, and then we flung them, like snakes with broken backs, in a heap upon the embers. In a short time the heap blazed brightly up, and then we went to work at our vengeance.“The sleepers lay close together, and we made a ring about them, so that none might escape. But this was not necessary; they were so gorged that not one awakened, even when the spear was at his throat. One by one we slew them as they lay. Then, with one accord, we went to the stream we had been listening to throughout the long night of pain, and drank our fill. But our work was not yet done.“Around the bones of each of the other three elands—for it proved that not a scrap of meat was left—lay a party of surfeited sleepers, and those we slew as we had slain the others. It was horrible work, but the gall of black anger had risen to our hearts, and we knew that these people had doomed us to a miserable death.“Day broke just as we had finished the killing, so we struck for home across the mountains. We met Goloza, accompanied by five other men, bringing the cattle for our ransom; they turned back and accompanied us to Makomo’s Great Place—for we went at once to make report of what had happened to the Chief. The war-cry had gone out and men were already assembling. It had been intended to pursue the Bushmen and recover the ransom cattle. There was great astonishment when we related what we had done, and the disgrace of having allowed ourselves to be disarmed and tied up like dogs was regarded as having been wiped out by the blood we had shed.“You may be sure that Nongala came in for her share of honour. A song, which was sung at every feast for years afterwards, was composed to commemorate the exploit. She became so celebrated that a rumour went forth that Makomo intended to add her to the number of his wives. My own idea is that the grandmother of Nathaniel caused the thing to be talked about through jealousy. I do not know if such be the case, or if the Chief had any such intention, but to avoid the danger Nongala and I ran away together one night and took refuge with the Chief of the Gaika tribe, who received us kindly, feeling that it was to his honour to have such celebrated people under his protection. Three years afterwards I returned to my own country and Makomo received me kindly.“For my own part, I have always felt ashamed of having surrendered my weapons and allowed myself to be tied up—to say nothing of having wept like a little boy, and beseeched for my life—than proud of the killing. I do not think that until to-day anyone has ever told the whole truth about this matter. Often, when I have heard some of the others at a beer-drink boasting of what they have done, I have walked away or hidden my face in my kaross lest the truth should be revealed by my looks. But all the others are now dead, and I am an old man, so what does it matter?“Yes, I am an old man, and the sooner I am dead the better. The valleys in which I hunted in the days of my youth are full of the Hottentots to whom the Government gave the land, and I doubt if you would find an ‘iputi’ in the Didima Forest.“Men can say what they like, but the world is not so good to live in now as it was in the days when I was young. Where has the rain gone to? It has not rained as it used to rain when Makomo was Chief since the Hottentots were given the country.“Well, it may be as you say, but if Government were to drive the Hottentots out and give back the land to Makomo’s son, I think you would find that the rain would fall again as it used to. But I am an old man, and my kraal is empty. Yes, I have lived too long.”
“You say, my Chief, that you wish me to relate a tale of the days of my youth, which are now so very far away. Well, I owe you homage for that you opened the door of the prison wherein my grandson lay, accused of a crime which another had committed. Last year I might have sent you a cow, which would have kept your children’s calabash always full, but now that the Rinderpest has emptied my kraal I am a poor man—so poor that I cannot even offer you a drink of sour milk. There, behind that mat, lie the calabashes splitting from dryness.Wau, but it is hard for an old man who has owned cattle all his life to look every day into an empty kraal.
“Oh yes—about the tale. Well, I can tell you of an occasion when I was so near my death that for months afterwards I would start up in my sleep of nights and shriek aloud. The tale has often been told, but never the whole of it, for it is shameful for a man to relate how he wept like a woman and begged for his life. But now all the others are dead—and, for myself, why, I am only an old man of no account who will soon be dead too.
“In the days I speak of Makomo was Chief over all the country. I was a young man, and had only been married a few months. My father was one who stood near the Chief. He was rich in cattle and his racing oxen were the best in the land. I had only recently been made a man. I was too young, so many said, for the rite, but the Chief’s ‘Great Son’ was to be made a man at the time, and my father wanted me to be one of his blood-brothers. Then my father said I should marry and get grandchildren for him. In those days I cared for nothing but hunting, but my father began paying dowry for a girl, so I made no objection. She came to be the grandmother of Nathaniel, whom you know. He comes home twice every year from the Mission, and tells me that I am going, when I die, to a deep pit full of a very hot kind of fire. Well, perhaps I am, but I shall meet my Chief and my old friends there, but not Nathaniel, nor his grandmother.
“Makomo was a great Chief in those days, and no one ever dared to disobey him except the ‘Abatwa,’ the wild Bushmen who dwelt in the high mountains among the rocks and forests, and who shot people to death with shafts smeared with the poison of snakes. Brave as Makomo’s men were when they fought the English, they dreaded the little men of the rocks, who could kill from afar without being seen or heard.
“From my earliest boyhood I loved nothing so well as hunting, and my favourite ground was the forest at the back of the Didima Mountain, which was full of buffalo, koodoo, bushbuck, and other game. On the top of the big mountain beyond it, which you call the Katberg, herds of eland used often to browse. Other young men who loved the chase would accompany me, but I was always the leader.
“At a spot in the valley at the back of the Didima, far away from any other dwellings, lived a man called Bangeni, a great doctor. This man did not fear the Bushmen. For some reason or another they never interfered with him, even when they raided in the valleys far past his dwelling. He spoke their language, which sounded like the spitting of a nest of wild cats I once dug out of a hole. Men used to say that through his medicines Bangeni had the power of moving unseen from place to place, and that the Bushmen knew this and feared him accordingly. I do not know if this was the case, but it is certain that although the Bushmen were often seen in the rocks on the ridge above his kraal, and although they sometimes killed the herd-boys in the valley below, and drove off cattle, nothing of Bangeni’s was ever taken.
“We all feared this man, and no one ever went to his kraal unless for medicine. Over and over again have I passed it when returning from hunting, but no matter how tired or thirsty I was I would never stop.
“One day, being alone in the forest, I found a young girl sleeping. She had a beautiful face, and a bosom like that of a partridge when the millet is ripe in the fields. She arose when I approached, but did not show the least alarm. We sat together and talked from noon until the sun had nearly sunk. She was the daughter of Bangeni, and her name was Nongala. She spoke of sensible things in a low, soft voice. When we parted I already wished that my father had paid dowry for her instead of for the other one—Nathaniel’s grandmother.
“After that day I never passed Bangeni’s dwelling without calling. Nathaniel’s grandmother got to hear of the girl, and I had to break several sticks upon her before she left off troubling. You know Nathaniel? Well, he is just like what she was.
“As I grew older I hunted more and more. My father was rich, and I was his ‘great son,’ so, whenever I heard of a good dog I used to try and buy it. We had no guns, but we were expert with the assegai, and besides we used to drive the game into stalked pits.Mawo, but these were great days. In the valley, where the buffaloes used to crash through the forest with my dogs baying behind, the Hottentots now grow tobacco. And I am an old, old man without a single cow, and my Chief is dead, and Nathaniel says I am going to the pit to burn in this new kind of fire.
“The mischief committed by the Bushmen at length became so bad that the people could stand it no longer, so Makomo called out an army for the purpose of clearing the mountains of these vermin. The occasion was that they had one day killed six herd-boys and driven a large troop of cattle off. Then Makomo saw that if he wished to hold the country any longer he must destroy the Bushmen.
“Every man who could wield an assegai was called out, and the army was doctored on the night of the new moon. Next morning we went forth in three divisions, one of which held the level plateau which connects the Katberg Range with the great mountains farther back, and so cut off the retreat of the enemy. Another division went to the east of the Katberg and the third to the west of the Didima; then the three bodies moved towards each other in open order.
“The Bushmen retired without fighting when they saw how strong we were, and when they found their retreat cut off from the great mountain they took refuge in the caves and chasms of a high ridge which stood apart near the southern end of the plateau. We were joyful when we knew that at length we had the murderers where our hands could reach them.
“It was nearly nightfall when we formed in a ring around the rocks and scrubby bushes amidst which they lay, and our numbers were so great that no man was more than four paces from his companions on either side. Each carried a shield wherewith to ward off the poisoned arrows. For a long time it had been known that this attack must, some day, take place, and every man had been ordered to provide himself with a strong shield of ox-hide.
“Throughout the night we could hear no sound except now and then hootings and cries like those of owls and night-jars. These were the signals which the enemy made to each other. Just before daybreak they made an attempt to break through the ring, but we drove them back; not more than five or six managed to escape. We had expected this attempt, and word had been sent round by the leader that should it take place the grass was to be fired. Within a few minutes the ridge was ringed with flame. The season was late summer, but the land was dry and the grass fit for burning. Not a breath of wind was stirring, so the ring of fire burnt slowly, and we closed in behind it as the ground became cool enough for our feet to bear it.
“Day was breaking when the fire reached long grass and brambles just beneath the summit among which the Bushmen lay concealed. Then they sprang out like monkeys from a cornfield when the dogs are let loose, and climbed to a bare mass of stone which topped the ridge. We rushed in at them through the flame, and they met us with a shower of arrows. It was a hard, bitter fight, but when the sun arose not a Bushman was left alive. The women, and even the little children, fought as bravely as the men, and bit our feet as we trod over them in the struggle thinking they were dead. Not one uttered a cry, even in the death agony. Thirty-four of our men were struck down by the poisoned arrows, and of these more than half died in torment.
“Bangeni had fallen under suspicion of being in some way leagued with the Bushmen, on account of his property not having been carried off. He was too old a man to be expected to fight, so was not with the attacking force. As our men passed his dwelling on their way to the attack they had shouted threats as to what would be done to him after ‘his friends,’ as they called the Bushmen, had been reckoned with. However, he now came forward with his medicines, and it was only the men whom he treated that recovered from their wounds. Therefore he was once more received into favour.
“After this slaughter we had peace, and for several years not a Bushman was seen anywhere near the Didima, although it was known that many still existed in the great mountain beyond it. Bangeni still dwelt at the old spot, and I continued to visit his kraal and meet Nongala. Nathaniel’s grandmother became jealous, and I was compelled to break several more sticks upon her back. She often ran home, and I was glad to be rid of her, but her father always sent her back lest he should have to return the dowry cattle. Eventually I sent my brother, with three oxen, to Bangeni to ask for Nongala as my second wife, and it was arranged that I should marry her at the coming time of green corn.
“One day in autumn, after the plough rains had fallen, I, with seventeen of my friends, went to hunt a troop of elands which were reported to have newly come to the top of the Katberg. We all brought our best dogs, and I had arranged through Bangeni with the Bushmen that they should help us to drive the game into a deep valley with a narrow pass at one end, where we could lie in ambush. This valley was some distance away, in the direction of the great mountain where the wild men, as we well knew, dwelt in large numbers. But we were young and had no fear. I thought that on account of my friendship with Bangeni none of the Bushmen would harm me, and that my companions would be safe as well. Besides, the suggestion towards this hunt came from the Bushmen themselves.
“We found the game and drove it into the valley. When we arrived there, exhausted and out of breath, we found the bewildered herd huddled together in a rocky hollow, whilst around its sides stood a ring of the little people. Then we rushed in, and before the sun sank five of the elands lay dead. The rest broke through the circle and escaped, whilst we threw ourselves to the ground and lay there, panting.
“Two of the elands had fallen close together, within a few paces of a stream of water, and the others lay at different spots, none of which were more than a hundred paces away. We seventeen collected together where the two elands lay, and in a few minutes found ourselves surrounded by those who had driven the game for us. At first we suspected no treachery, but all at once we found that each of us had several poisoned arrows pointed at him, and that the notch of every arrow rested against the string of a drawn bow. Then we saw how we had been tricked; these people had enticed us thus far from our friends for the purpose of getting us into their power.
“One Bushman, who could speak our language, came forward, and with him we held a parley. They did not, he said, want to kill us but to hold us at ransom. What they wanted was cattle, and for cattle our Chief might buy our lives. To prove this they were willing to allow one of our number to go with a message to Makomo, stating their terms. At this we felt much relieved; some of our party were related to Makomo, and we knew that the cattle would be sent.
“But we had not heard all, and what followed made us burn with rage. We were required to give up our arms and then to submit to being bound, hand and foot. At first we angrily refused to do this, saying that we would rather die fighting than undergo such disgrace; but when we looked at the bent bows and the arrows, each drawn back to the poison-smeared point, we felt as though hooded snakes surrounded us, poised to strike if we so much as moved hand or foot. We had seen the pain of those who died of their wounds after the fight, and we remembered how brave men had wept like women, begging of us to kill them as their blood had turned to fire. Death by spear or club we could have faced, but the thought of slowly dying from the snake-poison of the arrows made our hearts like the hearts of little children, so we yielded. One by one we cast our weapons to the ground and stepped forth to where they bound us with thongs. Each of us had his knees and ankles tied together and his hands fastened behind his back.
“Our weapons were collected into a heap; our dogs were caught and tied to the bushes near the stream, and then our messenger, a man named Goloza, was allowed to go free. He was told to be back with the cattle by noon on the following day, and warned that if more than five men accompanied him we would be killed as soon as their approach was signalled.
“After this the Bushmen lit fires and began to feast upon the game we had killed. They made merry around the carcases, eating such a quantity of meat that their bodies swelled until they looked like ticks on the dewlap of a cow in summer. In the early stages of the feasting they sang and danced, and then they played a curious game, in which some pretended to kill others, who, in their turn, pretended to be slain. We could hear from the noises around the other fires that similar feasting and dancing was going on at each carcase.
“Our throats felt as though filled with hot ashes, for we had sweated much in the chase, but though we begged for water they would not give us a drop. My heart seems even now to grow cold when I think of all that happened during that night. Our bonds were tightly drawn and galled us sorely, but our captors laughed at and taunted us when we prayed for relief.
“After they had feasted and danced through half the night, the Bushmen came and sat close to us, and some who happened to be able to speak our language began to converse with us. What they said made us lose all hope and wish for a speedy death to put us out of our pain. It appeared that their sending Goloza with the message was but a device for the purpose of getting cattle, and that they meant to kill us in any case. Their craft was such that they kept us alive in the event of Makomo sending messengers ahead for the purpose of ascertaining that we were still alive before delivering the ransom cattle. They intended to kill us as well as the messengers as soon as the cattle were in their possession. This was to be their revenge for the slaughter we had inflicted upon their friends and relatives.
“We begged hard for our lives, offering large herds of cattle if our captors would let us send one of our number to collect from our kraals. We wept and moaned as we begged for mercy, but the more pitifully we pleaded the more they laughed and jeered at us. After we had amused them sufficiently thus, they returned to their feasting. Then, after placing two of their number to watch us, they fell fast asleep.
“Now a Bushman, when really full of meat, must needs sleep, and then he is like a gorged vulture, for nothing will wake him until he has digested the food. If disturbed he will only sprawl about like a drunken man, and roll his eyes like a child a week old. Soon the two watchers slept too, and then the fire died down, and we lay suffering in the darkness. There was no sound except our own groans, the snoring of the Bushmen, who had sunk back, each at the place where he had been sitting, and lay huddled upon the ground, and the murmuring of the stream of water.
“We strove and struggled with our bonds, but they were too cunningly tied for this to be of any avail, so we only put ourselves to greater pain. The plashing of the cool water over the stones only a few yards off maddened us, and we tried to roll towards it, but a barrier of sharp rocks stood in the way, and this we found it impossible to cross. The jackals came up and began to gnaw the bones around the fireplace; they stepped fearlessly in among the sleepers, as though quite accustomed to so doing.
“We lay thus until it was nearly day. Then I heard a soft voice speak my name. I answered in a whisper, and in a moment Nongala was bending over me, cutting my bonds with a sharp knife.
“I was so stiff that for a while I could hardly move a limb. Nongala went to the others, one by one, and released them as well. After a few minutes our clogged blood began to move once more, and then, suddenly, we seemed to recover our strength. The first thing we did was to recover our weapons.
“Then we went softly to and fro among the sleepers and took possession of their bows and arrows. The reed shafts of the latter we broke, and then we flung them, like snakes with broken backs, in a heap upon the embers. In a short time the heap blazed brightly up, and then we went to work at our vengeance.
“The sleepers lay close together, and we made a ring about them, so that none might escape. But this was not necessary; they were so gorged that not one awakened, even when the spear was at his throat. One by one we slew them as they lay. Then, with one accord, we went to the stream we had been listening to throughout the long night of pain, and drank our fill. But our work was not yet done.
“Around the bones of each of the other three elands—for it proved that not a scrap of meat was left—lay a party of surfeited sleepers, and those we slew as we had slain the others. It was horrible work, but the gall of black anger had risen to our hearts, and we knew that these people had doomed us to a miserable death.
“Day broke just as we had finished the killing, so we struck for home across the mountains. We met Goloza, accompanied by five other men, bringing the cattle for our ransom; they turned back and accompanied us to Makomo’s Great Place—for we went at once to make report of what had happened to the Chief. The war-cry had gone out and men were already assembling. It had been intended to pursue the Bushmen and recover the ransom cattle. There was great astonishment when we related what we had done, and the disgrace of having allowed ourselves to be disarmed and tied up like dogs was regarded as having been wiped out by the blood we had shed.
“You may be sure that Nongala came in for her share of honour. A song, which was sung at every feast for years afterwards, was composed to commemorate the exploit. She became so celebrated that a rumour went forth that Makomo intended to add her to the number of his wives. My own idea is that the grandmother of Nathaniel caused the thing to be talked about through jealousy. I do not know if such be the case, or if the Chief had any such intention, but to avoid the danger Nongala and I ran away together one night and took refuge with the Chief of the Gaika tribe, who received us kindly, feeling that it was to his honour to have such celebrated people under his protection. Three years afterwards I returned to my own country and Makomo received me kindly.
“For my own part, I have always felt ashamed of having surrendered my weapons and allowed myself to be tied up—to say nothing of having wept like a little boy, and beseeched for my life—than proud of the killing. I do not think that until to-day anyone has ever told the whole truth about this matter. Often, when I have heard some of the others at a beer-drink boasting of what they have done, I have walked away or hidden my face in my kaross lest the truth should be revealed by my looks. But all the others are now dead, and I am an old man, so what does it matter?
“Yes, I am an old man, and the sooner I am dead the better. The valleys in which I hunted in the days of my youth are full of the Hottentots to whom the Government gave the land, and I doubt if you would find an ‘iputi’ in the Didima Forest.
“Men can say what they like, but the world is not so good to live in now as it was in the days when I was young. Where has the rain gone to? It has not rained as it used to rain when Makomo was Chief since the Hottentots were given the country.
“Well, it may be as you say, but if Government were to drive the Hottentots out and give back the land to Makomo’s son, I think you would find that the rain would fall again as it used to. But I am an old man, and my kraal is empty. Yes, I have lived too long.”
Chapter Thirteen.A Forgotten Expedition.In the early winter of 1874 considerable excitement prevailed in the little mining camp of Pilgrim’s Rest. The Transvaal Government (Mr Burgers being President) was reported to be organising an expedition to Delagoa Bay for the purpose of convoying certain arms and ammunition thence to Pretoria. It had been for some time an open secret that an attack was projected upon Seccocoeni, chief of the Bapedi, who had refused to pay hut-tax. The attack was made in due course, and failed, but that has nothing to do with this story.The war material in question had, with the exception of ten tons of gunpowder purchased from the firm of Pigou and Wilkes, been presented to the Republic by the German Government. It was part of the loot of the Franco-German war.Delagoa Bay had a bad name. The previous year was a very fatal one in the “low country.” Out of thirty-five men who went to prospect, to hunt or to amuse themselves between the mountains and the sea in the early part of 1873, twenty-seven died of fever. They had gone too early, and the rains were late. But the seasons were not known so well in the seventies as they are now.Twenty-five men were wanted, and, among the floating population of the reckless and the restless who are always attracted by an alluvial gold-field, these were not difficult to obtain. Accordingly, in the early days of June the expedition started under the command of Major McDonald (late of the United States’ Army), who held the office of Gold Commissioner. The convoy included eight wagons and sixteen spans of oxen. The country of the tsetse fly had to be traversed; but, unless rain falls, cattle generally live for six weeks or so after being bitten, and it was intended to run the goods through before the oxen succumbed.We were a various sort of crew, most nations, trades and characters being represented in our meagre ranks. I was the boy of the party, and consequently had a very rough time. My worst tormentor was a powerful brute named Collins; my best protector a herculean and splendidly handsome Highlander from Skye, named Macpherson, who earned my deathless gratitude by thrashing Collins severely. When sober, “Mac” was always my good friend; when otherwise he was wont to use me despitefully. Occasionally, when under the influence of Mauritius rum, he would seize me by the heels and swing me round his head.We passed over the steep and massive mountain range into the mysterious haze-shrouded country which, without any break save the low Lebombo Range, stretches evenly to the mangrove-cumbered coast. After trekking through the undulating foothills our course led across a dead level sparsely timbered and densely covered with thick, wiry grass. The trees usually permitted a vista of about two hundred yards, at the farther end of which one could often see the wild forest creatures melting into the gloom.Close to Ship Mountain, where the plains begin, we reached the border of the tsetse region, and here we established a dépôt at which we left eight of our sixteen spans of oxen. The country was teeming with game. Lions were much in evidence. Although we seldom saw the animals, their spoor abounded, and their rumbling groans were at night often audible on three sides of the camp at once. We always camped at sundown, the wagons being drawn up in a double line. Before dark the oxen would be secured to the staked-down trek-chains. All hands gathered fuel, which was very plentiful. Six large fires were kept burning all night, and four men were always on guard.We crossed the Crocodile and Komati rivers—noble streams of clear water several hundred yards in width, eddying between large rocks upon which many crocodiles basked. Along the low banks stood groves of splendid trees, which harboured buffalo, giraffe, water-buck and many other kinds of game. Elephants we never saw, but their spoor was occasionally visible. On one occasion we heard them trumpeting and crashing through the trees.Near the Komati I had the only narrow escape from death I ever experienced in the hunting-field, and the occasion thereof was a buck not much bigger than a “duiker.” The incident occurred as follows:—I went out one morning to shoot impala. Now the impala is a small red antelope which used to frequent river banks in immense herds. The does are hornless, but the bucks have sharp horns over eighteen inches long. The proportion of the sexes is about one buck to a hundred does. I stood in a thicket watching a herd pass, waiting for an opportunity to shoot a buck. At length I got a shot, and put a bullet through an animal with particularly fine horns, just behind the shoulder. The buck turned out of the herd, bleeding profusely, and I followed on the spoor. When I overtook my quarry he was standing under a tree, apparently almost at the last gasp. I laid down my rifle, drew my knife and approached. The buck sprang at me like an arrow, head down. I just managed to leap out of the way; he grazed my leg in passing and fell over, helpless. It was only by the merest chance that I escaped being transfixed.The first notable incident occurred after we had crossed the Komati and were approaching the Lebombo Range. Early one morning we were astonished to find a tent-wagon standing in a somewhat thickly-wooded hollow. Around it lay the putrefying carcases of several oxen. A few low mounds were also visible. Under the wagon lay four white men in the last stage of exhaustion from fever. All were raving in delirium. There were no signs of water in the vicinity. The surrounding trees were thickly encrusted with bright yellow lichen, which gave them a ghastly and fever-stricken look.We camped close to the spot, wondering what could be the explanation of the strange phenomenon. Hours passed, but we could discover no clue. The unhappy creatures under the wagon mowed at us and raved in French. We gave them water, which they greedily drank. The stench was frightful; the mounds we had noticed were human graves. But no excavations had been made, the sand being simply heaped over the bodies.Then a gigantic, bearded man emerged from the bush and approached, carrying a small demijohn in each hand. I recognised him as one Alexandre, a Frenchman I had known on the diamond fields. He explained matters. The expedition, originally eight strong, had started from Lydenburg some six weeks previously. The whole team of oxen succumbed more quickly than usual to tsetse bite. All his companions went down with fever. Three died and had been laid to their rest under the mounds. But even there rest had been denied them, for the lions used to come at night and tear open the graves; they had actually rooted out one of the bodies. Owing to prodigality of ammunition when the big game was most plentiful, only very few cartridges were left. Every night jackals and hyenas used to snarl and fight over the carcases of the oxen, which lay only a few yards from the wagon. But it was the lions that were the chief source of terror. A lioness had carried off a dog from the fireside immediately behind the wagon. As though aware of the helplessness of the stricken party, the great brutes became bolder and bolder, walking round and round the camp in an ever-narrowing circle. All this was corroborated by the fact that not a hand’s-breadth of ground anywhere near the camp was without a lion’s spoor. The nearest water lay ten miles away, and to the spring Alexandre wended, with his two demijohns, every day. We loaded the sick men up—leaving the wagon in the waste like a stranded ship—and took them on to Delagoa Bay.The road had been cut by the Transvaal authorities to near the inland base of the Lebombo, and by the Portuguese to the seaward base. It fell to our lot to clear a passage over the mountain itself. This entailed a great deal of crowbar work, in rolling out of the way huge boulders. My clearest remembrance in connection with the enterprise is of a scorpion sting which I received in the hand.We reached Lourenço Marques in due course. The inhabitants turned outen masseto meet us. For several miles along the road approaching the town, the trees were loaded with children gaping in dumb curiosity. The town lay between the bay and a crescent-shaped swamp. This was crossed by several causeways. Between the swamp and the houses stood a fortified wall, from which projected many poles bearing mouldering human heads. The town was from the seaward side dominated by a wicked-looking fortress.The principal inhabitants appeared to be Banyans who, surrounded by members of their dusky harems and clad in picturesque Eastern dress, occupied the stoeps on the shady side of every street. All the houses had closely latticed windows, but these were thrown open when the shades of evening fell.There was a very high time in the old town that night. Our party took possession of the only hotel—a large, cool and comfortable house kept by a Portuguese named Fernandez, who had an English wife. With our arrival respectability fled shrieking from the premises. I trust I may be acquitted of self-righteousness in recording the circumstance that I was the only sober one among the strangers. We acted more or less like an army which has taken a city by assault.One of the larger stores stocked a quantity of obsolete fire brigade uniforms. These, in most details suggestive of the burlesque stage, included enormous helmets, which had massive burnished metal guards extending down the wearer’s back. Mild hints towards a realisation of these monstrosities may be found in Flaxman’s illustrations to the Iliad. We dressed in the uniforms and proceeded to paint the settlement red.After dinner one of our braves staggered into the hotel dining-room, carrying seven or eight rifles with fixed bayonets attached under one arm, and a trembling Portuguese soldier under the other. This unhappy being was summarily tried for attempted murder. In passing sentence of death—and the address was punctuated by dabs with a full-cocked and loaded revolver—the judge came crashing to the floor. The marble-topped table on which he sat collapsed into utter ruin. The sentence was to have been carried out at once, but a few of us, who still retained some vestige of our senses, with difficulty succeeded in getting an hour’s reprieve to enable the culprit to prepare for eternity. We led him out and let him escape. I shall never forget how he sprinted down the street.Later, Macpherson and I sallied forth in search of adventure. We happened upon the Governor’s residence. Here an archway led into a small courtyard which was full of tropical plants. Another arched doorway led from the courtyard into the house, and over the apex hung a fine pair of koodoo horns. Two sentries paced the footway outside, but we had slipped in before they realised our intentions—Macpherson leading and I following, with misgivings, in his wake. When we looked round, there stood the two sentries barring the way we had entered by with fixed bayonets. Macpherson reached up, tore the koodoo horns from the wall, placed the skull to his chest and charged with a terrible yell. The sentries collapsed. One escaped; the other we captured and put in a sentry box, which we turned over on him. We stuck the bayoneted rifles into his Excellency’s flower-beds and departed, leaving the unhappy sentry a prone prisoner.Next day the town was, except for ourselves, like a city of the dead. All the shops were shut—not a soul appeared. The soldiers were shut up in the fort, the cannon of which were trained on the streets. However, some sort of order was restored, negotiations were opened, and it was agreed that we were to load up the goods we had come to fetch early next morning. This we accordingly did. Then we drew our wagons some few miles out of town and held high wassail in the primeval bush.Our wagons were almost entirely laden with gunpowder, and the loads were light. The gunpowder was contained in 100-pound kegs. These last were loosely built and hooped together with twigs. The explosive inside was done up in 5-pound bags. We also had a mitrailleuse, which was drawn by eight oxen. I well remember the name of this weapon, inscribed in large letters on a thick copper plate. It was “Le General Schüler.”About three days’ trek from the port lay the Mattol Marsh—a hideous quagmire several hundred yards in width. On our forward journey we had felled trees and laid a corduroy road over it. This the empty wagons crossed with comparative ease, but now when loaded they broke it up with dire results. The barrels had to be carried across. There was no chance of a rest by the way as, on account of the gaping spaces between the staves, the kegs could not be laid down in the mud even for an instant. The bare recollection of that experience gives me toothache in the atlas bone. Then the wagons had to be taken asunder and carried across piecemeal, but this was not so bad, for we could take an occasional rest.The Mattol was, alas! not the only marsh we had to cross. Soon, from much handling, the gunpowder barrels began to break up, and we had to deal with the bags. Then these began to give way, and loose powder permeated everything. We tasted it in our tea; we shook it out of our kits when we unrolled them each night. Strict orders against smoking anywhere near the wagons had been given, but no one, from the commander down, paid the least attention to these. I have seen several men lying on the ground smoking under a wagon, and when one climbed up to get his kit, watched small trickles of powder fall among the smokers. Once a grass fire swept towards us before a stiff breeze. We were then outspanned at the Komati Drift. An order was passed round that when the fire reached a certain point we were to leave the wagons to their fate and take to the river. This, by the way, was full of crocodiles. But suddenly the wind died away, so we rushed at the fire and beat it out with our shirts. It was evident that the Fates were determined we were not to be blown up.Occasionally we trekked by moonlight. One night I was walking with two others some distance in front of the leading wagon. We carried no weapons. One man uttered a low “sh-h” and held up his hand. There, not five yards away, were a lion and a lioness crouched flat in the roadway. We stepped slowly backwards for about fifty yards and then stood not upon the order of our going until we met the convoy.One morning buffalo were reported close to the camp. I sprang from my blankets and went after them. I wounded one badly and went on its spoor. The sun began to decline, and I attempted to get back to the wagons. But the country was flat and the trees stood high on every side. Soon the terrible fact came home to me that I was lost.I had neither eaten nor drunk since the previous evening. The day was sultry; soon I began to suffer from raging thirst. I had only three cartridges left, having expended the others on the wounded buffalo, whose vanishing hindquarters had been my occasional target for several hours. But my thirst became so furious that I determined to shoot some animal and drink its blood. I reached a long and wide depression where trees were few, but which was full of straggling patches of reeds. Looking through one of the latter I became aware of several animals moving to my left. I crept to the end of the reed-patch to intercept them and—out stalked five lions. Two were full grown; three were cubs. The old couple paced majestically away; the cubs squatted funnily on their haunches and looked at me with quaint curiosity.That night I perched in a tree, where I was driven from bough to bough by predatory ants. When the sun arose I got my bearings roughly. Fortunately the day was cool. Early in the afternoon I managed to strike the trail of the wagons. After walking on it for about an hour, I found I was going in the wrong direction. But I turned and staggered along until about midnight, when I reached the camp. Here I narrowly escaped being shot, for when the sentry challenged I could not answer, my lips, tongue and throat being like crackling leather. Thus ended the most horrible experience of my life.We cached our cargo at Ship Mountain, having dug a pit for it in the dry sand. The wagons were at once sent back to Delagoa with the fresh spans. The cattle which had been through the fly country were left at the cache. Six men of our party were put in charge. I happened to be one of these.Almost immediately the unhappy cattle began to die. Soon they lay in heaps at a spot about a mile from the camp. Thither we used to drive them when signs of collapse set in. It would, of course, have been far more merciful to shoot them all at once, but this we were not permitted to do.At this bovine Golgotha congregated all the carnivora of the neighbourhood. Lions, hyenas and jackals were always to be found. It is popularly believed that lions will not eat carrion. This is a mistake; I have seen them doing so and apparently enjoying themselves.Our nights were made hideous by the hyenas, whose yell is surely one of the most atrocious sounds in Nature’s repertoire. Lions worried us considerably. On dark nights they used to drink at, and befoul, a pool within ten yards of our tent. There was no other water for many miles around. One evening a runner with letters from Lydenburg was driven up a tree by a lion within a couple of miles of our camp and kept a prisoner until about eleven next forenoon.I recall one trifling incident which left a very weird impression. One very dark night we heard a far-off halloo. The surrounding country was absolutely uninhabited—so far as human beings were concerned. The source of the noise drew nearer and nearer, the halloo sounding at short intervals. It was unmistakably a human voice. We made a roaring blaze, shouted, waved firebrands and discharged guns. But the creature with the human voice passed, I should say, about three hundred yards from us, uttering its gruesome cry at intervals. Then the cry grew fainter and fainter, until it died away in the distance. None of us slept a wink that night.In our charge were thirty donkeys. For these we built a high corral. The country being full of game—and sick oxen—the lions never interfered with these donkeys, although the spoors showed that they used to prowl around the enclosure nearly every night, evidently meditating a spring.One day we saw a vast cloud of dust steadily approaching from the distant south-west. There was not a breath of wind stirring. Then came a sound like that of the sea. This swelled to a thunderous roar, and soon we were surrounded by a mighty host of stampeding big game. Buffalo, quagga, wildebeest, koodoo, hartebeest, and many other varieties were jostling together and rushing wildly on. Occasionally the long, swaying necks of a troop of giraffe would loom dimly above the thronging mass. Had it not been for the fact that three big trees shielded our tent, I firmly believe we would have been overwhelmed.It took about twenty minutes for this hurricane to pass. Our thirty donkeys had disappeared, carried along by the resistless flood. I found two of these a couple of days afterwards, about ten miles away. The others were seen no more. After the stampede not a single head of game was to be found in the neighbourhood, so we were reduced for some time to a diet of dried peas.In due course the second convoy arrived from the Bay, and four wagons, drawn by such of the oxen as were still fit to travel, were sent on to Lydenburg. I accompanied these.When we began to ascend the mountain spurs the nights turned bitterly cold. We had desperately hard work, for the cattle became so weak that we had to unload at nearly every donga. Being, as we thought, out of the lion country, our vigilance at night was somewhat relaxed. We posted only one sentry at a time, nor were large fires around the camp any longer compulsory. Very early on the morning before we reached the summit of the range I was on guard. Mine was the third watch, and my two predecessors had so faked our only time-piece that my vigil had lasted nearer six than the regulation three hours. One of the recovered donkeys was tied to a bush about twelve feet from where I sat, vainly endeavouring to warm my hands over a few dying embers. Just before daybreak two lions sprang on the unhappy donkey. I heard the wretched animal’s bones crack. The lions dragged the carcase about fifty yards away—into a thick bush—and there breakfasted at their leisure.On our return to Lydenburg most of the members of the expedition were paid off. We had lost only one man; he perished in a grass fire in the low country.I often wonder as to what has been the fate of my companions. Some few I have heard of; only three have I since foregathered with. Two of the latter I know to be dead. The others are—where?My one-time comrades, I salute you—or your shades. Taking into account the kind of men you were, the way you lived and moved and had your being, and the fact that you were all so much older than I, few should, in the natural course of events, be still alive. A short, but by no means a merry, life is the usual lot of such as you. May your spirits have found that rest which could never have been their portion on earth. Vale!
In the early winter of 1874 considerable excitement prevailed in the little mining camp of Pilgrim’s Rest. The Transvaal Government (Mr Burgers being President) was reported to be organising an expedition to Delagoa Bay for the purpose of convoying certain arms and ammunition thence to Pretoria. It had been for some time an open secret that an attack was projected upon Seccocoeni, chief of the Bapedi, who had refused to pay hut-tax. The attack was made in due course, and failed, but that has nothing to do with this story.
The war material in question had, with the exception of ten tons of gunpowder purchased from the firm of Pigou and Wilkes, been presented to the Republic by the German Government. It was part of the loot of the Franco-German war.
Delagoa Bay had a bad name. The previous year was a very fatal one in the “low country.” Out of thirty-five men who went to prospect, to hunt or to amuse themselves between the mountains and the sea in the early part of 1873, twenty-seven died of fever. They had gone too early, and the rains were late. But the seasons were not known so well in the seventies as they are now.
Twenty-five men were wanted, and, among the floating population of the reckless and the restless who are always attracted by an alluvial gold-field, these were not difficult to obtain. Accordingly, in the early days of June the expedition started under the command of Major McDonald (late of the United States’ Army), who held the office of Gold Commissioner. The convoy included eight wagons and sixteen spans of oxen. The country of the tsetse fly had to be traversed; but, unless rain falls, cattle generally live for six weeks or so after being bitten, and it was intended to run the goods through before the oxen succumbed.
We were a various sort of crew, most nations, trades and characters being represented in our meagre ranks. I was the boy of the party, and consequently had a very rough time. My worst tormentor was a powerful brute named Collins; my best protector a herculean and splendidly handsome Highlander from Skye, named Macpherson, who earned my deathless gratitude by thrashing Collins severely. When sober, “Mac” was always my good friend; when otherwise he was wont to use me despitefully. Occasionally, when under the influence of Mauritius rum, he would seize me by the heels and swing me round his head.
We passed over the steep and massive mountain range into the mysterious haze-shrouded country which, without any break save the low Lebombo Range, stretches evenly to the mangrove-cumbered coast. After trekking through the undulating foothills our course led across a dead level sparsely timbered and densely covered with thick, wiry grass. The trees usually permitted a vista of about two hundred yards, at the farther end of which one could often see the wild forest creatures melting into the gloom.
Close to Ship Mountain, where the plains begin, we reached the border of the tsetse region, and here we established a dépôt at which we left eight of our sixteen spans of oxen. The country was teeming with game. Lions were much in evidence. Although we seldom saw the animals, their spoor abounded, and their rumbling groans were at night often audible on three sides of the camp at once. We always camped at sundown, the wagons being drawn up in a double line. Before dark the oxen would be secured to the staked-down trek-chains. All hands gathered fuel, which was very plentiful. Six large fires were kept burning all night, and four men were always on guard.
We crossed the Crocodile and Komati rivers—noble streams of clear water several hundred yards in width, eddying between large rocks upon which many crocodiles basked. Along the low banks stood groves of splendid trees, which harboured buffalo, giraffe, water-buck and many other kinds of game. Elephants we never saw, but their spoor was occasionally visible. On one occasion we heard them trumpeting and crashing through the trees.
Near the Komati I had the only narrow escape from death I ever experienced in the hunting-field, and the occasion thereof was a buck not much bigger than a “duiker.” The incident occurred as follows:—
I went out one morning to shoot impala. Now the impala is a small red antelope which used to frequent river banks in immense herds. The does are hornless, but the bucks have sharp horns over eighteen inches long. The proportion of the sexes is about one buck to a hundred does. I stood in a thicket watching a herd pass, waiting for an opportunity to shoot a buck. At length I got a shot, and put a bullet through an animal with particularly fine horns, just behind the shoulder. The buck turned out of the herd, bleeding profusely, and I followed on the spoor. When I overtook my quarry he was standing under a tree, apparently almost at the last gasp. I laid down my rifle, drew my knife and approached. The buck sprang at me like an arrow, head down. I just managed to leap out of the way; he grazed my leg in passing and fell over, helpless. It was only by the merest chance that I escaped being transfixed.
The first notable incident occurred after we had crossed the Komati and were approaching the Lebombo Range. Early one morning we were astonished to find a tent-wagon standing in a somewhat thickly-wooded hollow. Around it lay the putrefying carcases of several oxen. A few low mounds were also visible. Under the wagon lay four white men in the last stage of exhaustion from fever. All were raving in delirium. There were no signs of water in the vicinity. The surrounding trees were thickly encrusted with bright yellow lichen, which gave them a ghastly and fever-stricken look.
We camped close to the spot, wondering what could be the explanation of the strange phenomenon. Hours passed, but we could discover no clue. The unhappy creatures under the wagon mowed at us and raved in French. We gave them water, which they greedily drank. The stench was frightful; the mounds we had noticed were human graves. But no excavations had been made, the sand being simply heaped over the bodies.
Then a gigantic, bearded man emerged from the bush and approached, carrying a small demijohn in each hand. I recognised him as one Alexandre, a Frenchman I had known on the diamond fields. He explained matters. The expedition, originally eight strong, had started from Lydenburg some six weeks previously. The whole team of oxen succumbed more quickly than usual to tsetse bite. All his companions went down with fever. Three died and had been laid to their rest under the mounds. But even there rest had been denied them, for the lions used to come at night and tear open the graves; they had actually rooted out one of the bodies. Owing to prodigality of ammunition when the big game was most plentiful, only very few cartridges were left. Every night jackals and hyenas used to snarl and fight over the carcases of the oxen, which lay only a few yards from the wagon. But it was the lions that were the chief source of terror. A lioness had carried off a dog from the fireside immediately behind the wagon. As though aware of the helplessness of the stricken party, the great brutes became bolder and bolder, walking round and round the camp in an ever-narrowing circle. All this was corroborated by the fact that not a hand’s-breadth of ground anywhere near the camp was without a lion’s spoor. The nearest water lay ten miles away, and to the spring Alexandre wended, with his two demijohns, every day. We loaded the sick men up—leaving the wagon in the waste like a stranded ship—and took them on to Delagoa Bay.
The road had been cut by the Transvaal authorities to near the inland base of the Lebombo, and by the Portuguese to the seaward base. It fell to our lot to clear a passage over the mountain itself. This entailed a great deal of crowbar work, in rolling out of the way huge boulders. My clearest remembrance in connection with the enterprise is of a scorpion sting which I received in the hand.
We reached Lourenço Marques in due course. The inhabitants turned outen masseto meet us. For several miles along the road approaching the town, the trees were loaded with children gaping in dumb curiosity. The town lay between the bay and a crescent-shaped swamp. This was crossed by several causeways. Between the swamp and the houses stood a fortified wall, from which projected many poles bearing mouldering human heads. The town was from the seaward side dominated by a wicked-looking fortress.
The principal inhabitants appeared to be Banyans who, surrounded by members of their dusky harems and clad in picturesque Eastern dress, occupied the stoeps on the shady side of every street. All the houses had closely latticed windows, but these were thrown open when the shades of evening fell.
There was a very high time in the old town that night. Our party took possession of the only hotel—a large, cool and comfortable house kept by a Portuguese named Fernandez, who had an English wife. With our arrival respectability fled shrieking from the premises. I trust I may be acquitted of self-righteousness in recording the circumstance that I was the only sober one among the strangers. We acted more or less like an army which has taken a city by assault.
One of the larger stores stocked a quantity of obsolete fire brigade uniforms. These, in most details suggestive of the burlesque stage, included enormous helmets, which had massive burnished metal guards extending down the wearer’s back. Mild hints towards a realisation of these monstrosities may be found in Flaxman’s illustrations to the Iliad. We dressed in the uniforms and proceeded to paint the settlement red.
After dinner one of our braves staggered into the hotel dining-room, carrying seven or eight rifles with fixed bayonets attached under one arm, and a trembling Portuguese soldier under the other. This unhappy being was summarily tried for attempted murder. In passing sentence of death—and the address was punctuated by dabs with a full-cocked and loaded revolver—the judge came crashing to the floor. The marble-topped table on which he sat collapsed into utter ruin. The sentence was to have been carried out at once, but a few of us, who still retained some vestige of our senses, with difficulty succeeded in getting an hour’s reprieve to enable the culprit to prepare for eternity. We led him out and let him escape. I shall never forget how he sprinted down the street.
Later, Macpherson and I sallied forth in search of adventure. We happened upon the Governor’s residence. Here an archway led into a small courtyard which was full of tropical plants. Another arched doorway led from the courtyard into the house, and over the apex hung a fine pair of koodoo horns. Two sentries paced the footway outside, but we had slipped in before they realised our intentions—Macpherson leading and I following, with misgivings, in his wake. When we looked round, there stood the two sentries barring the way we had entered by with fixed bayonets. Macpherson reached up, tore the koodoo horns from the wall, placed the skull to his chest and charged with a terrible yell. The sentries collapsed. One escaped; the other we captured and put in a sentry box, which we turned over on him. We stuck the bayoneted rifles into his Excellency’s flower-beds and departed, leaving the unhappy sentry a prone prisoner.
Next day the town was, except for ourselves, like a city of the dead. All the shops were shut—not a soul appeared. The soldiers were shut up in the fort, the cannon of which were trained on the streets. However, some sort of order was restored, negotiations were opened, and it was agreed that we were to load up the goods we had come to fetch early next morning. This we accordingly did. Then we drew our wagons some few miles out of town and held high wassail in the primeval bush.
Our wagons were almost entirely laden with gunpowder, and the loads were light. The gunpowder was contained in 100-pound kegs. These last were loosely built and hooped together with twigs. The explosive inside was done up in 5-pound bags. We also had a mitrailleuse, which was drawn by eight oxen. I well remember the name of this weapon, inscribed in large letters on a thick copper plate. It was “Le General Schüler.”
About three days’ trek from the port lay the Mattol Marsh—a hideous quagmire several hundred yards in width. On our forward journey we had felled trees and laid a corduroy road over it. This the empty wagons crossed with comparative ease, but now when loaded they broke it up with dire results. The barrels had to be carried across. There was no chance of a rest by the way as, on account of the gaping spaces between the staves, the kegs could not be laid down in the mud even for an instant. The bare recollection of that experience gives me toothache in the atlas bone. Then the wagons had to be taken asunder and carried across piecemeal, but this was not so bad, for we could take an occasional rest.
The Mattol was, alas! not the only marsh we had to cross. Soon, from much handling, the gunpowder barrels began to break up, and we had to deal with the bags. Then these began to give way, and loose powder permeated everything. We tasted it in our tea; we shook it out of our kits when we unrolled them each night. Strict orders against smoking anywhere near the wagons had been given, but no one, from the commander down, paid the least attention to these. I have seen several men lying on the ground smoking under a wagon, and when one climbed up to get his kit, watched small trickles of powder fall among the smokers. Once a grass fire swept towards us before a stiff breeze. We were then outspanned at the Komati Drift. An order was passed round that when the fire reached a certain point we were to leave the wagons to their fate and take to the river. This, by the way, was full of crocodiles. But suddenly the wind died away, so we rushed at the fire and beat it out with our shirts. It was evident that the Fates were determined we were not to be blown up.
Occasionally we trekked by moonlight. One night I was walking with two others some distance in front of the leading wagon. We carried no weapons. One man uttered a low “sh-h” and held up his hand. There, not five yards away, were a lion and a lioness crouched flat in the roadway. We stepped slowly backwards for about fifty yards and then stood not upon the order of our going until we met the convoy.
One morning buffalo were reported close to the camp. I sprang from my blankets and went after them. I wounded one badly and went on its spoor. The sun began to decline, and I attempted to get back to the wagons. But the country was flat and the trees stood high on every side. Soon the terrible fact came home to me that I was lost.
I had neither eaten nor drunk since the previous evening. The day was sultry; soon I began to suffer from raging thirst. I had only three cartridges left, having expended the others on the wounded buffalo, whose vanishing hindquarters had been my occasional target for several hours. But my thirst became so furious that I determined to shoot some animal and drink its blood. I reached a long and wide depression where trees were few, but which was full of straggling patches of reeds. Looking through one of the latter I became aware of several animals moving to my left. I crept to the end of the reed-patch to intercept them and—out stalked five lions. Two were full grown; three were cubs. The old couple paced majestically away; the cubs squatted funnily on their haunches and looked at me with quaint curiosity.
That night I perched in a tree, where I was driven from bough to bough by predatory ants. When the sun arose I got my bearings roughly. Fortunately the day was cool. Early in the afternoon I managed to strike the trail of the wagons. After walking on it for about an hour, I found I was going in the wrong direction. But I turned and staggered along until about midnight, when I reached the camp. Here I narrowly escaped being shot, for when the sentry challenged I could not answer, my lips, tongue and throat being like crackling leather. Thus ended the most horrible experience of my life.
We cached our cargo at Ship Mountain, having dug a pit for it in the dry sand. The wagons were at once sent back to Delagoa with the fresh spans. The cattle which had been through the fly country were left at the cache. Six men of our party were put in charge. I happened to be one of these.
Almost immediately the unhappy cattle began to die. Soon they lay in heaps at a spot about a mile from the camp. Thither we used to drive them when signs of collapse set in. It would, of course, have been far more merciful to shoot them all at once, but this we were not permitted to do.
At this bovine Golgotha congregated all the carnivora of the neighbourhood. Lions, hyenas and jackals were always to be found. It is popularly believed that lions will not eat carrion. This is a mistake; I have seen them doing so and apparently enjoying themselves.
Our nights were made hideous by the hyenas, whose yell is surely one of the most atrocious sounds in Nature’s repertoire. Lions worried us considerably. On dark nights they used to drink at, and befoul, a pool within ten yards of our tent. There was no other water for many miles around. One evening a runner with letters from Lydenburg was driven up a tree by a lion within a couple of miles of our camp and kept a prisoner until about eleven next forenoon.
I recall one trifling incident which left a very weird impression. One very dark night we heard a far-off halloo. The surrounding country was absolutely uninhabited—so far as human beings were concerned. The source of the noise drew nearer and nearer, the halloo sounding at short intervals. It was unmistakably a human voice. We made a roaring blaze, shouted, waved firebrands and discharged guns. But the creature with the human voice passed, I should say, about three hundred yards from us, uttering its gruesome cry at intervals. Then the cry grew fainter and fainter, until it died away in the distance. None of us slept a wink that night.
In our charge were thirty donkeys. For these we built a high corral. The country being full of game—and sick oxen—the lions never interfered with these donkeys, although the spoors showed that they used to prowl around the enclosure nearly every night, evidently meditating a spring.
One day we saw a vast cloud of dust steadily approaching from the distant south-west. There was not a breath of wind stirring. Then came a sound like that of the sea. This swelled to a thunderous roar, and soon we were surrounded by a mighty host of stampeding big game. Buffalo, quagga, wildebeest, koodoo, hartebeest, and many other varieties were jostling together and rushing wildly on. Occasionally the long, swaying necks of a troop of giraffe would loom dimly above the thronging mass. Had it not been for the fact that three big trees shielded our tent, I firmly believe we would have been overwhelmed.
It took about twenty minutes for this hurricane to pass. Our thirty donkeys had disappeared, carried along by the resistless flood. I found two of these a couple of days afterwards, about ten miles away. The others were seen no more. After the stampede not a single head of game was to be found in the neighbourhood, so we were reduced for some time to a diet of dried peas.
In due course the second convoy arrived from the Bay, and four wagons, drawn by such of the oxen as were still fit to travel, were sent on to Lydenburg. I accompanied these.
When we began to ascend the mountain spurs the nights turned bitterly cold. We had desperately hard work, for the cattle became so weak that we had to unload at nearly every donga. Being, as we thought, out of the lion country, our vigilance at night was somewhat relaxed. We posted only one sentry at a time, nor were large fires around the camp any longer compulsory. Very early on the morning before we reached the summit of the range I was on guard. Mine was the third watch, and my two predecessors had so faked our only time-piece that my vigil had lasted nearer six than the regulation three hours. One of the recovered donkeys was tied to a bush about twelve feet from where I sat, vainly endeavouring to warm my hands over a few dying embers. Just before daybreak two lions sprang on the unhappy donkey. I heard the wretched animal’s bones crack. The lions dragged the carcase about fifty yards away—into a thick bush—and there breakfasted at their leisure.
On our return to Lydenburg most of the members of the expedition were paid off. We had lost only one man; he perished in a grass fire in the low country.
I often wonder as to what has been the fate of my companions. Some few I have heard of; only three have I since foregathered with. Two of the latter I know to be dead. The others are—where?
My one-time comrades, I salute you—or your shades. Taking into account the kind of men you were, the way you lived and moved and had your being, and the fact that you were all so much older than I, few should, in the natural course of events, be still alive. A short, but by no means a merry, life is the usual lot of such as you. May your spirits have found that rest which could never have been their portion on earth. Vale!
Chapter Fourteen.Kaffir Music.If one were to ask the average inhabitant of South Africa whether the Bantu tribes have any national music, the reply would almost surely be in the negative. It is known that the mission-trained native sometimes develops remarkable singing powers, and that he picks up part-music with strange facility; but in his natural state the native is supposed only to exercise his vocal powers in the “tshotsha,” which is a lugubrious sound generated deep down in the throat, and suggests a commingling of the notes of the corn-crake with the noise made by the wind in streaming over the open bunghole of an empty barrel.Nevertheless, the Bantu possesses a music of his own; but this can only be heard, as a rule, if one frequent the celebration of his tribal ceremonies.Many of the native songs and chants are very intricate compositions, in which the different parts are adjusted to each other with ingenious nicety. Such part-songs are probably extremely old, and have reached their present development very gradually.It is not, however, with these that this article will deal, but rather with simple tunes which it has been found possible to note down as opportunity offered. Such may be of interest for purposes of comparison with the rudimentary music of other savage peoples.The tunes given are mostly battle-songs, each probably struck out like a spark upon the occasion of some great tribal emergency.In giving the following specimens of tunes collected among the Hlubi tribe, it may be of interest to indicate shortly, where possible, the historical episode to which each relates. The Hlubi tribe was one of the first to move in the great migration which took place from what is now Natal, early in the present century, before the onslaught of Tshaka, the Zulu king. The Hlubis were not, as a matter of fact, driven forth by the Zulus, but by another tribe, the Amangwanè, whose chief—Matiwanè, “the destroyer”—had evidently been incited by Tshaka to declare war. They fled across the Drakensberg Mountains to what is now the Orange Free State, and there led a life of continuous warfare for ten or twelve years.The Hlubi chief Umti’mkulu (“Big tree”) was killed, with nearly all his household. It was believed that not a single member survived. Afterwards, however, it transpired that his great wife, with her infant son, Langalibalèlè, (“The sun scorches.”) had escaped. The latter eventually died in exile, having rebelled against the British Government in Natal in the early seventies.Upon the death of Umti’mkulu, the chieftainship temporarily devolved upon his nephew, Sidinanè. This chief had a short and tragic career. His memory is revered among the adherents of the “right-hand house” of the Hlubi tribe, of which he was the head, and his pathetic story even now brings tears to the eyes of the old men.It appears that after the death of Umti’mkulu, the Hlubis for a long time wandered about, in a great disorganised mob, over the wide plains lying between the Vaal and Orange rivers. They were exposed to attacks from the Zulus, the Matabele under Umzil’igazi, (“Bloody trail”—father of Lo Bengula; usually called “Moselikatse”) and the Amangwanè under Matiwanè “the destroyer.” A number had already submitted to the Matabele chief, and been incorporated in his regiments. One night the Hlubis were attacked by a Matabele force, but they scattered under cover of the darkness, without making any resistance. Next morning they opened negotiations with the Matabele induna, and eventually agreed to submit to Umzil’igazi. The Matabele force was returning, laden with booty, from a raid upon the Basuto. Messengers were despatched to Umzil’igazi, informing him of the submission of the Hlubis, and asking whether they were to be destroyed or spared. Umzil’igazi sent back a message to say that the submission of the Hlubis was to be accepted, but that Sidinanè and every member of his family were to be killed. The latter part of the message was supposed to be secret, but it was communicated to Sidinanè by one of the Hlubis belonging to the Matabele force.Sidinanè was a young man; his family consisted of a wife and an infant son. In the night he fled, accompanied by his wife and child, leaving the tribe in charge of his younger brother Sondaba, who agreed to personate him.Sidinanè fled to Swaziland. On the way his child died of the hardships of the journey. He was kindly treated by the Swazi chief, but he could not rest. He departed for Zululand, and went straight to Tshaka’s kraal. His wife refused to accompany him. Tshaka received him with civility, and agreed to accept him as a vassal. An ox had just been slaughtered, so Tshaka ordered Sidinanè to skin it. Sidinanè, after indignantly refusing to perform such menial work, wandered forth once more. We next hear of him as captured by the Amangwanè, and brought before the cruel Matiwanè. Tradition states that he was put into an enclosure in which a lot of bulls were fighting, and that he stilled them with a word. This raised the jealous wrath of Matiwanè, who at once caused the captive to be strangled. The chief Zibi, who is at present at the head of the right-hand house of the Hlubis, is looked upon as Sidinanè’s son, but he is really the son of Sidinane’s brother, in terms of the practice as defined in the fifth verse of the twenty-fifth chapter of Deuteronomy.Sondaba found it impossible to keep up his impersonation of Sidinanè. Umzil’igazi, however, forgave him the deception, and located him at a large military kraal which was situated about two days’ journey from the “Great Place,” and was under the command of a favourite induna, or general, called Soxokozela. Here he remained for upwards of a year.Umzil’igazi sent for his new vassal. The great place of the Matabele chief was close to the present site of Potchefstroom, in the Transvaal, at a spot then called Ezinyosini, which means “the place of bees.”A great feast was held in honour of the guest.When Sondaba was led before Umzil’igazi, the latter was struck by the size of the young man’s eyes, so he at once gave him the name of Mehlomakulu (“Big eyes”). This name quite superseded the original patronymic.Mehlomakulu was of splendid physique, and had all the bearing of a chief and a leader of men. Consequently he at once incurred the jealousy and hatred of Umzil’igazi. The latter was particularly struck by the superiority of his guest’s dancing, as well as the clever way in which he flung his club into the air in the course of the dance and caught it again as it fell. The Matabele chief was heard to say, as he lifted his head to follow the course of the club as it soared—“You are blinding me—you are breaking my neck.” The death of Mehlomakulu was determined on, but he was allowed to return home in the meantime.Shortly afterwards Mehlomakulu heard from a spy that he was to be killed immediately—that an impi was even then assembling to fall upon him. He thereupon called together his principal men in order to discuss the situation.A number of Soxokozela’s soldiers had left the kraal to meet the advancing impi. It was now only a question of hours: whatever was to be done must be done quickly.With tears and many protestations of sorrow, the majority of the Hlubi councillors and headmen decided to leave their chief to his fate. “We are tired of wandering,” they said; “Umzil’igazi is strong and able to protect us. Let Mehlomakulu go forth if he will; it is against him that the hate of Umzil’igazi is hot. We have lived for years gathering roots under the spears of Matiwanè; we will now remain as subjects of the chief of the Matabele.”While this was going on, an uncle and devoted adherent of Mehlomakulu left the meeting quietly and assembled his followers. With these he surrounded the kraal of Soxokozela, and killed the induna with every member of his family. The killing party then hastened back, flung down their blood-stained spears before the assembly, and told what they had done. The matter was now plain and clear: they knew that the killing of Soxokozela would never be forgiven by Umzil’igazi; that unless they fled the lives of all would be sacrificed.So the war-cry—a long “g” of the second line of the treble clef, which is wailed out with piercing shrillness—was raised. All the other Matabele within reach were killed, the cattle were quickly collected, and the Hlubis fled to the eastward.In commemoration of this episode the following song was composed by the tribal bard:—The words run as follows:—“Sondaba has killed Mehlomakulu: Mehlomakulu has killed Lihlongo (the latter being another of Mehlomakulu’s names): Lihlongo has killed Sondaba.”This somehow suggests “Glamis hath murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor, etc.”The Hlubis managed to escape to a fairly strong position on the western bank of the Caledon River, before being overtaken by the pursuing Matabele. The latter came up just at nightfall. They were hungry and tired, but they nevertheless attacked without delay. There were a number of Hlubis in their ranks, but these at once deserted to Mehlomakulu’s side. Then the Matabele fell back for a few hundred yards and halted. The Hlubi deserters told Mehlomakulu that the enemy would most probably make a night attack, so the Hlubi chief, with the pick of his force, stole quietly back and took up a position in some broken ground, which the enemy, if they attacked, would have to cross.They had not long to wait—the whole Matabele impi advanced stealthily towards the Hlubi encampment, but it fell into the ambush and was cut to pieces. Next morning the battle-field was found to be thickly strewn with the shields and spears which had been thrown away in the flight. The shields were piled together and burnt; the spears proved a welcome and much-needed addition to the Hlubi armament.Then the following song was composed in honour of the victorious chief:—The words are:—“Spotted leopard, come out so that we can see you.”The next song also dates from this occasion:—The words are:—“Run off with your plunder, Chief!—Houti ma-e-a.”The concluding portion is rather obscure; in fact, it has been found quite impracticable to trace its meaning. Possibly—and this is a suggestion on the part of a very old native,—it represents an attempt to reproduce the lowing of the looted cattle when being driven off.With varying fortune Mehlomakulu waged a war which lasted for about eight years with the Amangwanè, as well as with the different expeditions which Tshaka sent against him and Matiwanè. It was a curious situation—the Hlubis and the Amangwanè locked in a deadly struggle with each other, and being attacked, together or in detail, from time to time by Tshaka. It does not appear that the notion of combining against the common enemy ever suggested itself to either the Hlubi or the ’Mangwanè chief.After a successful raid against Matiwanè’s cattle, the following song was composed:—The words are:—“The Chief is pregnant with the number of cattle he has taken.—Ho, ho, ho, aha; ho, oho, ho, ho!”At one period of their wanderings the Hlubis were driven into the mountainous, inhospitable country that lies near the source of the Orange River. The following song is connected with this episode:—The words of this song are:—“The Orange River: It is far away: It flows: The Orange River: I see the mountains of the Zulus.”What follows is the last of the Hlubi series:—Its words are:—“Ho, ho!—We call to the chief. He is as great as the ocean.”Within a few years of the flight of the Hlubis, the Baca tribe was driven from its home, on and about the present site of Maritzburg, Natal. The reigning chief was Madikanè. Around his memory hangs an accretion of many legends. There is some ground for thinking that Madikanè’s mother was an European, possibly a waif from one or other of the vessels which are known to have been wrecked on the east coast of Southern Africa toward the end of the last century. The words of one of the songs composed in his honour run somewhat as follows:—“’Mngcanganè (one of Madikanè’s names) is an animal,—Ho!—What shall we do with him?There is no chief who can conquer a white chief,—Hi!—What shall we do with him?”These words clearly indicate the peculiarity of Madikanè’s appearance, as well as that he was light of colour. The air to which these words are sung does not merit reproduction.All authorities agree that Madikanè was of great stature, that he was light in colour, and that his hair and beard were long. It was his habit to carry his snuff-spoon stuck in the hair of his chest. One of the writers has examined a number of his male descendants, and found about one in every four with traces of hair on the chest. It is, it may be stated, very unusual to find any hair on the body of a Bantu.Madikanè placed himself at the head of his own shattered tribe, together with the fugitives from some forty-four broken clans, and led them southward. He was killed on December 19th, 1824, in a combined attack made by the Tembus and Gcalekas, and on the next day there was a total eclipse of the sun.The Baca women and children were all either killed or captured. Many of them wore ivory armlets, which had been put on when they were children, and which, consequently, could not be drawn off. For the sake of the ivory, the savage victors cut the hands off the unfortunate creatures and turned them abroad to die. Some few managed to make their way back, for over a hundred miles, to the valley of the Umzimvubu River—one of the former sojourning places of the tribe—and lived for many years. The last of these died only about eight years ago.The eclipse on the following day was taken as a tremendous portent. All the fighting men were called up to the great places of the Tembu and Gcaleka chiefs, respectively, for the purpose of being doctored. The Bacas, in their flight, came upon an immense number of Tembu women and children who were proceeding, with cattle, with the intention of occupying an uninhabited piece of country under the Drakensberg Range. These the Bacas captured and took away, so as to rehabilitate themselves for their losses, domestic and other.The following is the tribal war-song of the Baca tribe. It is a tune held in great veneration, and is never used except upon important occasions. Sung in slow, stately unison by a number of men on the war-path, it has an indescribably impressive effect:—This song is apparently of great antiquity. Its words have quite lost their meaning. They are simply:—“Eye ya how, eye ya yow yow yow.”Tradition relates that when Madikanè was a boy he disappeared mysteriously. The witch-doctors told his father Kalimetsh not to be uneasy, as the boy would come back. After an absence of eight months he returned, saying that he had been in the forest learning the magical use of roots. He called to his uncle and two of his brothers, and they accompanied him to the place of his secret sojourn, driving with them a black ox. When they arrived at the specified spot the ox was slaughtered. Portions of the meat were then spread about for the use of the “imishologu,” or ancestral spirits, and then the tribal song was sung. After this the young man asked the others what they would like to be “doctored” for. The uncle suffered from a dread of being poisoned, and asked to be so doctored that poison should have no effect on him. The others asked to be so doctored as to become great fighting chiefs.At the annual “incubi,” or “feast of the first-fruits,” which is held by the Bacas—when the chief rushes out of his hut after being doctored, and flings an assegai towards the rising sun—the tribal song is sung in full chorus by the assembled lieges.Each individual chief adopts a song composed specially in his honour, and which is ever afterwards associated with him. In Madikanè’s song there is an undertone of sadness, as well as a finish, which, in view of the fact that his mother was probably a white woman, might almost lead one to think that it had a civilised source. Possibly it may be a sort of reflection of some melody of her childhood which the mother had been heard singing. It is as follows:—These are the words:“An assegai thrown among the Zulus, plays. You are a young animal to the Zulus.”Madikanè’s peculiar appearance is apparently again referred to in the foregoing.The next is the song which was dedicated to the present chief, Makaula, upon his accession:The words are:—“All the chiefs opposed Makaula by name; they said he would never be a chief. He is the youngest of all the chiefs. Orange River” (with the last syllable repeated several times).Makaula succeeded to the chieftainship when quite a boy, upon the death of his father, ’Ncapai, who was killed in a war with the Pondos in 1845. The mention of the Orange River has reference to the fact of the Bacas having wandered to its inhospitable source after being driven southward before the spears of Tshaka.The two airs next following are danced to by the Bacas:—The following air is common among all the tribes between the Shangaan country, north of Delagoa Bay, and Pondoland:—The three last examples given are songs heard by one of the writers among the Tongas and Shangaans:—In their songs the Bantu have never got beyond a few words set to a tune of a few bars, these being sung with monotonous repetition. In spite of their monotony, the songs have a wild charm which is all their own. The Kaffirs are as loyal to their chiefs as were the Scottish Highlanders of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Probably among no other people in the world is the sentiment of loyalty so strong. In each of these simple melodies a treasured story lies embalmed and fragrant. Up to the present the habiliments of civilisation sit but ill upon the savages of South Africa, whose waning ideals are clustered around the leafless tree of ancestry as a swarm of belated bees cluster over the portals of a ruined nest. In singing their songs the natives reconstruct the departed glories of the grand old “houses” which have, as they themselves say, “withered,” for a few fleeting and pathetic moments.
If one were to ask the average inhabitant of South Africa whether the Bantu tribes have any national music, the reply would almost surely be in the negative. It is known that the mission-trained native sometimes develops remarkable singing powers, and that he picks up part-music with strange facility; but in his natural state the native is supposed only to exercise his vocal powers in the “tshotsha,” which is a lugubrious sound generated deep down in the throat, and suggests a commingling of the notes of the corn-crake with the noise made by the wind in streaming over the open bunghole of an empty barrel.
Nevertheless, the Bantu possesses a music of his own; but this can only be heard, as a rule, if one frequent the celebration of his tribal ceremonies.
Many of the native songs and chants are very intricate compositions, in which the different parts are adjusted to each other with ingenious nicety. Such part-songs are probably extremely old, and have reached their present development very gradually.
It is not, however, with these that this article will deal, but rather with simple tunes which it has been found possible to note down as opportunity offered. Such may be of interest for purposes of comparison with the rudimentary music of other savage peoples.
The tunes given are mostly battle-songs, each probably struck out like a spark upon the occasion of some great tribal emergency.
In giving the following specimens of tunes collected among the Hlubi tribe, it may be of interest to indicate shortly, where possible, the historical episode to which each relates. The Hlubi tribe was one of the first to move in the great migration which took place from what is now Natal, early in the present century, before the onslaught of Tshaka, the Zulu king. The Hlubis were not, as a matter of fact, driven forth by the Zulus, but by another tribe, the Amangwanè, whose chief—Matiwanè, “the destroyer”—had evidently been incited by Tshaka to declare war. They fled across the Drakensberg Mountains to what is now the Orange Free State, and there led a life of continuous warfare for ten or twelve years.
The Hlubi chief Umti’mkulu (“Big tree”) was killed, with nearly all his household. It was believed that not a single member survived. Afterwards, however, it transpired that his great wife, with her infant son, Langalibalèlè, (“The sun scorches.”) had escaped. The latter eventually died in exile, having rebelled against the British Government in Natal in the early seventies.
Upon the death of Umti’mkulu, the chieftainship temporarily devolved upon his nephew, Sidinanè. This chief had a short and tragic career. His memory is revered among the adherents of the “right-hand house” of the Hlubi tribe, of which he was the head, and his pathetic story even now brings tears to the eyes of the old men.
It appears that after the death of Umti’mkulu, the Hlubis for a long time wandered about, in a great disorganised mob, over the wide plains lying between the Vaal and Orange rivers. They were exposed to attacks from the Zulus, the Matabele under Umzil’igazi, (“Bloody trail”—father of Lo Bengula; usually called “Moselikatse”) and the Amangwanè under Matiwanè “the destroyer.” A number had already submitted to the Matabele chief, and been incorporated in his regiments. One night the Hlubis were attacked by a Matabele force, but they scattered under cover of the darkness, without making any resistance. Next morning they opened negotiations with the Matabele induna, and eventually agreed to submit to Umzil’igazi. The Matabele force was returning, laden with booty, from a raid upon the Basuto. Messengers were despatched to Umzil’igazi, informing him of the submission of the Hlubis, and asking whether they were to be destroyed or spared. Umzil’igazi sent back a message to say that the submission of the Hlubis was to be accepted, but that Sidinanè and every member of his family were to be killed. The latter part of the message was supposed to be secret, but it was communicated to Sidinanè by one of the Hlubis belonging to the Matabele force.
Sidinanè was a young man; his family consisted of a wife and an infant son. In the night he fled, accompanied by his wife and child, leaving the tribe in charge of his younger brother Sondaba, who agreed to personate him.
Sidinanè fled to Swaziland. On the way his child died of the hardships of the journey. He was kindly treated by the Swazi chief, but he could not rest. He departed for Zululand, and went straight to Tshaka’s kraal. His wife refused to accompany him. Tshaka received him with civility, and agreed to accept him as a vassal. An ox had just been slaughtered, so Tshaka ordered Sidinanè to skin it. Sidinanè, after indignantly refusing to perform such menial work, wandered forth once more. We next hear of him as captured by the Amangwanè, and brought before the cruel Matiwanè. Tradition states that he was put into an enclosure in which a lot of bulls were fighting, and that he stilled them with a word. This raised the jealous wrath of Matiwanè, who at once caused the captive to be strangled. The chief Zibi, who is at present at the head of the right-hand house of the Hlubis, is looked upon as Sidinanè’s son, but he is really the son of Sidinane’s brother, in terms of the practice as defined in the fifth verse of the twenty-fifth chapter of Deuteronomy.
Sondaba found it impossible to keep up his impersonation of Sidinanè. Umzil’igazi, however, forgave him the deception, and located him at a large military kraal which was situated about two days’ journey from the “Great Place,” and was under the command of a favourite induna, or general, called Soxokozela. Here he remained for upwards of a year.
Umzil’igazi sent for his new vassal. The great place of the Matabele chief was close to the present site of Potchefstroom, in the Transvaal, at a spot then called Ezinyosini, which means “the place of bees.”
A great feast was held in honour of the guest.
When Sondaba was led before Umzil’igazi, the latter was struck by the size of the young man’s eyes, so he at once gave him the name of Mehlomakulu (“Big eyes”). This name quite superseded the original patronymic.
Mehlomakulu was of splendid physique, and had all the bearing of a chief and a leader of men. Consequently he at once incurred the jealousy and hatred of Umzil’igazi. The latter was particularly struck by the superiority of his guest’s dancing, as well as the clever way in which he flung his club into the air in the course of the dance and caught it again as it fell. The Matabele chief was heard to say, as he lifted his head to follow the course of the club as it soared—“You are blinding me—you are breaking my neck.” The death of Mehlomakulu was determined on, but he was allowed to return home in the meantime.
Shortly afterwards Mehlomakulu heard from a spy that he was to be killed immediately—that an impi was even then assembling to fall upon him. He thereupon called together his principal men in order to discuss the situation.
A number of Soxokozela’s soldiers had left the kraal to meet the advancing impi. It was now only a question of hours: whatever was to be done must be done quickly.
With tears and many protestations of sorrow, the majority of the Hlubi councillors and headmen decided to leave their chief to his fate. “We are tired of wandering,” they said; “Umzil’igazi is strong and able to protect us. Let Mehlomakulu go forth if he will; it is against him that the hate of Umzil’igazi is hot. We have lived for years gathering roots under the spears of Matiwanè; we will now remain as subjects of the chief of the Matabele.”
While this was going on, an uncle and devoted adherent of Mehlomakulu left the meeting quietly and assembled his followers. With these he surrounded the kraal of Soxokozela, and killed the induna with every member of his family. The killing party then hastened back, flung down their blood-stained spears before the assembly, and told what they had done. The matter was now plain and clear: they knew that the killing of Soxokozela would never be forgiven by Umzil’igazi; that unless they fled the lives of all would be sacrificed.
So the war-cry—a long “g” of the second line of the treble clef, which is wailed out with piercing shrillness—was raised. All the other Matabele within reach were killed, the cattle were quickly collected, and the Hlubis fled to the eastward.
In commemoration of this episode the following song was composed by the tribal bard:—
The words run as follows:—
“Sondaba has killed Mehlomakulu: Mehlomakulu has killed Lihlongo (the latter being another of Mehlomakulu’s names): Lihlongo has killed Sondaba.”
This somehow suggests “Glamis hath murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor, etc.”
The Hlubis managed to escape to a fairly strong position on the western bank of the Caledon River, before being overtaken by the pursuing Matabele. The latter came up just at nightfall. They were hungry and tired, but they nevertheless attacked without delay. There were a number of Hlubis in their ranks, but these at once deserted to Mehlomakulu’s side. Then the Matabele fell back for a few hundred yards and halted. The Hlubi deserters told Mehlomakulu that the enemy would most probably make a night attack, so the Hlubi chief, with the pick of his force, stole quietly back and took up a position in some broken ground, which the enemy, if they attacked, would have to cross.
They had not long to wait—the whole Matabele impi advanced stealthily towards the Hlubi encampment, but it fell into the ambush and was cut to pieces. Next morning the battle-field was found to be thickly strewn with the shields and spears which had been thrown away in the flight. The shields were piled together and burnt; the spears proved a welcome and much-needed addition to the Hlubi armament.
Then the following song was composed in honour of the victorious chief:—
The words are:—
“Spotted leopard, come out so that we can see you.”
The next song also dates from this occasion:—
The words are:—
“Run off with your plunder, Chief!—Houti ma-e-a.”
The concluding portion is rather obscure; in fact, it has been found quite impracticable to trace its meaning. Possibly—and this is a suggestion on the part of a very old native,—it represents an attempt to reproduce the lowing of the looted cattle when being driven off.
With varying fortune Mehlomakulu waged a war which lasted for about eight years with the Amangwanè, as well as with the different expeditions which Tshaka sent against him and Matiwanè. It was a curious situation—the Hlubis and the Amangwanè locked in a deadly struggle with each other, and being attacked, together or in detail, from time to time by Tshaka. It does not appear that the notion of combining against the common enemy ever suggested itself to either the Hlubi or the ’Mangwanè chief.
After a successful raid against Matiwanè’s cattle, the following song was composed:—
The words are:—
“The Chief is pregnant with the number of cattle he has taken.—Ho, ho, ho, aha; ho, oho, ho, ho!”
At one period of their wanderings the Hlubis were driven into the mountainous, inhospitable country that lies near the source of the Orange River. The following song is connected with this episode:—
The words of this song are:—
“The Orange River: It is far away: It flows: The Orange River: I see the mountains of the Zulus.”
What follows is the last of the Hlubi series:—
Its words are:—
“Ho, ho!—We call to the chief. He is as great as the ocean.”
Within a few years of the flight of the Hlubis, the Baca tribe was driven from its home, on and about the present site of Maritzburg, Natal. The reigning chief was Madikanè. Around his memory hangs an accretion of many legends. There is some ground for thinking that Madikanè’s mother was an European, possibly a waif from one or other of the vessels which are known to have been wrecked on the east coast of Southern Africa toward the end of the last century. The words of one of the songs composed in his honour run somewhat as follows:—
“’Mngcanganè (one of Madikanè’s names) is an animal,—Ho!—What shall we do with him?There is no chief who can conquer a white chief,—Hi!—What shall we do with him?”
“’Mngcanganè (one of Madikanè’s names) is an animal,—Ho!—What shall we do with him?There is no chief who can conquer a white chief,—Hi!—What shall we do with him?”
These words clearly indicate the peculiarity of Madikanè’s appearance, as well as that he was light of colour. The air to which these words are sung does not merit reproduction.
All authorities agree that Madikanè was of great stature, that he was light in colour, and that his hair and beard were long. It was his habit to carry his snuff-spoon stuck in the hair of his chest. One of the writers has examined a number of his male descendants, and found about one in every four with traces of hair on the chest. It is, it may be stated, very unusual to find any hair on the body of a Bantu.
Madikanè placed himself at the head of his own shattered tribe, together with the fugitives from some forty-four broken clans, and led them southward. He was killed on December 19th, 1824, in a combined attack made by the Tembus and Gcalekas, and on the next day there was a total eclipse of the sun.
The Baca women and children were all either killed or captured. Many of them wore ivory armlets, which had been put on when they were children, and which, consequently, could not be drawn off. For the sake of the ivory, the savage victors cut the hands off the unfortunate creatures and turned them abroad to die. Some few managed to make their way back, for over a hundred miles, to the valley of the Umzimvubu River—one of the former sojourning places of the tribe—and lived for many years. The last of these died only about eight years ago.
The eclipse on the following day was taken as a tremendous portent. All the fighting men were called up to the great places of the Tembu and Gcaleka chiefs, respectively, for the purpose of being doctored. The Bacas, in their flight, came upon an immense number of Tembu women and children who were proceeding, with cattle, with the intention of occupying an uninhabited piece of country under the Drakensberg Range. These the Bacas captured and took away, so as to rehabilitate themselves for their losses, domestic and other.
The following is the tribal war-song of the Baca tribe. It is a tune held in great veneration, and is never used except upon important occasions. Sung in slow, stately unison by a number of men on the war-path, it has an indescribably impressive effect:—
This song is apparently of great antiquity. Its words have quite lost their meaning. They are simply:—
“Eye ya how, eye ya yow yow yow.”
Tradition relates that when Madikanè was a boy he disappeared mysteriously. The witch-doctors told his father Kalimetsh not to be uneasy, as the boy would come back. After an absence of eight months he returned, saying that he had been in the forest learning the magical use of roots. He called to his uncle and two of his brothers, and they accompanied him to the place of his secret sojourn, driving with them a black ox. When they arrived at the specified spot the ox was slaughtered. Portions of the meat were then spread about for the use of the “imishologu,” or ancestral spirits, and then the tribal song was sung. After this the young man asked the others what they would like to be “doctored” for. The uncle suffered from a dread of being poisoned, and asked to be so doctored that poison should have no effect on him. The others asked to be so doctored as to become great fighting chiefs.
At the annual “incubi,” or “feast of the first-fruits,” which is held by the Bacas—when the chief rushes out of his hut after being doctored, and flings an assegai towards the rising sun—the tribal song is sung in full chorus by the assembled lieges.
Each individual chief adopts a song composed specially in his honour, and which is ever afterwards associated with him. In Madikanè’s song there is an undertone of sadness, as well as a finish, which, in view of the fact that his mother was probably a white woman, might almost lead one to think that it had a civilised source. Possibly it may be a sort of reflection of some melody of her childhood which the mother had been heard singing. It is as follows:—
These are the words:
“An assegai thrown among the Zulus, plays. You are a young animal to the Zulus.”
Madikanè’s peculiar appearance is apparently again referred to in the foregoing.
The next is the song which was dedicated to the present chief, Makaula, upon his accession:
The words are:—
“All the chiefs opposed Makaula by name; they said he would never be a chief. He is the youngest of all the chiefs. Orange River” (with the last syllable repeated several times).
Makaula succeeded to the chieftainship when quite a boy, upon the death of his father, ’Ncapai, who was killed in a war with the Pondos in 1845. The mention of the Orange River has reference to the fact of the Bacas having wandered to its inhospitable source after being driven southward before the spears of Tshaka.
The two airs next following are danced to by the Bacas:—
The following air is common among all the tribes between the Shangaan country, north of Delagoa Bay, and Pondoland:—
The three last examples given are songs heard by one of the writers among the Tongas and Shangaans:—
In their songs the Bantu have never got beyond a few words set to a tune of a few bars, these being sung with monotonous repetition. In spite of their monotony, the songs have a wild charm which is all their own. The Kaffirs are as loyal to their chiefs as were the Scottish Highlanders of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Probably among no other people in the world is the sentiment of loyalty so strong. In each of these simple melodies a treasured story lies embalmed and fragrant. Up to the present the habiliments of civilisation sit but ill upon the savages of South Africa, whose waning ideals are clustered around the leafless tree of ancestry as a swarm of belated bees cluster over the portals of a ruined nest. In singing their songs the natives reconstruct the departed glories of the grand old “houses” which have, as they themselves say, “withered,” for a few fleeting and pathetic moments.