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 depot 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.