Arrival at Walfisch Bay.—Scenery.—Harbor described.—Want of
Water.—Capabilities for Trade.—Fish.—Wild-fowl.—Mirage.—Sand
Fountain.—The Bush-tick.—The Naras.—Quadrupeds scarce.—Meeting
the Hottentots.—Their filthy Habits.—The Alarum.—The
Turn-out.—Death of a Lion.—Arrival at Scheppmansdorf.—The
Place described.—Mr. Bam.—Missionary Life.—Ingratitude of
Natives.—Missionary Wagons.
In the afternoon of the 20th of August we found ourselves safely anchored
at the entrance of Walfisch Bay. From the prevalence of southerly winds,
this voyage seldom occupies more than a week, but on the present occasion
we were double that time performing it.
The first appearance of the coast, as seen from Walfisch Bay, is little
calculated to inspire confidence in the traveler about to penetrate into
the interior. A desert of sand, bounded only by the horizon, meets the
eye in every quarter, assuming, in one direction, the shape of dreary
flats; in another, of shifting hillocks; while in some parts it rises
almost to the height of mountains.
[Illustration: VIEW OF WALFISCH BAY.]
Walfisch Bay has been long known to Europeans, and was once hastily
surveyed by Commodore Owen, of the Royal Navy. It is a very spacious,
commodious, and comparatively safe harbor, being on three sides protected
by a sandy shore. The only winds to which it is exposed are N. and N.W.;
but these, fortunately, are not of frequent occurrence. Its situation is
about N. and S. The anchorage is good. Large ships take shelter under the
lee of a sandy peninsula, the extremity of which is known to navigators
by the name of “Pelican Point.” Smaller craft, however, ride safely
within less than half a mile of the shore.
The great disadvantage of Walfisch Bay is that no fresh water can be
found near the beach; but at a distance of three miles inland abundance
may be obtained, as also good pasturage for cattle. I mention this
circumstance as being essential to the establishment of any cattle-trade
in future.
During the time the guano trade flourished on the west coast of Africa,
Walfisch Bay was largely resorted to by vessels of every size, chiefly
with a view of obtaining fresh provisions. At that period, certain
parties from the Cape had an establishment here for the salting and
curing of beef. They, moreover, furnished the guano-traders, as also
Cape-Town, with cattle; and had, in addition, a contract with the
British government for supplying St. Helena with live-stock. The latter
speculation proved exceedingly lucrative for a time, and a profit of
many hundred per cent. was said to be realized. From some mismanagement,
however, the contract for St. Helena was thrown up by the government,
and the parties in question were fined a large sum of money for its
non-fulfillment. Shortly afterward the establishment was broken up, and
for several years the house and store remained unoccupied; but they are
now again tenanted by people belonging to merchants from Cape-Town.
Walfisch Bay affords an easy and speedy communication with the interior.
By the late explorations of Mr. Galton and myself in that quarter, we
have become acquainted with many countries previously unknown, or only
partially explored, to which British commerce might easily be extended.
Walfisch Bay and the neighborhood abounds with fish of various kinds: at
certain seasons, indeed, it is much frequented by a number of the smaller
species of whale, known by the name of “humpbacks,” which come here
to breed. Several cargoes of oil, the produce of this fish, have been
already exported.
At the inner part of the harbor, a piece of shallow water extends nearly
a mile into the interior, and is separated from the sea, on the west
side, by Pelican Point. This lagoon teems with various kinds of fish,
and at low water, many that have lingered behind are left sprawling
helplessly in the mud. At such times, the natives are frequently seen
approaching; and, with a gemsbok’s horn affixed to a slender stick, they
transfix their finny prey at leisure. Even hyænas and jackals seize such
opportunities to satisfy their hunger.
Walfisch Bay is frequented by immense numbers of water-fowl, such as
geese, ducks, different species of cormorants, pelicans, flamingoes, and
countless flocks of sandpipers. But, as the surrounding country is every
where open, they are difficult of approach. Nevertheless, with a little
tact and experience, tolerably good sport may be obtained, and capital
rifle-practice at all times. Hardly any of the water-fowl breed here.
Every morning, at daybreak, myriads of flamingoes, pelicans, cormorants,
&c., are seen moving from their roosting-places in and about the bay, and
flying in a northerly direction. About noon they begin to return to the
southern portion of the bay, and continue arriving there, in an almost
continuous stream, until nightfall.
The way in which the “duikers” (cormorants and shags) obtain their food
is not uninteresting. Instead of hovering over their prey, as the gull,
or waiting quietly for it in some secluded spot, like the kingfisher,
they make their attacks in a noisy and exciting manner. Mr. Lloyd, in his
“Scandinavian Adventures,” has given a very interesting account of the
manner in which the Arctic duck (_harelda glacialis_, Steph.) procures
its food; and, as it applies to the birds above named, I can not do
better than quote him on the subject.
“The hareld is a most restless bird,” says he, “and perpetually in
motion. It rarely happens that one sees it in a state of repose
during the daytime. The flock—for there are almost always several in
company—swim pretty fast against the wind; and the individuals comprising
it keep up a sort of race with each other. Some of the number are always
diving; and, as these remain long under water, and their comrades are
going rapidly ahead in the mean while, they are, of course, a good
way behind the rest on their reappearance at the surface. Immediately
on coming up, therefore, they take wing, and, flying over the backs
of their comrades, resume their position in the ranks, or rather fly
somewhat beyond their fellows, with the object, as it would seem, of
being the foremost of the party. This frequently continues across the
bay or inlet, until the flock is “brought up” by the opposing shore,
when they generally all take wing and move off elsewhere.... ‘Fair play
is a jewel,’ says the old saw, and so, perhaps, thinks the hareld; for
it would really appear as if it adopted the somewhat curious manœuvre
just mentioned to prevent its companions from going over the ground
previously.”
The day after our arrival we moved our small craft within half a mile
of the shore, and, as soon as she was safely anchored, we proceeded
to reconnoitre the neighborhood. The first thing which attracted our
attention was a mirage of the most striking character and intensity
of effect. Objects, distant only a few hundred feet, became perfectly
metamorphosed. Thus, for instance, a small bird would look as big as
a rock, or the trunk of a tree; pelicans assumed the appearance of
ships under canvas; the numerous skeletons and bones of stranded whales
were exaggerated into clusters of lofty houses, and dreary and sterile
plains presented the aspect of charming lakes. In short, every object
had a bewildering and supernatural appearance, and the whole atmosphere
was misty, tremulous, and wavy. This phenomenon is at all times very
remarkable, but during the hot season of the year it is more surprising
and deceptive. At an after period Mr. Galton tried to map the bay, but
this mirage frustrated all his endeavors. An object that he had, perhaps,
chosen for a mark, became totally indistinguishable when he moved to the
next station.
On the beach we found a small house, constructed of planks, in tolerable
preservation, which at high water was completely surrounded by the sea.
This had originally been erected by a Captain Greybourn for trading
purposes, but was now in the possession of the Rhenish Missionary
Society. It was kindly thrown open to our use, and proved of the greatest
comfort to us; for at this season the nights were bitterly cold, and the
dew so heavy as completely to saturate every article of clothing that was
exposed.
We had not been many minutes on shore when some half-naked, half-starved,
cut-throat-looking savages made their appearance, armed with muskets
and assegais. Nothing could exceed the squalid, wretched, and ludicrous
aspect of these people, which was increased by a foolish endeavor to
assume a martial bearing, no doubt with a view of making an impression
on us. Without noticing either their weapons or swaggering air, and in
order to disarm suspicion, we walked straight up to them, and shook
hands with apparent cordiality. Our missionary friend, Mr. Schöneberg,
then explained to them, by signs and gestures, that he wished to have a
letter conveyed to Mr. Bam, his colleague, residing at Scheppmansdorf,
some twenty miles off, in an easterly direction. It soon became apparent
that they were accustomed to similar errands; for, on receiving a small
gratuity of tobacco on the spot, with a promise of further payment on
their return, they set out immediately, and executed their task with so
much dispatch, that, before the dawn of next morning, Mr. Bam had arrived.
In the mean time, we made an excursion to a place called Sand Fountain,
about three miles inland. On our way there we crossed a broad flat,
which in spring tides is entirely flooded. In spite of this submersion,
the tracks of wagons, animals, &c., of several years’ standing, were
as clear and distinct as if imprinted but yesterday! At Sand Fountain
we found another wooden house, but uninhabited, belonging to Mr. D⸺, a
partner of Mr. M⸺. The natives had taken advantage of the absence of the
owner to injure and destroy the few pieces of furniture left behind, and
leaves of books and panes of window glass were wantonly strewn about the
ground. We next visited the so-called “fountain,” which was hard by; but,
instead of a copious spring—as the name of the place gave us reason to
expect—we found, to our dismay, nothing but a small hole, some five or
six inches in diameter, and half as many deep; the water, moreover, was
of so execrable a quality as to make it totally undrinkable. However,
on cleaning away the sand, it flowed pretty freely, and we flattered
ourselves that, by a little care and trouble, we might render it fit for
use, if not exactly palatable.
After having thus far explored the country, we returned to the vessel.
On the following morning, at daybreak, we set about landing our effects,
mules, horses, &c., which was not done without some difficulty. As soon
as the goods belonging to the missionary should have been removed to
Scheppmansdorf, Mr. Bam most considerately promised to assist us with
his oxen. In the interval—as there was no fresh water on the beach—we
deemed it advisable to remove our luggage, by means of the mules, to Sand
Fountain, where we should, at least, be able to obtain water—though bad
of its kind—and be better off in other respects.
On the fourth day, the schooner which had conveyed us to Walfisch Bay set
sail for the Cape, leaving us entirely to our own resources on a desert
coast, and—excepting the several missionary stations scattered over the
country—at several months’ tedious journey by land to the nearest point
of civilization.
On returning to Sand Fountain, our first care was to sink an old
perforated tar-barrel in a place dug for the purpose; but instead
of improving the quality of the water, it only made matters worse!
Fortunately, we had taken the precaution to bring with us from the Cape a
“copper distiller;” but the water, even thus purified, could only be used
for cooking, or making very strong coffee and tea. Strange enough, when
the owner of the house resided here, water was abundant and excellent;
but the spot where it was obtained was now hidden from view by an immense
sand-hill, which defied digging.
At Sand Fountain we had the full benefit of the sea-breeze, which
made the temperature very agreeable, the thermometer never exceeding
seventy-five degrees in the shade at noon. The sand, however, was a
cruel annoyance, entering into every particle of food, and penetrating
our clothes to the very skin. But we were subjected to a still more
formidable inconvenience; for, besides myriads of fleas, our encampment
swarmed with a species of bush-tick, whose bite was so severe and
irritating as almost to drive us mad. To escape, if possible, the
horrible persecutions of these bloodthirsty creatures, I took refuge
one night in the cart, and was congratulating myself on having at last
secured a place free from their attacks. But I was mistaken. I had not
been long asleep before I was awakened by a disagreeable irritation over
my whole body, which shortly became intolerable; and, notwithstanding the
night air was very sharp, and the dew heavy, I cast off all my clothes,
and rolled on the icy-cold sand till the blood flowed freely from every
pore. Strange as it may appear, I found this expedient serviceable.
On another occasion, a bush-tick, but of a still more poisonous species,
attached itself to one of my feet; and, though a stinging sensation was
produced, I never thought of examining the part, till one day, when
enjoying the unusual luxury of a cold bath, I accidentally discovered
the intruder deeply buried in the flesh, and it was only with very
great pain that I succeeded in extracting it, or rather its body, for
the head remained in the wound. The poisonous effect of its bite was so
acrimonious as to cause partial lameness for three following months!
The bush-tick does not confine its attacks to men only, for it attaches
itself with even greater pertinacity to the inferior animals. Many a
poor dog have I seen killed by its relentless persecutions; and even the
sturdy ox has been known to succumb under the poisonous influence of
these insects.[3]
Sand Fountain, notwithstanding its disagreeable guests, had its
advantages. Almost every little sand-hillock thereabout was covered
with a “creeper,” which produced a kind of prickly gourd (called by the
natives naras), of the most delicious flavor. It is about the size of an
ordinary turnip (a Swede), and, when ripe, has a greenish exterior, with
a tinge of lemon. The interior, again, which is of a deep orange color,
presents a most cooling, refreshing, and inviting appearance. A stranger,
however, must be particularly cautious not to eat of it too freely, as
otherwise it produces a peculiar sickness, and great soreness of the gum
and lips. For three or four months in the year it constitutes the chief
food of the natives.
The naras contains a great number of seeds, not unlike a peeled almond in
appearance and taste, and being easily separated from the fleshy parts,
they are carefully collected, exposed to the sun, dried, and then stored
away in little skin bags. When the fruit fails, the natives have recourse
to the seeds, which are equally nutritious, and perhaps even more
wholesome. The naras may also be preserved by being boiled. When of a
certain consistency, it is spread out into thin cakes, in which state it
presents the appearance of brown moist sugar, and may be kept for almost
any length of time. These cakes are, however, rather rich and luscious.
But it is not man alone that derives benefit from this remarkable plant,
for every animal, from the field-mouse to the ox, and even the feline and
canine race, devour it with great avidity. Birds[4] are also very partial
to it, more especially ostriches, who, during the naras season, are found
in great abundance in these parts.
It is in such instances, more especially, that the mind becomes
powerfully impressed with the wise provisions of nature, and the great
goodness of the Almighty, who even from the desert raises good and
wholesome sustenance for man and all his creatures.
“By his bounteous hand,
God covers earth with food for man and beast,
Insect and bird; yea, the poor creeping worm
Partakes the Creator’s bounty.”
In this barren and poverty-stricken country, food is so scarce that,
without the naras, the land would be all but uninhabitable. The naras
serves, moreover, a double purpose; for, besides its usefulness as food,
it fixes with wonderful tenacity, by means of extensive ramifications,
the constantly shifting sands; it is, indeed, to those parts what the
sand-reed (_ammophila arundinacia_) is to the sandy shores and downs of
England.
The naras only grows in the bed of the Kuisip River, in the neighborhood
of the sea. A few plants are to be met with at the mouth of the Orange
River, as also, according to Captain Messum, in a few localities between
the Swakop and the Nourse River.
The general aspect of the country about Sand Fountain is very dreary
and desolate. The soil is entirely composed of sand. The vegetation,
moreover, is stunted in the extreme, consisting chiefly of the
above-mentioned creeper, a species of tamarisk tree (or rather bush), and
a few dew-plants. Consequently, the animal world, as might be expected,
did not present any great variety. Nevertheless, being an enthusiastic
sportsman, and devoted to the study of natural history, I made frequent
short excursions into the neighborhood, on which occasions my spoils
consisted for the most part of some exquisitely beautiful lizards, a few
long-legged beetles, and some pretty species of field-mice. Once in a
time, moreover, I viewed a solitary gazelle in the distance.
A few miles from our encampment resided a small kraal of Hottentots,
under the chief Frederick, who occasionally brought us some milk and a
few goats as a supply for the larder, in exchange for which they received
old soldiers’ coats (worth sixpence a piece), handkerchiefs, hats,
tobacco, and a variety of other trifling articles. But they infinitely
preferred to beg, and were not the least ashamed to ask for even the
shirt on one’s back.
These men were excessively dirty in their habits. One fine morning I
observed an individual attentively examining his caross, spread out
before him in a sunny and sheltered spot. On approaching him, in order to
ascertain the cause of his deep meditation, I found, to my astonishment
and disgust, that he was feasting on certain loathsome insects, that can
not with propriety be named to ears polite. This was only one instance
out of a hundred that might be named of their filthy customs.
As Frederick the chieftain, and a few of his half-starved and
Chinese-featured followers, were one day intently watching the process
of our packing and unpacking divers trunks, I placed alongside of him,
as if by accident, a small box-alarum, and then resumed my employment.
On the first shrill sound of the instrument, our friend leaped from his
seat like one suddenly demented; and during the whole time the jarring
notes continued, he remained standing at a respectful distance, trembling
violently from head to foot.
As no draft cattle could be obtained in the neighborhood, nor, indeed,
within a less distance than from one hundred and fifty to two hundred
miles, Mr. Galton started on an excursion into the interior with a view
of obtaining a supply.
His “turn-out” was most original, and would have formed an excellent
subject for a caricature. From both ends of the cart with which he made
the journey protruded a number of common muskets and other articles
intended for barter. The mules harnessed to the vehicle kept up a most
discordant concert, viciously kicking out to the right and left. The
coachman, bathed in perspiration, kept applying his immense Cape-whip to
their flanks with considerable unction, while a man sitting alongside of
him on the front seat abused the stubborn animals with a burst of all the
eloquent epithets contained in the Dutch-Hottentot vocabulary. Two sulky
goats, tied to the back of the cart, were on the point of strangling
themselves in their endeavors to escape. To complete the picture, Galton
himself, accompanied by half a dozen dogs of nondescript race, toiled on
cheerfully through the deep sand by the side of the vehicle, smoking a
common clay pipe.
On my friend’s arrival at Scheppmansdorf, however, he found it necessary
to adjourn his trip into the interior for a few days.
In the mean time, as Mr. Bam’s oxen had arrived at Sand Fountain, I
busied myself with conveying the baggage to Scheppmansdorf; but, on
account of its great weight and bulk, and the badness of the road, this
occupation lasted several days. In the last trip we had so overloaded
the wagons, that, after about three miles, the oxen came to a dead
stand-still. The two teams were now yoked to one of the vehicles, and
it proceeded on its way without further interruption, while I remained
alone in charge of the other. It was agreed that some of the men should
return with the cattle on the following night; but, on arriving at
Scheppmansdorf, they and the oxen were so exhausted that it was found
necessary to give both the one and the other two days’ rest. For this
delay I was not at all prepared. My small supply of water had been
exhausted on the second day, and I began, for the first time in my life,
to experience the misery of thirst. I was, however, fortunately relieved
from my embarrassing situation by the arrival of a Hottentot, who, for a
trifling consideration, brought me an ample supply of water.
At length all the baggage was safely deposited at Scheppmansdorf, where I
rejoined Mr. Galton.
He had not, I found, been many days at that place, when a magnificent
lion suddenly appeared one night in the midst of the village. A small
dog, that had incautiously approached the beast, paid the penalty of
its life for its daring. The next day a grand chase was got up, but the
lion, being on his guard, managed to elude his pursuers. The second day,
however, he was killed by Messrs. Galton and Bam; and, on cutting him up,
the poor dog was found, still undigested, in his stomach, bitten into
five pieces.
The natives highly rejoiced at the successful termination of the hunt;
for this lion had proved himself to be one of the most daring and
destructive ever known, having, in a short time, killed upward of fifty
oxen, cows, and horses. Though he had previously been chased, he had
always escaped unscathed, and every successive attack made upon him only
served to increase his ferocity.
I regretted much being prevented from taking part in so interesting and
exciting an event, but, on the other hand, I felt pleased that my friend
had thus early had an opportunity of exercising his skill on one of the
most noble and dreaded of the animal creation. My turn was yet to come.
Scheppmansdorf—Roëbank—Abbanhous—as it is indifferently called—was
first occupied as a missionary station in the year 1846, by the Rev.
Mr. Scheppman, from whom it takes its name. It is situated on the left
bank of the River Kuisip, and immediately behind rise enormous masses
and ridges of sand. The Kuisip is a periodical stream, and is dependent
on the rains in the interior; but, from the great uncertainty of this
supply, and the absorbing nature of the soil, it is seldom that it
reaches Walfisch Bay, where it has its estuary. On our arrival, the
Kuisip had not flowed for years; but when it does send down its mighty
torrent, it fertilizes and changes the aspect of the country to a
wonderful degree. Rain falls seldom or never at this place, but thirsty
nature is relieved by heavy dews. Fresh water and fuel, however, two of
the great necessaries of life, are found in abundance.
Sandy and barren as the soil appears to the eye, portions of it,
nevertheless, are capable of great fertility. From time to time, Mr. Bam
has cultivated small spots of garden ground in the bed of the river; but,
although many things thrive exceedingly well, the trouble, risk, and
labor were too great to make it worth his while to persevere. A sudden
and unexpected flood, the effect of heavy rains in the interior, often
lays waste in a few minutes what has taken months to raise.
The principal trees thereabouts are the ana and the giraffe-thorn
(_acacia giraffæ_); and the chief herbage, a species of sand-reed,
which is much relished by the cattle when once accustomed to it, but
more especially by horses, mules, and donkeys, which thrive and fatten
wonderfully on this diet.
During our stay at Scheppmansdorf we were the constant guests of Mr. and
Mrs. Bam, but we felt almost sorry to trespass on a hospitality that we
knew they could ill afford, for it was only once in every two years that
they received their supplies from the Cape, and then only in sufficient
quantities for their own families. The genuine sincerity, however, with
which it was offered overruled all scruples.
Mr. Bam had long been a dweller in various parts of Great
Namaqua-land.[5] His present residence, however, in this its western
portion, was of comparatively recent date. Although he had used
every effort to civilize and Christianize his small community,
all his endeavors had hitherto proved nearly abortive; but as we
become acquainted with the character of the Namaquas, who are
partially-civilized Hottentots, the wonder ceases, and we discover that
they possess every vice of savages, and none of their noble qualities.
So long as they are fed and clothed, they are willing enough to
congregate round the missionary, and to listen to his exhortation. The
moment, however, the food and clothing are discontinued, their feigned
attachment to his person and to his doctrines is at an end, and they do
not scruple to treat their benefactor with ingratitude, and load him with
abuse.
The missionary is more or less dependent on his own resources. Such
assistance as he obtains from the natives is so trivial, and procured
with so much trouble, that it is often gladly dispensed with. The good
man is his own architect, smith, wheelwright, tinker, gardener, &c.,
while his faithful spouse officiates as nurse, cook, washerwoman, and so
forth. Occasionally, to get the drudgery off their hands, they adopt some
poor boy and girl, who, after they have been taught with infinite labor
to make themselves useful, and have experienced nothing but kindness,
will often leave their protectors abruptly, or, what is nearly as bad,
become lazy and indolent.
A Namaqua, it would appear, is not able to appreciate kindness, and
no word in his language, as far as I can remember, is expressive of
gratitude! The same is the case, as I shall hereafter have occasion to
mention, with their northern neighbors, the Damaras, and though a sad, it
is nevertheless a true picture.
When wagons were first introduced into Great Namaqua-land, they caused
many conjectures and much astonishment among the natives, who conceived
them to be some gigantic animal possessed of vitality. A conveyance of
this kind, belonging to the Rev. Mr. Schmelen, once broke down, and was
left sticking in the sand. One day a Bushman came to the owner, and said
that he had seen his “pack-ox” standing in the desert for a long time
with a broken leg, and, as he did not observe it had any grass, he was
afraid that it would soon die of hunger unless taken away!