Return to Scheppmansdorf.—Training Oxen for the
Yoke.—Sporting.—The Flamingo.—The Butcher-bird: curious
Superstition regarding it.—Preparing for Journey.—Servants
described.
Mr. and Mrs. Bam and their family were, I was glad to find, in good
health, and, as heretofore, they gave me not only a most kind reception,
but placed at my disposal the best of every thing which the house
afforded.
It is wonderful what habit and association will effect. When I visited
Scheppmansdorf in the first instance, I thought it the most dismal spot
that human eye ever rested on; but in the short space of a few weeks
it had almost become endeared to me. I found what Shakspeare calls the
“soul of goodness in things evil.” Dreariness was softened down into
peaceful seclusion; the savage country round about assumed the dignity
of primeval nature, fresh from the hand of the Creator; and the solemn
and stern night-silence only hushed me into sounder sleep. These feelings
and this trusting repose mainly originated in the kind ministrations and
unaffected welcome of sincere friends.
After a day or two’s rest we began the difficult and laborious task of
breaking-in the oxen; but it proved a much more difficult one than I had
anticipated. While herded together these animals looked tame and docile
enough, but the instant they felt the lasso round their legs or horns
their character changed completely.
The spirit of Damara cattle is fiery and wild in the extreme, and I have
known many an ox which ten strong men were unable to manage. The only
remedy in such a case is to lasso the beast by his legs and horns, and,
after having thrown him down, to affix to his neck a heavy iron chain, of
sufficient length to trail along the ground. The effect on the animal of
this incumbrance is in some instances very remarkable; for, instead of a
wild, stubborn, and unbending brute, in a short time he is all docility.
Indeed, it not unfrequently happens that he becomes too lazy to be of any
use.
While at Scheppmansdorf, and whenever I could snatch a moment from my
busy life, I never failed to shoulder my gun with a view of obtaining
specimens of natural history or a “re-enforcement for the larder,” and an
hour’s walk not unfrequently procured me a tolerable share of both. Ducks
and geese, though somewhat shy, were by no means uncommon. Quadrupeds of
every description, however, were scarce, yet I managed occasionally to
bag a steinbok or a hare.
Almost every morn we were visited by a splendid flock of pelicans, who
kept soaring above the place for hours together; now in wide, graceful
circles, the next instant in a compact body, sometimes rising into the
sky till they became nearly invisible, then suddenly sinking till they
almost touched the earth; when abruptly, as if recollecting that the
land was not their proper home, they would resume their airy station.
They generally ended by settling near a large reedy fountain; but they
were very difficult of approach.
The _lanius subcoronatus_, a species of shrike, first described by
Dr. Andrew Smith, I found to be common at Scheppmansdorf, as also the
butcher-bird, which, as known, always impales its prey on some thorn or
sharp-pointed stick before devouring it. The Cape people call this bird
the “fiscaal,” or magistrate, in consequence of a superstitious belief
that it represents among the smaller animals what the judge does among
men. Many even go farther, and say that the “fiscaal” only administers
justice on a Friday; probably from the Dutch court of justice being held
in former times on that particular day.
Part of the oxen being at length pretty well trained to the yoke, we made
preparations for our departure.
When we left the Cape, the belief was entertained that we should be able
to carry thirty or forty hundred weight on each wagon; but on taking into
account our young and wild cattle, and the sandy and heavy soil through
which we should have to pass, we had, ere this, made up our minds to
reduce the quantity to rather less than one third of this weight, or to
about fifteen hundred pounds. Even this, as will be shortly seen, proved
too great. Accordingly, every article was carefully weighed with the
steelyard previously to being stowed away in the wagons.
Before proceeding farther in my narrative, it may be proper to introduce
to the reader our traveling establishment, as the character of the
several individuals composing it had by this time become pretty well
developed. And though among our retainers we had more than one “black
sheep,” and others whom it was exceedingly difficult to keep in order,
yet, taking them together, they were probably a fair average of the
servants likely to be picked up by the African traveler. On an expedition
similar to the one in which we were engaged, I should remark, people can
not be too particular in the selection of their attendants; for, to say
nothing of the success of the undertaking, one’s personal comfort mainly
depends on their good behavior.
First in order was a youth named Gabriel, a native of the Cape. He had
been engaged by Galton chiefly for his smiling face and winning looks,
but he proved himself to be the most troublesome of the whole lot. In
our journey up the country he had already exhibited a vindictive temper
and quarrelsome disposition, which at length broke forth with increased
violence. On two separate occasions he attempted, if I was rightly
informed, the lives of his fellow-servants. Upon this atrocity, I spoke
to him with earnest reprobation, and trusted that I had produced some
effect; when, to my astonishment and mortification, the very next day
he was guilty of the same outrage. After a dispute with one of his
companions, he rushed upon him with a hatchet, and would undoubtedly
have cleft his skull had it not been for a Hottentot, who warded off the
blow. So little did the young villain think of the crime he had intended
to perpetrate, that upon receiving punishment he had the impudence to
remonstrate, and to ask why he was flogged!
Next in order came Abraham Wenzel (a native also, I believe, of
Cape-Town), a wheelwright by trade, and by habit a thief. Even before
leaving Scheppmansdorf I received information that he had purloined
divers articles from the stores, for which crime he received his due
punishment.
Another of our servants was named John Waggoner. This man teased us
continually by his sulkiness and reluctance to work, assigning as a
reason that he had been seized with home-sickness, and that he wished
to return immediately to the Cape. Some little time afterward he was
gratified in his wish; and, as will subsequently be seen, he proved
himself the worst scamp of the set. But John performed his fraudulent
tricks with so much cleverness, ingenuity, and self-confidence, that,
out of mere admiration at his dexterity, I could not refrain from
excusing him.
John St. Helena, a relative of the last-mentioned, was born in the
Cape colony, and officiated as our head wagoner. This man exhibited
the most extraordinary disposition; for, though sometimes he would
be good-natured, willing, and hard-working, at others he was sulky,
ill-tempered, and indolent. At first I felt much annoyed at his irritable
and changeable temper; but I soon found that by interfering I only made
matters worse; and, as he was an “excellent whip,” it was necessary to
put up with and overlook a great deal, as we should have found it almost
impossible to replace him in so wild and inhospitable a region. About
three years afterward I employed him again, and, strange to say, he was
then the best of servants.
Another of the attendants, John Williams, also a colony man, was a
short, stout, merry, mischievous-looking lad, who agreed to serve in
any capacity to which he might be competent. He now cooked for the men,
assisted in “inspanning” and leading the oxen, washed clothes—in short,
made himself generally useful. Still he was careless, thoughtless,
and dirty in his habits, and had not the least idea of husbanding the
provisions. The result was, that before we had been many months in the
country, our stock of vegetables, coffee, tea, and other necessaries was
all but gone.
Our own cook, John Mortar, a native of Madeira, was the very reverse of
this. He was careful, frugal, industrious, strictly honest, and deeply
attached to his master’s interest. His only fault was irritability; but
this, in a cook, is always excusable. I had a great regard for poor John,
and I believe the attachment was mutual.
Mortar had been cook to the club in Cape-Town, where he won golden
opinions; but, though he had certainly attained some proficiency in the
culinary art, he required a whole grocer’s shop to prepare a dinner; and
it was some time before he could reconcile himself to make a beef-steak
_à la façon sauvage_.
John had a famous way of telling stories, and, like his own dishes,
they were very savory and well-spiced: a tale never degenerated in his
hands; and when, in his happier moments, he condescended to open his
mind, he never failed to keep his audience in a roar of laughter. He
had, moreover, great ambition, and could never bear that any one should
interfere with his cooking establishment. The arrival of a batch of
natives at his fire was the signal for a general burst of eloquent abuse;
and if this did not suffice, he had a provoking way of scattering the hot
coals and ashes over the naked legs of the poor unsuspecting savages,
which, of course, never failed to have the desired effect. I often
trembled for John, for his mind was clearly too republican to make any
difference between chief and subject, and I was surprised that he never
got into a scrape. I suppose, however, the comical manner in which his
dangerous experiments were always carried on served rather to amuse than
irritate or provoke.
John lived to return to the Cape, where he became another Gulliver,
embellishing his adventures among the savages with marvels which would
have done honor to the invention even of Dean Swift.
I now come to the last, but certainly not the least interesting of the
servants. This man’s name was Timbo. He was a native of Mazapa, a country
far in the interior, lying to the west of the Portuguese settlements on
the east coast of Africa.
When yet a child, Timbo’s country was invaded by a ferocious and powerful
tribe of Caffres, who carried off the cattle, and slew many of the
inhabitants. Among the latter were his parents; he himself escaped to a
neighboring tribe. As this, however, soon after shared a similar fate to
his own, he was, for a long time, a “stranger on the face of the earth.”
At last he was sold as a slave to the Portuguese, but after a while
effected his escape. His liberty, however, was of short duration, for he
was soon recaptured, and put on board a slaver. Fortunately, the vessel
fell into the hands of an English cruiser, and Timbo, together with a
great number of slaves, was brought to the Cape and liberated.
Though of a shining dark complexion, Timbo was a remarkably fine-looking
man, and well formed. He bore the reputation of being a complete
lady-killer, not only with those of his own color, but also among the
European “fair sex.” He had, therefore, no great difficulty in securing
a partner. His choice, however, seems to have been unfortunate; for, on
his return after eighteen months’ absence, he found that his faithless
spouse had not only deserted him for another, but had also carried off
with her nearly the whole of his hard-earned wages. On asking him one day
whether he had any intention of again marrying, he replied in his strange
_patois_, “No, maser; me no more marry; women too great rascals in the
Kaap!”
But it was not only of a handsome face and good figure that Timbo could
boast, for he possessed, in addition, many excellent qualities, such
as even temper, generosity, honesty, prudence, industry; and, like our
cook, he was sincere in his attachment to the interest of his employer.
With Galton and myself he was a great favorite. He possessed, moreover,
the most cheerful disposition, and an inexhaustible store of fun. I was,
indeed, never tired of listening to his tales, for he told them with such
force and simplicity that it was impossible not to be pleased and amused.
When reproached for any thing of which he knew himself to be innocent,
he would lay his hand on his breast and say, “No, maser; me know dat, me
tell you.” Or, “No, maser; me heart know that, me heart reproach me, and
me tell you.”
Timbo had a wonderful aptitude for languages; but, though acquainted
with many, he spoke none well. Still, his speech was remarkably fluent,
and nothing brought it forth with such abundant fervor as when mention
was made of his own country. This was like touching an electric rod,
and he spoke in ecstasies. No European could take more pride in his
native soil than this man did in his; and if the rest of his countrymen
resembled him, they must indeed have been a fine race of men, and,
undoubtedly, capable of a very high degree of cultivation.