Return to Eikhams.—Ugly Fall.—Splendid Landscape.—Jonker’s
Delinquencies.—How to manage the Natives.—The Ondara.—It
kills a Man.—How his Comrade revenges him.—Medical Properties
of the Ondara.—The Cockatrice.—The Cobra di Capella.—The
Puff-adder.—The Spitting Snake.—The Black Snake.—Few Deaths
caused by Snakes.—Antidotes for Snake-bites.—Return to Rehoboth.
Leaving Hans in charge of the men and cattle, I posted back to Eikhams,
a distance of about sixty miles, in the hope of recovering our debt
from Jonker; but he had not yet returned. By this time, however, I
received positive information that he and his people were engaged in
a cattle-lifting foray. To enable me to acquire full details of their
proceedings, I set off for Barmen, the head-quarter for information as
respects Damara-land. Here fugitives arrived daily, bringing tidings of
plunder and bloodshed. I felt grieved and angry at Jonker’s outrageous
behavior. Only a year before he had most solemnly promised Mr. Galton
never again to molest the Damaras.
Hearing that Kachamaha, the most powerful chief in the country since the
death of Kahichenè, resided not far from Barmen, and that he had been
a severe sufferer by the depredations of the Namaquas, I determined to
visit him, with a view of ascertaining the extent of his own and his
countrymen’s losses.
I found Kachamaha’s kraal on the steep banks of a periodical stream,
one of the largest tributaries of the Swakop. The situation was most
picturesque. The wonderful luxuriance of the vegetation, and extreme
beauty of the landscape at this season, the thousands of cattle crowding
the verdant slopes, the purling stream, which made a music strange to
these regions—
“A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune”—
the mimosa (now in full blossom), the numerous fires on an evening,
around which bustling and merry groups of savages were busily preparing
their plain “veld-kost” of wild roots and bulbs—these, and many other
signs of abundance, cheerfulness, and content, infused a sensation of
tranquil happiness which I had not experienced since my arrival in this
sunburnt and unhappy land.
The result of my own and Mr. Hahn’s inquiries was a conviction that
Jonker, with his murderous horde, had destroyed in his recent foray
upward of forty werfts or villages, and that the aggregate number of
cattle carried off could not have been much short often or eleven
thousand. One powerful tribe of Damaras had been completely broken up.
With regard to the number of people killed, we were unable to ascertain
any thing with certainty, but we had reason to think that on this
occasion it was not considerable.
Having collected all the facts which I thought necessary to convict
Jonker of his guilt, I retraced my steps to Eikhams.
Almost immediately after leaving Barmen I had a very ugly fall from my
ox. He was plunging and kicking most viciously, but I succeeded for a
time in keeping my seat. Unfortunately, however, all at once both girths
gave way, and, after performing a summersault in the air, I came with a
violent thump to the ground. I alighted in a sitting position, but, as
ill luck would have it, my left leg came in contact with the stump of a
tree, which inflicted a wound fully two inches in depth, and nearly the
same in length. In this state I was obliged to ride upward of one hundred
miles, and the consequence was, that by the time I reached Rehoboth,
what with the heat of the sun and the jolting of the ox, my limb was
alarmingly inflamed. A week’s rest, however, restored me, in a degree, to
health.
On arriving near Eikhams, I observed almost every hill and dale covered
with numerous herds of cattle, the spoils of the last excursion. On my
arrival, I requested an immediate interview with the chief. In a day or
two, accompanied by twenty of his principal men, he made his appearance.
The meeting took place in the old church, where I had established myself,
which gave a certain solemnity to the occasion. Eyebrecht and Onesimus
acted as interpreters.
Every one being duly seated and silence obtained, I thus addressed the
chieftain:
“Captain Jonker! when I last saw you, I shook hands with you: it grieves
me that I can not do so to-day; the cause you must be aware of.” I then
proceeded boldly to accuse him of his late depredations in Damara-land,
to which both he and the rest of the audience listened in the most
profound silence.
Having finished my harangue, the cunning chief requested to be allowed
to speak a few words in his defense, which, of course, was granted. He
then entered into a very long and cleverly concocted story of the great
losses he had sustained at the hands of the Damaras, and that what he
had now done was solely in self-defense, or as indemnification for
robberies committed on himself. Whatever truth there might have been
in his assertion as to preceding outrages, his story on the present
occasion was one chain of falsehood, and this I clearly proved to him.
At last, finding no further excuse, and perceiving that I knew all about
his proceedings, he confessed that, in passing through the country, his
men had certainly “taken a few head of cattle, but,” added he, “we left
plenty after us.” The manner in which he thus attempted to get out of the
scrape was so ridiculous that I could not help smiling. After a little
more parley, the conference broke up.
The Namaquas, however much they may be averse to hear the truth, respect
the man who speaks his mind boldly. For this very reason, I was never
denied a favor or request, if in their power to grant it. The case was
similar with Mr. Hahn, who acted on the same principle as myself.
In my dealings with the natives, and more especially with the Namaquas, I
made it a rule to treat them civilly, and even deferentially, but I never
mixed very freely with them. The moment a person becomes too familiar,
they lose all respect for him. The only check he has on their avarice,
and safeguard against their treachery, is to exert, as far as possible,
a certain moral influence over their minds. This he effects to a certain
extent by showing himself superior to their faults and vices. It might be
convenient enough to imitate them in some respects, but, on the whole, it
will prove injurious and detrimental to the traveler’s interest.
After a short stay at Eikhams, I bade adieu to Jonker, and set off on my
return to Rehoboth.
One morning, when crossing a periodical stream, I observed in its sandy
bed the tracks of an immense serpent, in size, as it would seem, not
much inferior to the boa constrictor. I had previously heard that such
monsters inhabited this part of Africa,[55] but the natives declared
they were poisonous (not characteristic of this family of reptiles),
and, consequently, feared them greatly. The Damaras call the serpent in
question the Ondara, and said that its chief food was the rock-rabbit
(_hyrax capensis_). Mr. Hahn had an opportunity of seeing one of these
huge creatures, which had been accidentally killed by the people at
Rehoboth. It measured eighteen feet in length.[56]
I was told a very striking story of the Ondara, but I am not at all
prepared to vouch for its truth.
Two Hill-Damaras had, it seems, gone in search of honey, and having found
a bees’ nest in the cleft of a rock, one of them made his way through
the confined aperture that led to it for the purpose of possessing
himself of the honey-comb. But he had not long been thus engaged when he
discovered a narrow circular passage leading apparently right through
the nest. He told this to his comrade on the outside who suggested that
it was probably caused by a serpent. However, seeing nothing to indicate
the reptile’s presence, he resumed his labor, and, having secured the
honey-comb, was about to withdraw from the aperture, when, to his horror,
he saw a huge ondara making toward him. The reptile passed the poor
fellow in the first instance, but, suddenly turning round, it plunged
its murderous fangs into the man’s body. The poison was of so virulent a
nature as to cause almost instantaneous death. The survivor, witnessing
the fate of his friend, fled precipitately. On his way home, however,
and when his agitation had subsided, he determined to revenge himself on
the reptile, and early the following day he returned to put his plan into
execution.
Having seen the serpent leave the aperture in question, he slipped
unperceived into it, and quietly awaited the reptile’s return. As soon
as he observed it approaching, he coolly placed his open hand across the
narrowest part of the passage, and, just as the monster’s eyes glared
within, he grasped it by the throat, and, by striking its head to and fro
against the rocks on either side, soon succeeded in destroying it.
Many Namaquas believe that the ondara possesses certain medicinal
virtues; therefore, when they succeed in killing the reptile, its flesh
is carefully preserved. If a person falls sick, a portion is either
applied externally in the form of an unction, or given to the patient in
a decoction.
The natives mention a very singular little snake, about seven or eight
inches long, possessing four distinct legs, each provided with toes and
nails like a lizard. It is difficult to conceive for what purpose these
limbs (which are placed somewhat apart, and rather to the side, as in the
seal) have been destined by nature, since they are apparently never used.
The motion of this curious creature, which is of a dark slate color,
is said to be that of a perfect snake. Three specimens were brought at
different times to Mr. Hahn when at Barmen.
The story of the cockatrice, so common in many parts of the world,
is also found among the Damaras; but instead of crowing, or, rather,
chuckling like a fowl when going to roost, they say it bleats like a
lamb. It attacks man as well as beast, and its bite is considered fatal.
They point to the distant north as its proper home. In Timbo’s country
it is termed “hangara,” and is said to attain to twelve feet, or even
more, in length, with a beautifully variegated skin. On its head, like
the Guinea-fowl, it has a horny protuberance of a reddish color. It
dwells chiefly in trees. Its chuckle is heard at nightfall; and people,
imagining that the noise proceeds from one of their own domestic fowls
that has strayed, hasten to drive it home. But this frequently causes
their destruction; for, as soon as the cockatrice perceives its victim
within reach, it darts at it with the speed of lightning; and if its
fangs enter the flesh, death invariably ensues. Timbo informed me that
he once saw a dog belonging to his father thus killed. Moreover, the
cockatrice, like the wild dog, wantonly destroys more at a time than it
can consume.
Notwithstanding the dryness of the soil and the atmosphere between the
Orange River and the seventeenth or eighteenth degrees of south latitude,
reptiles are rather numerous. Indeed, some parts of Damara-land are so
infested by them as to be almost uninhabitable. For my own part, however,
I have encountered comparatively few. I never saw the cobra di capella,
though it does exist in these regions. It is common enough in the colony,
and is even met with in the neighborhood of the Table Mountain.
An acquaintance of mine had a remarkable escape from this reptile. Being
passionately fond of botany, he was one day studying the flora of the
so-called “Cape Flats.” Having discovered a rare plant, he was stooping
down to gather it, when up started a cobra immediately beneath his hand.
My friend had no time to turn round, but retreated backward as quickly as
his legs would carry him. The serpent, however, was fast gaining ground,
and, had the chase lasted a few seconds longer, must inevitably have
caught him; but just at this critical moment my friend stumbled over an
ant-hill and fell to the ground on his back, and while in this position
he saw, to his inexpressible relief, the enraged cobra dash furiously
past him.
Pringle says that this snake has been known to dart at a man on
horseback, and “with such force as to overshoot its aim.” The average
length of a full-grown specimen I believe to be about five feet.
The puff-adder (_vipera inflata_) was not uncommon in Namaqua-land and
Damara-land. My saddle-ox had an exceedingly narrow escape from being
bitten by one. The reptile was lying at length across the path, and I did
not discover it until the ox almost trod on it. Any serpent less slow in
its movements must have fixed its fangs in the animal. Another time a
woman, the wife of a native servant of mine, found one of these horrid
creatures comfortably sleeping in the folds of her skin apron.
Notwithstanding its venomous character, the puff-adder, from its inert,
heavy, and sluggish habits, is comparatively harmless. The only real
danger arises from treading on it. This, however, is not always easy to
avoid, since its color so much resembles the ground.
When about to seize its prey or attack the enemy, the puff-adder is said
to be unable to dart forward, but, on the other hand, to possess the
faculty of throwing itself backward with unerring certainty.
Different species of what the Dutch term “schaap-steker,” or
sheep-stinger;[57] “boom-slang,” or tree-snake; “ringel-hals,” or
ring-throat; “the spuig-slang,” or spitting-snake;[58] the “zwart-slang,”
or black-snake,[59] &c., are also occasionally met with, but none of
these are very poisonous. The spuig-slang, however, is much dreaded by
the colonist, less for its bite—which, though venomous, is not fatal—but
from its peculiar habit of projecting a jet of poison to a distance of
several feet toward the eyes of any person who may happen to approach its
haunts, the result of which is usually loss of sight.
The common people at the Cape have some very singular notions and
superstitions about the different reptiles indigenous to the Cape Colony,
but more especially with regard to the zwart-slang. Our wagon-driver
told us that this snake is very fond of women’s milk, and solemnly
declared that he had known several instances where it has entered
people’s dwellings at night, and if it met with a sleeping mother, has
dexterously abstracted her milk. I remember a somewhat similar story
having been told me by the peasantry of some parts of Sweden, who state
that to kill a snake was not alone a duty, but an expiatory sacrifice,
since “seven sins” would be forgiven an individual for each serpent
slain by him. Accordingly, in the credulity of my childish days, I was a
perfect Thalaba!
Incorrect ideas of the power of the reptile family, coupled with
superstitious dread, have no doubt served considerably to exaggerate
the fear of snakes. Many, we know, are of the most venomous character;
but, as we become better acquainted with the different species, we
shall find that by far the greater portion are harmless, or nearly so.
The remarkably few cases of death occurring from their bites are a
corroboration of this. Moreover, like the rest of lower animals, the most
deadly reptile will generally fly at the sight of man. It only exerts
its formidable powers of destruction when about to be trampled upon or
assailed. Were it otherwise, many of the more humid parts of our globe,
where snakes literally swarm, would be uninhabitable. Before setting
foot on African soil, my head was full of the dangers to which I should
be exposed from them, either when “treading the maze of the jungle,” or
when traversing the endless sand-plains. Habit and experience have since
taught me to regard snakes with something akin to indifference.
Some of the antidotes in Southern Africa for the bites of snakes and the
stings of poisonous insects are simple, singular, and striking.
The first point to be attended to is (if it be practicable) to tie a
string or ligature tight above the wounded part, so as to prevent the
venom spreading.
Cutting away, or applying caustic to the wounded part, if promptly and
unhesitatingly done, is also likely to prevent fatal consequences.
Europeans have usually recourse to _eau de luce_, five drops of which is
administered to the patient in a glass of water every ten minutes until
the poison is counteracted. _Eau de luce_ is also applied externally.
Another very good plan is to scarify with a knife the wound, and then
boldly to suck it. Care, however, must be taken that one has no sore
about the lips or mouth. Sweet milk, oil, or spirits of hartshorn must
then be applied to the wound. The patient should also be made to drink
freely of sweet milk.
In the Cape Colony, the Dutch farmers resort to a cruel but apparently
effective plan to counteract the bad effects of a serpent’s bite. An
incision having been made in the breast of a living fowl, the bitten
part is applied to the wound. If the poison be very deadly, the bird
soon evinces symptoms of distress, “becomes drowsy, droops its head, and
dies.” It is replaced by a second, a third, and more if requisite. When,
however, the bird no longer exhibits any of the signs just mentioned, the
patient is considered out of danger. A frog similarly applied is supposed
to be equally efficacious.
A certain white bean found in some parts of the colony (designated,
somewhat singularly, the gentleman bean) has also been known to cure the
bites of serpents and other poisonous creatures. Thus a Damara woman who
had been stung by a scorpion was once brought to Mr. Hahn with her whole
body very much swollen and inflamed. She was already in such a state as
to be unable to walk. He instantly divided one of the beans in question,
and applied it to the wound, to which it adhered with such tenacity as
only to be removed by force. When the virus was extracted, the bean
dropped off of its own accord, and the woman, after a time, thoroughly
recovered.
“As an antidote against the bite of serpents,” says Thunberg, in his
Travels in South Africa, “the blood of the turtle was much cried up,
which, on account of this extraordinary virtue, the inhabitants dry in
the form of small scales or membranes, and carry about them when they
travel in this country, which swarms with this most noxious vermin.
Whenever any one is wounded by a serpent, he takes a couple of pinches of
the dried blood internally, and applies a little of it to the wound.”[60]
And Kolben, when speaking of the cobras (called by the first colonists
the hair-serpent), says:
“Some affirm that there is in the head of the hair-serpent a stone, which
is a never failing antidote both against the poison of this and every
other sort of serpent. I killed a great many hair-serpents at the Cape,
and searched very narrowly the heads of all I killed in order to find
this stone, but I could never discover any such thing. Perhaps it is only
to be found at one season of the year, as are the stones in the heads of
crawfish.
“There are in the hands of the Cape Europeans,” Kolben goes on to say,
“a great many stones called serpent-stones, but they are artificial
ones. They are brought from the East Indies, where they are prepared by
the Brachmans, who are alone, it seems, possessed of the secret of the
composition, and will not let it go out of their own body at any price.
I am heartily sorry the secret is not in the Christian world, and that
the Brachmans are inflexible in this particular, because those stones are
of admirable virtues. I saw one of them tried upon a child at the Cape,
who had receiv’d a poisonous bite in one of the arms, but it could not be
discover’d from what creature. When the stone was brought, the arm was
prodigiously swell’d and inflam’d. The stone, being applied to the wound,
stuck to it very closely, without any manner of bandage or support,
drinking in the poison till it could receive no more, and then it dropt
off. The stone was then laid in milk, that it might purge itself of the
poison; and it did so presently, the poison turning the milk yellow. The
stone, as soon as it was purg’d, was again applied to the wound; and
when it had drank in its dose, it was again laid in milk. And this was
reiterated till such time as the stone had exhausted all the poison,
after which the arm was quickly heal’d.”
Mr. Thunberg also tells us that the farmers in the Cape Colony cure
the bites of serpents and of other venomous reptiles by means of the
“slange-steen,” or snake-stone. “It is imported,” he says, “from the
Indies, especially from Malabar, and costs several rix dollars. It is
convex on one side, of a black color, with a pale ash-gray speck in the
middle, and tubulated with very minute pores. When thrown into water it
causes bubbles to rise, which is a proof of its being genuine, as it is,
also, that if put into the mouth it adheres to the palate. When it is
applied to any part that has been bitten by a serpent, it sticks fast to
the wound and extracts the poison; as soon as it is saturated, it falls
off of itself. If it be then put into milk, it is supposed to be purified
from the poison it had absorbed, and the milk is said to be turned
blue by it. Frequently, however, the wound is scarified with a razor
previously to the application of the stone.”
“This antidote,” says Barrow, when speaking of the snake-stone, “appears
to be, in fact, nothing more than a piece of firm bone of some animal
made into an oval shape, and burnt round the edges so as to leave a
whitish spot in the middle. The country-people, who purchase this remedy
under the idea of its being a stone taken out of the head of a certain
species of serpent, were very much astonished on being told that it was
only a piece of bone, and the more so on finding that this substance
stood their test of the goodness of the _slange-steen_, which was that
of throwing out bubbles on the surface when immersed in water. To
the porosity of the bone may be ascribed its healing qualities, if it
actually possesses any; for which reason, any other substance made up of
capillary tubes, as common sponge, for instance, might perhaps be equally
efficacious.”
To resume: Our journey to Rehoboth was unattended with any very
remarkable incident, and we reached that place in safety after an absence
of twenty-three days.