him much more than to any other modern traveller, and all great men
indulge occasionally in the luxury of an eccentric opinion. We have
brought the point forward here for a special purpose,—to illustrate a
too much neglected truth. Error is not always on the side of
exaggeration; but is sometimes also found in the opposite extreme of a
too-squeamish moderation. We find the learned Professor Lichtenstein
ridiculing poor old Hernandez, the natural historian of Mexico, for
having given a description of certain fabulous animals—_fabulous_, he
terms them, because to him they were odd and unknown. But it turns out
that the old author was right, and the _animals exist_! How many similar
misconceptions might be recorded of the Buffons, and other closet
philosophers—urged, too, with the most bitter zeal! Incredulity carried
too far is but another form of credulity.
But to return to our proper theme, and complete the portrait of the
Bushman. We have given his height. It is in tolerable proportion to his
other dimensions. When young, he appears stout enough; but this is only
when a mere boy. At the age of sixteen he has reached all the manhood he
is ever destined to attain; and then his flesh disappears; his body
assumes a meagre outline; his arms and limbs grow thin; the calf
disappears from his legs; the plumpness from his cheeks; and altogether
he becomes as wretched-looking an object as it is possible to conceive
in human shape. Older, his skin grows dry, corrugated, and scaly; his
bones protrude; and his knee, elbow, and ankle-joints appear like horny
knobs placed at the ends of what more resemble long straight sticks than
the arms and limbs of a human being.
The color of this creature may be designated a yellow-brown, though it
is not easy to determine it to a shade. The Bushman appears darker than
he really is; since his skin serves him for a towel, and every species
of dirt that discommodes his fingers he gets rid of by wiping it off on
his arms, sides, or breast. The result is, that his whole body is
usually coated over with a stratum of grease and filth, which has led to
the belief that he regularly anoints himself—a custom common among many
savage tribes. This, however, the Bushman does not do: the smearing
toilet is merely occasional or accidental, and consists simply in the
fat of whatever flesh he has been eating being transferred from his
fingers to the cuticle of his body. This is never washed off again—for
water never touches the Bushman’s hide. Such a use of water is entirely
unknown to him, not even for washing his face. Should he have occasion
to cleanse his hands—which the handling of gum or some like substance
sometimes compels him to do—he performs the operation, not with soap and
water, but with the dry dung of cattle or some wild animal. A little
rubbing of this upon his skin is all the purification the Bushman
believes to be needed.
Of course, the dirt darkens his complexion; but he has the vanity at
times to brighten it up—not by making it whiter—but rather a brick-red.
A little ochreous earth produces the color he requires; and with this he
smears his body all over—not excepting even the crown of his head, and
the scant stock of wool that covers it.
Bushmen have been washed. It requires some scrubbing, and a plentiful
application either of soda or soap, to reach the true skin and bring out
the natural color; but the experiment has been made, and the result
proves that the Bushman is not so black as, under ordinary
circumstances, he appears. A yellow hue shines through the epidermis,
somewhat like the color of the Chinese, or a European in the worst stage
of jaundice—the eye only not having that complexion. Indeed, the
features of the Bushman, as well as the Hottentot, bear a strong
similarity to those of the Chinese, and the Bushman’s eye is essentially
of the Mongolian type. His hair, however, is entirely of another
character. Instead of being long, straight, and lank, it is short,
crisp, and curly,—in reality, wool. Its scantiness is a characteristic;
and in this respect the Bushman differs from the woolly-haired tribes
both of Africa and Australasia. These generally have “fleeces” in
profusion, whereas both Hottentot and Bushman have not enough to half
cover their scalps; and between the little knot-like “kinks” there are
wide spaces without a single hair upon them. The Bushman’s “wool” is
naturally black, but red ochre and the sun soon convert the color into a
burnt reddish hue.
The Bushman has no beard or other hairy encumbrances. Were they to grow,
he would root them out as useless inconveniences. He has a low-bridged
nose, with wide flattened nostrils; an eye that appears a mere slit
between the eyelids; a pair of high cheek-bones, and a receding
forehead. His lips are not thick, as in the negro, and he is furnished
with a set of fine white teeth, which, as he grows older, do not decay,
but present the singular phenomenon of being regularly worn down to the
stumps—as occurs to the teeth of sheep and other ruminant animals.
Notwithstanding the small stature of the Bushman, his frame is wiry and
capable of great endurance. He is also as agile as an antelope.
From the description above given, it will be inferred that the Bushman
is no beauty. Neither is the Bushwoman; but, on the contrary, both
having passed the period of youth, become absolutely ugly,—the woman, if
possible, more so than the man.
And yet, strange to say, many of the Bush-girls, when young, have a cast
of prettiness almost amounting to beauty. It is difficult to tell in
what this beauty consists. Something, perhaps, in the expression of the
oblique almond-shaped eye, and the small well-formed mouth and lips,
with the shining white teeth. Their limbs, too, at this early age, are
often well rounded; and many of them exhibit forms that might serve as
models for a sculptor. Their feet are especially well shaped, and, in
point of size, they are by far the smallest in the world. Had the
Chinese ladies been gifted by nature with such little feet, they might
have been spared the torture of compressing them.
The foot of a Bushwoman rarely measures so much as six inches in length;
and full-grown girls have been seen, whose feet, submitted to the test
of an actual measurement, proved but a very little over four inches!
Intellectually, the Bushman does not rank so low as is generally
believed. He has a quick, cheerful mind, that appears ever on the
alert,—as may be judged by the constant play of his little piercing
black eye,—and though he does not always display much skill in the
manufacture of his weapons, he can do so if he pleases. Some tribes
construct their bows, arrows, fish-baskets, and other implements and
utensils with admirable ingenuity; but in general the Bushman takes no
pride in fancy weapons. He prefers having them effective, and to this
end he gives proof of his skill in the manufacture of most deadly
poisons with which to anoint his arrows. Furthermore, he is ever active
and ready for action; and in this his mind is in complete contrast with
that of the Hottentot, with whom indolence is a predominant and
well-marked characteristic. The Bushman, on the contrary, is always on
the _qui vive_; always ready to be doing where there is anything to do;
and there is not much opportunity for him to be idle, as he rarely ever
knows where the next meal is to come from. The ingenuity which he
displays in the capture of various kinds of game,—far exceeding that of
other hunting tribes of Africa,—as also the cunning exhibited by him
while engaged in cattle-stealing and other plundering forays, prove an
intellectual capacity more than proportioned to his diminutive body;
and, in short, in nearly every mental characteristic does he differ from
the supposed cognate race—the Hottentot.
It would be hardly just to give the Bushman a character for high
courage; but, on the other hand, it would be as unjust to charge him
with cowardice. Small as he is, he shows plenty of “pluck,” and when
brought to bay, his motto is, “No surrender.” He will fight to the
death, discharging his poisoned arrows as long as he is able to bend a
bow. Indeed, he has generally been treated to shooting, or clubbing to
death, wherever and whenever caught, and he knows nothing of _quarter_.
Just as a badger he ends his life,—his last struggle being an attempt to
do injury to his assailant. Tins trait in his character has, no doubt,
been strengthened by the inhuman treatment that, for a century, he has
been receiving from the brutal boers of the colonial frontier.
[Illustration]
The costume of the Bushman is of the most primitive character,—differing
only from that worn by our first parents, in that the fig-leaf used by
the men is a patch of jackal-skin, and that of the women a sort of
fringe or bunch of leather thongs, suspended around the waist by a
strap, and hanging down to the knees. It is in reality a little apron of
dressed skin; or, to speak more accurately, two of them, one above the
other, both cut into narrow strips or thongs, from below the waist
downward. Other clothing than this they have none, if we except a little
skin _kaross_, or cloak, which is worn over their shoulders;—that of the
women being provided with a bag or hood at the top, that answers the
naked “piccaninny” for a nest or cradle. Sandals protect their feet from
the sharp stones, and these are of the rudest description,—merely a
piece of the thick hide cut a little longer and broader than the soles
of the feet, and fastened at the toes and round the ankles by thongs of
sinews. An attempt at ornament is displayed in a leathern skull-cap, or
more commonly a circlet around the head, upon which are sewed a number
of “cowries,” or small shells of the _Cyprea moneta_.
It is difficult to say where these shells are procured,—as they are not
the product of the Bushman’s country, but are only found on the far
shores of the Indian Ocean. Most probably he obtains them by barter, and
after they have passed through many hands; but they must cost the
Bushman dear, as he sets the highest value upon them. Other ornaments
consist of old brass or copper buttons, attached to the little curls of
his woolly hair; and, among the women, strings of little pieces of
ostrich egg-shells, fashioned to resemble beads; besides a perfect load
of leathern bracelets on the arms, and a like profusion of similar
circlets on the limbs, often reaching from the knee to the ankle-joint.
Red ochre over the face and hair is the fashionable toilette, and a
perfumery is obtained by rubbing the skin with the powdered leaves of
the “buku” plant, a species of _diosma_. According to a quaint old
writer, this causes them to “stink like a poppy,” and would be highly
objectionable, were it not preferable to the odor which they have
without it.
They do not _tattoo_, nor yet perforate the ears, lips, or
nose,—practices so common among savage tribes. Some instances of
nose-piercing have been observed, with the usual appendage of a piece of
wood or porcupine’s quill inserted in the septum, but this is a custom
rather of the Caffres than Bushmen. Among the latter it is rare. A grand
ornament is obtained by smearing the face and head with a shining
micaceous paste, which is procured from a cave in one particular part of
the Bushman’s range; but this, being a “far-fetched” article, is
proportionably scarce and dear. It is only a fine belle who can afford
to give herself a coat of _blink-slip_,—as this sparkling pigment is
called by the colonists. Many of the women, and men as well, carry in
their hands the bushy tail of a jackal. The purpose is to fan off the
flies, and serve also as a “wipe,” to disembarrass their bodies of
perspiration when the weather chances to be over hot.
The domicile of the Bushman next merits description. It is quite as
simple and primitive as his dress, and gives him about equal trouble in
its construction. If a cave or cleft can be found in the rocks, of
sufficient capacity to admit his own body and those of his family—never
a very large one—he builds no house. The cave contents him, be it ever
so tight a squeeze. If there be no cave handy, an overhanging rock will
answer equally as well. He regards not the open sides, nor the draughts.
It is only the rain which he does not relish; and any sort of a shed,
that will shelter him from that, will serve him for a dwelling. If
neither cave, crevice, nor impending cliff can be found in the
neighborhood, he then resorts to the alternative of house-building; and
his style of architecture does not differ greatly from that of the
orang-outang. A bush is chosen that grows near to two or three
others,—the branches of all meeting in a common centre. Of these
branches the builder takes advantage, fastening them together at the
ends, and wattling some into the others. Over this framework a quantity
of grass is scattered in such a fashion as to cast off a good shower of
rain, and then the “carcass” of the building is considered complete. The
inside work remains yet to be done, and that is next set about. A large
roundish or oblong hole is scraped out in the middle of the floor. It is
made wide enough and deep enough to hold the bodies of three or four
Bush-people, though a single large Caffre or Dutchman would scarcely
find room in it. Into this hole is flung a quantity of dry grass, and
arranged so as to present the appearance of a gigantic nest. This nest,
or lair, becomes the bed of the Bushman, his wife, or wives,—for he
frequently keeps two,—and the other members of his family. Coiled
together like monkeys, and covered with their skin karosses, they all
sleep in it,—whether “sweetly” or “soundly,” I shall not take upon me to
determine.
It is supposed to be this fashion of literally “sleeping in the bush,”
as also the mode by which he skulks and hides among bushes,—invariably
taking to them when pursued,—that has given origin to the name Bushman,
or _Bosjesman_, as it is in the language of the colonial Dutch. This
derivation is probable enough, and no better has been offered.
The Bushman sometimes constructs himself a more elaborate dwelling; that
is, some Bushmen;—for it should be remarked that there are a great many
tribes or communities of these people, and they are not all so very low
in the scale of civilization. None, however, ever arrive at the building
of a house,—not even a hut. A tent is their highest effort in the
building line, and that is of the rudest description, scarce deserving
the name. Its covering is a mat, which they weave out of a species of
rush that grows along some of the desert streams; and in the fabrication
of the covering they display far more ingenuity than in the planning or
construction of the tent itself. The mat, in fact, is simply laid over
two poles, that are bent into the form of an arch, by having both ends
stuck into the ground. A second piece of matting closes up one end; and
the other, left open, serves for the entrance. As a door is not deemed
necessary, no further construction is required, and the tent is
“pitched” complete. It only remains to scoop out the sand, and make the
_nest_ as already described.
It is said that the Goths drew their ideas of architecture from the
aisles of the oak forest; the Chinese from their Mongolian tents; and
the Egyptians from their caves in the rocks. Beyond a doubt, the Bushman
has borrowed his from the nest of the ostrich!
It now becomes necessary to inquire how the Bushman spends his time? how
he obtains subsistence? and what is the nature of his food? All these
questions can be answered, though at first it may appear difficult to
answer them. Dwelling, as he always does, in the very heart of the
desert, remote from forests that might furnish him with some sort of
food—trees that might yield fruit,—far away from a fertile soil, with no
knowledge of agriculture, even if it were near,—with no flocks or herds;
neither sheep, cattle, horses, nor swine,—no domestic animals but his
lean, diminutive dogs,—how does this Bushman procure enough to eat? What
are his sources of supply?
We shall see. Being neither a grazier nor a farmer, he has other means
of subsistence,—though it must be confessed that they are of a
precarious character, and often during his life does the Bushman find
himself on the very threshold of starvation. This, however, results less
from the parsimony of Nature than the Bushman’s own improvident
habits,—a trait in his character which is, perhaps, more strongly
developed in him than any other. We shall have occasion to refer to it
presently.
His first and chief mode of procuring his food is by the chase: for,
although he is surrounded by the sterile wilderness, he is not the only
animated being who has chosen the desert for his home. Several species
of birds—one the largest of all—and quadrupeds, share with the Bushman
the solitude and safety of this desolate region. The rhinoceros can
dwell there; and in numerous streams are found the huge hippopotami;
whilst quaggas, zebras, and several species of antelope frequent the
desert plains as their favorite “stamping” ground. Some of these animals
can live almost without water; but when they do require it, what to them
is a gallop of fifty miles to some well-known “vley” or pool? It will be
seen, therefore, that the desert has its numerous denizens. All these
are objects of the Bushman’s pursuit, who follows them with incessant
pertinacity—as if he were a beast of prey, furnished by Nature with the
most carnivorous propensities.
In the capture of these animals he displays an almost incredible
dexterity and cunning. His mode of approaching the sly ostrich, by
disguising himself in the skin of one of these birds, is so well known
that I need not describe it here; but the _ruses_ he adopts for
capturing or killing other sorts of game are many of them equally
ingenious. The pit-trap is one of his favorite contrivances; and this,
too, has been often described,—but often very erroneously. The pit is
not a large hollow,—as is usually asserted,—but rather of dimensions
proportioned to the size of the animal that is expected to fall into it.
For game like the rhinoceros or _eland_ antelope, it is dug of six feet
in length and three in width at the top; gradually narrowing to the
bottom, where it ends in a trench of only twelve inches broad. Six or
seven feet is considered deep enough; and the animal, once into it, gets
so wedged at the narrow bottom part as to be unable to make use of its
legs for the purpose of springing out again. Sometimes a sharp stake or
two are used, with the view of _impaling_ the victim; but this plan is
not always adopted. There is not much danger of a quadruped that drops
in ever getting out again, till he is dragged out by the Bushman in the
shape of a carcass.
The Bushman’s ingenuity does not end here. Besides the construction of
the trap, it is necessary the game should be guided into it. Were this
not done, the pit might remain a long time empty, and, as a necessary
consequence, so too might the belly of the Bushman. In the wide plain
few of the gregarious animals have a path which they follow habitually;
only where there is a pool may such beaten trails be found, and of these
the Bushman also avails himself; but they are not enough. Some
artificial means must be used to make the traps pay—for they are not
constructed without much labor and patience. The plan adopted by the
Bushman to accomplish this exhibits some points of originality. He first
chooses a part of the plain which lies between two mountains. No matter
if these be distant from each other: a mile, or even two, will not deter
the Bushman from his design. By the help of his whole tribe—men, women,
and children—he constructs a fence from one mountain to the other. The
material used is whatever may be most ready to the hand: stones, sods,
brush, or dead timber, if this be convenient. No matter how rude the
fence: it need not either be very high. He leaves several gaps in it;
and the wild animals, however easily they might leap over such a puny
barrier, will, in their ordinary way, prefer to walk leisurely through
the gaps. In each of these, however, there is a dangerous hole—dangerous
from its depth as well as from the cunning way in which it is concealed
from the view—in short, in each gap there is a _pit-fall_. No one—at
least no animal except the elephant—would ever suspect its presence; the
grass seems to grow over it, and the sand lies unturned, just as
elsewhere upon the plain What quadruped could detect the cheat? Not any
one except the sagacious elephant. The stupid eland tumbles through; the
gemsbok goes under; and the rhinoceros rushes into it as if destined to
destruction. The Bushman sees this from his elevated perch, glides
forward over the ground, and spears the struggling victim with his
_poisoned assagai_.
Besides the above method of capturing game the Bushman also uses the bow
and arrows. This is a weapon in which he is greatly skilled; and
although both bow and arrows are as tiny as if intended for children’s
toys, they are among the deadliest of weapons, their fatal effect lies
not in the _size_ of the wound they are capable of inflicting, but in
the peculiar mode in which the barbs of the arrows are prepared. I need
hardly add that they are dipped in poison;—for who has not heard of the
poisoned arrows of the African Bushmen?
Both bow and arrows are usually rude enough in their construction, and
would appear but a trumpery affair, were it not for a knowledge of their
effects. The bow is a mere round stick, about three feet long, and
slightly bent by means of its string of twisted sinews. The arrows are
mere reeds, tipped with pieces of bone, with a split ostrich-quill
lapped behind the head, and answering for a barb. This arrow the Bushman
can shoot with tolerable certainty to a distance of a hundred yards, and
he can even project it farther by giving a slight elevation to his aim.
It signifies not whether the force with which it strikes the object be
ever so slight, if it only makes an entrance. Even a scratch from its
point will sometimes prove fatal.
Of course the danger dwells altogether in the poison. Were it not for
that, the Bushman, from his dwarfish stature and pigmy strength, would
be a harmless creature indeed.
The poison he well knows how to prepare, and he can make it of the most
“potent spell,” when the “materials” are within his reach. For this
purpose he makes use of both vegetable and animal substances, and a
mineral is also employed; but the last is not a poison, and is only used
to give consistency to the liquid, so that it may the better adhere to
the arrow. The vegetable substances are of various kinds. Some are
botanically known: the bulb of _Amaryllis disticha_,—the gum of a
_Euphorbia_,—the sap of a species of sumac (_Rhus_),—and the nuts of a
shrubby plant, by the colonists called _Woolf-gift_ (Wolf-poison).
The animal substance is the fluid found in the fangs of venomous
serpents, several species of which serve the purpose of the Bushman: as
the little “Horned Snake,”—so called from the scales rising prominently
over its eyes; the “Yellow Snake,” or South-African Cobra (_Naga haje_);
the “Puff Adder,” and others. From all these he obtains the ingredients
of his deadly ointment, and mixes them, not all together; for he cannot
always procure them all in any one region of the country in which he
dwells. He makes his poison, also, of different degrees of potency,
according to the purpose for which he intends it; whether for hunting or
war. With sixty or seventy little arrows, well imbued with this fatal
mixture, and carefully placed in his quiver of tree-bark or skin,—or,
what is not uncommon, stuck like a coronet around his head,—he sallies
forth, ready to deal destruction either to game, animals, or of human
enemies.