The widows of those who were executed on the beach in the morning and

of those who were dispatched at the small island in their way out to

sea, petitioned Finow to grant them leave to perform the usual rites

of burial in behalf of their deceased husbands, which the king readily

acceded to: and they accomplished the ceremony with every mark of

unfeigned sorrow and regret. When the last affectionate remembrances

of Nonfaho were made to his widow, she appeared greatly moved; for,

though she scarcely wept, her countenance betrayed marks of violent

inward agitation: she retired to her house, and arming herself with a

spear and a club, went about to seek for the other widows who had lost

their husbands in the same way, and urged them to take up arms, as she

had done, and go forth to revenge their husbands’ death, by destroying

the wives of Finow and his principal chiefs; finding, at length, that

none of the others were willing to follow her example, she was obliged

to give up altogether. It was suspected that Finow would have been

very angry on hearing her intention, but, on the contrary, he praised

it much, and approved of it as being not only a meritorious act of

bravery, but a convincing proof that her affection for her deceased

husband was great and genuine.

Four classes of canoes are found in Figi: the _velovelo_, the

_camakau_, the _tabilai_, and the _drua_. All these have

various modifications of outrigger (_cama_), and are distinguished

by peculiarities in the hulk. The velovelo, or more properly the

_takia_, is open throughout its length like a boat, and the spars

to which the cama is secured rest on the gunwale. The camakau, as

its name imports, has a solid spar for its cama: the hulk has a deck

over the middle third of its length, twice its own width, and raised

on a deep plank built edgeways on each gunwale. Between the edge of

this deck and the outrigger all is open. The projecting ends of the

canoe, which are lower than the main-deck or platform, as much as the

depth of the plank on which it is raised, are each covered with one

solid triangular piece of wood, hollowed underneath, and thickest at

the broad end next the centre deck, to which it thus forms a gradual

ascent. The two ridges, formed by the hollowing underneath on the sides

of the triangle, are united to the edge of the hulk, so as completely

to box it up. The rig of the camakau is the same as that of the double

canoe described presently; and from the small resistance this build

offers to the water, it is the “clipper” of Figi, and the vessel

described under the name of _pirogue_ in the Imperial Dictionary.

The tabilai is a link between the camakau and drua, and is made with

the outrigger of either. It is often of great length, several feet at

each end being solid wood, cut away something like the hull of a ship

stern-ward, the sternpost of the ship representing the cut-water of the

canoe, which, instead of being sharp, presents a square perpendicular

edge to the water. This is the same at both ends, and is distinctive of

the class.

The _drua_, or double canoe, differs from the rest in having

another smaller canoe for its outrigger, and the deck is laid across

both.

When not more than thirty or forty feet long, canoes are often cut

out of a single tree, and require comparatively little skill in their

construction. When, however, a first-class canoe is to be built, the

case is far otherwise, and its creditable completion is a cause of

great triumph.

A keel is laid in two or three pieces carefully scarfed together.

From this the sides are built up, without ribs, in a number of pieces

varying in length from three to twenty feet. The edge of each piece has

on the inside a flange; as the large pieces are worked in, openings of

very irregular form are left to be filled in, as suitable pieces may

be found. When it is recollected that the edges of the planks are by

no means straight, it will be seen that considerable skill is required

in securing neat joints; yet the native carpenters effect this with

surprising success. After the edges are fitted together, holes of about

three-eighths of an inch in diameter are bored a hand-breadth apart in

them, having an oblique direction inwards, so as to have their outlet

in the flange: the holes in the edge of the opposite board are made to

answer these exactly. A white pitch from the bread-fruit tree, prepared

with an extract from the cocoa-nut kernel, is spread uniformly on both

edges, and over this a strip of fine _masi_ is laid, which is

burnt through with a small fire-stick where it covers the holes. The

piece or _vono_ is now ready for fixing, which is done by what is

commonly but wrongly called “sewing;” the native word better describes

the process, and means, “to bind.” The vono being lifted to its place,

a well dressed but not large sinnet is passed through the hole in the

top flange, so as to come out through the lower one: the end is then

inserted in the sinnet further on, and the sinnet runs rapidly through

the hole, until eight or twelve loose turns are taken: the inserted end

is then sought and laid on the round projection formed by the united

flanges, and fastened there by drawing one turn of the sinnet tightly

over it; the other turns are then tightened, the last but one being

made a tie to the last. The spare sinnet is now cut off close, and

the operation repeated at the next hole. The bindings, already very

strong, have their power increased by fine wedges of hard wood, to the

number of six or seven, being driven in opposite directions under the

sinnet, whereby the greatest possible pressure is obtained. The ribs

seen in canoes are not used to bring the planks into shape, but are

the last things inserted, and are for securing the deep side-boards

described below, and uniting the deck more firmly with the body of

the canoe. The outside of the vono is now carefully adzed into form,

and the carpenter has often to look closely to find the joint. When

the body of the canoe is cleaned off and rubbed down with pumice

stone, the surface is beautifully smooth. Of course no signs of the

fastenings are seen outside. This process is not used in fixing the

deep planks which support the main deck, or the triangular coverings of

the two ends already described. These being on the top of the gunwale,

and above the water-mark, the sinnet is seen, at regular intervals,

passing, like a band, over a flat bead which runs the whole length of

the canoe, covering the joint and making a neat finish. Into the upper

edge of planks, two or three feet deep, fixed along the top of the

sides perpendicularly, the cross beams which join on the outrigger are

let and lashed down, and over these a deck of light wood is laid. The

scuttle holes for baling are left at each corner. The deck also has six

holes forward, and six aft, through which to work the sculling-oars,

used in light winds to help the sail, or when dead calm or foul wind

makes the sail useless. A small house or cuddy is built amid-ships,

on which boxes or bales are stowed, and on a platform over it persons

can sit or lie; a rack behind it receives guns, and spears, and clubs,

or baskets are hung upon it. Any aperture inside not filled with the

sinnet is tightly caulked with cocoa-nut husk, and such as are next the

water are flushed up with the white pitch or resin.

Women, as well as men, discharge the duties of “ordinary seamen.” When

ready for sea the mast, which is “stepped on deck in a chop,” stands

erect, except that it is hauled to bend towards the outrigger. It is

secured by fore and back stays, the latter taking the place of shrouds:

when the sail is hoisted the halyards also become back stays; these

ropes as long as the canoe is under sail may be called her standing

rigging, not being loosed in tacking. The halyards are bent on the

yard at less than a third of its length, at the upper end, and passed

over the top of the mast, which has generally a crescent form. The

great sail is allowed to swing a few feet from the deck till orders are

given to get it under weigh. The yard is now hoisted hard up to the

mast-head, but as the length of the yard from the halyards to the tack

is longer than the mast, the latter is slacked off so as to incline to

that end of the canoe to which the tack is fixed, thus forming with the

lower length of the yard a triangle, of which the line of deck is the

base.

The ends of the deck beams on the _cama_ side serve for belaying

pins, on which a turn of the halyards is taken, the loose ends being

passed round the “dog” or belaying pole. The steersman, holding a long

oar, stands nearly on a line with the tacks on the far edge of the main

deck; while in the opposite corner is the man who tends the sheet. The

sheet is bent on the boom about two-thirds, and by giving it a couple

of turns on a beam one man can hold it even in a breeze. Like the

felucca of the Mediterranean the helm is used at either end, and on

tacking is put up instead of down, that the outrigger may be kept to

windward: the wind being brought aft the tack is carried to the other

end, which is thus changed from stern to bow, the mast being slacked

back again to suit the change; the helmsman and sheet-holder change

places, and the canoe starts on a new tack.

A steer oar for a large canoe is twenty feet long, with an eight

feet blade, sixteen inches wide. Being made of heavy wood, the great

difficulty of handling it is eased by a rope, which is passed through

the top of the blade, and the other end of which is made fast to the

middle beam of the deck.

Figian canoe sailing, we are informed by the missionary Williams

(from whose interesting account the above description of Figian naval

architecture and canoe management is mainly taken), is not silent

work. The sail is hoisted and the canoe put about with merry shouts; a

brisk interchange of jest and raillery is kept up while sailing over

shoal reefs, and the heavier task of sculling is lightened by mutual

encouragement to exertion, and loud thanks to the scullers as each

set is relieved at intervals of five or ten minutes. A dead calm is

enlivened by playful invitations to the wind most wanted, the slightest

breath being greeted with cries of “Welcome! welcome on board!” If

there should be drums on board their clatter is added to the general

noise.

The announcement to the helmsman of each approaching wave, with the

order to _lavi_--keep her away--and the accompanying “one, two,

three, and another to come,” by which the measured advance of the waves

is counted, with passing comments on their good or ill demeanour, keep

all alive and in good humour.

Figian sailors, like all other sailors throughout the world, are very

superstitious. Certain parts of the ocean, through fear of the spirits

of the deep, they pass over in silence, with uncovered heads, and

careful that no fragment of wood or part of their dress shall fall into

the water. The common tropic bird is the shrine of one of their gods,

and the shark of another; and should the one fly over their heads, or

the other swim past, those who wear turbans would doff them, and all

utter some word of respect. A shark lying athwart their course is an

omen which fills them with fear. A basket of bitter oranges on board a

vessel is believed to diminish her speed. On one sort of canoe it is

“tapu” (sacrilege) to eat food in the hold; on another in the house on

deck; on another on the platform near the house. Canoes have been lost

altogether because the crew, instead of exerting themselves in a storm,

have quitted their posts to _soro_ to their gods, and throw yagona

and whales’ teeth to the waves to propitiate them.

Very different from the elaborate Figian vessel is the canoe of the

native of Torres Straits. This latter, which is often ninety feet in

length, is constructed out of a single tree, obtained from the mainland

of New Guinea. It is burnt out or hacked out, according to the New

Guinean’s convenience; it has a raised gunwale, and in the centre is a

platform. The stem and stern are closed, the head being shaped to the

rude resemblance of a shark or some other marine monster, and in the

stern is generally to be found a projecting pole from which is dangling

a bunch of emu feathers. They carry a mat sail set forward between two

poles hooked to the gunwale, bringing the heads of the poles to the

wind as required.

[Illustration: Torres Straits Canoe.]

To return, however, to the “war path.” No less superstitious than

the Figian is his savage brother the New Zealander, who, as we are

informed by Taylor and other trustworthy authorities, did not dare to

go to war before he had undergone a sort of confirmation at the hands

of the priest. Each priest, on the declaration of war, assembled his

own party, and went to a sacred water. At first they all sat down, but

after a time they stood up naked in the water, which they heaped up

against their bodies, and threw over their heads. After they had been

sprinkled by the priest, he said:

“This is the spirit, the spirit is present,

The spirit of this tapu!

The boy will be angry,

The boy will flame,

The boy will be brave,

The boy will possess thought.

Name this boy

That he may be angry, that he may flame,

To make the hail fall:

Dedicate him to fight for Tu;

Ward off the blow that he may fight for Tu.

The man of war jumps and wards off the blows.”

Here the ceremony terminated, and the assembly, as if inspired, jumped

up, and rushed to the fight, while the priest repeated the following

karakia, standing on some elevated spot, from which he could command a

view of the battle:

“The god of strength, let him be present;

Let not your breath fail you.”

After the battle was over the priest called those who survived, and

enquired of each if he had killed anyone, or taken any prisoners. All

who had been in battle before delivered up their weapons to him, who

deposited them in the house where they were kept. Those who had fought

for the first time were called and asked if they had killed anyone. If

the person addressed replied in the affirmative, the priest demanded

his _mere_--stone battle-axe--and broke it into pieces. This was

the invariable custom with young warriors when they had imbued their

hands in the blood of their enemies. The priest having afterwards

assembled them together, used the following words, which were called

the _Haha_:

“This is the wind, the wind is feeding;

The wind descends,

The wind is prosperous,

The many sacred things of Tu.

The wind descends,

The wind is prosperous,

The living wind of Tu.”

The natives regard the wind as an indication of the presence of their

god, if not the god himself. After this ceremony the youths were

considered as men, though they were narrowly watched for some time

by the priest, and they were liable to be put to death if they broke

any of the sacred rules of the tapu. They could not carry a load, cut

their own hair, or plait a woman’s. If one of them was discovered by

the priest doing any of these things, he assumed his authority, and

pronounced the sentence of death by saying “Go away, go away.” This

so affected the person to whom it was addressed, that it was quite

sufficient to kill him.

There was another ceremony performed after fighting, which was supposed

to confer a benefit on all who had been engaged in the battle, and

were successful in killing or making slaves. It was called _he

pureinga_, which means a taking off of that sacredness which had

been put upon them before the fight, or, in other words, the taking off

the tapu:

“There is the wind;

The wind rests;

The wind is feeding;

The wind which gathers--

O wind subside!

O living wind!

O sacred wind of Tu!

Loose the tapu,

The god of strength;

Let the ancient gods dismiss the tapu,

O ... o ... o ... the tapu is taken away!”

When they went to war, they were separated from their wives, and did

not again approach them until peace was proclaimed. Hence, during a

period of long-continued warfare, they remarked that their wives were

widows.

When a party attacking a pa had forced an entrance, they generally

killed all within it. At the time of the slaughter the victors pulled

off a lock of hair from each victim, and also from those they saved as

slaves, which they stuck in their girdles. When the carnage was over,

they assembled in ranks, generally three deep, each party being headed

by its own _tohunga_, to thank their gods, and also to propitiate

their favour for the future. When all the necessary arrangements were

made, they each gave the _tohunga_ a portion of the hair they had

collected, which he bound on two small twigs; these he raised above

his head, one in each hand, the people doing the same, except that

they used twigs without any hair. They remained in this posture whilst

the priest offered a prayer for the future welfare of the tribe. He

then cast the twigs with the hair bound to them from him, as did the

warriors with theirs, and all joined in a _puha_ or war song.

Then, standing quite naked, they clapped their hands together and

struck them upon their thighs in order to take off the tapu from their

hands which had been imbued in human blood. When they arrived within

their own pa, they marched slowly, and in order, towards the house

of the principal tohunga, who stood in his _waho tapu_ or sacred

grove ready to receive them. As soon as they were about one hundred

yards from him, he called out, “Whence comes the war party of Tu?”

Whereupon he was answered by the tohunga of the party. “The war party

of Tu comes from the search.” “From whence comes the war-party of Tu?”

“The war party of Tu comes from the stinking place.” “From whence comes

the war party of Tu?” “It comes from the south; it comes from the

north; it comes from the thicket where birds congregate; it comes from

the fortifications: it made speeches there; it heard news there.”

[Illustration: New Zealand Arms.]

When they got near the principal tohunga, the warriors gave the

remaining locks of hair to their own priests, who went forward and

presented them to the chief one: he offered them to the god of war,

with many prayers. They then performed the _tupeke_, or war

dance, and clapped their hands a second time. The slave of the tohunga

belonging to the war party then made three ovens, in which he cooked a

portion of the hearts of the principal warriors of the conquered party.

“When they were done, the chief tohunga took a portion, over which he

uttered a harakia, and then threw it towards his god as an offering.

Having eaten all the food of the three ovens, he took the tapu off

the warriors, and they were permitted to “tangi,” or cry with their

relations. The women came out armed, and if any of the attacking party

had been lost in the assault, they fell upon the slaves and killed as

many as they could. Among the Taupo tribes it was not lawful for women

and girls to eat human flesh, though this restriction does not appear

to have extended to other parts of the island.

[Illustration: Australian Weapons.]

As we are now as close to Australia as we are likely for some time

to be, we may as well take a voyage over and see what sort of man

of war our dirty little friend the Bushman is. He is not at a loss

for weapons, nor for skill to use them. They may be enumerated as

follows:--The spear, nine or ten feet long, rather thicker than

one’s finger, tapered to a point, hardened in the fire and sometimes

jagged. The wammera or throwing stick, shows considerable ingenuity

of invention; about two and a half feet long, it has a hook at one

end which fits a notch on the heel of the spear, in whose projection

it acts, much like a third joint of the arm, adding very greatly to

the force. A lance is thrown with ease and accuracy sixty, eighty,

and a hundred yards. The waddy is a heavy knobbed club about two feet

long, and is used for active service, foreign or domestic. It brains

the enemy in the battle, or strikes senseless the poor gin in cases

of disobedience or neglect. In the latter instance a broken arm is

considered a mild martial reproof.

[Illustration: Throwing the Boomerang.]

The stone tomahawk is employed in cutting opossums out of their holes

in trees, as well as to make notches in the bark, by inserting a toe

into which, the black can ascend the highest and largest gums in the

bush. One can hardly travel a mile in New South Wales without seeing

these marks, old or new. The quick eye of the native is guided to the

retreat of the opossum by the slight scratches of its claws on the

stem of the tree. The boomerang, the most curious and original of

Australian war implements, is, or was, familiar in England as a toy. It

is a paradox in missile power. There are two kinds of boomerang, that

which is thrown to a distance straight ahead, and that which returns

on its own axis to the thrower. “I saw,” says Mr. Mundy, “a native of

slight frame throw one of the former two hundred and ten yards and much

further when a _ricochet_ was permitted. With the latter he made

several casts truly surprising to witness. The weapon after skimming

breast high, nearly out of sight, suddenly rose high into the air,

and returning with amazing velocity towards its owner, buried itself

six inches deep in the turf, within a few yards of his feet. It is

a dangerous game for an inattentive spectator. An enemy or a quarry

ensconced behind a tree or bank safe from spear or even bullet, may

be taken in the rear and severely hurt or killed by the recoil of the

boomerang. The emu and kangaroo are stunned and disabled, not knowing

how to avoid its eccentric gyrations. Amongst a flight of wild ducks

just rising from the water, or a flock of pigeons on the ground, this

weapon commits great havoc. At close quarters in fight the boomerang,

being made of very hard wood with a sharp edge, becomes no bad

substitute for a cutlass.

The hieleman or shield, is a piece of wood about two and a half feet

long, tapering to the ends with a bevelled face not more than four

inches wide at the broadest part, behind which the left hand passes

through a hole perfectly guarded. With this narrow buckler the native

will parry any missile less swift than the bullet.

In throwing the spear after affixing the wammera, the owner poises it,

and gently shakes the weapon so as to give it a quivering motion which

it retains during its flight. Within fifty or sixty paces the kangaroo

must, I should conceive, have a poor chance of his life.

[Illustration: Hurling the Spear.]

The spear is immeasurably the most dangerous weapon of the Australian

savage. Many a white man has owed his death to the spear; many

thousands of sheep, cattle, and horses have fallen by it. Several

distinguished Englishmen have been severely wounded by spear casts;

among whom I may name Captain Bligh, the first governor of New South

Wales, Sir George Grey, and Captain Fitzgerald, the present governors

of New Zealand and Western Australia, and Captain Stokes, R.N., long

employed on the survey of the Australian coasts. The attack by the

blacks upon the Lieut.-Governor of Swan River, occurred so lately as

December 1848. In self-defence he was compelled to shoot his ferocious

assailants just too late to save himself, being seriously hurt by a

spear passing through his thigh.

Our artist, Mr. Harden S. Melville, while attached to the Australian

exploring expedition, in H.M.S. “Fly,” had a narrow escape from making

a disagreeably close acquaintance with one of these formidable barbed

war tools. The ship’s boat had put ashore at a spot where there was a

congregation of native huts, though not a solitary human inhabitant

could be distinguished. With a spirit, however, which evinced more

devotion to the cause of science than to the usages of polite

society, our friend must needs penetrate to the interior of one of

the kennel-like abodes, though to effect this purpose he had to crawl

on all fours. Whether he found anything to repay him for his pains

I don’t recollect; I only know that he had barely scrambled to the

perpendicular, with his back to the bush, when the seaman who was with

him, with laudable promptitude, called his attention to an interesting

object in the distance. It was a native--the owner of the house Mr.

Melville had so unceremoniously ransacked, no doubt--and there he stood

with his spear nicely adjusted to the wammera and all a-tremble for a

cast. The instant, however, that our artist (who I may tell the reader

is a perfect giant) turned his face instead of his back to the native,

the spear was lowered and the danger at an end.

[Illustration: Australian Duel.]

Lax as is the native Australian’s morality still he has his code of

honour and should one of its articles be infringed he will not be

content to lay wait for the aggressor and drive a spear through his

back, or strike him dead with his boomerang while he is safe concealed

and secure from observation; no, he must have “the satisfaction of a

gentleman,” he must call his man “out,” and compel him to be murdered

or commit a murder. So in this respect the bushman, “the meanest

specimen of humanity,” is as respectable an individual as many a noble

born and highly educated Englishman, who lived in the reign and basked

in the friendship of the “first gentleman in Europe.” He shows himself

even more respectable; for whereas gentlemen of a past generation

would meet and fire bullets or dash and stab at each other with naked

swords about ever so trifling a matter, as a dispute about the cut of

a coat or the character of a sweetheart, the bushman never appeals to

the honourable institution of duelling, except an enemy be guilty of

the heinous offence of denying that he has a _thick head_. “He

no good, his scull no thicker than an emu’s egg-shell.” If a bushman

brook such an insult as this he is for ever the scoff and jest of all

who know him; but the chances are that he will not brook the insult;

he will send a friend to the slanderer to bid him bring his stoutest

“waddy,” that it may be shivered on the thick head of the warrior he

had traduced.

The combatants meet and a select party of friends are invited to see

fair. The weapons are the familiar “waddys,” and the men stand opposite

each other with their heads bare. There is no tossing for position

or any other advantage; indeed there is no advantage to be gained

excepting who shall have first “whack,” and that is always allowed

to the challenger. The man who is to receive first whack, if he is a

person of experience, knows the hard and soft parts of his cranium

and takes care so to manœuvre that the former shall be presented to

the up-raised club. Down comes the weapon with a thud that makes

the recipient’s teeth chatter, but beyond that he has sustained no

inconvenience, and now he straightens his back and grins, for it is

his turn. His opponent lowers his head as he had done and a loud

hollow noise follows, which the man’s friends hail with delight, as it

indicates that though his skull may be dented it is not yet cracked.

And so the duel proceeds, whack for whack, until one mightier than

before, or on a “sore place,” stretches one of them on the grass.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXIV.

Caffre warfare--Great cry and little carnage--A Caffre war

chant--War song of the renowned Cucutle--A Griqua Pitsho--An

African council of war--The chiefs speech--The chief accused

of apathy--A reproof to the kidney-eaters--Death before

dishonour--Archery in Eastern Africa--Fan bowmen--War weapons

of cannibal Fans--War knives and brain hatchets--The women

warriors of Dahomey--The king’s fingers--King Gezo likened

to a hen--Amazon parables--Pretty picture of an Abyssinian

warrior--Omen birds--A non-believer in English gunnery--The

sceptic convinced--A potent candle end--Savage metallurgy--The

king and the blacksmith--Le Vaillant turns bellows mender.

Turning to Southern Africa, we find that among the Caffres the trade

of war is conducted with a method and precision seldom found among

savages. The most common causes of warfare are, what is proper tribute

to the chief, grazing privileges, and territorial boundaries; no

body of men, however, ever fall upon another body of their inimical

countrymen without certain formalities are observed, with a view to

warn the enemy what he may shortly expect, and to prepare himself

accordingly. Bearing in their hands the tail either of a lion or

a panther, ambassadors are sent to enquire whether the other side

still persist in their obstinacy; if so, the tails are flourished

threateningly, which is equivalent to a declaration of war.

The declaration made, all the vassal chiefs with their dependants are

summoned to assemble. Everyone must implicitly obey this mandate,

and follow his leader; whoever does not, is in danger of having his

whole property confiscated. As soon as the army is collected at the

habitation of the king, a number of deer are killed, that the warriors

may be strengthened for the fight by eating abundantly of their flesh;

at the same time they dance, and deliver themselves up entirely to

rejoicing. The king presents the most distinguished and the most

valiant among the Caffres with plumes of feathers from the wings of

a sort of crane, and these they wear upon their heads as marks of

honour. These plumes are regarded as official badges, and those wearing

them are looked on as officers; and it is expected that every man so

distinguished will not only manœuvre his company, but, spear or club in

hand, head it and do battle with the leading warrior on the opposing

side. If a leader shirks his duty, he is condemned by the Caffre law to

an ignominious death. Among the followers, too, whoever forsakes his

leader is slain as soon as captured.

When the army moves, it takes with it as many deer as are deemed

necessary for its support; and when the stronghold is approached, the

“tail-bearers” are once more sent forward to give a last notice of

the intended attack, repeating the motives which have given occasion

to the war. If the enemy declares that at present he is not quite

prepared,--that he has not yet collected his fighting men; or that

it would be much more convenient if the other party would wait till

the blacksmiths had made a few more assagies and sharpened the old

ones,--the attacking party is content to squat down and kill and eat

their bullocks and smoke their pipes till the enemy notifies his

readiness to begin. A wide open place, without bushes and without

rocks, is chosen as the field of battle, to avoid all possibility of an

ambush, which is considered as wholly degrading.

The two armies, raising a loud war cry, approach in two lines till

they are within seventy or eighty paces of each other. They now begin

throwing their assagies, at the same time endeavouring to turn aside

those of the enemy. The king or commander-in-chief, whoever he may be,

remains always in the centre of the line, and takes an active part in

the fight. Some of the inferior commanders remain near him, the rest

remaining at the heads of their divisions. By degrees the two bands

approach nearer and nearer to each other, till at length they come hand

to hand, when the spears are thrown aside, reliance being placed on the

clubs to decide the fortunes of the day.

Should night surprise the combatants, hostilities are suspended, the

chiefs of either party meeting and endeavouring to bring about a

treaty of peace; but should this be found impracticable, the fight

commences again in the morning. If one of the armies takes to flight,

the commander alone is blamed: everything depends on his personal

bravery; and his falling back is the signal for the whole body to

do the same. A flying enemy is immediately pursued; and above all

things the conquerors seek to possess themselves of their women and

children and cattle. If the vanquished party agrees to submit, his

submission is immediately accepted, on condition that he acknowledges

his conqueror from that time forward as his sovereign, and solemnly

promises obedience to him. When this is done, the captured women and

children are sent back, as well as part of the cattle taken, it being

a household maxim among these people that “we must not let even our

enemies die with hunger.”

In these Caffre fights, however, the loss of life is never very

considerable; the assagie is the principal weapon, and with it the

Caffre is a not very certain marksman. To see the dancing and yelling,

and the air thick with spears, one would suspect the bloodiest carnage;

but it will often happen that after a few hours’ battle, in which say

two thousand are engaged, it is a great chance if more than about

twenty on each side are slain and about double that number wounded.

Caffre warfare, too, is merciful, as well from deliberation as from

ignorance; and one falling unarmed into the hands of the enemy is

seldom or never put to death; the women and children equally have

nothing to fear for their lives. For this reason, women are sometimes

employed as ambassadors, when there is danger that matters have been

pushed too far, and that a male negotiator may be put to death before

he has time to explain his errand.

“The Basutos and the Caffres,” says Mr. Cassalis, “are passionately

fond of a kind of war-dance, at which the women are only present to aid

by their songs and cries. A circle is formed by some hundreds of robust

men, having the head adorned with tufts and plumes, and a panther’s

skin thrown over the left shoulder. The signal is given, the war-song

commences, and the mass moves simultaneously as if it were but one

man. Every arm is in motion; every head turns at once; the feet of all

strike the ground in time with such force that the vibration is felt

for more than two hundred yards. Every muscle is in movement; every

feature distorted; the most gentle countenance assumes a ferocious and

savage expression. The more violent the contortions, the more beautiful

the dance is considered. This lasts for hours; the song continues as

loud and the frantic gestures lose none of their vigour. A strange

sound is heard during the short intervals when the voices are silent in

accordance with the measure; it is the panting of the dancers, their

breath escaping with violence, and sounding afar off like an unearthly

death rattle. This obstinate prolongation of so fatiguing an exercise

arises from the challenges made to each other by the young men, which

are even sent from one village to another. The question is, Who can

keep up the longest? The gain of an ox depends upon a few more leaps.

Dancers have been seen to fall down dead upon the spot; others receive

injuries which are difficult to cure. There is another war-dance which

is less fatiguing. In this they form themselves in a straight line,

and then run forward singing as if they were about to attack an enemy.

When they have reached a certain distance, they halt, some men leave

the ranks, fence from right to left, and then return to their comrades,

who receive them with great acclamations. As soon as the line is again

unbroken they return in the same manner to their starting point.

Besides war dances the savages of this region have war songs, of which

the two following will serve as samples:--

“Goloane is going to fight;

He departs with Letsie.

He runs to the enemy,

Him against whom they murmur,

Him whom they will never obey.

They insult his little red shield;

And yet it is the old shield

Of the ox of Tane.

What has not Mosheth just said?

Cease to defy Goloane the veteran.

However this may be, there are horses coming;

Goloane brings back from the battle

A grey horse and a red one;

These will return no more to their masters.

The ox without horns will not be restored.

To-day war has broken out

More fiercely than ever;

It is the war of Butsani and the Masetelis.

A servant of Mohato,

Goloane has hurled a piece of rock;

He has hit the warrior with the tawny shield.

Do you see the cowardly companions of this overthrown warrior

Standing motionless near the rock?

Why can their brother not go and take away

The plumes with which they have adorned their heads?

Goloane, thy praises are like the thick haze

Which precedes the rain:

Thy songs of triumph are heard in the mountains;

They go down to the valleys

Where the enemy knelt before

The cowardly warriors!... They pray!...

They beg that food may be given to them--

They will see who will give them any.

Give to our allies,

To the warriors of Makaba;

To those whom we never see come to attack us.

Goloane returns lame from the strife;

He returns, and his leg is streaming;

A torrent of dark blood

Escapes from the leg of the hero.

The companion of Rantsoafi

Seizes an heifer by the shoulder;

It is Goloane, the son of Makao,

Descendant of Molise.

Let no one utter any more insolence!

Ramakamane complains--

He groans--he says that his heifer

Has broken his white shoulder.

The companion of the brave

Goloane has contended with Empapang and Kabane.

The javelin is flung!

Goloane avoids it skilfully,

And the dart of Rabane

Is buried in the earth!”

Here is another in which a warrior having fought his country’s battles

thinks it not unbecoming to be his own trumpeter:

“I am Cucutle!

The warriors have passed singing,

The hymn of the battle has passed by me;

It has passed, despising my childhood,

And has stopped before the door of Bonkauku.

I am the black warrior.

My mother is Boseleso!

I will rush as a lion,

Like him that devours the virgins

Near the forests of Fubasekoa.

Mapatsa is with me--

Mapatsa, the son of Tele--

We set off singing the song of the Trot.

Ramakoala, my uncle, exclaims:

Cucutle, where shall we fight?

We will fight before the fires of Makoso.

We arrive....

The warriors of the enemy, ranged in a line,

Fling their javelins together;

They fatigue themselves in vain:

The father of Moatla rushes into their midst,

He wounds a man in the arm

Before the eyes of his mother,

Who sees him fall,

Ah! Where is the head of the son of Sebegoane?

It has rolled to the middle of his native town.

I entered victorious into his dwelling,

And purified myself in the midst of his sheepfold:

My eye is still surrounded with the clay of the victory.

The shield of Cucutle has been pierced;

Those of his enemies are intact,

For they are the shields of cowards.

I am the white thunder

Which growls after the rain!

Ready to return to my children,

I roar: I must have prey!

I see the flocks and herds escaping

Across the tufted grass of the plain;

I take them from the shepherd with the white and yellow shield.

Go up on the high rocks of Macate;

See the white cow run into the midst of the herd.

A Makose will no longer despise my club;

The grass grows in his deserted pens,

The wind sweeps the thatch

From his ruined huts;

The humming of the goats is the only noise that is heard

In his town, once so gay.

Tired, and dying with thirst, I went to the dwelling of Entele;

His wife was churning delicious milk,

The foam of which was white and frothy

Like the saliva of a little child.

I picked up a piece of a broken pot

To drink out of the vessel,

Which I soon left empty.

The white cow that I conquered

Has a black head;

Her breast is high and open--

It was the nurse of the son of Matayane--

I will go and offer it to my prince.

The name of my chief is Makao,

And Makao is Makoo:

I swear it by the striped ox

Of Mamasike!”

During Mr. Moffat’s missionary sojourn among the natives of Southern

Africa it frequently fell to his lot to become pleader and arbitrator

in most important public matters. Once, when among the Griquas, the

neighbouring tribe of Mantatees threatened war; and the fiery Griquas

were eager to accept the challenge. The English missionary, however,

was against the whole business, and did not hesitate so to express

himself at the war council.

Orders were sent off to the different towns and villages that a

_pitsho_, or parliament, be convened on the following day. As

subjects of great national interest were to be discussed, all were in

motion early. About 10 a.m. the whole body of armed men, amounting to

about one thousand, came to the outskirts of the town, and returned

again to the public fold, or place of assembly, some singing war-songs,

others engaged in mock fights, with all the fantastic gestures which

their wild imaginations could invent. The whole body took their seats

lining the fold, leaving an arena in the centre for the speakers.

[Illustration: African Arms.]

A few short extracts from some of the speeches will serve to show

the manner in which these meetings are conducted. Although the whole

exhibits a very grotesque scene, business is carried on with the most

perfect order. There is but little cheering, and still less hissing,

while every speaker fearlessly states his own sentiments. The audience

is seated on the ground, each man having before him his shield, to

which is attached a number of spears; a quiver containing poisoned

arrows is hung from the shoulder; and a battle-axe is held in the right

hand. Many were adorned with tiger skins and tails, and had plumes of

feathers waving on their heads. In the centre a sufficient space was

left for the privileged--those who had killed an enemy in battle--to

dance and sing, in which they exhibited the most violent and fantastic

gestures conceivable, which drew forth from the spectators the most

clamorous applause. When they retire to their seats the speaker

commences by commanding silence--“Be silent, ye Batlapis. Be silent,

ye Barolongs”--addressing each tribe distinctly, not excepting the

white people if any happen to be present, and to which each responds

with a groan. He then takes from his shield a spear, and points it in

the direction in which the enemy is advancing, imprecating a curse

upon them, and thus declaring war by repeatedly thrusting his spear

in that direction, as if plunging it into the enemy. This receives a

loud whistling sound of applause. He next directs his spear towards

the Bushman-country, south and south-west, imprecating also a curse

on those “ox-eaters,” as they are called. The king on this, as on all

similar occasions, introduced the business of the day by, “Ye sons of

Molehabangue”--viewing all the influential men present as the friends

or allies of his kingdom, which rose to more than its former eminence

under the reign of that monarch, his father--“the Mantatees are a

strong and victorious people; they have overwhelmed many nations and

they are approaching to destroy us. We have been apprised of their

manners, their deeds, their weapons, and their intentions. We cannot

stand against the Mantatees; we must now concert, conclude, and be

determined to stand; the case is a great one. You have seen the

interest the missionary has taken in your safety; if we exert ourselves

as he has done the Mantatees can come no farther. You see the white

people are our friends. You see Mr. Thompson, a chief man of the Cape,

has come to see us on horseback; he has not come to lurk behind our

houses as a spy, but comes openly, and with confidence; his intentions

are good, he is one on whom the light of day may shine, he is our

friend. I now wait to hear what the general opinion is. Let everyone

speak his mind, and then I shall speak again.” Mothibi manœuvred his

spear as at the commencement, and then pointing it towards heaven, the

audience shouted “Pula” (rain), on which he sat down amidst a din of

applause.

Between each speaker a part or verse of a war-song is sung, the same

antics are then performed, and again universal silence is commanded.

The second speaker, Moshume, said, “To-day we are called upon to oppose

an enemy, who is the enemy of all. Moffat has been near the camp of the

enemy; we all opposed his going; we are to-day all glad that he went;

he did not listen to us; he has warned us and the Griquas. What are we

now to do? If we flee, they will overtake us; if we fight, they will

conquer; they are as strong as a lion; they kill and eat; they leave

nothing. [Here an old man interrupted the speaker, begging him to roar

aloud that all might hear.] I know ye, Batlapis,” continued Moshume,

“that at home and in the face of women ye are men, but women in the

face of the enemy; ye are ready to run when you should stand; think and

prepare your hearts this day; be united in one; make your hearts hard.”

Incha, a Morolong, commenced his speech by recommending that the

Batlapis should wait till the Mantatees arrived and then attack them.

He had scarcely said this, when he was interrupted by Isite, a young

chief, who sprang up calling out, “No, no; who called upon you to speak

foolishness? Was there ever a king or chief of the Batlapis who said

you must stand up and speak? Do you intend to instruct the sons of

Molehabangue? Be silent. You say you know the men, and yet you wish

us to wait till they enter our town. The Mantatees are conquerors,

and if we flee we must lose all. Hear, and I will speak:--Let us

attack the enemy where they are, and not wait till they approach our

town; if we retreat there will be time for those in the rear to flee.

We may fight and flee, and at last conquer; this we cannot do if we

wait till they approach our town.” This speech was loudly cheered,

while Incha silently sat down. A chief considerably advanced in years

afterwards addressed the assembly. “Ye sons of Molehabangue! ye sons

of Molehabangue! ye have done well this day. You are now acting

wisely, first to deliberate, and then to proceed. The missionary has

discovered our danger, like the rising sun after a dark night; a man

sees the danger he was in when darkness shut his eyes. We must not act

like Bahuanas; we must act like Makovas (white people). Is that our

_pitsho_? No; it is the _pitsho_ of the missionary; therefore

we must speak and act like Makovas.” Taisho arose, and having commanded

silence, was received with reiterated applause, on which an old warrior

rushed furiously up to him, and holding forth his arm, called out,

“Behold the man who shall speak wisdom! Be silent, be instructed; a

man--a wise man--has stood up to speak.” Taisho informed the preceding

speaker that he was the man who charged his people with desertion in

time of war. “Ye cowards; ye vagabonds!” he exclaimed, “deny the charge

if you can. Shall I count up how often you have done so? Were I to

repeat the instances, you would decamp like a chastened dog, or with

shame place your head between your knees.” Addressing the assembly, he

said, “I do not rise to-day to make speeches; I shall wait till the

day of mustering. I beseech you to reflect on what is before you, and

let the subject sink deep into your hearts, that you may not turn your

backs in the day of battle.” Turning to the king, he said, “You are

too indifferent about the concerns of your people; you are rolled up in

apathy; you are now called upon to show that you are a king and a man.”

When several other speakers had delivered their sentiments, chiefly

exhorting to unanimity and courage, Mothibi resumed his central

position, and after the usual gesticulations commanded silence. Having

noticed some remarks of the preceding speakers, he added, “It is

evident that the best plan is to proceed against the enemy, that they

come no nearer; let not our towns be the seat of war; let not our

houses be the scenes of bloodshed and destruction. No; let the blood

of the enemy be spilt at a distance from our wives and children.”

Turning to the aged chief, he said: “I hear you, my father; your words

are true, they are good for the ear: it is good that we be instructed

by the Makovas. I wish those evil who will not obey; I wish that they

may be broken in pieces.” Then addressing the warriors: “There are

many of you who do not deserve to eat out of a bowl, but only out of a

broken pot; think on what has been said, and obey without muttering. I

command you, ye chiefs of the Batlapis, Batlaros, Bamaires, Barolongs,

and Bakotus, that you acquaint all your tribes of the proceedings of

this day; let none be ignorant. I say again, ye warriors, prepare for

the battle; let your shields be strong, your quivers full of arrows,

and your battle-axes as sharp as hunger. Be silent, ye kidney-eaters

(addressing the old men [among these people only the aged eat kidneys;

the young avoid them from superstitious motives]), ye who are of no

farther use but to hang about for kidneys when an ox is slaughtered.

If your oxen are taken where will you get any more?” Turning to the

women, he said: “Prevent not the warrior from going out to battle by

your cunning insinuations. No; rouse the warrior of glory, and he will

return with honourable scars, fresh marks of valour will cover his

thighs, and we shall then renew the war song and dance, and relate the

story of our conquest.” At the conclusion of this speech the air was

rent with acclamations, the whole assembly occasionally joining in the

dance, the women frequently taking the weapons from the hands of the

men and brandishing them in the most violent manner; people of all ages

using the most extravagant and frantic gestures for nearly two hours.

The warrior of Southern Africa would seem to be a man of different

mettle to the South-Sea Islander, whose bark is so much more formidable

than his bite. The instance about to be quoted in proof of this may,

in its singleness, seem not much; there is, however, about it a tone

that is significant of the magnanimity of a race, rather than of an

isolated case of barbarous heroism. The nature of this noble African’s

offence is not mentioned by the missionary who relates the story; but

that it was not monstrous, may be fairly assumed from the criminal’s

behaviour:--

“He was a man of rank, and wore on his head the usual badge of dignity.

He was brought to head-quarters. His arm bore no shield, nor his hand a

spear; he had been divested of these, which had been his glory. He was

brought into the presence of the king and his chief council, charged

with a crime for which it was in vain to expect pardon, even at the

hands of a more humane government. He bowed his fine elastic figure

and kneeled before the judge. The case was investigated silently,

which gave solemnity to the scene. Not a whisper was heard among the

listening audience, and the voices of the council were only audible

to each other and the nearest spectators. The prisoner, though on his

knees, had something dignified and noble in his mien. Not a muscle of

his countenance moved, but his bright black eyes indicated a feeling

of intense interest, which the moving balance between life and death

only could produce. The case required little investigation; the charges

were clearly substantiated, and the culprit pleaded ‘Guilty.’ But alas!

he knew it was at a bar where none ever heard the heart-reviving sound

of pardon, even for offences small compared with his. A pause ensued,

during which the silence of death pervaded the assembly. At length the

monarch spoke, and addressing the prisoner, said: ‘You are a dead man;

but I shall do to-day what I never did before; I spare your life for

the sake of my friend and father,’ pointing to the spot where I stood.

‘I know his spirit weeps at the shedding of blood; for his sake I spare

your life. He has travelled from a far country to see me, and he has

made my heart white; but he tells me that to take away life is an awful

thing, and never can be undone again. He has pleaded with me not to go

to war, nor destroy life. I wish him when he returns to his own home

again to return with a heart as white as he has made mine. I spare you

for his sake, for I love him, and he has saved the lives of my people.

But,’ continued the king, ‘you must no more associate with the nobles

of the land, nor enter the towns of the princes of the people, nor ever

again mingle in the dance of the mighty. Go to the poor of the field,

and let your companions be the inhabitants of the desert.’ The sentence

passed, the pardoned man was expected to bow in grateful adoration

to him whom he was wont to look upon and exalt in songs applicable

only to one to whom belongs universal sway and the destinies of man.

But no; holding his hands clasped on his bosom he replied: ‘O king,

afflict not my heart! I have merited thy displeasure; let me be slain

like a warrior; I cannot live with the poor.’ And, raising his hand to

the ring he wore on his brow, he continued, ‘How can I live among the

dogs of the king and disgrace these badges of honour which I won among

the spears and shields of the mighty? No, I cannot live. Let me die,

O Pezoolu!’ His request was granted, and his hands tied direct over

his head. How my exertions to save his life were vain. He disdained

the boon on the conditions offered, preferring death with honours he

had won at the point of his spear--honours which even the act that

condemned him did not tarnish--to exile and poverty among the children

of the desert. He was led forth, a man walking on each side. My eye

followed him till he reached the top of a precipice, over which he

was precipitated into the deep pool of the river beneath, where the

crocodiles, accustomed to such meals, were yawning to devour him ere he

could reach the bottom.”

Turning to Eastern Africa, we are somewhat surprised to find the native

“a good archere and a fayre.” “The cubit-high Armiger,” Mr. Burton

tells us, “begins as soon as he can walk with miniature weapons, a cane

bow and reed bird-bolts tipped with wood, to practise till perfect

at gourds and pumpkins; he considers himself a man when he can boast

of iron tips. The bow in East Africa is invariably what is called a

self-bow, that is to say, made of a single piece, and backed weapons

are unknown. It is uncommonly stiff. When straight it may measure five

feet from tip to tip. It is made with the same care as the spear from

a branch of the matta tree laboriously cut and scraped so as to taper

off towards the horns and smeared with oil or grease, otherwise it is

easily sprung, and it is sometimes adorned with plates of tin and zinc

with copper or brass wire and tips. The string is made of gut, the

tendons of a bullock’s neck or hock, and sometimes of tree fibre; it is

nearly double the bow in length, the extra portion being whipped for

strength as well as contingent use round the upper horn. In shooting,

the bow is grasped with the left hand; but the thumb is never extended

along the back, the string is drawn with the two bent forefingers,

though sometimes the shaft is held after the Asiatic fashion with the

thumb and index. The bow is pulled with a jerk and not let fly, as the

Europeans, with a long steady loose. The best bows are made by the

tribes near the Pufyi River.

[Illustration: The Universal Weapon.]

“The arrow is about two feet in length; the shaft is made of some

light wood and often the reed. Its fault is want of weight; to inflict

damage upon an antelope it must not be used beyond point-blank fifteen

to twenty paces, and a score will be shot into a bullock before it

falls. The musketeer, despising the arrow at a distance fears it in

close quarters, knowing that for the one shot the archer can discharge

a dozen. Fearing the action of the wind upon the light shafts, the

archer inserts into the cloven end three or four feathers. The pile or

iron head is curiously and cruelly barbed with long waving tails, the

neck is toothed and edged by denting the iron when hot with an axe, and

it is sometimes half sawed that it may break before extraction. The

East Africans also have ‘forkers’ or two-headed shafts and bird-bolts,

or blunt arrows tipped with some hard wood, used when the weapon is

likely to be lost. Before loosing an arrow the archer throws into the

air a pinch of dust, not to find out the wind, but for good luck, like

the Tartars of Tibet before discharging their guns. In battle the

heavy-armed man holds his spear and a sheaf of spare arrows in the

bow hand, whilst a quiver slung to the left side contains reserve

missiles; and a little axe stuck in the right side of the girdle is

ready when the rest fail. The ronga or quiver is a bark case neatly cut

and stained. It is of two forms, full length and provided with a cover

for poisoned, and half length for unpoisoned, arrows.”

[Illustration: A Savage Bowman.]

The Fans of Equatorial Africa have a great diversity of arms. “Among

the crowd to-day,” says M. Du Chaillu, writing in a Fan village in

which he was lodging, “I saw men armed with cross-bows, from which are

shot either iron-headed arrows or the little insignificant-looking, but

really most deadly poison-tipped arrows. These are only slender reeds,

a foot long, whose sharpened ends are dipped into a deadly vegetable

poison which these people know how to make. The arrows are so light

that they would blow away if simply laid in the grove of the bow. To

prevent this they use a kind of sticky gum, a lump of which is kept on

the under side of the bow, and with which a small spot in the grove is

slightly rubbed. The handle of the bow is ingeniously split, and by a

little peg, which acts as a trigger, the bow-string is disengaged, and

as the spring is very strong it sends the arrow to a great distance,

and, light as it is, with great force. But the merest puncture kills

inevitably. They are good marksmen with their bows, which require

great strength to bend. They have to sit on their haunches and apply

both feet to the middle of the bow, while they pull with all their

strength on the string to bend it back. The larger arrows have an iron

head something like the sharp barbs of a harpoon. These are used for

hunting wild beasts, and are about two feet long. But the more deadly

weapon is the little insignificant stick of bamboo, not more than

twelve inches long, and simply sharpened at one end. This is the famed

poison-arrow, a missile which bears death wherever it touches, if only

it pricks a pin’s point of blood. The poison is made of the juices of

a plant, which was not shown me. They dip the sharp ends of the arrows

several times in the sap, and let it get thoroughly dried into the

wood. It gives the point a red colour. The arrows are very carefully

kept in a little bag made neatly of the skin of some wild animal. They

are much dreaded among the tribes about here, as they can be thrown or

projected with such power as to take effect at a distance of fifteen

yards, and with such velocity that you cannot see them at all till they

are spent; this I have often proved myself. There is no cure for a

wound from one of these harmless-looking little sticks--death follows

in a very short time. Some of the Fans bore on their shoulders the

terrible war-axe, one blow of which quite suffices to split a human

skull. Some of these axes, as well as their spears and other iron-work,

were beautifully ornamented with scroll-work and wrought in graceful

lines and curves, which spoke well for their artisans.

[Illustration: Fan Weapons.]

“The war-knife which hangs by the side is a terrible weapon for a

hand-to-hand conflict, and, as they explained to me, is designed to

thrust through the enemy’s body: they are about three feet long. There

is another huge knife also worn by some of the men in the crowd before

me. This is over a foot long, by about eight inches broad, and is

used to cut down through the shoulders of an adversary. It must do

tremendous execution. Then there is a very singular pointed axe which

is thrown from a distance as American Indians use the tomahawk. When

thrown it strikes with the point down and inflicts a terrible wound.

They use it with great dexterity. The object aimed at with this axe

is the head. The point penetrates to the brain and kills the victim

immediately; and then the round edge of the axe is used to cut the head

off, which is borne off by the victor as a trophy.

“The spears, which are six or seven feet in length, are thrown by the

natives with great force and with an accuracy of aim which never ceased

to surprise me. They make the long slender rod fairly whistle through

the air. Most of them can throw a spear effectively to the distance of

from twenty to thirty yards.

“Most of the knives and axes were ingeniously sheathed in covers made

of snake-skins, or human skin taken from some victim in battle. Many

of these sheaths are ingeniously made, and are slung round the neck by

cords which permit the weapon to hang at the side out of the wearer’s

way. Though so warlike they have no armour; in fact, their working in

iron is as yet too rude for such a luxury. The only weapon of defence

is the huge shield of elephant’s hide; but this is even bullet-proof:

as it is very large, three and a half feet long by two and a half

broad, it suffices to cover the whole body.

“Besides their weapons many of the men wore a small knife, but rather

unwieldy, which served the various offices of a jack knife, a hatchet,

and a table-knife. But though rude in shape they used it with great

dexterity.”

Africa, South and East, having come in for their shares of notice, let

us turn to Western Africa and see how there is managed the terrible

game of war. Anything connected with bloodshed in this portion of the

globe at once suggests Dahomey. Very well, Dahomey let it be; let us,

with Mr. Forbes, attend a review of King Gezo’s “women” soldiers:

“At noon we attended the parade of the amazon army, ostensibly the

taking the oath of fidelity by those extraordinary troops, and a

most novel and exciting scene it proved. Under a canopy of umbrellas

on the south side of the Ahjahee market-place, surrounded by

ministers, carbooceers, dwarfs, hunchbacks, etc., all militaire, on a

skull-ornamented war-stool sat the king, in front sat the too-noo-noo,

whilst on the right, under a similar canopy, similarly attended, was a

female court, in front of which was the man-hae-pah. In different parts

of the field bivouacked the amazon regiments. As I arrived and took

my seat on the king’s right hand, one regiment was marching off, and a

herald called--

‘Ah Haussoo-lae-beh-Haussoo!’

Oh King of Kings!

A regiment of bushrangers now advanced. As a mark of distinction, each

amazon had three stripes of whitewash round each leg. As soon as they

arrived in front of the throne, they saluted the king, when one of the

officers stepped forward and swore in the name of the regiment, if they

went to war, to conquer or die. ‘Have we not conquered,’ exclaimed she,

‘all the province of Mahea? So will we always conquer or die.’ Then a

second officer stepped forward and said: ‘When the Attahpahans heard

we were advancing, they ran away. If we go to war, and any return not

conquerors, let them die. If I retreat, my life is at the king’s mercy.

Whatever the town to be attacked, we will conquer, or bury ourselves in

its ruins.’ As soon as this officer had thus sworn, a third came from

the ranks and said: ‘We are eighty, and of the right brigade, never yet

known to turn our backs to the enemy. If any one can find fault with

us, young or old, let us know it.’ A male officer standing near the

king was about to address this amazon, when he was told by a fetish

man, ‘that woman is fetish, you are not; you must not interfere with

her.’ After saluting the male and female courts, one of the amazons

said: ‘I have no promise to make. As I have behaved, and will behave,

so I am ready to be judged: let my actions prove me!’ Then another

added: ‘By the king’s offspring, I swear never to retreat!’ whilst

a third continued, ‘War is our great friend; without it there is no

cloth nor armlets: let us to war, and conquer or die!’ The speaking

was then taken up by a fourth, saying: ‘I am a wolf--the enemy of all

I meet, who are the king’s enemies--and if I do not conquer, let me

die.’ And a fifth, who added: ‘I am mother of Antonio (Da Souza). I

long to kill an elephant for him to show my regard; but the Attahpahans

must be exterminated first. One of the male soldiers sent us Guinea

pepper to excite us to war: such is an insult.’ A sixth amazon, having

first recited the names of all the countries and towns conquered by the

Dahomans, to Ee-ah-wae (the English mother, an amazon general), the

latter repeated them to two female heralds, who proclaimed them aloud.

When this recitation was concluded, the amazon said to the king: ‘If

we go to war, we cannot come back empty handed; if we fail to catch

elephants, let us be content with flies. The king only knows where the

war shall be.’ Ah-koh-yoh (colonel of amazons) then began her address:

‘Cloths,’ she said, ‘are made by fingers--we are the king’s fingers!’

Whilst Ah-koong-ah-dah (colonel of amazons) added: ‘Carriages cannot

be drawn without wheels--we are the wheels!’ And then both together

cried: ‘We have destroyed Attahpahan, let us go to Abeahkeutah, where

we will conquer or die.’ A dance of the whole regiment followed; and

then crawling on their hands and knees, suddenly with a yell they rose

and retired at a rapid pace. Another regiment followed, about 300

strong. Fetish women in advance carried the fetish images, which were

placed on the ground between the two courts. All kneeling, raised their

muskets and saluted, after which they were again joined by about 200,

in the dress of amazons, retainers of the late Cha-cha, raised in 1848,

who introduced themselves as young soldiers, anxious to witness the

glory of kings. The colonel then advanced, and said: ‘The Attahpahans

wanted courage to fight against Dahomey. Give us Abeahkeutah, and if

we do not conquer our heads are at your disposal. If the Abeahkeutahs

run into the water we will follow them; if into fire, we will follow

also.’ Another amazon added: ‘As sure as Abeahkeutah now stands, we

will destroy it.’ Whilst a third took up the theme: ‘Attahpahan is

destroyed! Give us Abeahkeutah: that is a strong place.’ Anrou entered

a room in which lay a corpse; he lifted the sheet, and was asked why?

‘Because (he answered) I am anxious to go where that man has gone. Let

us go there, or conquer Abeahkeutah.’ A fourth amazon concluded the

address thus: ‘Talk of Attahpahan--it is gone--not worth speaking of:

Abeahkeutah is worthy of my consideration: if ordered there, we will

bring back a good report. As grass is cut down to clear the road, so

will we cut off the Abeahkeutahs.’ The amazon standard-bearer next

came forward, and said: ‘These standards are in our charge; we swear

to protect them, or die.’ All then saluted and marched off at the

double-quick step. Another regiment of 160 advanced, and, sitting down,

saluted, their fetish gear being placed in front. Some women belonging

to Souza family, in military costume, joined them. An amazon of this

regiment then commenced the usual address, thus: ‘The king is like a

hen spreading out her wings to protect her young from the rain. We are

under the king’s protection: if we do not fight, let us die.’ (The king

having drank health with me, handed a tumbler of liquor to the Possoo.)

After which another of the amazons continued the speaking in these

words: ‘Possoo, if you head us in this war, may we die. Send us to

Abeahkeutah, and we will destroy it or die.’ One of the male courtiers

here said: ‘If you do not you will lose your name.’ On which the amazon

replied: ‘We are newly-born by the king: we have and will uphold him.’

And another added, with emphasis: ‘Where the king sends us, thence

comes a good report. I am the king’s daughter, under his protection:

he gave me to the late Da Souza: death seized him. I now belong to

Antonio. My name is Ah-gae-see; and all I want is to go to war upon

Abeahkeutah.’ Another amazon then stepped forward and asked: ‘What came

we here for? Not to show ourselves, but to ask the king for war. Give

us Abeahkeutah, and we will destroy it or die.’ Followed by another,

who said: ‘Fetish men never initiate the poor. Give us Abeahkeutah:

there is plenty. Attahpahan is destroyed and unworthy of our future

care.’ At this part Souza’s women advanced and sang:

‘The amazons are ready to die in war;

Now is the time to send them.’

All the female court then left their stools, and, heading the amazons,

advanced and saluted the king, and then retiring, resumed their

positions: whilst, from the midst of the amazon army, a little girl

of six years of age advanced and said: ‘The king spoke thrice when he

spoke of war: let the king speak once now: let it be on Abeahkeutah.’

Again all the amazons advanced, and shouting, called on Da Souza to

emulate his father. ‘As the porcupine shoots a quill a new one grows

in its place, so let matters be in the port of Whydah: let one ship

replace another.’ All again prostrated themselves and threw dirt on

their heads: while two amazon heralds recited the names of the king,

and added one from the Attahpahan war, the glah-glash, or Chimpanzee.

Again all rose, whilst an amazon chief makes the following speech:

‘As the blacksmith takes an iron bar and by fire changes its fashion,

so have we changed our nature. We are no longer women, we are men.

By fire, we will change Abeahkeutah. The king gives us cloth, but

without thread. If corn is put in the sun to dry and not looked after,

will not the goats eat it? If Abeahkeutah be left too long some other

nation will spoil it. A cask of rum cannot roll itself; a table in a

house becomes useful when anything is placed thereon: the Dahoman army

without the amazons are as both, unassisted. Spitting makes the belly

more comfortable, and the outstretched hand will be the receiving one:

so we ask you for war, that our bellies may have their desire and our

hands be filled.’ At the conclusion of this harangue the female court

again rose, and, heading the amazons, saluted the king, when, pointing

to the hearers, all sang in chorus:

‘Soh-jah-mee!’

May thunder and lightning kill us if we break our oaths

The king now left the tent, amid cries of ‘Kok-pah-sah-kree’ (a

peculiarly fierce eagle); whilst all fell prostrate. The king received

a handsome ebony club, and danced with it. Then the amazons rose,

and the king thus addressed them: ‘The hunter buys a dog, and having

trained him, he takes him out hunting without telling him the game he

expects to meet. When in the bush he sees a beast, and by his teaching

the dog pursues it. If the dog returns without the game, the huntsman

in his anger kills him, and leaves his carcass a prey to the wolves

and vultures. If I order you to clear the bush and you do not do it,

will I not punish you? If I tell my people to put their hands in the

fire, they must do it. When you go to war, if you are taken prisoners,

you will be sacrificed, and your bodies become food for wolves and

vultures.’ Having concluded his oration, the king again danced and

drank; then handed round rum in a large pewter basin to the amazon

officers. On his return to his tent all the amazons, in number about

2,400, marched off,--and thus ended the parade.”

Although the African warrior has already occupied rather more than his

fair share of our space, we must still find room for a description of

an Abyssinian chief as he was witnessed by our countryman Mr. Bruce.

His name was Guangoul, and he was chief of the eastern Galla. He

came one day, accompanied by about 500 foot and 40 horse, to pay his

respects to the king. He was a little, thin, cross-made man, of no

apparent strength or swiftness, so far as could be conjectured; his

legs and thighs being small for his body, and his head large. He was

of a yellow, sickly colour, neither black nor brown, had long hair

plaited and interwoven with the bowels of oxen, and so knotted and

twisted together as to render it impossible to distinguish the hair

from the bowels, which hung down in long strings, part before and

part behind, forming the most extraordinary ringlets ever seen. He

had, likewise, a wreath of ox bowels hung about his neck and several

rounds of the same about his middle which served as a girdle, under

which was a short cotton cloth dipped in butter, and all his body was

wet, and running down with the same. In his country, when he appears

in state, the beast he rides upon is a cow. He was then in full dress,

and mounted upon one not of the largest size, but which had monstrous

horns; and rode without saddle. He had short drawers, which did not

reach to the middle of his thighs; his knees, legs, feet, and all his

body, being bare. He had a shield of a single hide, warped by the heat

in several directions, and much in the shape of a large high-crowned

hat. He carried a short lance in his right hand, with an ill-made iron

head, and a shaft that seemed to be of thorn-tree, but altogether

without ornament, which is seldom the case with the arms of barbarians.

Whether it was necessary for poising himself on the sharp ridge of the

beast’s back, or whether it was meant for graceful riding, Mr. Bruce

could not determine, being quite unskilled in cowmanship; but this

barbarian leaned exceedingly backwards, pushing out his belly, and

holding his left arm and shield extended on one side, and his right

arm and lance in the same way on the other, like wings. The king was

seated on his ivory chair, almost in the middle of his tent. The day

was very hot, and an intolerable stench announced the approach of the

filthy chieftain to all in the tent, before they saw him. The king,

when he perceived him coming, was so struck with his whole figure and

appearance, that he was seized with an immoderate fit of laughter,

which he found it impossible to stifle. He therefore rose from his

chair, and ran as fast as he could into another apartment, behind the

throne. The savage alighted from his cow, at the door of the tent, with

all his tripes about him; and while the officers in attendance were

admiring him as a monster, seeing the king’s seat empty, he imagined

that it had been prepared for him, and down he sat upon the crimson

silk cushion, with the butter running from every part of his body. A

general cry of astonishment was raised by every person in the tent,

on which he started up; and before he had time to recollect himself,

they all fell upon him, and with pushes and blows drove this greasy

chieftain to the door of the tent, staring with wild amazement, not

knowing what was the matter. It is high treason and punishable with

immediate death, to sit down in the king’s chair; and Guangoul owed his

life to his ignorance alone. The king had beheld the scene through the

curtain; if he laughed heartily in the beginning, he laughed ten times

more at the catastrophe. The cushion was thrown away, and a yellow

India shawl spread on the ivory stool; and ever afterwards, when it was

placed, and the king not there, the stool was turned on its face upon

the carpet, to prevent similar accidents.”

Before starting on any war expedition, the Abyssinians, like the

ancient Romans, listen for the voice of certain birds, and according to

whether their notes are heard on the right hand or on the left, so do

they anticipate a prosperous or unfavourable journey. Many expeditions

for the purposes of war or hunting are postponed at the moment, when,

if undertaken, success seemed nearly certain, simply because a little

bird called from the left-hand side at starting. Similarly, many a wife

has been kept for several days anxiously expecting her husband because

the bird chose to perch on the right hand, the right hand omen being

propitious for setting out from home, and left for returning. The black

and white falcon, called here _gaddy-gaddy_, is considered a bird

of omen in some parts of Tigre. If this bird fly away at the approach

of travellers, the sign is unfavourable, while on the contrary, if it

remained perched and looking at them, they count upon a most prosperous

journey. “Hunters on the Mareb,” says a recent traveller, “follow much

the warning of a small bird as to the direction they should take, and I

have known parties turn back from pursuing the fresh trail of a herd of

buffaloes and take an opposite direction, merely because its chirp was

heard on the wrong side. Once a party of about thirty Barea having been

reported to be in the neighbourhood, a large force collected, perhaps

a hundred and fifty men; but after arriving in sight of the enemy, the

gallant army returned peaceably home, and considered such a course not

only justifiable, but right, because when halting to reconnoitre, the

omen had been heard on the side favourable to their adversaries. On

another occasion I had started on a hunting and foraging expedition,

with some fifteen tried and picked men. We had remained a fortnight

in the frontier woods, and had seen nothing of the Barea; one day,

however, a bird gave us an omen of success, and the night following we

discovered their fires on a hill, scarce a mile distant from where we

lay. Our party was in a moment on the _qui vive_, primings were

looked to, edges of knives felt, and rubbed on a stone, and each one

anticipated the glory he was to gain for himself in butchering a few

of the enemy. Some were even so much excited that they began to strut

about and count their deeds of valour in expectancy of what they would

have to do on their return home, and to use a Yankee expression the

whole felt themselves “half froze for hair,” or rather for the still

more cruel trophies which Abyssinians take from their slaughtered

enemies, But a night bird’s voice settled the whole business, and

instead of waiting as had been our intention for a few hours before

sunrise to strike the _coup_, we all sneaked off homeward like so

many whipped dogs, for the vain-glory of the warriors had oozed out of

their finger ends at this intimation of the beaked augur, that they

would be safest in the bosoms of their family circles. In advancing,

signs of the Barea were eagerly sought for; in retreating, so great was

the panic caused by the unwitting bird, that we kept the sharpest look

out lest they should come upon us unawares.”

During his sojourn in Abyssinia, the renowned traveller Bruce found

himself on one occasion the guest of a vain, bragging officer of the

king’s army, one Guebra Mascal. In Guebra’s estimation no one was so

good a fellow or marksman as himself, and when some one happened to

praise Mr. Bruce’s skill with the gun, Guebra Mascal greeted the remark

with an annoying and contemptuous laugh. Our traveller was angry, and

told him, that in his gun the end of a tallow-candle would do greater

execution than an iron ball in the best of Guebra Mascal’s, with all

his boasted skill. The Abyssinian called him a liar, and a Frank; and,

upon his rising, immediately gave him a kick with his foot. Mr. Bruce,

in a transport of rage, seized him by the throat, and threw him on the

ground. Guebra drew his knife; and attempting our traveller, gave him

a slight cut near the crown of his head. Hitherto Mr. Bruce had not

struck him; he now wrested the knife from him and struck him on the

face so violently with the handle, as to mark him with scars which

continued discernible even amid the deep pitting of the small-pox.

All was now confusion and uproar. An adventure of so serious a nature

overcame the effects of the wine (for there had been drinking) upon

our countryman. He wrapped himself in his cloak, returned home, and

went to bed. His friends were eager to revenge the insult which he had

received; and the first news he heard in the morning was that Guebra

Mascal was in irons at the house of the Ras. Mr. Bruce, though still

angry, was at a loss what measures to take. The Ras would probably hear

his complaints; but his adversary was formidable. Instead, therefore,

of demanding justice, Mr. Bruce excused and palliated the conduct of

Guebra Mascal, and obtained his liberty.

Mr. Bruce, however, was sensible that the cause of his quarrel with

Guebra Mascal was not immediately forgotten at court. The king, one

day, asked him whether he was not drunk himself, as well as his

opponent, when that quarrel arose. Mr. Bruce replied that he was

perfectly sober; for their entertainer’s red wine was finished, and he

never willingly drank hydromel. His Majesty, with a degree of keenness,

returned: “Did you then soberly say to Guebra Mascal, that an end of

a tallow-candle in a gun in your hand would do more execution than an

iron bullet in his?” “Certainly, sir, I said so.” “And why?” “Because

it was truth.” “With a tallow-candle you can kill a man or a horse?”

“Pardon me, sir; your Majesty is now in place of my sovereign; it would

be great presumption in me to argue with you, or urge a conversation

against an opinion in which you are already fixed.” The king’s kindness

and curiosity, and Mr. Bruce’s desire to vindicate himself, carried

matters at length so far, that an experiment with a tallow-candle was

proposed. Three courtiers brought each a shield; Mr. Bruce charged

his gun with a piece of tallow-candle, and pierced through three at

once, to the astonishment, and even the confusion, of the Abyssinian

monarch and his courtiers. A sycamore table was next aimed at, and as

easily perforated as the shields. These feats the simple Abyssinians

attributed to the power of magic; but they made a strong impression on

the mind of the monarch in favour of our traveller.

Before we quit the subject of Savage Warfare, it may not be out of

place to say a word or two concerning the manufacture of savage war

tools. Turning back these pages we may find that, as a man of battle,

our brother the barbarian, despite his profound ignorance, is by no

means a bungling craftsman. His business is to knock his enemy on

the head--to knock his life out, in fact; and this operation may

be performed as neatly with the iron-wood _meré_ of the New

Zealander, or the _waddi_ of the Australian Aborigine, as by a

leaden pellet from the mouth of the modern Minié or Whitworth--at least

if not as neatly, quite as effectively. The savage has no notion of

refinement in killing; give him a revolver, perfected with the very

latest improvements, and explain to him how that it will send a man to

death with as fine a hole in his carcass that the grim extinguisher of

life himself shall be almost puzzled to discover his title to the slain

one, and he--the savage--will reject it; it is a “witch thing,” and he

would rather let such alone. At the same time, if you will make him the

present, untrammelled by conditions, he will accept it; as by thrusting

a tough stick up one of the barrels the revolver may be converted into

a handy club, with which a man may kill his enemy in such a way that

half a glance will show the manner of his death.

The club, then, is the universal weapon among the utterly savage;

it is a weapon which may be procured without trouble; a round stone

lashed to the end of a stick, the thigh-bone of a buffalo,--anything

in fact of a handy length and with a heavy knob to it will suffice. As

soon, however, as the savage advances a step--as soon as he learns the

nature of iron and what sort of thing a sharp-edged chopper is--his

blunt-headed club ceases to give him satisfaction. It is much more

satisfying to slash an enemy than to simply bruise him--to poke and

stab him full of red holes than to thump him--therefore there follows

an immediate demand for sharp spikes and edged knives, and at least one

member of every family sets up as a blacksmith.

[Illustration: Papuan Blacksmiths.]

But to be a blacksmith in ever so rude and humble a way, certain

tools are absolutely necessary; the ambitious one must have a fire, a

hammer, an anvil, and last, though most important of all, a pair of

bellows. A fire he has; for a hammer his old stone-headed club does

service; a handy bit of rock serves as an anvil; it is the bellows

which is the toughest obstacle; and there can be little doubt that many

a grand notion of blacksmithery has been nipped in the bud because of

the projector’s inability to find anything animate or inanimate of

so accommodating a nature as to hold and husband for his convenience

so slippery a thing as the wind. Wonderful are the devices resorted

to, all however more or less tedious and imperfect; of all sorts and

sizes, from the bottle-like bag which the blacksmith holds under his

arm, extracting therefrom a feeble blast as a Highlander manufactures

bag-pipe music, to the elaborate machine in vogue in certain parts of

Polynesia. Take that used by the Papuans as an example. Here we find

two hollow pillars of wood fixed close together and furnished within a

foot of the ground with a connecting pipe terminating in a nozzle. The

interior of the pillars are perfectly smooth and furnished each with a

“sucker” consisting of a sort of mop of finely-shredded bark; squatting

on the top of these pillars the bellows-blower takes the mop-handles in

hand and works them up and down, causing a tolerably strong and regular

blast to emit from the nozzle.

It is related by the missionary Ellis, that King Pomare entering one

day the shed where an European blacksmith was employed, after gazing

a few minutes at the work, was so transported at what he saw that

he caught up the smith in his arms and, unmindful of the dirt and

perspiration inseparable from his occupation, most cordially embraced

him, and saluted him according to the custom of the country by touching

noses.

Le Vaillant, while travelling in Southern Africa, on one occasion saw

a number of Caffres collected at the bottom of a rocky eminence, round

a huge fire, and drawing from it a pretty large bar of iron red-hot.

Having placed it on the anvil they began to beat it with stones

exceedingly hard and of a shape which rendered them easy to be managed

by the hand. They seemed to perform their work with much dexterity.

But what appeared most extraordinary was their bellows, which was

composed of a sheepskin properly stripped off and well sewed. Those

parts that covered the four feet had been cut off, and placed in the

orifice of the neck was the mouth of a gun-barrel around which the skin

was drawn together and carefully fastened. The person who used this

instrument, holding the pipe to the fire with one hand, pushed forwards

and drew back the extremity of the skin with the other, and though

this fatiguing method did not always give sufficient intensity to the

fire to heat the iron, yet these poor Cyclops, acquainted with no

other means, were never discouraged. Le Vaillant had great difficulty

to make them comprehend how much superior the bellows of European

forges were to their invention, and being persuaded that the little

they might catch of his explanation would be of no real advantage to

them, resolved to add example to precept and to operate himself in

their presence. Having dispatched one of his people to the camp with

orders to bring the bottoms of two boxes, a piece of a summer kross,

a hoop, a few small nails, a hammer, a saw, and some other tools, as

soon as he returned our traveller formed in a very rude manner a pair

of bellows about as powerful as those generally used in kitchens. Two

pieces of hoop placed in the inside served to keep the skin always at

an equal distance, and a hole made in the under part gave a readier

admittance to the air, a simple method of which they had no conception,

and for want of which they were obliged to waste a great deal of time

in filling their sheepskin. Le Vaillant had no iron pipe; but as he

only meant to make a model he fixed to the extremity a toothpick

case after sawing off one of its ends. He then placed the instrument

on the ground near the fire, and having fixed a forked stick in the

ground, laid across it a kind of lever, which was fastened to a bit

of packthread proceeding from the bellows, and to which was fixed a

piece of lead weighing seven or eight pounds. The Caffres with great

attention beheld all these operations, and evinced the utmost anxiety

to discover what would be the result; but they could not restrain their

acclamations when they saw our traveller by a few easy motions and with

one hand give their fire the greatest activity by the velocity with

which he made his machine draw in and again force out the air. Putting

some pieces of iron into the fire he made them in a few minutes red-hot

which they undoubtedly could not have done in half an hour. This

specimen of his skill raised their astonishment to the highest pitch:

they were almost convulsed and thrown into a delirium. They danced and

capered around the bellows, each tried them in turn, and they clapped

their hands the better to testify their joy. They begged him to make

them a present of this wonderful machine and seemed to wait for his

answer with impatience, not imagining that he would readily give up so

valuable a piece of furniture. To their extreme satisfaction he granted

their request, and they undoubtedly yet preserve a remembrance of that

stranger who first supplied them with the most essential instrument of

metallurgy.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

PART X

INCIDENTS OF PERSONAL PERIL AND DISCOMFORT

OF TRAVELLERS AND EXPLORERS.

CHAPTER XXV.

A night’s lodging at Brass--Delightful bedfellows--Sleeping out

on the Gambia--“Voices of the Night”--Lodging “up a tree”--Half

a cigar for supper--The “leafy couch” abandoned--The bright side

of the picture--Dr. Livingstone no washerwoman--An alarming

“camping out” incident--The terrible tsetse--The camp in the

wilderness--The privileges and perquisites of a Pagazi--No

finery worn on the road--Recreation on the march--Daily life

of an Eastern African--His sports and pastimes--Approaching a

cannibal shore.

It may be safely asserted that, as a rule, the inhabitants of all

civilized countries “who live at home at ease” have but a very

inadequate notion of the pains and penalties endured by those explorers

and adventurers whose pleasure or business it is to undertake

pilgrimages more or less perilous, and on whom the said easyliving

folk are dependent for all their knowledge of the ways and means

of peoples barbarous and remote. Nor is it very surprising that it

should be so. First of all comes in the traveller’s delicacy and

disinclination to parade his personal affairs (which for by far the

greater part mean his discomforts and dangers and sicknesses) in a

narrative exclusively concerning other people and things, only in as

far as he is associated with them in a manner too intimate for his

presence to be ignored. Nor will the selfish book-buyer tolerate the

adoption of any other course; it is the mysteries revealed, and not

the medium revealing them, that he takes an interest in, and in most

cases cares as little for the personal sensations of traveller Brown

or Robinson as that the leather casing of his telescope is incommoded

by the heat while he is making solar observations. Even in the case

of the humane reader, there is danger that the interest excited by a

book of wonders, savage or otherwise, will shut the author from his

consideration from the time of scanning the title-page to the perusal

of the last line. With this view of the matter before us some small

measure of justice may be effected and the reader at the same time be

edified by a select few instances of personal adventure and mishap that

have occurred to sundry of the brave men whose records have assisted

the compilation of this work. Let Mr. Hutchinson speak first as to the

delights of a night’s lodging in Brass, a Western African town, as the

reader will recollect, of unenviable celebrity:

“King Keya meets us in the street and offers an invitation to his

country house to spend the night there; as evening is approaching we

accept his hospitality and forthwith proceed to the royal suburban

residence.

“If I were not alive now, and conscious of writing this in the cabin

of H.M.S. V----, I could not believe that I ever should have been

fortunate enough to enjoy such an uninterrupted continuation of

delights as those experienced during that night’s stay in the royal

abode at Brass.

“My bedroom was about twelve feet by four, with holes in the bamboo

roof about eight feet high that let the rain and rats come in, and

holes in the floor, probably to allow both to make their exit. There

was neither stool, chair, nor table, nor any article of furniture

except the bed. This was made of two empty gun chests, covered with a

native country mat, and having no pillow save a log of wood. The creek

by which we voyaged up was within five yards of the door, and when the

tide was low bull frogs, crocodiles, and mud fish could gambol about in

their native parterre in the remorseless swamp, on which a human being

trying to walk would certainly be swallowed up. The odour from this

place at the time of our visit was indescribable, and the sensation

that it brought to my olfactory nerves was far from being like that of

the south wind breathing o’er a bed of violets, stealing, and giving

odour.

“As soon as I had seated myself on the bed (?), with a cigar in my

mouth (for to sleep with all those accessories would have been a vain

attempt), and had blown out my palm-oil lamp, down came the mosquitoes

in showers, followed by some rats, which descended after them without

waiting for an invitation. A few of the latter fell near to where I was

sitting, and I made a furious tilt at them with a stick I had placed

near me. This of course alarmed them and made them beat a retreat for

some time. But as if in mockery of my chivalry within doors, outside

the bull frogs commenced croaking in dozens, communicating as agreeable

a sensation by their music as a rasping of a file over a rusty saw. I

lay down and tried to sleep, but it was no use. In a few moments the

rats were again gambolling on the roof. A slight shuffling movement

which I heard on the floor made me fearful that at any minute I might

be rendered conscious of something slimy in contact with my hand or

face, probably a mud fish (or jump fish, as it is called by Kroomen),

a kind of amphibious reptile that appears like a cross-breed between a

conger-eel and a chameleon. How stupid I was to have blown out my light.

“What noise is that? Female voices outside. Who in the name of goodness

are they, passing and repassing in the king’s harem--ever gabbling,

gabbling, gabbling! This amusement going on during the whole livelong

night with the companionship of the rats, musquitoes, and bull-frogs

put a thousand strange notions into my head. Can they be going to

the creek-side to sacrifice, perhaps infants? Are they on their way

to undergo the process of laving in that sweet stream? If the former

be their purpose, they must be out-Heroding Herod; if the latter, a

Turkish bath with shampooing of curry comb would seem very appropriate

for the majority of the ladies whom I saw to-day in the streets, and

whose bodies were daubed over with a greasy cosmetic of red (styled in

the Nimbe language Umbia), which gives the anointed the semblance of a

highly tinged red Indian. But down they go and back they come, never

tiring, never relenting, never showing compassion, till morning dawned,

when I opened the door cautiously, and looked out.

“Some were standing in the mud, others were lifting fish and nets

out of canoes. They were the king’s fisherwomen. Following their

professional pursuits during the night, they had kept me in this

condition of restless curiosity. Talk of Billingsgate indeed! I looked

at them and there they were, wet, muddy, and slimy, like so many ebony

mermaids, but still prattling and talking, their tongues clattering as

if these organs were so many untirable steam engines.

“There was no use in giving them a bit of my mind, for I did not

understand a word of their language, and they did not comprehend mine.

It may be useless to record that I did not go down on my knees in the

mud to pray for them. I was unheroic enough to imagine that a wiser

thing than that, as far as my own comfort was concerned, would be to

quit the Nimbe country as soon as I could: so my boys having got into

the boat, I gave his sable majesty a more fervent than friendly shake

of the hand, and turned my back on his territory with feelings in which

I cannot say there were any sentiments of regret.”

Another night’s lodging, this time on the banks of the river Gambia.

If any good Catholic wishes to perform an act of penance, second only

to the tortures of purgatory, let him take a voyage to the Gambia, and

let him sleep at Bathurst, if only for one night, at a certain season

of the year. The traveller, on extinguishing his candle and stretching

his wearied limbs, hears a distant roaring, which apparently proceeds

from the ceiling of his chamber, and he, wondering what this may be,

composes himself for slumber. Next he distinguishes a perpetual dull

thump, thump, totally antagonistic to rest, sounding from all parts of

the town far and near, and marvelling yet more what this may portend,

concludes--if speculative--that the natives are celebrating some

barbarous orgie, and that the noise is the music of the tom-tom. But

while thus reasoning, the roaring approaches nearer and nearer, till it

is as audible and like a thousand fairy fiddles playing excruciatingly

out of tune. But the problem soon is solved. The note of a little

shrill trumpet penetrates the inmost recesses of the ear; a sting

is felt, the trumpeter performs now at one ear, now at the other,

then adds a sting on the eye, which organ is damaged by the victim’s

frantic attempts to crush the foe. He now finds that he is assailed

by mosquitoes, and becomes so irritated by the constant buzzing and

biting of his unseen foes darting now here, now there, within the

mosquito curtain,--he seizes his pillow, flings it at the spot whence

the sound last proceeded, but the missile, breaking the mosquito

curtain, admits a bloodthirsty cloud, which, “smelling the blood of an

Englishman,” settles on him, whizzing, buzzing, and biting, causing the

unfortunate to suffer tortures worse than those with which Tantalus

was afflicted. Sleep is near, but continually eludes his grasp, and as

a last resource, stifling hot as it is, he covers himself from head

to foot with the sheet. Woe if he leaves an inch of flesh exposed!

Again he endeavours to sleep, but the infernal mysterious pounding,

together with the horrid yells of the enemy, effectually preclude that

desirable consummation, and, swearing lustily, he resigns himself with

a groan to hold a nocturnal vigil, congratulating himself at least he

has been enabled to out-manœuvre the ravenous foe. But his gratulations

are premature, for soon he experiences sharp pricking sensations all

over his body; the heat of the protecting sheet is insufferable,

the agony is intense; he kicks off the sheet, the mosquitoes settle

on him, again he seizes his pillow, and, until he sinks exhausted,

frantically swings it round his head in the hope of overwhelming

some of his unseen assailants. Wearily he rises, lights his candle,

examines his limbs, and discovers minute black spots, each one itching

mortally, and which are only sand flies. He also examines his bed,

and, behold! it is full of ants, and probably cockroaches, several of

which unpleasant animals he discovers scudding away on all sides. The

only defence available is to light a cigar and envelope himself in a

cloud of smoke, and when the fumes of the tobacco has driven away the

hostile forces, and the mysterious thumping has ceased, about twelve

o’clock the unfortunate traveller, unable to keep his eyes open any

longer, falls into an uneasy sleep, unconscious of the hungry flock

fastening on his prostrate form. He reposes for a space of two hours,

at the expiration of which time the thumping recommencing, he awakes,

and as it continues until daylight, when it is mingled with a continual

hooting, like that of an owl, and a species of unearthly chanting and

the tropical emulative crowing of a thousand cocks, he remains awake.

The traveller now looks out of his window, and discovers that the

diabolical pounding arises from the court-yard, where he beholds most

of the female inhabitants (having children fastened on behind after the

gipsy fashion) standing over wooden mortars energetically pulverizing

something with pestles six feet in length. These dames are engaged in

the manufacture of “hous,” the only edible substance to be procured in

this inhospitable region, and which demands in preparation such a vast

deal of labour, that the women are employed day and night, relieving

one another by turns, and resting only between twelve at night and two

in the morning. Other noises proceed from the marabouts in the mosques,

calling the faithful to prayers, and the dismal chanting from blind

men, of which there is a remarkable number, who go from yard to yard

singing prayers and receiving the alms on which they subsist.

Here is another variety of night’s lodging, preferable to the

preceding, perhaps, but still one which cannot be for a moment compared

with the comforts of a vulgar flock bed or even a straw palliasse.

Mr. Bakie, the celebrated traveller and explorer, is this time the

victim:--“I managed to start our kruboys with the baggage by half-past

one, and then, as only one horse was brought, Mr. Guthrie, as the

oldest of the party, was mounted, while Dr. Hutchinson and I agreed to

walk on, in the hopes of others being brought after us. “When, however,

we had got about a mile on our way, seeing no signs of the steeds,

Dr. Hutchinson declared that he would return and inquire about them,

while I resolved to proceed, telling him that he might overtake me.

Having got to the bottom of the hill, and finding the road, as before,

very wet, I pulled off my shoes and stockings and went barefooted,

that being by far the easiest mode of progression along a path of this

description. In this way I had walked alone for seven or eight miles,

when I lost almost all trace of the path. Having ascertained by my

compass the position of the river, I endeavoured to work my way in

that direction, but soon got more entangled than ever. I climbed up

several trees to look around, but could not discover a single guiding

mark. I was completely in the bush, the grass and brushwood being so

long, thick, and close, that every step I took was a severe exertion.

It was now past sunset and getting rapidly dark, and as it was only too

evident that I had lost my way without any chance of bettering myself,

the next question came to be, how I should pass the night. The most

comfortable and the safest spot seemed to be up a tree, so I tried one,

and got as high as I could, but did not much relish my quarters. All

the others near me were too small; but I recollected having observed

some time before a tall baobab, which I determined again to search

after. I took a good mark, so that, if unsuccessful in my cruise, I

still might have something to fall back upon; and starting with a good

run to clear the grass, was fortunate enough in a few minutes to get

a glimpse of the wished-for harbour of refuge. Luckily for me it had

a double trunk, with a distance between of about two feet, so, tying

my shoes together and casting them over my shoulder, I placed my back

against the one trunk and my feet against the other, and so managed to

climb until I got hold of a branch, by which I swung myself further

up, and finally got into a spot about twelve or fifteen feet from the

ground. Here I placed myself on a branch about a foot in diameter,

projecting at nearly right angles, and by leaning against the main

trunk and stretching out my legs before me, I found I had a tolerably

comfortable seat, whence I might peer into the surrounding obscure.

The night, fortunately, was not very dark, the stars gleamed overhead,

while vivid flashes of lightning over the neighbouring hills enabled

me from time to time to cast a momentary glance around me. I got on

my shoes and stockings as a protection against insects, then passed a

piece of cord loosely round the branch, so that I could pass my arm

through it and steady myself, and finally made preparations for repose

by kicking two places in the bark of the tree for my heels to rest

in. About eight o’clock I distinctly heard in the distance the hum

of human voices, and shouted to try and attract attention, but to no

avail; believing, however, that there were some huts near, I marked the

direction by a large tree. Feeling rather tired, I lay down on my face

along the branch, throwing my handkerchief over my head, and passing

each of my hands into the opposite sleeve, to prevent them from being

bitten, I was soon in a state of oblivion. I must have slept upwards of

four hours, when I awoke rather stiff, from my constrained position,

and had to try a change of attitude. To pass the time I lit a cigar,

and as I had but one, I only smoked half of it, carefully putting

back the remainder to serve for my breakfast. A dew was now falling,

crickets and frogs innumerable were celebrating nocturnal orgies; huge

mosquitoes, making a noise as loud as bees, were assaulting me on all

sides, and some large birds were roosting in the tree over my head. I

tried in vain to dose away the hours, but I had had my usual allowance

of sleep, and not being a bigoted partizan of the drowsy god, now that

I really required his aid, he refused to attend to my invocations. I

watched with most painful interest the rising and setting of various

constellations, and was at length delighted with the appearance of

Venus, showing that morning was now not far off. A fresh novelty

next presented itself, in the form of sundry denizens of the forest,

crowding to pay homage to their visitor. Howls of various degrees of

intensity continually reached my ears, some resembling more the high

notes of the hyæna with occasional variations, and others, very close

to me, being unquestionably in the deep bass of the leopard. I once

fancied that I saw a figure moving not far from me, but could not be

positive. As light began to suffuse itself over the eastern sky, my

nocturnal companions gradually retired, until at last I was left alone,

yet not solitary, for that I could not be as long as the incessant

buzzing in my ears told me that my Lilliputian winged antagonists

were yet unwearied in their attacks, and still unsatiated with blood.

At length as gray dawn was being supplanted by brighter daylight, I

ventured to descend from my roosting place, where I had spent, not

altogether without comfort, upwards of eleven hours. My first endeavour

was to find a footpath, and after a little search, I stumbled over a

little track, which, however, as it led in a wrong direction, I had

to abandon. A more prolonged investigation discovered another, very

narrow, and almost hidden by long grass, which after the heavy rain,

was lying right over it. To prevent my again straying, I was obliged to

bend forward and walk, almost creep, along a kind of tunnel, pulling up

a few stalks and letting them fall, as a guide in case I should have to

return. Though in my elevated quarters the dew had been slight, on the

ground it had been very heavy, and in a few minutes I was completely

drenched. When I emerged at the other extremity of this path, which was

about half-a-mile long, and was again enabled to look round, I saw a

little curling smoke, towards which I immediately made and found a few

huts. Some Aborigines appeared, and, after their surprise had subsided,

I managed to explain by means of a few broken Hausa words, that I had

lost my way, had spent the night in a tree, and now wished to get to

Wuza. They pointed out the way to me, but as it was not very evident to

my European senses, I induced one to come with me as a guide, and we

accordingly trudged along through mud and water by a route, which, to

any but a thorough-bred native, would have been impossible to keep to.

After walking, or rather wading in this manner for two or three miles,

we fell in with my black servant and a couple of men armed to the

teeth, going in search of me. They could hardly believe me, especially

when I told them how I had passed the night, for they had already

consigned me to the jaws of the wild beasts which abound in this

neighbourhood. I accordingly dismissed my guide, a happy man, with my

pocket handkerchief, which was all I had to give him, and continued my

walk to Wuza, at which I arrived about nine o’clock, after a morning’s

jaunt of nine or ten miles. The natives who were three in number, were

astonished at my appearance and my story, and were no less surprised

when they saw me devouring, with great gusto, my breakfast, which the

steward had very considerately provided for me, and which was the first

food I had tasted for twenty hours.”

It may be worth while to enquire how that renowned sojourner among the

most savage people on the face of the earth, Dr. Livingstone, spends

one of his many thousand nights in barbarous company. The worthy doctor

thus responds:

“As soon as we land some of the men cut a little grass for my bed,

while my servant Mashauana plants the poles of the little tent. These

are used by day for carrying burdens, for the Barotse fashion is

exactly like that of the natives of India, only the burden is fastened

near the ends of the pole, and not suspended by long cords. The bed

is made and boxes ranged on each side of it, and then the tent is

pitched over all. Four or five feet in front of my tent, is placed the

principal or “kotla” fire, the wood for which must be collected by the

man who occupies the post of herald, and takes as his perquisite the

heads of all the oxen slaughtered and of all the game too. Each person

knows the station he is to occupy, both in eating and sleeping, as long

as the journey lasts. But Mashauana my head boatman makes his bed at

the door of the tent as soon as I retire. The rest, divided into small

companies according to their tribes, make sheds all round the fire,

leaving a horse-shoe shaped space in front sufficient for the cattle to

stand in. The fire gives confidence to the oxen, so the men are always

careful to keep them in sight of it; the sheds are formed by planting

two stout forked poles in an inclined direction, and placing another

over these in a horizontal position. A number of branches are then

stuck in the ground in the direction to which the poles are inclined,

the twigs drawn down to the horizontal pole and tied with strips of

bark. Long grass is then laid over the branches in sufficient quantity

to draw off the rain, and we have sheds open to the fire in front

but secure from beasts behind. In less than an hour we were usually

all under cover. We never lacked abundance of grass during the whole

journey. It is a picturesque sight at night when the clear bright moon

of these climates glances on the sleeping forms around, to look out

upon the attitudes of profound repose both men and beasts assume. There

being no danger from wild animals in such a night the fires are allowed

almost to go out, and as there is no fear of hungry dogs coming over

sleepers and devouring the food, or quietly eating up the poor fellows’

blankets, which at best were but greasy skins, which sometimes happened

in the villages, the picture was one of perfect peace.

“The cooking is usually done in the natives’ own style, and as they

carefully wash the dishes, pots, and the hands before handling food,

it is by no means despicable. Sometimes alterations are made at my

suggestion, and they believe that they can cook in thorough white man’s

fashion. The cook always comes in for something left in the pot, so all

are eager to obtain the office.

“I taught several of them to wash my shirts, and they did it well,

though their teacher had never been taught that work himself. Frequent

changes of linen and sunning of my blanket kept me more comfortable

than might have been anticipated, and I feel certain that the lessons

of cleanliness rigidly instilled by my mother in childhood, helped to

maintain that respect which these people entertain for European ways.

It is questionable if a descent to barbarous ways ever elevates a man

in the eyes of savages.”

[Illustration: The Two Dogs or None.]

The explorer’s greatest care, however, while camping out in the forest

at night--his fires, his watchmen, and his watch-dogs--will not

invariably secure him from danger, if there happen to be wild animals

in the neighbourhood; leopards especially, insignificant in size as

compared with the lion and the tiger,--there are few things so daring

that a hungry leopard will not attempt them. As instanced elsewhere

(_see_ “Wild Sports of the World”), he will not scruple to enter

a house and drag off a sleeping man; he has no fear of one dog, or even

of two. The scene depicted on the preceding page is illustrative of a

fact, and happened to a well-known Indian hunter. The labours of the

day were at an end and all made snug and right in “camp.” So little

apprehension did there exist of an attack by savage beasts, that the

hounds set to keep guard were coupled together with a short length of

chain. In the night, however, a tremendous uproar suddenly broke in

on the stillness, and it was speedily discovered that a leopard had

surprised the canine guard and pounced on one with the intention of

carrying him off; even when the daring brute discovered that he must

take both dogs, or none, he was nothing daunted, but hauled the pair of

them along and was so discovered and shot.

There must not be omitted from the catalogue of evils likely to accrue

to the African traveller--at least he of Southern Africa--the terrible

tsetse fly, which in a single hour may devastate the explorer’s

necessary cattle and leave him utterly helpless.

This insect, “Glossina morsitans” of the naturalist, is not much larger

than the common house fly, and is nearly of the same brown colour as

the honeybee. The after part of the body has three or four yellow bars

across it. It is remarkably alert and evades dexterously all attempts

to capture it with the hand at common temperatures.

In the cool of the mornings and evenings it is less agile. Its peculiar

buzz when once heard can never be forgotten by the traveller whose

means of locomotion are domestic animals, for its bite is death to the

ox, horse, and dog. In one of Dr. Livingstone’s journeys, though the

traveller watched the animals carefully and believed that not a score

of flies were ever upon them, they destroyed forty-three fine oxen. A

most remarkable feature is the perfect harmlessness of their bite in

man and wild animals, and even calves, so long as they continue to suck

the cows, though it is no protection to the dog to feed him on milk.

The poison does not seem to be injected by a sting, or by ova placed

beneath the skin, for when the insect is allowed to feed freely on

the hand it inserts the middle prong of the three portions into which

the proboscis is divided somewhat deeply into the true skin. It then

draws the prong out a little way and it assumes a crimson colour as

the mandibles come into brisk operation. The previously shrunken belly

swells out, and if left undisturbed the fly quietly departs when it

is full. A slight itching irritation follows the bite. In the ox the

immediate effects are no greater than in man, but a few days afterwards

the eye and nose begin to run, and a swelling appears under the jaw and

sometimes at the navel, and although the poor creature continues to

graze, emaciation commences accompanied with a peculiar flaccidity of

the muscles. This proceeds unchecked until perhaps months afterwards,

purging comes on, and the victim dies in a state of extreme exhaustion.

The animals which are in good condition often perish soon after the

bite is inflicted, with staggering and blindness as if the brain were

affected. Sudden changes of temperature produced by falls of rain seem

to hasten the progress of the complaint, but in general the wasting

goes on for months.

When the carcase is opened the cellular tissue beneath the skin

is found injected with air, as if a quantity of soap bubbles were

scattered over it. The blood is small in quantity, and scarcely stains

the hands in dissection. The fat is of a greenish yellow colour and of

an oily consistence. All the muscles are flabby and the heart is often

so soft that the fingers may be made to meet through it. The lungs

and liver partake of the disease. The stomach and bowels are pale and

empty, and the gall bladder is distended with bile. These symptoms seem

to indicate poison in the blood, the germ of which enters when the

proboscis is inserted.

The mule, ass, and goat enjoy the same immunity from the tsetse as man.

Many large tribes on the Zambesi can keep no domestic animals except

the goat in consequence of the scourge existing in their country.

Human beings are frequently bitten yet suffer no harm, and zebras,

buffaloes, pigs, pallahs, and other antelopes feed quietly in the very

habitat of the fly. There is not so much difference in the natures of

the horse and zebra, the buffalo and ox, the sheep and antelope, as to

afford any satisfactory explanation of the phenomenon. Is not man as

much a domestic animal as a dog? The disgust which the tsetse shows

for animal excreta is turned to account by some of the doctors. They

mix droppings of animals, human milk, and some medicines together, and

smear the animals that are about to pass through an infested district.

This though a preventive at the time is not a permanent protection.

Inoculation does not insure immunity, as animals which have been

slightly bitten in one year may perish by a greater number of bites in

the next. It is probable that with an increase of guns the game will

perish as has happened in the south, and tsetse deprived of food may

become extinct simultaneously with the larger animals. The ravages

it commits are sometimes enormous. Sebituane once lost nearly the

entire cattle of his tribe, amounting to many hundreds, by unwittingly

intruding upon the haunts of this murderous insect.

Every day, and all day long, has the traveller to contend with the

ignorance and obstinacy and superstitions of the heathen he finds

himself among--oftentimes alone--on whom he is dependent not only for

the success of his enterprise, but, alas! for his very life. They

will work when and as easily as they choose, and should they rebel

against his just remonstrance and desert, he is a doomed man. Even

when the explorer has plenty of money and companions and influence,

his journeyings are not invariably through paths of roses, as may be

gathered from the following account of a day’s march in Eastern Africa,

by Burton: