THE RUINED CITIES IN MANGWENDI’S, CHIPUNZA’S, AND MAKONI’S COUNTRIES
We were now once more in the country of Mangwendi, a chief of
considerable power, so nearly equal to ’Mtoko, they told me, that the
two neighbours, like well-matched dogs, growl but do not come to close
quarters.
The noticeable characteristic of this part of the country and all the
way down to Manicaland is the number of ruined fortified kraals which
one comes across, culminating, as if to a central head, at Chipunza’s.
These spots have been long deserted and are now overgrown with jungle.
We visited one of these just after entering Mangwendi’s territories;
there is something about them which recalls the Great Zimbabwe—the
triple line of fortifications, the entrances slightly rounded; but then
the stonework is uneven, the walls being built of shapeless stones,
roughly put together with mortar. Here we see none of the even courses,
the massive workmanship, and the evidences of years of toil displayed
In the more ancient ruins; the walls are low, narrow, and uneven. Are
we to suppose an intermediate race between the inhabitants of Zimbabwe
and the present race, who built these ruins? or are we to imagine them
to be the work of the Makalangas themselves in the more flourishing
days of the Monomatapa rule? I am decidedly myself of the latter
opinion. No one who had carefully studied the Great Zimbabwe ruins
could for a moment suppose them to be the work of the same people; yet
they are just the sort of buildings an uncivilised race would produce,
who took as their copy the gigantic ruins they found in their midst.
For the next few weeks we were constantly coming across these ruins,
and the study of them interested us much.
Mount Masunsgwe was a conspicuous landmark for us for several days
about here. It is a massive granite kopje, placed as a sort of spur to
the range of hills which surrounds ’Mtoko’s country. It is also covered
with similar ruined stone walls belonging to a considerable town long
since abandoned. The next day we crossed a stream near a village,
called the Inyagurukwe, where the natives were busily engaged in
washing the alluvial soil in search of gold. We halted for the night by
another stream, under the impression that Mangwendi’s was only about
four miles off, and that an easy day was in store for us. But the fates
willed otherwise. Shortly after passing a large village, where the
inhabitants were more than usually importunate to see my wife’s hair,
screaming ‘Voudzi! voudzi!’—Hair! hair!—as they scampered by our side
until she gratified their curiosity, we all lost our way in an
intricate maze of Kaffir paths. Our interpreter was ahead and took one
way; my wife and I on horseback, in attempting to follow him, took
another; Mr. Swan on foot took another; and what happened to the men
with the donkeys we never knew, for they did not reach Mangwendi’s till
late in the afternoon, complaining bitterly of their wanderings. We
thought we were making straight for our goal, when, lo and behold! we
found ourselves at the top of a hill near one of the deserted towns,
tenanted only by a tribe of baboons. Our position was critical—we did
not know which way to turn, when luckily we espied two little Kaffir
boys, who guided us to Mangwendi’s; and, worn out with our long hot
ride, we made a frugal meal by the side of a stream before ascending to
the kraal.
Mangwendi’s kraal is a large one, and situated curiously on the top of
a lofty ridge. On turning to a Portuguese writer, Antonio Bocarro, who
gives, in his thirteenth decade of his chronicle of India, an
interesting account of the empire of Monomatapa, he says: ‘The
’Monomatapa are of the Mocaranga race, a free race who do not have
defensive arms, nor fortresses, nor surrounded cities.’ This seems at
first sight rather against the theory that the Monomatapa erected these
hill fortresses, but then we must bear in mind that the Portuguese
penetrated but little into these districts; and, furthermore, we found
at Chipunza’s kraal, a few days’ journey off, the natives actually
constructing similar walls around their chief kraal, evidently a
heritage of stone building retained by them from some higher form of
civilisation.
Bocarro gives us further information concerning the Monomatapa. He
enumerates the chief officers of the kingdom, and amongst others he
mentions ‘Manguendi’ as the chief wizard, or witch-doctor; he also
mentions ‘Makoni, king of Maungo,’ as a vassal of the Monomatapa; and
on inquiry at Makoni’s we learnt that his country is still called Unga,
and the tribal name is Maunga, just as Mangwendi’s is called Noia and
the tribe Manoia. Furthermore, he mentions one Chiburga as the
majordomo of a large town where the chief’s wives were kept, probably
the lofty hill we visited near the Sabi. [34] Thus Bocarro furnishes us
with almost positive proof that the same people dwell here now as dwelt
here under the rule of the Monomatapa, the only difference being that
the Mocaranga race has split up into numerous branches. Over two of
these Mangwendi and Makoni still exercise sway, still retaining their
old dynastic names, and still inhabiting what once was the heart of the
Monomatapa country. For these reasons I feel pretty confident in
asserting that the series of ruined cities amongst which we had now
entered is what remains to us of the once powerful chiefdom of
Monomatapa.
In Mangwendi’s country, as in ’Mtoko’s, the great worship is
sacrificing to ancestors, called here Bondoro, a name remarkably like
the lion god Mondoro. The Bondoro are supposed to intercede for them
with Muali, or God, and to get for them long life and prosperity. In
Mangwendi’s country, however, it is the head of each family who
performs the sacrifice, with the help of a man called Nanza, the
witch-doctor, one of the chief’s family, but by no means having the
same power as the Mondoro in ’Mtoko’s country. They go to the ruined
town which we had accidentally visited, where probably the tribe lived
in former days. Here the bullock or goat is sacrificed, everyone
present is sprinkled with the blood, and they put out portions of the
meat, together with some beer, for the consumption of the Bondoro, and
eat the rest themselves.
On the anniversary of the death of the last Mangwendi they assemble
from all the country round and hold a great feast in honour of the late
chief, at which the present chief conducts the sacrifice. Dos Santos,
in his ‘De Asia,’ describes almost the same thing as taking place
amongst the Mocarangas in his day: ‘Obsequies are made every year to
defunct kings; every year, in the month of September, when the first
moon appears, the king makes grand obsequies for his predecessors, who
are all buried there on a high rock where he lives, called Zimbaohe.’
This hill-set village, where the people of Mangwendi now sacrifice, is
still called by them their Zimbabwe. Dos Santos describes the eating,
drinking, and dancing just as it might be done now.
Another curious custom to which Dos Santos also alludes is continued
amongst them to-day. At Mangwendi’s, during the ploughing season, they
only work for five consecutive days; they observe the sixth, and call
it Muali’s day, and rest in their huts and drink beer. The chief always
announces this day of rest publicly to his tribe. Dos Santos gives the
following account of it: ‘There are days on which they are not to work,
appointed by the king, unknown to them, when they make feasts, and they
call these days Mozimos, or the days of the holy who are already dead.’
The term Mozimo for the spirits of ancestors is still used in many
parts of the country, and has been compared with the term molimo, used
by the Bechuana for the Supreme Being. Alvarez mentions the muzimo as
the god of the Monomatapa, and Gravenbroek (A.D. 1695) also states:
‘Divinitatem aliquam Messimo dictam in lucis summo cultu venerantur.’
This day of rest is observed during the ploughing season only; it may
possibly be of Semite origin, but more probably has been suggested by
the obvious necessity and advantage of intervening days of rest during
a period of hard work.
Mangwendi’s kraal is a very fine one, quite a long climb from the spot
where we were encamped. It is surrounded by palisades, and at the
entrance is a tree filled with trophies of the chase, the antlers of
many deer, and the skins of many wild beasts, which present quite an
imposing appearance. The chief was seated on a rock outside, chatting
with his indunas, when we arrived. He took us into the village and had
beer fetched for our delectation. He is an extremely courteous,
gentlemanly man, and seems most friendly to the white men who come in
his way; and as his kraal is not very far from the new road into
Manicaland, and as this district is very populous, he is constantly
visited by traders and others.
Mangwendi has ten wives, and two young girls, whom he has bought but
not yet married, and his family consists of ten sons and ten daughters,
one of whom, a bright-looking girl of about fifteen, came down to our
camp to sell us meal and beer. Unfortunately we could get little else,
for the traders had bought up all the available provisions, and from
this point until we reached Umtali we suffered more from starvation
than during any part of our journeyings in Mashonaland. ’Mtoko’s
bullock was done; we could get no meat at any of the kraals, or game
along our road; our coffee, sugar, and jams were all done, and our
meals, with rare exceptions, reduced themselves to millet-meal
porridge, rice, and tea, none of which were very palatable without the
ingredients of milk and sugar; and the provoking thing about Kaffir
meal is that it will not bind to make bread, so that for the staff of
life cold rice made into a shape was our only substitute. We generally
kept our pockets full of the ground-nuts (arachis), commonly called
‘monkey-nuts,’ which are excellent when roasted in the embers, and
capital assistants in warding off hunger.
On leaving Mangwendi’s we had regretfully to part with our bearers, who
had accompanied us all the way from Kunzi’s, and engage fresh ones in
their place. One of these, to our surprise, chose to take his wife with
him, but as she had to carry her baby on her back and food for herself
and her husband, she, poor thing, was so done up after our first day’s
march of seventeen miles, that her husband sent her back again.
Our first camp after leaving Mangwendi’s was at a very interesting
spot—an isolated granite kopje called Nyanger, rising about two hundred
feet above the surrounding plain. It was entirely covered with old
walls, irregular in shape, and similar to those above mentioned, and
evidently in former years a place of great strength. It had been long
abandoned, for there were no signs of habitation thereon, and the
approaches were full of débris. To the north-east of this kopje is a
very curious grotto, or domed cave, entirely covered with Bushman
drawings. A kudu and a buffalo are excellently drawn, almost worthy of
a Landseer, and in their drawings one can distinctly trace three
different periods of execution: (1) Crude and now faint representations
of unknown forms of animal life. (2) Deeper in colour, and admirably
executed, partly on the top of the latter, are the animals of the best
period of this art in red and yellow. (3) Inartistic representations of
human beings, which evidently belong to a period of decadence in the
execution of this work.
The colours are invariably red, yellow, and black. I am told that the
two former are obtained from certain coprolites found in these parts,
which, when broken open, have a yellow dust inside.
In this curiously decorated cave we found also many graves formed by
plastering up holes in the rock with a hard kind of cement. We opened
one of them, and found that the corpse had been wrapped in skins and
placed here. In the centre of the cave is a large semicircular wall,
entered in the middle by a rounded entrance; behind this is a sort of
palisade of grass matting placed against poles, to protect it from the
wind, and behind this are similar cement-covered graves. Now the
present race do not bury in this way, but evidently come here at
certain times to keep the place in order, and doubtless venerate the
spot as the resting-place of remote ancestors. There are also several
other graves on the flat space around Nyanger rock, piles of stones
placed around a crescent-shaped wall, which is evidently a sort of
rudimentary temple in which the sacrifices take place.
On our march that day we passed several of these cemeteries in the open
veldt far from any trace of habitation. They are generally placed on
slightly rising ground, and always have the semicircular structure,
which reminded us of the stones placed at the village of Lutzi, where
the inhabitants collected to smoke and talk, protected from the wind.
These spots are evidently still venerated, and form another of the many
problems connected with the past in this district of Africa. I think
they are the places to which Dos Santos alludes in the following
paragraph, where he refers to the chiefs who ‘make grand obsequies to
their predecessors, who are all buried there.’ In a memoir written by
Signor Farao, governor of Senna in 1820, there is a curious testimony
to this theory. He writes: ‘The mountains of Magonio (Makoni?), in
Quiteve, were noted as the burial-places of the kings and queens of
Quiteve, Gembe and Dombo. The remains were carried in procession to the
caves, where they were deposited alongside the bones of former kings,
and some of the most esteemed women of the deceased, or his secretary,
and some of the great people, were sacrificed at the ceremony.’
Most of the granite kopjes in this district have been similarly
fortified to Nyanger rock. Time would not permit of our visiting many
of them, but I am certain that a careful investigation of this district
would produce many valuable additions to the already large collections
of Bushman drawings. The fortifications of these rocks are generally in
rows of walls in terraces with narrow rounded entrances; they are all
constructed in a rough manner, with irregular-shaped stones joined
together with cement.
Near the river Chimbi, which we crossed shortly before reaching
Chipunza’s kraal, there is a particularly interesting specimen of this
class of ruin. The rocky kopje is fortified with walls, all the nooks
and crannies being carefully walled up, and below this is a curious
half-underground passage which evidently connected the fortress with
its water supply; it has a wall on either side of it—one four feet
thick, and the other eight feet thick; and the passage is roofed over
with large slabs of stone, some four and some five feet long. This
passage can now be traced for about fifty feet; it is nearly choked up
with rubbish, but the object for which it was originally constructed is
obvious, as it leads down to low swampy ground, where water could be
obtained.
A mile or two beyond this we alighted for a short time at a pretty
village called Makonyora, which had been surrounded by a palisade which
had taken root and grown into shady trees of considerable size. The
inhabitants seemed numerous and well to do. In this village there are
many instances of walls constructed like those we had seen in the
ruined villages; the foundations for the huts and granaries also are of
stone, so that the air may pass underneath, forming neatly executed
stone circles. The various gullies between the rocks are carefully
walled up, and you pass from one collection of huts to the other
through low entrances in these walls. There is no doubt about it, that
these people here possess an inherited knowledge of stone building
which exists nowhere else in Kaffirland, unless it be amongst the
Basutos, who, I am told, are skilled in stone building, and who, at a
not very remote period, are believed to have migrated from this very
country. It seems to me hardly possible that the gigantic buildings of
Zimbabwe and places in this country can have existed in their midst
without the inhabitants making some attempt to copy them; and here we
have an imitation, though a poor one, in the heart of what was the
strongest chiefdom of the country.
The aspect of the country is here very curious, the high level plateau
(it is about 5,000 feet above sea level) is, as it were, closely sown
for miles around with rugged granite kopjes, some only fifty feet high,
whilst others reach an elevation of several hundred feet. They are very
evenly arranged, too, as if they were the pieces for a cyclopean game
of chess. Through this region we passed, and at the eastern end of it
we reached our destination, Chipunza’s kraal, where we proposed to halt
for a day or two. Chipunza’s is a very large village, built on a gentle
rise on the right bank of the Rusapi River, with huts packed away into
all sorts of snug corners amongst the rocks. Immediately below these,
and within easy reach of the river, we pitched our tents. It was a
great disappointment to us to be able to get no meat here. Our meals,
which were composed entirely of things farinaceous, were growing
exceedingly monotonous, and we almost hated the sight of the
porridge-pot, which turned up with unvarying regularity. As against
this, the air at Chipunza’s was the finest I have ever breathed,
exhilarating like draughts of champagne.
When we reached the village we found the ladies of Chipunza with their
bark blankets tied tight around them, for it was chilly, seated in
picturesque and strange groups amongst the rocks, busily engaged in a
still stranger occupation. They were burning little heaps of cowdung,
and then spreading the results on the rocks to cool. Not understanding
what they were about we approached them, when, to our surprise, an old
crone picked up a lump of this delectable material, put it into her
mouth and consumed it with evident satisfaction, muttering, as she saw
our unfeigned surprise, ‘Salt, salt; good, good!’ and then we realised
that here they use the extract of nitre from the ash as their
substitute for salt, the commodity of life for which they have the
greatest craving, but which it is hardest to obtain.
In the afternoon we went to pay a visit to the chief, who received us
in a sort of inner fortress surrounded by a wall, through an opening in
which, about three feet high, and covered with large slabs of stone, we
had to creep. He is a grey-haired, refined-looking man, with manners
very like, and not the least inferior to, an Arab sheikh. He sat
surrounded by his councillors, and we all set to work to clap hands
vigorously. By this time my wife had learnt to clap hands in the female
fashion, namely, crosswise, whereas previously she had disgraced
herself by clapping like a man, with the fingers straight upon one
another; but, of course, the intricacies of savage etiquette can only
be acquired by practice.
After a little conversation had passed between us, a woman, one of the
chief’s wives, made her appearance, bending her body humbly, and
carrying a large pot full of wa-wa, as they term beer in this part of
the country. This she presented to her lord and master on bended knee,
after having previously drunk a little herself, to convince us that
there was no poison in it; then the chief took a drink, then his
councillors, and finally it was handed to us. We found it was lovely
beer, very potent, and after our long abstinence from anything so
intoxicating, as exhilarating as the air.
We were much struck by the courteous manners of the natives here. One
man, on receiving a present, bowed low and scraped the ground with his
feet. There is something about these people which points distinctly to
a higher form of civilisation having existed amongst them at a former
time; and when one reads Dos Santos’s account of the Mocarangas of
Monomatapa of his day, one cannot help feeling that they are the
remnant of that higher civilisation about which the early Portuguese
travellers tell us so much.
‘The Portuguese,’ says Dos Santos, ‘did not enter the king’s presence,
like the Kaffirs, with deep obeisance, only with bare feet;’ and in a
curious old treaty published in the Portuguese Yellow-book, and
purporting to have been made between the Monomatapa chief Manuza and
Manuel Gomes Serrao in 1629, the following stipulation is inserted:—
‘The ambassadors who shall come to speak with him shall enter his
Zimbahe covered and shod (with boots on their feet) and with their arms
at their sides, as if they were before the King of Portugal. He shall
give them chairs upon which to sit, and they shall not be submitted to
the ceremony of the clapping of hands.’
Chipunza has another name, Chipadzi. The exact relation between these
two names we were unable to ascertain; Chipadzi, however, I believe to
be the old dynastic name of the chief. His Zimbabwe, or place of
sacrifice, is about a mile from the present village, at a spot called
Chittakette, or the Chipadzi’s old town. To this place we were to be
taken on the morrow. We found it an interesting old spot, buried in
trees and with tomatoes and tobacco plants all amongst the ruined
walls. It evidently had had a wooden palisade around it, which had
sprouted and produced the venerable trees, and it had an inner fortress
with walls encircling it, and low gateways through, with large stone
slabs over them. It is an excellent specimen of this rough style of
fortress: the walls are from six to eight feet thick, with loopholes
out of which to shoot, built with no attempt at keeping even courses,
and with mortar. Within the fortress are the remains of huts and
granaries, as if the place had not been abandoned for very many years.
Just outside is Chipadzi’s tomb, with a tall stone erected over it, and
the surrounding ground is covered with tombs. This spot is called the
Zimbabwe by the natives, where they sacrifice annually to the Maklosi
of their ancestors.
We spent two days wandering amongst the granite locks around Chipunza’s
kraal, and we found evidence of a vast population having lived here at
some period. Nearly every one of the granite kopjes is fortified with
walls, and on some of them we found graves of cement similar to those
we saw at Nyanger rock; and on the hill just behind Chipunza’s kraal a
tall stone is erected on a pile of stones, the object of which nobody
seemed inclined to tell us.
How long ago it is since these walled towns were inhabited, and who
inhabited them, is, of course, a mystery. There is, however, no
evidence of any great antiquity about them; the mortar may have stood
for a few centuries, but not more; and from the evidence given us by
the Portuguese, above quoted, from the continuity of certain names and
many customs, and from the fact that the present inhabitants still
retain a certain knowledge of stone building, I think it is a very
reasonable assumption that this was one of the great centres of the
so-called Monomatapa Empire.
After leaving Chipunza’s kraal, and crossing the River Rusapi, a ride
of two hours brought us to Makoni’s kraal. Makoni, chief of the Maunga
tribe, is still one of the most powerful potentates in this district.
He, too, calls his town Zimbabwe, and it is doubtless the same spot
occupied by Makoni, chief of the Maungo, one of the great vassals of
the Monomatapa that Antonio Bocarro tells us about three centuries ago.
It is probably the highest inhabited spot in Mashonaland, being 5,200
feet above the level of the sea, just at the edge of the high plateau,
where it breaks into the serrated ridges of Manicaland. The town covers
a very large area of ground, being a conglomerate mass of huts and
granaries surrounded by a palisade. We spent about an hour resting
there at a sort of public meeting-place surrounded by a wall, where the
inhabitants collected in crowds to stare at us. Most of the men had
very large holes pierced in the lobes of their ears, into which they
would insert snuff-boxes of reeds, decorated with black geometric
patterns, and other articles. The women are all girt with the same
bark-fibre garments which we had seen worn in ’Mtoko’s country.
Accompanied by a swarthy rabble, we climbed a rock behind the town,
from which we got an exquisite view down into the valleys of Manica,
bearing eastwards—a view of rugged mountains tumbled together, of deep
valleys and running streams—a view such as one would get when
descending from the Alps into the plain of Italy. Chief Makoni never
came to see us, and as our time was limited we had to hurry away
without making his acquaintance.
Almost immediately on leaving Makoni’s our road began to descend, and
we entered upon a series of richly wooded gorges, flanked by gigantic
granite cliffs. On one of these pinnacles, about the height of Makoni’s
own kraal, is perched Chigono’s village, occupying a most wonderful
position. How they ever manage to drag up here a sufficiency of water
and the necessaries of life is a marvel. One thing they have in
perfection is climate. We found it hot and stuffy in the valleys, but
in their mountain eyries the Kaffirs enjoy the most perfect air that it
is possible to breathe.
On the third day after leaving Chipunza’s, one of our men had the good
luck to shoot an antelope, an event which was hailed with delight by
all in our camp. We had never in our lives been so long without meat,
and the want of it was beginning to be felt by all. On the fourth day
we crossed the Odzi River, the boundary between Mashonaland and
Manicaland. It is a fine stream even here, with a good body of water
even at the end of the dry season, on its way to join the Sabi River,
just where we touched it a few weeks before. At the point where we
crossed the Odzi the stream was sixty feet across, and the bed is at
least one hundred yards wide, and when the rains are on it must be a
terrible obstacle. Even as it was we had to unload the donkeys and
carry their burdens across, which means, when the afternoon is
advancing, a halt for the night.
A ride of twelve miles brought us next day to the kraal of ’Mtasa, the
most powerful of all the Manica chiefs. He is the paramount lord of the
Nica tribe, which gives its name to the country, and dwells in the
heart of the most mountainous district we had as yet traversed. A mass
of mountains, known to the natives as Mount Yenya, occupies the heart
of his country. ’Mtasa’s kraal itself is over 4,000 feet above the sea
level, and above this the rocky mountains tower 2,000 feet at least.
Here, though not actually as high as Makoni’s, you feel much higher,
looking down into the deep valleys below, and seeing no high plateau
behind you. Amongst these mountains lie numerous scattered kraals,
excellent grazing-ground for cattle, and from marauding neighbours
’Mtasa is free. Nevertheless, during the last two years poor ’Mtasa has
had rather a bad time of it, being the bone of contention between the
Portuguese and English chartered companies. Early in 1891, in the very
centre of this kraal, a small English contingent captured Andrade,
Gouveia, and the representatives of the Mozambique Company, and now the
British flag floats over it.
’Mtasa’s kraal is quite one of the most extraordinary ones we had yet
visited, being a nest of separate villages, each surrounded by its own
stockade, hidden away amongst granite boulders beneath the shade of a
lofty mountain. It is almost impossible to form any idea of the exact
extent of this place, so hidden away is it amongst trees and rocks, and
so intricate are its approaches; but, if report tells truly, which it
does not always do in South Africa, it is one of the largest native
centres in the country. We wandered up to a village the first
afternoon, a considerable climb from our camp. Little groups of natives
sat chattering under the shade of open huts, or just roofs on piles,
the rudimentary form of the café or the club: there were pigeon-cotes
on piles in all directions, and at every turn we found ourselves
blocked by palisades, which caused us to retrace our steps; so, as we
intended to stay another day here, we contented ourselves with gazing
at the magnificent view, the peaked heights of the Yenya range, the
deep wooded valley below with its dashing stream, and far away in the
horizon the distant blue Manica mountains. Certainly no kraal we had as
yet visited enjoys such excellent views as ’Mtasa’s. The huts here are
large and roomy, at the side they have two tall decorated posts to
support shelves for their domestic produce; most of them have two
doors, and with the dense shade of many trees above them they are
exceedingly picturesque.
On our second visit to the kraals we met ’Mtasa’s son, who regretted
that his aged father was ill just then, and had gone away for change of
air. We took leave of him, and climbed up through rocks and through
palisade after palisade, shutting off the various kraals from one
another; one of these we entered by a curious gateway made by swinging
beams, and penetrated into the headquarters of the old chief. By this
time we noticed that the people began to glare at us unpleasantly and
audibly to grumble. Seated in rows on the rocks, they chattered to us
like angry monkeys, but we went on without heeding them. One man, with
a bayonet fixed on to his rifle, followed unpleasantly close behind us;
and then, as we were about to penetrate into what I suppose formed
their innermost recesses, ’Mtasa’s son, who, by the way, had had more
beer than was good for him, came up to us in hot haste, and
peremptorily commanded us to depart. Again he reiterated the statement
that his father was away, and during his absence none could see the
royal kraal; so, somewhat crestfallen, we turned back again and saw no
more. Afterwards we were informed that the old ’Mtasa was there all the
time, but, as he had suffered so much lately from the conflicting
interests of England and Portugal, he thought it best not to see us,
for fear we might make him sign some new treaty against his will.
Of all the natives we had met during our wanderings, those of ’Mtasa’s
pleased us least; they appeared to us to be completely wanting in all
delicacy of feeling, and had to be driven by force from our tents. They
seemed to us to be an ill-bred, impudent race, and though their home
was so lovely we left it without regret. Somehow, too, our visit to
’Mtasa’s kraal was altogether unsatisfactory; we left it with the
consciousness that there were mysteries in it which we had not yet
explored. At the very last moment, just as we were packing up our
things, I chanced to see on a rock close by our camp some more of the
Bushman drawings, grotesque figures of men with bows and arrows and
deer grazing, in the usual colours of red and yellow. I feel confident
that in the massive mountain behind the kraal some more fortunate
travellers will find objects of interest which will well repay
investigation. We have distinctly unpleasant recollections of the
place, as we have also of a certain dangerous slippery drift or ford
across the River Odzani, which we found about half way between ’Mtasa’s
and the B.S.A. camp at Umtali. We had to take off our shoes and
stockings and lead our horses across the slippery rocks; they, poor
things, slipped at every step and trembled with fright. As for our
donkeys, they subsided altogether, and had to be unloaded and almost
carried across.