Mistake a Lion for an Antelope.—Explore a Road.—Reach
Palms.—Return and bring the Waggons.—Experiences of African
Travel.—Guide decamps and we find another.—Settle at
Okambuti.—The first Elephant.—Waggon breaks down.—Make a Strong
Camp.—Chapupa’s History.—Savages _versus_ Europeans.—Ride on
to the Ovampo.—Method of searching for Water.—Damaras are bad
Guides.—Find some Bushmen.—We start, but are ordered back.—The
Ovampo Caravan.—Chikorongo-onkompè.—Pronunciation of the letter
L.—Salt, not a Necessary of Life.—Damaras never eat it.—Return
to Chapupa’s Werft.—Arrange a Present for Nangoro.—Dressed and
tanned Leather.—Hear of Kahikenè’s Death.—Damara Creed.—Eandas
and Omakuru.—Ceremonies.—Huts and Finery.—Chaunts and
Music.—Damara Language.—Prefixes.
Thus closed an era in the journey; the first great point was reached, the
furthest that the Hottentots from Namaqua-land had ever seen—for they had
travelled as far as Omanbondè in one great expedition; they went in great
numbers and returned in some distress after a few months’ absence.
Curiously enough I arrived at Omanbondè the day year that I had left
England.
Now that my oxen were becoming a little more manageable, and the men
accustomed to travelling, I had hopes of making better progress than
I had done, and of soon reaching a far more interesting country than
that which I had now nearly crossed. I staid two days at Omanbondè
walking about, putting my map in order, and strolling with my little
rifle to shoot guinea-fowls or francolines. There was very little game
about, and I had neither patience nor endurance to run on their spoors
till I found them. One day as I was sauntering about in this way, I had
rather a fright; my rifle was loaded with the merest puff of powder
and a round ball, when I caught a sudden glimpse of an animal standing
on a mound about 200 yards off. I saw him through the thick boughs of
a bush, dropped to the ground directly, and made a careful stalk. I
fancied it was a koodoo, and I hoped that I might secure the animal if
I could get very near to him. I crawled for about ten minutes amongst
the abominable thorns and never showed myself once until about forty
or fifty yards from the mound, and then I poked my rifle very gently
between the branches of a thorn-tree, and raised myself up slowly on a
level with it. To my bewilderment I saw that my game was no koodoo, but a
fine black lion with a glorious mane, standing like a statue and looking
right at me. His attitude was picturesque, but armed as I was I should
much rather have viewed him at a telescopic distance. There was nothing
to be done but to put a bold face upon the matter, so I showed myself
at once and walked slowly away. I was in an awful flight; I was sure
the animal must be hungry, as there was so little game about. He let me
walk some fifty yards without stirring in the slightest. He might have
been daguerreotyped as he stood. Then he made a bound and trotted away,
certainly as much astonished at the interview as myself, for unless he
was a great traveller he could never before have seen a white man or one
dressed in clothes.
I am not sure whether or no Omanbondè is the head of that branch of
the Omoramba; it begins quite abruptly, but I found that it also ended
abruptly, and yet after a short distance the river-bed recommenced; in
fact the place is like a trough with sides and ends to it. The Omoramba,
eastward of the place, is a succession of troughs, but whether there
are others to the west of Omanbondè I do not know; there are two, and
very likely more, that lie parallel to it and at a short distance to the
northward. We arrived on the 5th of April, and on the 8th I was again in
my saddle, and set out on my trusty Ceylon to explore a road out of the
Omoramba, which, seemed even more impracticable, with regard to thorns,
than any place I had yet seen. I longed for the free and luxuriant
vegetation of the tropics, and to emerge from a country that was scorched
with tropical heat, but unrefreshed with truly tropical rains. Timboo,
John Allen, two or three Damaras, and the tall guide accompanied me; we
rode three or four hours down the Omoramba and then turned to the left,
and in four or five hours off-packed by the side of one of the most
agreeable of objects—as the harbinger of richer vegetation—a magnificent
palm. Three hours the next day took us past a large pool of water, and up
to another where there was a werft. Here I felt very much at the mercy of
my teasing hosts, who took the liberty of annoying me in every way. I had
no meat, and they would neither sell nor give me anything, and I feared
we should have to return without food.
We were too tired to watch all night, but slept almost without a
fire, lying on our valuables, and with the oxen tied short up to us,
as we feared some theft. The next morning, having been satisfied of
the goodness of the road, I returned and rode in eleven hours back to
Omanbondè, where I arrived before dusk on the 10th. On the 12th the
waggons started, and were taken successfully out of the river-bed. An
accident to my best rifle—a long two-ounce one—happened in the evening;
some giraffes were coming near us, and we ran through the bushes and
surrounded them. Andersson, who had the rifle, crawled near to one that
Hans had wounded and knocked him over, but the rifle burst or rather
cracked with the shot; the breech giving way just beneath the nipple. I
suspect that the bullet had become slightly dislodged by the jolting.
We encamped of course by the carcase and had a feast. I see now that
the best way of feeding savages is not to give them a steady allowance,
so many pounds of meat a day, but to starve them the greatest part of
their tune, and to gorge them now and then: besides, it is much the
most _convenient_ way of feeding them. There is no doubt that alternate
privation and luxury is congenial to most minds.
The two waggons somehow became separated; mine was as usual ahead, but
the other tried a short cut to overtake us, and lost our spoor. We were
playing at cross purposes, each trying to find the other for hours; at
last we encamped at Okatjokeama, the werft I had before explored.
The Damaras who had been so impudent to me and my small party were, as
usual, highly civil to my large one; had it been much greater they would
have given me presents. I saw clearly the truth of what a Portuguese
traveller, whom I have quoted before, told me, that it was not safe to
beg but better to force the natives to be hospitable, and that if Africa
is ever to be thoroughly explored, the only way to do it is in company
with a well-armed force of men (natives of course).
In a despotic country travelling is easy enough if the good-will of the
reigning savage be once obtained, but in a place like Damara-land, where
every chief is independent, and has to be persuaded or coerced, the case
is very different, and when tribes are changed it will take years to
persuade the new tribe that the traveller is not a spy. A large body of
men forces its way, and the man who commands it can say to a chief—“I
wish to be friends, and here are presents for you to show that I am
friendly, and also here are things of exchange to buy what I want. Bring
me these or I take them.” Many Portuguese traders travel after this way,
but stronger measures have to be resorted to in enforcing the discipline
of the travelling party, and in compelling civility from the natives,
than Englishmen generally would like to adopt. It would be a tedious
journey indeed for a man, however well qualified, to attempt to travel
as a native would, and to go far into Africa. He would be stopped for
months or years at each frontier. We can see this from the case of the
missionaries, who have every opportunity of winning respect and regard
from the natives they are amongst, of learning their language and their
customs, and who have also every desire of extending their spheres of
action; yet a long time elapses between each step that their stations
advance, and when they do so it invariably is under the strong influence
of some chief that they are even then led on. The traveller who tries to
dash at it has many difficulties indeed to encounter.
These scoundrel Damaras wanted to misdirect us, and to send us eastwards
instead of northwards, to find out the Ovampo, but the women of the tribe
let out the secret to the wives of my Damaras, and the wives of course
told it to their husbands, who told it to me, so that their plans failed.
The tall guide took great pains to explain to us how innocent he was of
all guile, and that he would take us on to the Ovampo and do everything
we wanted, and also that it would be very convenient if I paid the calf I
had promised him in advance, as he had an opportunity of sending it home
now, which he would not have again. I mistrusted my friend—I never did
trust a Damara out of my sight—but he teased me and I gave him the calf.
Timboo was quite won by his agreeable address, and lent him his horse-rug
to sleep upon. The rascal of course sent away the calf, and decamped
with the rug the next night. Another savage took us on, and we came to a
little bit of a water-hole, then to another, on the succeeding day, where
there was a large werft, and we fraternised strongly with the people of
it. They confirmed what we had heard, of there being elephants ahead,
and pointed out a number of coppice-covered knolls, all about which
the animals were said to be feeding at that very time. We had passed
through a broad belt of palms, high, magnificent trees, with fan-shaped
leaves and prickly stems, bearing clusters of fruit exactly like that of
the North African doum palm, that is to say, a ruddy, dry fruit, with a
fibrous kernel that no power we had at command could make any impression
upon. I brought some specimens home with me, and they are planted at Kew
Gardens. Ivory was very common as an ornament among these Damaras, our
present guide sported a long string of ivory beads, which he wore like a
halter, it dangled from his neck down his back as far as his heels. The
size of these beads, which were carefully made, tapered gradually down,
from nearly the size of billiard-balls to that of hazel-nuts. He would
not sell his cherished ornament, though he very kindly offered to lend it
to me for a day or two, if I wished to wear it.
_April 17th._—We arrived at Okambuti, where the werft of the principal
chief of these parts, Chapupa, was then lying. We were assured that
there were elephants about, who drank regularly at some neighbouring
fountains, and we found the spoors of five. One was said to be a savage,
single-tusked, old bull, and we made a long but unsuccessful hunt after
him; as he walked faster than we could, a whole day’s severe labour was
on that occasion unrewarded. Some time later, the Damaras went out in a
large body to attack him with assegais, for he had come close up to their
werft. They surrounded the animal in that daring way in which African
savages are used to attack them; but although several arrows were shot
and assegais thrown, no serious harm was done to him. A dog belonging
to one of the natives ran in upon the elephant, and while the owner was
trying to get the dog back, the elephant caught the man with his trunk
and threw him violently to the ground. All his ribs seemed to be broken,
and he soon died. There were no guns on the spot at the time of the
occurrence. The elephant went away for a few days, but returned again,
and came close up to the waggons. He received seven bullets, but the two
last were unnecessary, for he was evidently dying after receiving the
fifth. The Damaras had a grand feed off him.
I did not wish to waste time in Damara-land, and tried to persuade
Chapupa to give me a guide to the Ovampo, but after many excuses he
flatly refused. Okamabuti is on the Damara frontier, and a Bushman tract
of considerable breadth separates the two countries. I had heard every
imaginable account of the distance hence to Nangoro’s place, but settled
in my own mind that it must be somewhere between a five and a twenty
days’ journey. I therefore made ready to trek on to one of the fountains
that the elephants frequented, and to stay there for a little until I
could bribe a guide to show me the way on. There were a great many things
to be done which required at least a fortnight’s rest; the waggon sails,
which were torn in shreds, had to be well mended, ox-hides had to be
dressed and then cut up into reims; saddle-bags were wanting, the men’s
shoes were worn out; more ride and pack-oxen had to be broken in, and I
had a great deal of country to map up, and several observations to work
out.
On the 19th of April we had started for the fountains when an accident
occurred that detained me much longer than I had expected. I ought
to have premised that the character of the country had entirely
changed; instead of small bushes some magnificent timber trees began
to appear, forming belts of forest as regular in shape as the designs
of an ornamental gardener could have made them, but offering a very
considerable impediment to waggon travelling. The oxen were very fresh,
and as soon as they were inspanned bolted down a slight descent with the
waggon; there was a stump in the way; it looked a rotten affair, such as
we had constantly crushed over, but it really was a hard sound piece of
wood. The off fore wheel of the large waggon came against it, and crash
went the axletree and ever so much more of the wood-work—and there we
were!
[Illustration: CHAPUPA, A DAMARA CHIEF.]
We did not sit one moment with our hands in our pockets and lament, but
brought the other waggon up alongside, and at a proper distance off,
and then outspanning worked diligently at making a regular encampment.
It would never have done to appear disheartened. We were in a complete
jungle, but that we soon cleared sufficiently out of our way; a space was
then hedged in round the waggons, half of which was made into a strong
ox-kraal, and round this I made my five married couples of savages build
their huts at equal distances, that they might act as a watch over it.
In this sort of work the day passed, and I most heartily congratulated
myself that the accident had happened where it did, near water and near
friendly Damaras, and in almost the only place that we had seen, since
Schmelen’s Hope, where wood fit for a new axletree could be obtained.
I did not dare to trust myself to one of unseasoned wood, as it would
not have stood a day’s work through such country as that we were now
travelling over, and if the next break-down should be in a spot far from
trees, grass, or water, we might find ourselves in very great difficulty.
I therefore determined to ride with Andersson on to the Ovampo, and
to leave Hans behind in charge of the waggons—which he undertook to
repair. Curiously enough, though there were so many timber trees, yet
we searched for hours before we could find two that were fit for our
purpose—straight, not too large, and not worm-eaten. These were cut down
at once and brought to the camp. The next day found us busily engaged
in strengthening the encampment and making it comfortable. The space
between the waggons was awned over, the stumps of bushes rooted out of
the ground, the fore part of the broken waggon prized up, the wheels &c.
taken away, and stones built under it, and some very active days were
thus spent.
Chapupa passed most of the time with us; he had been much indebted to
Nangoro for assistance in some Damara squabbles and fightings, and was
tolerably intelligent and friendly. It seemed that the Ovampo carry on
a cattle trade with the Damaras at this point. Two Ovampo caravans,
each consisting of from twenty to thirty men on foot, come here with
beads, shells, assegais, wood-choppers, and such-like things, which they
exchange for cattle. They obtain the beads and some of the assegais from
the half-caste Portuguese traders who frequent their northern frontier.
Some years back the then principal Damara chief received the Ovampo with
great civility, and allowed them, as usual, to travel about and barter as
they liked; but when they had sold everything and brought a fine drove
of cattle together, the chief attacked and robbed them. Chapupa was at
that time a second-rate captain, and having been himself robbed he sent
to Nangoro for help, which was given; their men joined together, killed
the obnoxious chief, and then divided his cattle between them; and
Chapupa now lives in great plenty, and shows the greatest respect towards
all the Ovampo. He evidently did not wish to take the responsibility of
himself sending me on to Nangoro, as he feared that I might be a spy, and
that Nangoro would find fault with him for allowing me an opportunity of
learning the road; but he begged that I would wait till the next Ovampo
caravan came, when I should have an excellent opportunity of returning
with it.
However, on the 25th of April, a man offered himself as guide; I asked
him how soon he would be ready: he replied, as was very true, that he
had nothing to pack up, only his assegai to take with him, and would
start directly. These savages look with great contempt at our wants, and
indeed no European could be a match for them in fatigue-work for two or
three days; yet, on the other hand, in a long steady journey the savages
very quickly knock up, unless they adopt some of our usages. They cannot
endure the cold for many nights without a rug to cover them. The midday
sun gives them a headache, and they require a cap. Their sandals do not
keep out the thorns, and they have to make shoes, and they cannot do more
than a week’s work on pig-nut diet. A savage who makes a dash at work for
three or four days gets through it well enough, and a long rest sets him
to rights again after his forced exertions; but where there is no such
rest, but in its place a steady continuous strain, then he fails unless
to a considerable degree he adopts our dress and habits.
_April 26th._—We started; John St. Helena, Timboo, John Williams,
Andersson, and myself were all on ride-oxen; we had three carrying packs,
and a few others loose, with a small drove of sheep: I also took half a
dozen Damaras with me. We passed vast numbers of old elephant tracks,
but saw no fresh spoors, and halted after proceeding a short distance,
but the next day we made a long tedious journey from sunrise to sunset,
getting among hills and quite losing our way. We passed a magnificent set
of pitfalls, which the bushmen who live about these hills had made; the
whole breadth of the valley was staked and bushed across. At intervals
the fence was broken, and where broken deep pitfalls were made. The
strength and size of the timber that was used gave me a great idea of
Bushman industry, for every tree had to be burnt down and carried away
from the hills, and yet the scale of the undertaking would have excited
astonishment in far more civilised nations. When a herd of animals was
seen among the hills the Bushmen drove them through this valley up to
the fence; this was too high for them to jump, so that they were obliged
to make for the gaps, and there tumbled into the pitfalls. We had seen
no people about, but at night when we off-packed, the hill-top in front
of us blazed with fires. I presume that more trees were being burnt to
make a second set of pitfalls. It was no encouragement to us to see these
fires, for three or four bushmen, each with one meal’s provision of
water, might have walked over from a great distance, and made them, and
therefore I had no reason to expect to find near at hand the water that
we already were in want of for the oxen.
_April 28th._—After some hours’ travel the guide confessed that he had no
idea where we were; so we separated to look for tracks, some climbing one
hill and some another. The day was hazy, but Andersson made out something
like green grass, five or six miles to the north-west, and the guide
found a bushman who directed him in that very course; so we went there,
and found not only dry rushes but also a troop of baboons. This was a
sure sign of there being water somewhere near, and after looking about a
little we came upon wells. We generally found water by observing geese,
ducks, baboons, parrots, doves, and little birds (not linnets) in flocks.
Guinea fowl are seldom more than three hours from water. Plovers I have
seen much further. Fresh converging tracks of men or animals of course
indicate it, but old _paths_ only mislead; these generally are made when
the ground is soft during the rainy season, and lead to some vley which
is dry at all other times. In practice, when looking out for water, the
first sign that gives hope is a flock of Guinea fowls, then following the
lay of the country every distant tree is carefully scanned until a parrot
is seen, which, as the bird is fond of perching on the very topmost
branches, is, even at great distances, a conspicuous object. A parrot is
seldom more than half an hour from water, nor baboons either. Continuing
a sharp look-out, and taking a likely course doves are seen flying about,
and little birds are found in all the bushes, and they are close upon it.
The well and fountain that we were at was called Otchikango; a bold range
of hills bounded it on one side, and along their foot a considerable
sheet of water appeared to have lain in the rainy seasons. The guide
recognised the place as the station he had wanted to take us to, and
promised that there should now be no further mistakes.
_April 29th._—We went on, and after straying for three and a half hours,
came again to a nonplus; we had cleared the mountains, and a thick mass
of shrubs lay before us. The guide had been following an old elephant, or
some other wild beast path, instead of the Ovampo track. I made him climb
a pretty stiff hill with me, the cactus and broken stones of which he
did not at all like,—but it was of no use to us. A wide forest extended
below, without a landmark, so we came down and returned to Otchikango.
The Damaras are bad guides considering that they are savages, and ought
to have the instincts of locality strongly developed. On subsequent
occasions, in retracing our routes over wide extents of country, it
was a common amusement to try each other’s recollection of the road by
asking what would be the next object or next turn of the path that we
should come to. But it is difficult to compare a European’s idea of a
country with that of these savages, as they look at it in such different
ways, and have their attention attracted to such entirely different
objects. A Damara never _generalises_; he has no one name for a river,
but a different name for nearly every reach of it; thus the Swakop is a
Namaqua name; there is no Damara word for it. A Damara who knew the road
perfectly from A to B, and again from B to C, would have no idea of a
straight cut from A to C: he has no map of the country in his mind, but
an infinity of local details. He recollects every stump or stone, and the
more puerile the object the more strongly does he seem to recollect it.
Thus, if you say; “I intend to sleep by the side of the great hill where
the river-bed runs close under its foot,” he would never recognise the
place by the description, but if you said, “under the tree, a little way
on the other side of the place where the black and white ox lowed when
the red ox was in front of him, and Koniati dropped his assegai,” &c.
&c. every savage in the party would understand the exact locality. The
Damaras pick out their way step by step; they never dream of taking a
course and keeping to it. All their observations are directed to spoors,
sticks and stones, and they perpetually look down on the ground and not
round about them.
We had, as usual, been such early risers, that plenty of daylight
remained, which we occupied in watching the baboons and climbing about
their hills. We had made so zigzag a journey that I mapped out this
mountainous region very satisfactorily. Towards evening I saw Andersson
walking like a chief, with a long string of Bushmen at his heels; they
had come together on the hill-side, and he brought them to the camp. We
lavished favours of tobacco and such-like things upon them, showed them
their faces in a looking-glass that I always carried with me, chiefly for
that purpose, and finally succeeded in persuading some of the party to
guide me to the next place—Otchikoto. One Bushman was to remain all night
as a hostage; the others were to tell his wife, and to bring next day
what they required for the journey. I am sure that Bushmen are, generally
speaking, hen-pecked. They always consult their wives. The Damaras do not.
Our new friend became uneasy at night-fall when his companions had left
him alone, so we watched him alternately throughout the night to see
that he did not run away. I do not think the poor fellow slept a wink.
I am sure he did not in my watch, for I constantly caught his bright
eye gleaming distrustfully round, whilst he pretended to be asleep. In
the morning we went on with him, and stopped at a place which was full
of grass, about an hour off, till his companions should come to us by
a short cut over the hills. After a little time three Blacks were seen
running from the direction of Otjikongo. As soon as we could make them
out clearer, the Bushmen and Damaras all called out “Ovampo,” and so it
was.
They were part of the long-expected caravan which had arrived immediately
after we had started, and as our spoors and way of camping of course
excited the greatest curiosity among them, three men were despatched
to bring us back. They were ugly fellows, immensely muscular, and most
determined looking; they insisted that we should go back; we laughed at
them; they took our Bushman aside, and used all kinds of threats to him,
till he hardly dared proceed. In the mean time I was much struck by the
cool fearless bearing of the men and their peremptory, yet not uncivil
manner; and seeing at once that I had quite a different style of men to
deal with from either Bushmen or Damaras, I acknowledged that it was but
reasonable that they should desire to know something of a stranger before
they could allow him to pass into their country, and I returned with them
to the encampment we had that morning left.
My new acquaintances were entirely a different looking race from the
Damaras, but very like the Ghou Damup. They were ugly, bony men, with
strongly marked features, and dressed with a very funny scantiness of
attire. Their heads were shaved, and one front tooth was chipped out.
They carried little light bows three and a half feet long, and a small
and well-made assegai in one hand. On their backs were quivers, each
holding from ten to twenty well-barbed and poisoned arrows, and they
carried a dagger-knife in a neat sheath, which was either fixed to a
girdle round the waist, or else to a band that encircled the left arm
above the elbow. Their necks were laden with necklaces for sale, and
every man carried a long narrow smoothed pole over his shoulder, from
either end of which hung a quantity of packages. These were chiefly
little baskets holding iron articles of exchange, packets of corn for
their own eating, and water bags.
The Ovampo were twenty-four in number, with a tall enterprising-looking
young man as captain. I admired greatly the neatness and order of their
encampment, and their demeanour was really polished. We soon became
good friends, and I killed a young ox for them and for ourselves; they
added some corn, which was a most grateful change of diet to us. They
paid us every attention, but refused most decidedly to let any of
their party guide us, and insisted that we should return with them to
Chapupa’s werft, promising at the same time that when they had finished
their bartering and returned they would take us with them. The first
question that Chikorongo-onkompè (their captain) asked us, was whether
we were rain-makers. I regretted that we were not, else we could travel
when we liked and where we liked, and be independent of guides. He told
us a long and minutely circumstantial lie—at least he afterwards denied
every word of it—to the effect that rain-makers were in great request
in Ovampo-land, and that a tribe of them lived by the great river that
bounded it to the north, and that Nangoro sent a woman with several
presents to these people. If rain was scarce in any year they killed and
eat the woman, and had a fresh one sent to them. He also said that the
Bushmen on our road to Nangoro’s were very ferocious, and that he and his
companions had been fighting with them as they came by, and that now they
were more exasperated than ever. These were the only two lies that I have
ever heard from an Ovampo. The second was natural enough; as to the first
I cannot yet understand why he took such pains to invent and tell it.
Chikorongo-onkompè, or “Chik,” as I will for brevity’s sake call him,
spoke Damara language perfectly, but with an accent, and so did Katondoka
and Netjo, the next in command, but the others could barely make
themselves intelligible. Their own language is most musical and liquid,
and they speak it in a slow singing manner. It seems nothing but L’s,
which is curious, as the Damaras do not possess that letter and cannot
pronounce it. It is odd enough that Damara children, who say L as all
other children do when they try to pronounce R, should as they grow older
reverse matters, and forgetting how to pronounce the L, always say R
instead of it; thus Mr. Kolbe’s name was changed to Korube; my man, whom
we nick-named Bill, was called by the Damaras “Biro.” They took infinite
pains to master my name, which after various transformations settled into
Bortonio—the “io” being an affectionately diminutive affix. Andersson’s
name was too full of consonants for them; they gave it up in despair, and
called him Kabandera, (the bird-killer). Many of the Ovampo and Damara
words are much alike; thus if you say “bring fire,” it is “et omuriro” in
Damara, “ella omuliloo” in Ovampo.
The Ovampo way of encamping is very characteristic, for they do not
sleep by the side of a large burning log of wood, but instead of that go
to great pains in collecting stones about the size of bricks, and make
two or three rows of small fires, perhaps five in each row, placing the
stones round each of them in a rude circle of two feet diameter, so as
to confine the ashes and keep the brands from falling about; then they
lie down and go to sleep between the fire-places. They arrange these
encampments with great regularity, and the plan of them is certainly a
good one in countries where there may be a sufficiency of dry sticks and
brush, but no large firewood; for by keeping up the fires throughout
half of the night, which one or two men can easily do, the stones become
hot enough to radiate for some hours longer when the fuel has become
exhausted and every body has dropped off to sleep; again, from the men
sleeping so close in between the hearths, they receive the full benefit
of whatever heat is afforded. We, like the Damaras, simply made a
roaring fire and slept to the windward of it, for we always had plenty
of firewood. I never liked sleeping between two large fires on account
of the smoke, and of the great danger of sparks. Hans’ bed was more than
half burnt under him one night, but some sheepskins that he was lying on
kept him from being scorched, and saved his powder-flask. When a heavy
log that is half-burnt through breaks and falls with a crash, it scatters
burning cinders all about, which the wind will often carry some distance.
The Ovampo had little pipkins to cook in, and eat corn (milice) steeped
in hot water; they also eat some salt, which the Damaras never take by
any chance. In fact the Damaras could not get it, for there is no salt
in their land. There are salt-springs in the lower part of the Swakop,
near where we first struck it when we left Scheppmansdorf, and there
are large saltpans, as I afterwards found out, in Ovampo-land, and also
in the far east, but none whatever in Damara-land. In Europe it is
generally supposed that salt is a necessary of life, but here we never
found it so; I was once on a riding excursion with Andersson and three
other men for six weeks, and a pill-box full of salt was all we used.
We had then nothing else whatever but meat and coffee, the latter of
which, after a certain degree of “condition” has been obtained, is also
a very unnecessary superfluity, and one that I could at any time abandon
without regret. The Namaquas occasionally use salt, but they set no store
upon it. There is no doubt that people who live on meat and milk would
require salt much less than those who live on vegetables, but half the
Damaras subsist simply on pig-nuts,—the most worthless and indigestible
of food, and requiring to be eaten in excessive quantities to afford
enough nourishment to support life. The Hottentots by Walfisch Bay, who
live almost entirely on the ’nara gourd, and who have the sea on one
side and salt-springs in front of them, hardly ever take the trouble to
collect salt, which they certainly would do if they felt that craving
for it which distresses many Europeans. The last fact that I have to
mention with reference to salt, is that the game in the Swakop do not
frequent the salt rocks to lick them, as they do in America. I visited
these salt rocks (below Oosop) when there had been plenty of game about,
and when the spoors of a month old were perfectly distinct, yet no tracks
led to the salt which hung down like stalactites from the rock, from one
to twenty feet above the ground, at a place where a small brack-spring
dribbles over it, and which was perfectly accessible, and in full view.[1]
The Ovampo were very quiet and sociable; they always seemed to make
a point of giving orders in a low tone of voice, and if possible
aside. They _can_ count, for they explained to me at once the number of
Nangoro’s wives, 105, using their fingers rapidly to show the number.
They also counted my oxen as quickly as I could have done it myself. The
next day we returned with them, and on the morrow reached my werft. The
Ovampo traders then separated into bands, and went about the country
bartering. Chik alone remained behind and received such oxen as were from
time to time sent to him. He spent most of his time with me, and told me
a great deal about the Ovampo and Nangoro. We found that it would require
more than a fortnight’s steady travel to get there. My cattle were
becoming very thin, and I could ill spare the three weeks that the Ovampo
kept me waiting. The grass on this side of the Omoramba was different to
that on the other, and the sheep fell off sadly from the change of food,
and were hardly worth eating; their tails, once so full of luscious fat,
as is the case with all African sheep, were now reduced to cords. There
was no game about for us to shoot, and the steady consumption of an ox
in every three days told heavily upon my slaughter-cattle. Chapupa would
not sell me anything. I think he dared not for fear of offending his old
customers—the Ovampo—and the market was not extensive enough for all of
us. I therefore saw clearly that my head-quarters had no chance of being
removed further to the north unless I met with a sufficiency of game in
Ovampo-land to support my party, or unless my articles of exchange would
buy me an abundance of provisions there. I exhibited all that I had to
Chik, and he told me what to take, and what to leave behind; but showed
very little rapture about anything except some red beads and some bars
of iron. At my request he arranged a present for Nangoro. An ox was
essential, then a handful of red beads, and I added my steel-scabbarded
sword, a looking-glass, and a few other things. I took the great crown,
but said nothing about it.
I had always plenty of employment for my men; they dressed some hides
and made them into good saddle-bags, and also into packing reims, which
have to be no less than sixty feet long. It is perfectly impossible to
pack-oxen with a short reim, for their hide is so loose, and their sides
so shaky, that the packs require eight or ten turns of reim round them
on the ox’s back before they are properly fastened. The tugging that is
necessary is enormous. It requires two skilled hands and one native to
pack an ox. The native holds him by his nose-reim (or thong); the things
are placed on his back, the middle of the reim on the top of them, and
the loose ends are pulled under the ox’s belly from the opposite side.
Then each packer puts his foot against the ox’s ribs, and, holding
tightly his end of the reim, pulls at it with all his might and main,
till the ox’s waist is considerably, and even fashionably, compressed;
then the reims are crossed over his back, and the loose ends again drawn
through under his belly, and another pull is given and so on, till the
reim is exhausted; finally the ends are tied.
My savages never could pack; they had not strength enough to do it.
It is true that Damaras do sometimes put things on the back of an old
worn-out ox that has not energy enough to kick them off; but they could
never pack, as we did, 150 pounds’ weight on young oxen that had to be
driven through thick cover, and amused themselves with trying to rub
their pack off against every trunk or bough of a tree that they could get
at.
We never had a sufficiency of leather to make reims of; in fact, we
always wanted leather, and I would gladly at any time have exchanged
a live ox for a dressed skin. It takes at least two days to dress
an ox-hide, and two days’ provision is nearly one ox. If game was
slaughtered, the Damaras eat so much that they could not work at dressing
the hide, which is a most laborious job to undertake, and must be
entered upon willingly, or the hide is spoilt. When a hide is dressed,
in order to cut it into reims, the projecting edges are first trimmed
off, and then with a knife the remaining part is cut spirally round and
round the whole way from the circumference to the centre. The reim or
band for packing purposes ought to be about an inch thick, and of very
regular breadth throughout. A reim, or any other piece of ox-hide that is
dressed, is more limp than if it had been tanned; but it feels greasy,
and is a nasty thing to handle. Tanned leather is abused by Hottentots
and Dutchmen, but I conceive that is simply because it is an innovation
upon their ideas. If I travelled again, I should invest largely in it,
and only use dressed leather when I had nothing better. Wet ruins the
latter, for it makes it soppy and extensible; drought makes tanned
leather rotten, but not if a very little fat be rubbed in occasionally.
All my tanned leather things lasted admirably, and far outwore the rest.
I had, whilst waiting for the Ovampo, some fresh oxen broken in, and
among them Kahikenè’s fine black ox. I did so because news arrived one
evening that Kahikenè was killed, and I wished to keep a memento of
him, and not to eat his present. It appeared that he went to Omagundè’s
son’s werft immediately after we had parted, and made a bold charge.
When the fighting was at its thickest, all Kahikenè’s men dropped off,
and ran away, leaving him and his son alone. My old servant, Piet, from
Mozambique, remained a little time with him, and shot two men with his
gun, but then became frightened, and made his escape. An arrow struck
Kahikenè; and as he fell to the ground, Omagundè’s men speared him
through and through with their assegais. His son, a fine intelligent lad,
rushed up to him in despair, and was murdered by his side.
As I have brought my narrative to the time when we were about to leave
Damara-land behind us; and as we had already lived five months in it,
and of course had seen much of the manners and habits of the people, it
will be a good opportunity for me to mention them in order, and more
fully than I could have done before, without anticipating or breaking the
thread of my story.
To commence with their name. It is in their own language “Ovaherero,”
or the “Merry People;” but those who are settled towards the interior
are always called “Ovampantieru,” or the “Deceivers;” for what reason I
am totally unable to find out. Damup, which is the Namaqua name for the
people generally, has been corrupted by the Oerlams and Dutch traders
into “Damara,” and by this title they have always been known to the
whites. Like the word “Caffre,” it is an established name, and also
a convenient one; for it supersedes all distinctions of locality and
of tribes, which Ovaherero does not; in addition to this, it is very
pronounceable, and therefore I prefer adhering to established usage, and
calling these savages by it, rather than by words in their own language.
Next, as to their jumble of ideas, which, for want of a better name must
be dignified by that of their religion or creed—
In the beginning of things there was a tree (but the tree is
somehow double, because there is one at Omaruru, and another near
Omutchamatunda), and out of this tree came Damaras, Bushmen, oxen, and
zebras. The Damaras lit a fire, which frightened away the Bushmen and the
oxen; but the zebras remained. Hence it is that Bushmen and wild beasts
live together in all sorts of inaccessible places, while the Damaras and
the oxen possess the land. The tree gave birth to everything else that
lives; but has not been prolific of late years. It is of no use waiting
by the side of the tree in hopes of capturing such oxen and sheep as it
might bear.
[Illustration: DAMARA WOMAN.]
Again, notwithstanding that everything comes out of the tree, men have
in some separate manner a special origin or “eanda.” There are six
or seven eandas, and each eanda has some peculiar rites. The tribes
do not correspond with the eandas, as men of every descent are to be
found in each tribe. The chiefs of tribes have some kind of sacerdotal
authority—more so than a military one. They bless the oxen; and their
daughters sprinkle the fattest ones with a brush dipped in water every
morning as they walk out of the kraal. They have no expectation of a
future state; yet they pray over the graves of their parents for oxen and
sheep,—fat ones, and of the right colour. There is hardly a particle of
romance, or affection, or poetry, in their character or creed; but they
are a greedy, heartless, silly set of savages. Independently of the tree
and the eanda, there is also Omakuru; he can hardly be called a deity,
though he gives and withholds rain. He is buried in several different
places, at all of which he is occasionally prayed to.
The Damaras have a vast number of small superstitions, but these
are all stupid, and often very gross; and there is not much that is
characteristic in them. Messengers are greased before they set out on a
journey, and greased again when they come back; of one sort of ox only
grown men eat; out of one particular calabash of milk only grown men
drink, and so on _ad infinitum_. A new-born child is washed—the only time
he is ever washed in his life—then dried and greased, and the ceremony
is over. Some time during boyhood the lads are circumcised, but at no
particular age. Marriage takes place at what appears to be the ages of 15
or 16, but as the Damaras keep no count of years it is scarcely possible
to be certain of their ages; my impression was that the Damaras were not
so precocious as black people usually are. The teeth are chipped with
a flint when the children are young. After death the corpse is placed
in a squatting posture, with its chin resting on its knees, and in that
position is sewn up in an old ox-hide (the usual thing that they sleep
on), and then dropped down into a hole that is dug for it, the face
being turned to the north, and covered over; lastly, the spectators jump
backwards and forwards over the grave to keep the disease from rising out
of it. A sick person meets with no compassion; he is pushed out of his
hut by his relations away from the fire into the cold; they do all they
can to expedite his death, and when he appears to be dying, they heap
ox-hides over him till he is suffocated. Very few Damaras die a natural
death.
The huts are wretched affairs—I have already slightly described them—the
women are the builders. They first cut a number of sticks eight or nine
feet high, and also strip off quantities of bark from the trees which
they shred and use as string; holes are then “crowed” in a circle of
eight or ten feet across, in which the sticks are planted upright,
their tops are next bent together and pleached and lashed with the bark
shreds—this makes the frame-work; round about it brushwood is woven
and tied until the whole assumes a compact surface; a hole for a door
three feet by two, is left in one side, and a forked prop is placed in
the middle of the hut to support the roof; the whole is then daubed and
plastered over, and the work is completed. As the roof becomes dried
and cracked with the heat of the fire, and indeed as it generally has a
hole in it for a chimney, the Damaras lay old ox-hides on the outside
upon its top, weighting them with stones that they may not be blown
off; these they draw aside when they want ventilation, but pull them
over at night when they wish to make all snug. The furniture of the hut
consists of a couple of ox-hides for lying and sitting on, three or four
wooden vessels, a clay cooking pot, a bag of pig-nuts, a leathern box
containing a little finery, such as red iron earth to colour themselves
with, and a small skin of grease. There may perhaps be an iron knife
and a wood chopper; everything else is worn on the persons, or buried
secretly in the ground. When they sleep, the whole population of the
hut lie huddled up together like pigs, and in every imaginable position
round the small fire. They have nothing to cover themselves with. The
children, before they can walk, are carried in a kind of leather shawl at
the mother’s back; afterwards they are left to shift for themselves, and
pick up a living amongst the pig-nuts as well as they can. They all have
dreadfully swelled stomachs, and emaciated figures. It is wonderful how
they can grow up into such fine men. The Damaras do not dance much, only
on great occasions, when they perform war-dances; neither do they sing
together, although they are very fond of chaunting solos in a sing-song
air, inventing the words as they go on, and having a chorus to break in
now and then. I have seen one guitar amongst them, but it was I think an
Ovampo importation; their only musical instrument is their bow. They tie
a piece of reim round the bow-string and the handle, and bind them up
tight together, then they hold the bow horizontally against their teeth,
and strike the tense bow-string with a small stick. A good performer can
produce great effect with it; they attend more to the rhythm than the
notes, and imitate with its music the gallop or trotting of different
animals to perfection. The baboon’s clumsy canter is the _chef d’œuvre_,
and when well executed makes everybody roar with laughter.
The natural colour of the Damaras is by no means easy to determine,
except during the heavy rains which wash off the layers of grease and
red pigment with which they so plentifully besmear themselves. In dry
weather the Damara comes out ruddy and glossy, like an old well-polished
mahogany table; he is then reeking with oil, his features are plump and
smooth, his appearance genial and warm, but a few hours’ steady deluge
quite alters the man. His skin becomes dead-looking and devoid of all
lustre—there is not a tinge of ruddiness in it; it is not even black,
but of a pale slate colour, or like old iron railings that want fresh
painting, and the Damara, when cleaned, becomes a most seedy-looking
object.
Concerning their language I shall say little, as it can only interest
philologists, and for their benefit a most copious manuscript grammar
and dictionary has already been sent by the Rev. Messrs. Hahn and Rath,
to Bonn. Its grammar is much the same as that of the Sichuana and Caffre
languages; which are said to be kindred to that of nearly every known
negro language in Africa. It is highly flexible, so that when a new word
is once obtained they can express immediately and intelligibly every
derivative from it. Thus if they learnt the word “bread” they would have
no difficulty in forming the word a “baker.” The great clumsiness of the
language is its want of comparatives and of adjectives. It has one great
but not peculiar beauty in the prefix which every substantive possesses.
These prefixes have all a special power which it is not easy to define,
but which is soon caught up by the learner. To take a simple instance,
Omu is the prefix that signifies manhood; Otji, a thing. Now Omundu is
simply a man; but by saying Otjimundu, the idea of an inanimate thing
is superadded to the idea of a man, and the word expresses an old crone.
The prefix of the substantive which governs the sentence is continued or
hinted at through all the declinable words in it, and gives a bond of
union to the whole. The vocabulary is pretty extensive; it is wonderfully
copious on the subject of cattle; every imaginable kind of colour—as
brindled, dappled, piebald—is named. It is not strong in the cardinal
virtues; the language possessing no word at all for gratitude; but on
looking hastily over my dictionary I find fifteen that express different
forms of villainous deceit.
[Illustration: DAMARA WEAPONS, ETC.]