CATTLE KEEPING.
THE ISI-BAYA AND ITS PRIVILEGES -- MILKING COWS -- THE CURIOUS
MILK PAIL -- MODE OF MAKING IT -- A MILKING SCENE, AND THE VARIOUS
PERSONAGES EMPLOYED IN IT -- PRECAUTIONS TAKEN WITH A RESTIVE COW --
KAFFIR COW WHISTLES -- CHIEFS AND THEIR CATTLE -- MANAGEMENT OF THE
HERDS, AND CATTLE “LIFTING” -- A COW THE UNIT OF KAFFIR CURRENCY --
A KAFFIR’S WEALTH, AND THE USES TO WHICH IT IS PUT -- A KAFFIR ROB
ROY -- ADVENTURES OF DUTULU, HIS EXPLOITS, HIS ESCAPES, AND HIS DEATH
-- ODD METHOD OF ORNAMENTING COWS -- LE VAILLANT’S ACCOUNT OF THE
METHODS EMPLOYED IN DECORATING THE CATTLE -- HOW OBSTINATE COWS ARE
FORCED TO GIVE THEIR MILK -- A KAFFIR HOMESTEAD -- VARIOUS USES OF
CATTLE -- HOW MILK IS PREPARED -- “AMASI,” OR THICKENED MILK -- OTHER
USES FOR CATTLE -- THE SADDLE AND PACK OXEN -- HOW THEY ARE LADEN AND
GIRTHED.
The isi-baya is quite a sacred spot to a Kaffir, and in many tribes the
women are so strictly prohibited from entering it, that if even the
favorite wife were discovered within its precincts she would have but a
very poor chance of her life.
During the day-time the herd are out at pasture, watched by “boys”
appointed to this important office, but when night approaches, or if
there is any indication of danger from enemies, the cows are driven
into the isi-baya, and the entrances firmly barred. It is mostly in
this enclosure that the cattle are milked, this operation being always
intrusted to the men. Indeed, as is well observed by Mr. Shooter,
milking his cows is the only work that a Kaffir really likes. About ten
in the morning the cattle are taken into the isi-baya, and the Kaffir
proceeds to milk them. He takes with him his milk pail, an article very
unlike that which is in use in Europe. It is carved out of a solid
piece of wood, and has a comparatively small opening. The specimen from
which the figure on page 67 is drawn was brought to England by Mr.
Shooter, and is now before me. It is rather more than seventeen inches
in length, and is four inches wide at the top, and six inches near the
bottom. In interior measurement it is only fourteen inches deep, so
that three inches of solid wood are left at the bottom. Its capacity
is not very great, as the Kaffir cow does not give nearly as much milk
as the cows of an English farmyard. Toward the top are two projecting
ears, which enable the milker to hold it firmly between the knees.
In hollowing out the interior of the pail, the Kaffir employs a
rather ingenious device. Instead of holding it between his knees, as
he does when shaping and ornamenting the exterior, he digs a hole in
the ground, and buries the pail as far as the two projecting ears. He
then has both his hands at liberty, and can use more force than if he
were obliged to trust to the comparatively slight hold afforded by the
knees. Of course he sits down while at work, for a Kaffir, like all
other savages, has the very strongest objection to needless labor,
and will never stand when he has any opportunity of sitting. It will
be seen that the pail is not capable of holding much more than the
quantity which a good cow ought to yield, and when the Kaffir has done
with one cow, he pours the milk into a large receptacle, and then goes
off with his empty pail to another cow for a fresh supply.
The scene that presents itself in the isi-baya is a very singular one,
and strikes oddly upon European ears, as well as eyes. In the first
place, the figure of the milker is calculated to present an aspect
equally strange and ludicrous. Perfectly naked, with the exception of
the smallest imaginable apology for a garment, adorned with strings of
beads that contrast boldly with his red-black skin, and with his head
devoid of hair, except the oval ring which denotes his position as a
married “man,” the Kaffir sits on the ground, his knees on a level with
his chin, and the queer-looking milk pail grasped between them.
Then we have the spectacle of the calf trying to eject the milker, and
being continually kept away from her mother by a young boy armed with
a stick. And, in cases where the cow is vicious, a third individual is
employed, who holds the cow by her horns with one hand, and grasps her
nostrils firmly with the other. As soon as the supply of milk ceases,
the calf is allowed to approach its mother and suck for a short time,
after which it is driven away, and the man resumes his place. Cattle
are milked twice in the day, the second time being at sunset, when they
are brought home for the night. Generally, however, a cow will stand
still to be milked, as is the case with our own cattle, and in that
case no precaution is needed, except that of putting through the nose a
stick of some eighteen inches in length. The cattle know by experience
that if this is grasped and twisted it gives great pain, and so they
prefer to remain quiet. The hole in the nose is made at a very early
age.
[Illustration: 1. MILKING PAIL. 2. BEER-BOWL. 3. BEER-STRAINER. 4.
WATER-PIPE. 5. WOMAN’S BASKET.]
So much for the strangeness of the sight, which is very unlike a
corresponding scene in an English farmyard. The Kaffir is never silent
while milking his cows, but thinks it necessary to utter a series of
the oddest sounds that ever greeted mortal ears. Even in England there
seems to be a kind of universal cow language, in which every dairy-maid
and farmyard laborer is versed, and which is not easily learned by
an uninitiate. But the Kaffir, who is naturally an adept at shouting
and yelling, encourages the cow by all the varied screams at his
command, mixed with loud whistles and tender words of admiration. One
consequence of this curious proceeding is, that the cows have always
been so accustomed to associate these sounds with the process of being
milked, that when an Englishman buys cows he is obliged to have a
Kaffir to milk them, no white man being able to produce those cries,
screams, and whistles to which they have always been accustomed.
In driving the cattle, and in calling them from a distance, the Kaffir
makes great use of whistling, an art in which he excels. With his lips
alone he can produce the most extraordinary sounds, and by the aid of
his fingers he can whistle so loudly as to half deafen any one who may
be near. Sometimes, however, he has recourse to art, and makes whistles
of great efficacy, though of simple construction. They are made of
bone, or ivory, and are used by being held to the lower lip, and
sounded exactly as we blow a key when we wish to ascertain whether it
is clear.
The chiefs who possess many oxen are very fastidious about them, and
have an odd fancy of assembling them in herds, in which every animal
is of the same color. The oxen also undergo a sort of training, as was
remarked by Retief, who was killed in battle with Dingan, the Zulu
king. He paid a visit to that treacherous despot, and was entertained
by dances in which the cattle had been trained to assist. “In one
dance,” he says, “the people were intermixed with one hundred and
seventy-six oxen, all without horns, and of one color. They have long
strips of skin hanging pendent from the forehead, cheeks, shoulders,
and under the throat; these strips being cut from the hide when
the animals are calves. These oxen are divided into two and three
among the whole army, which then dance in companies, each with its
attendant oxen. In this way they all in turn approach the king, the
oxen turning off into a kraal, and then manœuvring in a line from the
king. It is surprising that the oxen should be so well trained; for,
notwithstanding all the startling and yelling which accompany the
dance, they never move faster than a slow walking pace. Dingan showed
me, as he said, his smallest herd of oxen, all alike, and with white
backs. He allowed two of my people to count them, and the enumeration
amounted to two thousand four hundred and twenty-four. I am informed
that his herds of red and black oxen consist of three to four thousand
each.” I may here mention casually, that the same fashion of keeping
animals of similar colors in separate herds is in force in South
America, among the owners of the vast herds of horses which thrive so
well in that country.
The Kaffirs manage their cattle with wonderful skill, and the animals
perfectly understand the meaning of the cries with which they are
assailed. Consequently, it is almost as difficult for an Englishman
to drive his cows as to milk them, and assistance has to be sought
from the natives. This noisy method of cattle driving is the source of
much difficulty to the soldiers, when they have been sent to recover
cattle stolen by those inveterate thieves, the Kaffir tribes, who look
upon the cattle of the white man as their legitimate prize, and are
constantly on the look-out for them. Indeed, they enact at the present
day that extinct phase of Scottish life when the inhabitants of the
Highlands stole the cattle of the Lowlanders, and euphemistically
described the operation as “lifting;” themselves not being by any means
thieves, but “gentleman drovers,” very punctilious in point of honor,
and thinking themselves as good gentlemen as any in the land.
The cow constitutes now, in fact, the wealth of the Kaffir, just as was
the case in the early patriarchal days. Among those tribes which are
not brought into connection with the white man, money is of no value,
and all wealth is measured by cows. One of the great inland chiefs,
when asking about the Queen of England, was naturally desirous of
hearing how many cattle she possessed, and on hearing that many of her
subjects had more cows than herself, conceived a very mean opinion of
her power. _He_ counted his cattle by the thousand, and if any inferior
chief had dared to rival him in his wealth, that chief would very soon
be incapacitated from possessing anything at all, while his cattle
would swell the number of the royal herds. His idea was, that even
if her predecessor had bequeathed so poor a throne to her, she ought
to assert her dignity by seizing that wealth which she had not been
fortunate enough to inherit.
The cow is the unit of money. The cost of anything that is peculiarly
valuable is reckoned by the number of cows that it would fetch if
sold, and even the women are reckoned by this standard, eight cows
equalling one woman, just as twelve pence equal one shilling. Most of
the wars which devastate Southern Africa are caused entirely by the
desire of one man to seize the herds that belong to another, and when
the white man is engaged in African warfare, he is perforce obliged to
wage it on the same principle. During the late Kaffir war, the reports
of the newspapers had a singularly unimposing appearance. The burden
of their song was invariably cows. General Blank had advanced so far
into the enemy’s country, and driven off five thousand head of cattle.
Or perhaps the case was reversed; the position of the European troops
had been suddenly surprised, and several thousand cattle stolen. In
fact, it seemed to be a war solely about cattle, and, to a certain
extent, that was necessarily the case. The cattle formed not only the
wealth of the enemy, but his resources, so that there was no better
way of bringing him to terms than by cutting off his commissariat, and
preventing the rebellious chiefs from maintaining their armed forces.
We had no wish to kill the Kaffirs themselves, but merely that they
should be taught not to meddle with us, and there was no better way of
doing so than by touching them on their tenderest point.
The greatest ambition of a Kaffir is to possess cattle, inasmuch
as their owner can command every luxury which a savage millionaire
desires. He can eat beef and drink sour milk every day; he can buy as
many wives as he likes, at the current price of eight to fourteen cows
each, according to the fluctuation of the market; he can make all kinds
of useful articles out of the hides; he can lubricate himself with
fat to his heart’s content, and he can decorate his sable person with
the flowing tails. With plenty of cattle, he can set himself up as a
great man; and, the more cattle he has, the greater man he becomes.
Instead of being a mere “boy,” living with a number of other “boys” in
one hut, he becomes a “man,” shaves his head, assumes the proud badge
of manhood, and has a hut to himself. As his cattle increase, he adds
more wives to his stock, builds separate huts for them, has a kraal of
his own, becomes the “umnumzana,” or great man--a term about equivalent
to the familiar “Burra Sahib” of Indian life--and may expect to be
addressed by strange boys as “inkosi,” or chief. Should his cattle
prosper, he gathers round him the young men who are still poor, and
who are attracted by his wealth, and the hope of eating beef at his
cost. He assigns huts to them within his kraal, and thus possesses an
armed guard who will take care of his cherished cattle. Indeed, such a
precaution is absolutely necessary. In Africa, as well as in Europe,
wealth creates envy, and a man who has succeeded in gathering it knows
full well that there are plenty who will do their best to take it
away. Sometimes a more powerful man will openly assault his kraal, but
stratagem is more frequently employed than open violence, and there
are in every tribe certain old and crafty cattle-stealers, who have
survived the varied dangers of such a life, and who know every ruse
that can be employed.
There is a story of one of these men, named Dutulu, who seems to have
been a kind of Kaffir Rob Roy. He always employed a mixture of artifice
and force. He used to set off for the kraal which he intended to rob,
and, in the dead of night, contrived to place some of his assistants by
the entrance of the huts. Another assistant then quietly removed the
cattle from the isi-baya, while he directed the operations. Dutulu then
caused an alarm to be made, and as the inmates crept out to see what
was the matter, they were speared by the sentinels at the entrance. Not
one was spared. The men were killed lest they should resist, and the
women lest they should give the alarm. Even when he had carried off the
cattle, his anxieties were not at an end, for cattle cannot be moved
very fast, and they are not easily concealed. But Dutulu was a man not
to be baffled, and he almost invariably succeeded in reaching home
with his spoil. He never, in the first instance, allowed the cattle to
be driven in the direction which he intended to take. He used to have
them driven repeatedly over the same spot, so as to mix the tracks and
bewilder the men who were sure to follow. More than once he baffled
pursuit by taking his stolen herd back again, and keeping it in the
immediate neighborhood of the desolated kraal, calculating rightly that
the pursuers would follow him in the direction of his own home.
The man’s cunning and audacity were boundless. On one occasion, his
own kraal was attacked, but Dutulu was far too clever to fall into the
trap which he had so often set for others. Instead of crawling out of
his hut and getting himself speared, he rolled up his leather mantle,
and pushed it through the door. As he had anticipated, it was mistaken
in the semi-darkness for a man, and was instantly pierced with a spear.
While the weapon was still entangled in the kaross, Dutulu darted from
his hut, sprang to the entrance of his isi-baya fully armed, and drove
off the outwitted assailants. Even in his old age his audacity did not
desert him, and he actually determined on stealing a herd of cattle in
the day-time. No one dared to join him, but he determined on carrying
out his desperate intention single-handed. He succeeded in driving the
herd to some distance, but was discovered, pursued, and surrounded by
the enemy. Although one against many, he fought his foes bravely, and,
although severely wounded, succeeded in escaping into the bush, where
they dared not follow him.
Undeterred by this adventure, he had no sooner recovered than he
planned another cattle-stealing expedition. His chief dissuaded him
from the undertaking, urging that he had quite enough cattle, that
he had been seriously wounded, and that he was becoming too old. The
ruling passion was, however, too strong to be resisted, and Dutulu
attacked a kraal on his old plan, letting the cattle be driven in one
direction, killing as many enemies as he could, and then running off on
the opposite side to that which had been taken by the cattle, so as to
decoy his pursuers in a wrong direction. However, his advanced years,
and perhaps his recent wounds, had impaired his speed, and as there
was no bush at hand, he dashed into a morass, and crouched beneath
the water. His enemies dared not follow him, but surrounded the spot,
and hurled their assagais at him. They did him no harm, because he
protected his head with his shield, but he could not endure the long
immersion. So, finding that his strength was failing, he suddenly left
the morass, and dashed at his enemies, hoping that he might force his
way through them. He did succeed in killing several of them, and in
passing their line, but he could not run fast enough to escape, and was
overtaken and killed.
So, knowing that men of a similar character are hankering after his
herd, their dusky owner is only too glad to have a number of young men
who will guard his cattle from such cunning enemies.
The love that a Kaffir has for his cattle induces him to ornament
them in various ways, some of which must entail no little suffering
upon them. To this, however, he is quite indifferent, often causing
frightful tortures to the animals which he loves, not from the least
desire of hurting them, but from the utter unconcern as to inflicting
pain which is characteristic of the savage, in whatever part of the
earth he may be. He trims the ears of the cows into all kinds of odd
shapes, one of the favorite patterns being that of a leaf with deeply
serrated edges. He gathers up bunches of the skin, generally upon
the head, ties string tightly round them, and so forms a series of
projecting knots of various sizes and shapes. He cuts strips of hide
from various parts of the body, especially the head and face, and lets
them hang down as lappets. He cuts the dewlap and makes fringes of it,
and all without the least notion that he is causing the poor animal to
suffer tortures.
But, in some parts of the country, he lavishes his powers on the horns.
Among us the horn does not seem capable of much modification, but a
Kaffir, skilful in his art, can never be content to leave the horns
as they are. He will cause one horn to project forward and another
backward, and he will train one to grow upright, and the other pointing
to the ground. Sometimes he observes a kind of symmetry, and has both
horns bent with their points nearly touching the shoulders, or trains
them so that their tips meet above, and they form an arch over their
head. Now and then an ox is seen in which a most singular effect has
been produced. As the horns of the young ox sprout they are trained
over the forehead until the points meet. They are then manipulated so
as to make them coalesce, and so shoot upward from the middle of the
forehead, like the horn of the fabled unicorn.
Le Vaillant mentions this curious mode of decorating the cattle, and
carefully describes the process by which it is performed. “I had
not yet taken a near view of the horned cattle which they brought
with them, because at break of day they strayed to the thickets and
pastures, and were not brought back by their keepers until the evening.
One day, however, having repaired to their kraal very early, I was
much surprised when I first beheld one of these animals. I scarcely
knew them to be oxen and cows, not only on account of their being much
smaller than ours, since I observed in them the same form and the same
fundamental character, in which I could not be deceived, but on account
of the multiplicity of their horns, and the variety of their different
twistings. They had a great resemblance to those marine productions
known by naturalists under the name of stag’s horns. Being at this
time persuaded that these concretions, of which I had no idea, were a
peculiar present of nature, I considered the Kaffir oxen as a variety
of the species, but I was undeceived by my guide, who informed me that
this singularity was only the effect of their invention and taste; and
that, by means of a process with which they were well acquainted,
they could not only multiply these horns, but also give them any form
that their imaginations might suggest. Having offered to exhibit their
skill in my presence, if I had any desire of learning their method,
it appeared to me so new and uncommon, that I was willing to secure
an opportunity, and for several days I attended a regular course of
lessons on this subject.
“They take the animal at as tender an age as possible, and when the
horns begin to appear they make a small vertical incision in them with
a saw, or any other instrument that may be substituted for it, and
divide them into two parts. This division makes the horns, yet tender,
separate of themselves, so that in time the animal has four very
distinct ones. If they wish to have six, or even more, similar notches
made with the saw produce as many as may be required. But if they are
desirous of forcing one of these divisions in the whole horn to form,
for example, a complete circle, they cut away from the point, _which
must not be hurt_, a small part of its thickness, and this amputation,
often renewed, and with much patience, makes the horn bend in a
contrary direction, and, the point meeting the root, it exhibits the
appearance of a perfect circle. As it is certain that incision always
causes a greater or less degree of bending, it may be readily conceived
that every variation that caprice can imagine may be produced by this
simple method. In short, one must be born a Kaffir, and have his taste
and patience, to submit to that minute care and unwearied attention
required for this operation, which in Kaffirland can only be useless,
but in other climates would be hurtful. For the horn, thus disfigured,
would become weak, whereas, when preserved strong and entire, it keeps
at a distance the famished bears and wolves of Europe.” The reader
must remember that the words refer to France, and that the date of Le
Vaillant’s travels was 1780-85.
The same traveller mentions an ingenious method employed by the Kaffirs
when a cow is bad-tempered, and will not give her milk freely. A rope
is tied to one of the hind feet, and a man hauls the foot off the
ground by means of the rope. The cow cannot run away on account of
the man who is holding her nose, and the pain caused by the violent
dragging of her foot backward, together with the constrained attitude
of standing on three legs, soon subdues the most refractory animal.
Before proceeding to another chapter, it will be well to explain the
illustration on page 57, called “The Kaffirs at Home.”
The spectator is supposed to be just inside the outer enclosure, and
nearly opposite to the isi-baya, in which some cattle are seen. In the
centre of the plate a milking scene is shown. The cow, being a restive
one, is being held by the “man,” by means of a stick passed through
its nostrils, and by means of the contrast between the man and the
animal the small size of the latter is well shown. A Kaffir ox averages
only four hundred pounds in weight. Beneath the cow is seen the milker,
holding between his knees the curiously shaped milkpail. On the right
hand is seen another Kaffir emptying a pailful of milk into one of the
baskets which are used as stores for this article. The reader will
notice that the orifice of the basket is very small, and so would cause
a considerable amount of milk to be spilt, if it were poured from the
wide mouth of the pail. The Kaffir has no funnel, so he extemporizes
one by holding his hands over the mouth of the pail, and placing his
thumbs so as to cause the milk to flow in a narrow stream between them.
A woman is seen in the foreground, going out to labor in the fields,
with her child slung at her back, and her heavy hoe on her shoulder.
In order to show the ordinary size of the huts a young Kaffir is shown
standing near one of them, while a “man” is seated against it, and
engaged alternately in his pipe and conversation. Three shield sticks
are seen in the fence of the isi-baya, and the strip of skin suspended
to the pole shows that the chief man of the kraal is in residence.
In front are several of the odd-shaped Cape sheep, with their long
legs and thick tails, in which the whole fat of the body seems to
concentrate itself. Two of the characteristic trees of the country
are shown, namely, an euphorbia standing within the fence, and an
acacia in the background. This last mentioned tree is sometimes called
Kameel-dorn, or Camel-thorn, because the giraffe, which the Dutch
colonists _will_ call a camel, feeds upon its leaves. In the distance
are two of those table-topped mountains which are so characteristic of
Southern Africa.
The Kaffir uses his cattle for various purposes. Whenever he can afford
such a luxury, which is very seldom, he feasts upon its flesh, and
contrives to consume a quantity that seems almost too much for human
digestion to undertake. But the chief diet is the milk of the cows,
generally mixed with meal, so as to form a kind of porridge. The milk
is never eaten in its fresh state, the Kaffirs thinking it to be very
indigestible. Indeed, they look upon fresh milk much as a beer-drinker
looks upon sweet-wort, and have an equal objection to drinking the
liquid in its crude state. When a cow has been milked, the Kaffir
empties the pail into a large store basket, such as is seen on the
right-hand of the engraving “Kaffirs at Home,” page 57. This basket
already contains milk in the second stage, and is never completely
emptied. Soon after the milk has been placed in the basket, a sort of
fermentation takes place, and in a short time the whole of the liquid
is converted into a semi-solid mass, and a watery fluid something like
whey. The latter is drawn off, and used as a drink, or given to the
children; and the remainder is a thick, clotted substance, about the
consistency of Devonshire cream.
This is called “amasi,” and is the staff of life to a Kaffir. Europeans
who have lived in Kaffirland generally dislike amasi exceedingly at
first, but soon come to prefer it to milk in any other form. Some
persons have compared the amasi to curds after the whey has been drawn
off; but this is not a fair comparison. The amasi is not in lumps or in
curd, but a thick, creamy mass, more like our clotted cream than any
other substance. It has a slightly acid flavor. Children, whether black
or white, are always very fond of amasi, and there can be no better
food for them. Should the Kaffir be obliged to use a new vessel for the
purpose of making this clotted milk, he always takes some amasi ready
prepared, and places it in the vessel together with the fresh milk,
where it acts like yeast in liquid fermentation, and soon reduces the
entire mass to its own consistency.
The oxen are also used for riding purposes, and as beasts of burden.
Europeans employ them largely as draught oxen, and use a great number
to draw a single wagon; but the wagon is an European invention, and
therefore without the scope of the present work. The native contrives
to ride the oxen without the use of a saddle, balancing himself
ingeniously on the sharply ridged back, and guiding his horned steed
by means of a stick through its nostrils, with a cord tied to each end
of it. He is not at all a graceful rider, but jogs along with his arms
extended, and his elbows jerking up and down with every movement of the
beast. Still, the ox answers his purpose; and, as it never goes beyond
a walking pace, no great harm is done by a fall.
Since the introduction of horses, the Kaffirs have taken a great liking
to them, and have proved themselves capable of being good horsemen,
after their fashion. This fashion is, always to ride at full gallop;
for they can see no object in mounting a swift animal if its speed is
not to be brought into operation. It is a very picturesque sight when
a party of mounted Kaffirs come dashing along, their horses at full
speed, their shields and spears in their hands, and their karosses
flying behind them as they ride. When they have occasion to stop, they
pull up suddenly, and are off their horses in a moment.
However the Kaffir may be satisfied with the bare back of the ox, the
European cannot manage to retain his seat. In the first place, the
sharp spine of the ox does not form a very pleasant seat; and in the
next place, its skin is so loose that it is impossible for the rider to
retain his place by any grasp of the legs. A few cloths or hides are
therefore placed on the animal’s back, and a long “reim,” or leathern
rope, is passed several times round its body, being drawn tightly
by a couple of men, one at each side. By this operation the skin is
braced up tight, and a saddle can be fixed nearly as firmly as on a
horse. Even under these circumstances, the movements of the ox are very
unpleasant to an European equestrian, and, although not so fatiguing as
those of a camel, require a tolerable course of practice before they
become agreeable.
This custom of tightly girthing is not confined to those animals which
are used for the saddle, but is also practised on those that are used
as pack-oxen; the loose skin rendering the packages liable to slip
off the animal’s back. The whole process of girthing the ox is a very
curious one. A sturdy Kaffir stands at each side, while another holds
the ox firmly by a stick passed through its nostrils. The skins or
cloths are then laid on the back of the ox, and the long rope thrown
over them. One man retains his hold of one end, while the other passes
the rope round the animal’s body. Each man takes firm hold of the rope,
puts one foot against the ox’s side, by way of a fulcrum, and then
hauls away with the full force of his body. Holding his own part of
the rope tightly with one hand, the second Kaffir dexterously throws
the end under the animal to his comrade, who catches it, and passes it
over the back, when it is seized as before. Another hauling-match now
takes place, and the process goes on until the cord is exhausted, and
the diameter of the ox notably diminished. In spite of the enormous
pressure to which it is subject, the beast seems to care little about
it, and walks away as if unconcerned. If the journey is a long one, the
ropes are generally tightened once or twice, the native drivers seeming
to take a strange pleasure in the operation.
The illustration No. 1, on page 73, shows the manner in which the
Kaffir employs the ox for riding and pack purposes. A chief is
returning with his triumphant soldiers from a successful expedition
against an enemy’s kraal, which they have “eaten up,” as their saying
is. In the foreground is seen the chief, fat and pursy, dressed in
the full paraphernalia of war, and seated on an ox. A hornless ox
is generally chosen for the saddle, in order to avoid the danger of
the rider falling forward and wounding himself; but sometimes the
Kaffir qualifies an ox for saddle purposes by forcing the horns to
grow downward, and in many instances contrives to make the horns flap
about quite loosely, as if they were only suspended by thongs from the
animal’s head. The soldiers are seen in charge of other oxen, laden
with the spoils of the captured kraal, to which they have set fire; and
in the middle distance, a couple of men are reloading a refractory ox,
and drawing the rope tightly round it, to prevent it from shaking off
its load a second time.
[Illustration: (1.) KAFFIR CATTLE--TRAINING THE HORNS. (See page 70.)]
[Illustration: (2.) RETURN OF A WAR PARTY. (See page 72.)]