HUNTING.
THE KAFFIR’S LOVE FOR THE CHASE -- THE GAME AND CLIMATE OF AFRICA --
THE ANTELOPES OF AFRICA -- HUNTING THE KOODOO -- USES OF THE HORNS --
A SCENE ON THE UMGENIE RIVER -- THE DUIKER-BOK AND ITS PECULIARITIES
-- ITS MODE OF ESCAPE AND TENACITY OF LIFE -- SINGULAR MODE OF
CONCEALMENT -- THE ELAND, ITS FLESH AND FAT -- CURIOUS SUPERSTITION
OF THE ZULU WARRIORS -- THIGH-TONGUES -- MODE OF HUNTING THE ELAND
-- THE GEMSBOK -- ITS INDIFFERENCE TO DRINK -- DIFFICULTY OF HUNTING
IT -- HOW THE GEMSBOK WIELDS ITS HORNS -- THEIR USES TO MAN -- MODES
OF TRAPPING AND DESTROYING ANTELOPES WHOLESALE -- THE HOPO, OR LARGE
PITFALL, ITS CONSTRUCTION AND MODE OF EMPLOYMENT -- EXCITING SCENE AT
THE HOPO -- PITFALLS FOR SINGLE ANIMALS -- THE STAKE AND THE RIDGE
-- THE GIRAFFE PITFALL -- HUNTING THE ELEPHANT -- USE OF THE DOGS --
BEST PARTS OF THE ELEPHANT -- HOW THE FOOT IS COOKED -- VORACITY OF
THE NATIVES -- GAME IN A “HIGH” CONDITION -- EXTRACTING THE TUSKS
AND TEETH -- CUTTING UP AN ELEPHANT -- FLESH, FAT, AND SKIN OF THE
RHINOCEROS -- SOUTH AFRICAN “HAGGIS” -- ASSAILING A HERD OF GAME
-- SLAUGHTER IN THE RAVINE -- A HUNTING SCENE IN KAFFIRLAND -- THE
“KLOOF” AND THE “BUSH” -- FALLS OF THE UMZIMVUBU RIVER -- HUNTING
DANCE -- CHASE OF THE LION AND ITS SANGUINARY RESULTS -- DINGAN’S
DESPOTIC MANDATE -- HUNTING THE BUFFALO.
Excepting war, there is no pursuit which is so engrossing to a Kaffir
as the chase; and whether he unites with a number of his comrades in
a campaign against his game, whether he pursues it singly, or whether
he entices it into traps, he is wholly absorbed in the occupation,
and pursues it with an enthusiasm to which a European is a stranger.
Indeed, in many cases, and certainly in most instances, where a
Kaffir is the hunter, the chase becomes a mimic warfare, which is
waged sometimes against the strong, and sometimes against the weak;
which opposes itself equally to the fierce activity of the lion, the
resistless force of the elephant, the speed of the antelope, and the
wariness of the zebra. The love of hunting is a necessity in such
a country, which fully deserves the well-known title of the “Happy
Hunting Grounds.” There is, perhaps, no country on earth where may be
found such a wonderful variety of game in so small a compass, and which
will serve to exercise, to the very utmost, every capacity for the
chase that mankind can possess.
Southern Africa possesses the swiftest, the largest, the heaviest,
the fiercest, the mightiest, and the tallest beasts in the world. The
lofty mountain, the reed-clad dell, the thorny bush, the open plain,
the river bank, and the very water itself, are filled with their proper
inhabitants, simply on account of the variety of soil, which always
produces a corresponding variety of inhabitants. The different kinds
of herbage attract and sustain the animals that are suited to them;
and were they to be extinct, the animals must follow in their wake.
The larger carnivora are in their turn attracted by the herbivorous
inhabitants of the country, and thus it happens that even a very slight
modification in the vegetation has altered the whole character of a
district. Mr. Moffatt has mentioned a curious instance of this fact.
He and his companions were in great jeopardy on account of a
disappointed “rain-maker.” The country had originally been even
remarkable for the quantity of rain which fell in it, and for its
consequent fertility. The old men said that their forefathers had told
them “of the floods of ancient times, the incessant showers which
clothed the very rocks with verdure, and the giant trees and forests
which once studded the brows of the Hamhana hills and neighboring
plains. They boasted of the Kuruman and other rivers, with their
impassable torrents, in which the hippopotami played, while the lowing
herds walked up to their necks in grass, filling their _makukas_
(milk-sacks) with milk, making every heart to sing for joy.”
That such tales were true was proved by the numerous stumps of huge
acacia-trees, that showed where the forest had stood, and by the dry
and parched ravines, which had evidently been the beds of rivers, and
clothed with vegetation. For the drought the missionaries were held
responsible, according to the invariable custom of the rain-makers, who
are only too glad to find something on which to shift the blame when
no rain follows their incantations. It was in vain that Mr. Moffatt
reminded them that the drought had been known long before a white man
set his foot on the soil. A savage African is, as a general rule,
impervious to dates, not even having the least idea of his own age, so
this argument failed utterly.
The real reason was evidently that which Mr. Moffatt detected, and
which he tried in vain to impress upon the inhabitants of the land.
They themselves, or rather their forefathers, were responsible for the
cessation of rain, and the consequent change from a fertile land into a
desert. For the sake of building their kraals and houses, they had cut
down every tree that their axes could fell, and those that defied their
rude tools they destroyed by fire. Now it is well known that trees,
especially when in full foliage, are very powerful agents in causing
rain, inasmuch as they condense the moisture floating in the air, and
cause it to fall to the earth, instead of passing by in suspension.
Every tree that is felled has some effect in reducing the quantity of
rain; and when a forest is levelled with the ground, the different
amount of rainfall becomes marked at once.
These tribes are inveterate destroyers of timber. When they wish to
establish themselves in a fresh spot, and build a new kraal, they
always station themselves close to the forest, or at all events to a
large thicket, which in the course of time is levelled to the ground,
the wood having been all used for building and culinary purposes. The
tribe then go off to another spot, and cut down more timber; and it is
to this custom that the great droughts of Southern Africa may partly be
attributed.
The game which inhabited the fallen forests is perforce obliged to
move into districts where the destructive axe has not been heard, and
the whole of those animals that require a continual supply of water
either die off for the want of it, or find their way into more favored
regions. This is specially the case with the antelopes, which form
the chief game of this land. Southern Africa absolutely teems with
antelopes, some thirty species of which are known to inhabit this
wonderful country. They are of all sizes, from the great elands and
koodoos, which rival our finest cattle in weight and stature, to the
tiny species which inhabit the bush, and have bodies scarcely larger
than if they were rabbits. Some of them are solitary, others may be
found in small parties, others unite in herds of incalculable numbers;
while there are several species that form associations, not only with
other species of their own group, but with giraffes, zebras, ostriches,
and other strange companions. Each kind must be hunted in some special
manner; and, as the antelopes are generally the wariest as well as the
most active of game, the hunter must be thoroughly acquainted with his
business before he can hope for success.
One of the antelopes which live in small parties is the koodoo, so
well known for its magnificent spiral horns. To Europeans the koodoo
is only interesting as being one of the most splendid of the antelope
tribe, but to the Kaffir it is almost as valuable an animal as the cow.
The flesh of the koodoo is well-flavored and tender, two qualities
which are exceedingly rare among South African antelopes. The marrow
taken from the leg bones is a great luxury with the Kaffirs, who are
so fond of it that when they kill a koodoo they remove the leg bones,
break them, and eat the marrow, not only without cooking, but while
it is still warm. Revolting as such a practice may seem to us, it has
been adopted even by English hunters, who have been sensible enough to
accommodate themselves to circumstances.
Then, its hide, although comparatively thin, is singularly tough,
and, when cut into narrow slips and properly manipulated, is used
for a variety of purposes which a thicker hide could not fulfil. The
toughness and strength of these thongs are really wonderful, and the
rapidity with which they are made scarcely less so. I have seen an
experienced skindresser cut a strip from a dried koodoo skin, and in
less than half a minute produce a long, delicate thong, about as thick
as ordinary whipcord, as pliant as silk, and beautifully rounded. I
have often thought that the much vexed question of the best leather
for boot-laces might be easily solved by the use of koodoo hide. Such
thongs would be expensive in the outset, but their lasting powers would
render them cheap in the long run.
The horns of the koodoo are greatly valued in this country, and command
a high price, on account of their great beauty. The Kaffirs, however,
value them even more than we do. They will allow the horns of the
eland to lie about and perish, but those of the koodoo they carefully
preserve for two special purposes,--namely, the forge and the smoking
party. Although a Kaffir blacksmith will use the horns of the domestic
ox, or of the eland, as tubes whereby the wind is conveyed from the
bellows to the fire, he very much prefers those of the koodoo, and, if
he should be fortunate enough to obtain a pair, he will lavish much
pains on making a handsome pair of bellows. He also uses the koodoo
horn in the manufacture of the remarkable water-pipe in which he smokes
dakka, or hemp. On page 167 may be seen a figure of a Kaffir engaged in
smoking a pipe made from the koodoo horn.
Like many other antelopes, the koodoo is a wary animal, and no small
amount of pains must be taken before the hunter can succeed in his
object. The koodoo is one of the antelopes that require water, and is
not like its relative, the eland, which never cares to drink, and which
contrives, in some mysterious manner, to be the largest, the fattest,
and the plumpest of all the antelope tribe, though it lives far from
water, and its principal food is herbage so dry that it can be rubbed
to powder between the hands.
* * * * *
Each of the antelopes has its separate wiles, and puts in practice a
different method of escape from an enemy. The pretty little Duiker-bok,
for example, jumps about here and there with an erratic series of
movements, reminding the sportsman of the behavior of a flushed snipe.
Suddenly it will stop, as if tired, and lie down in the grass; but
when the hunter comes to the spot, the animal has vanished. All the
previous movements were merely for the purpose of distracting the
attention of the hunter, and as soon as the little antelope crouched
down, it lowered its head and crawled away on its knees under cover
of the herbage. It is owing to this habit that the Dutch colonists
called it the Duiker, or Diver. This little antelope is found in long
grass, or among stunted bushes, and the wary Kaffir is sure to have
his weapons ready whenever he passes by a spot where he may expect to
find the Duyker, or Impoon, as he calls it. The creature is wonderfully
tenacious of life, and, even when mortally wounded, it will make its
escape from a hunter who does not know its peculiarities.
Other antelopes that inhabit grass and bush land have very ingenious
modes of concealing themselves. Even on the bare plain they will crouch
down in such odd attitudes that all trace of their ordinary outline is
gone, and they contrive to arrange themselves in such a manner that at
a little distance they much resemble a heap of withered grass and dead
sticks, the former being represented by their fur, and the latter by
their horns and limbs. An untrained eye would never discover one of
these animals, and novices in African hunting can seldom distinguish
the antelope even when it is pointed out to them.
Whenever a practised hunter sees an antelope crouching on the ground,
he may be sure that the animal is perfectly aware of his presence,
and is only watching for an opportunity to escape. If he were to go
directly toward it, or even to stop and look at it, the antelope would
know that it is detected, and would dart off while still out of range.
But an experienced hunter always pretends _not_ to have seen the
animal, and instead of approaching it in a direct line, walks round
and round the spot where it is lying, always coming nearer to his
object, but never taking any apparent notice of it. The animal is quite
bewildered by this mode of action, and cannot make up its mind what to
do. It is not sure that it has been detected; and therefore does not
like to run the risk of jumping up and openly betraying itself, and so
it only crouches closer to the ground until its enemy is within range.
The pretty antelope called the Ourebi is often taken in this manner.
Some antelopes cannot be taken in this manner. They are very wary
animals, and, when they perceive an enemy, they immediately gallop
off, and will go wonderful distances in an almost straight line.
One of these animals is the well-known eland, an antelope which, in
spite of its enormous size and great weight, is wonderfully swift and
active; and, although a large eland will be nearly six feet high at
the shoulders, and as largely built as our oxen, it will dash over
rough hilly places at a pace that no horse can for a time equal. But it
cannot keep up this pace for a very long time, as it becomes extremely
fat and heavy; and if it be continually hard pressed, and not allowed
to slacken its pace or to halt, it becomes so exhausted that it can be
easily overtaken. The usual plan in such cases is to get in front of
the tired eland, make it turn round, and thus drive it into the camping
spot, where it can be killed, so that the hunters save themselves the
trouble of carrying the meat to camp.
Eland hunting is always a favorite sport both with natives and white
men, partly because its flesh is singularly excellent, and partly
because a persevering chase is almost always rewarded with success.
To the native, the eland is of peculiar value, because it furnishes
an amount of meat which will feed them plentifully for several days.
Moreover, the flesh is always tender, a quality which does not
generally belong to South African venison. The Zulu warriors, however,
do not eat the flesh of the eland, being restrained by superstitious
motives.
Usually, when an antelope is killed, its flesh must either be eaten at
once, before the animal heat has left the body, or it must be kept for
a day or two, in order to free it from its toughness. But the flesh
of the eland can be eaten even within a few hours after the animal
has been killed. The hunters make a rather curious preparation from
the flesh of the eland. They take out separately the muscles of the
thighs, and cure them just as if they were tongues. These articles are
called “thigh-tongues,” and are useful on a journey when provisions are
likely to be scarce. Perhaps one of the greatest merits of the eland in
a Kaffir’s eyes is the enormous quantity of fat which it will produce
when in good condition. As has already been mentioned, fat is one of
the necessaries of life to a Kaffir, as well as one of the greatest
luxuries, and a bull eland in good condition furnishes a supply that
will make a Kaffir happy for a month.
There is another South African antelope, which, like the eland, runs in
a straight course when alarmed, but which, unlike the eland, is capable
of great endurance. This is the splendid gemsbok, an antelope which
is nearly as large as the eland, though not so massively built. This
beautiful antelope is an inhabitant of the dry and parched plains of
Southern Africa, and, like the eland, cares nothing for water, deriving
all the moisture which it needs from certain succulent roots of a
bulbous nature, which lie hidden in the soil, and which its instinct
teaches it to unearth. This ability to sustain life without the aid of
water renders its chase a very difficult matter, and the hunters, both
native and European, are often baffled, not so much by the speed and
endurance of the animal, as by the dry and thirsty plains through which
it leads them, and in which they can find no water. The spoils of the
gemsbok are therefore much valued, and its splendid horns will always
command a high price, even in its own country, while in Europe they are
sure of a sale.
The horns of this antelope are about three feet in length, and are
very slightly curved. The mode in which they are placed on the head is
rather curious. They are very nearly in a line with the forehead, so
that when the animal is at rest their tips nearly touch the back. Horns
thus set may be thought to be deprived of much of their capabilities,
but the gemsbok has a rather curious mode of managing these weapons.
When it desires to charge, or to receive the assaults of an enemy, it
stoops its head nearly to the ground, the nose passing between the
fore-feet. The horns are then directed toward the foe, their tips being
some eighteen or twenty inches from the ground. As soon as the enemy
comes within reach, the gemsbok turns its head strongly upward, and
impales the antagonist on its horns, which are so sharp that they seem
almost to have been pointed and polished by artificial means.
Dogs find the gemsbok to be one of their worst antagonists; for if they
succeed in bringing it to bay, it wields its horns with such swift
address that they cannot come within its reach without very great
danger. Even when the animal has received a mortal wound, and been
lying on the ground with only a few minutes of life in its body, it
has been known to sweep its armed head so fiercely from side to side
that it killed several of the dogs as they rushed in to seize the
fallen enemy, wounded others severely, and kept a clear space within
range of its horns. Except at certain seasons of the year, when the
gemsbok becomes very fat, and is in consequence in bad condition for
a long chase, the natives seldom try to pursue it, knowing that they
are certain to have a very long run, and that the final capture of the
animal is very uncertain.
As to those antelopes which gather themselves together in vast herds,
the South African hunter acts on very different principles, and uses
stratagem rather than speed or force. One of their most successful
methods of destroying the game wholesale is by means of the remarkable
trap called the Hopo. The hopo is, in fact, a very large pitfall, dug
out with great labor, and capable of holding a vast number of animals.
Trunks of trees are laid over it at each end, and a similar arrangement
is made at the sides, so that a kind of overlapping edge is given to
it, and a beast that has fallen into it cannot possibly escape. From
this pit two fences diverge, in a V-like form, the pit being the apex.
These fences are about a mile in length, and their extremities are a
mile, or even more, apart.
Many hundreds of hunters then turn out, and ingeniously contrive to
decoy or drive the herd of game into the treacherous space between
the fences. They then form themselves into a cordon across the open
end of the V, and advance slowly, so as to urge the animals onward. A
miscellaneous company of elands, hartebeests, gnoos, zebras, and other
animals, is thus driven nearer and nearer to destruction. Toward the
angle of the V, the fence is narrowed into a kind of lane or passage,
some fifty yards in length, and is made very strongly, so as to prevent
the affrighted animals from breaking through. When a number of them
have fairly entered the passage, the hunters dash forward, yelling at
the full stretch of their powerful voices, brandishing their shields
and assagais, and so terrifying the doomed animals that they dash
blindly forward, and fall into the pit. It is useless for those in
front to recoil when they see their danger, as they are pushed onward
by their comrades, and in a few minutes the pit is full of dead and
dying animals. Many of the herd escape when the pit is quite full, by
passing over the bodies of their fallen companions, but enough are
taken to feast the whole tribe for a considerable time. Those on the
outskirts of the herd often break wildly away, and try to make their
escape through the cordon of armed hunters. Many of them succeed in
their endeavors, but others fall victims to the assagais which are
hurled at them upon all sides.
Even such large game as the giraffe, the buffalo, and the rhinoceros
have been taken in this ingenious and most effective trap. Dr.
Livingstone mentions that the small sub-tribe called the Bakawas took
from sixty to seventy head of cattle per week in the various hopos
which they constructed.
The animated scene which takes place at one of these hunts is well
described by Mr. H. H. Methuen, in his “Life in the Wilderness.”
After mentioning the pitfall and the two diverging fences, between
which a herd of quaggas had been enclosed, he proceeds as follows:
“Noises thickened round me, and men rushed past, their skin cloaks
streaming in the wind, till, from their black naked figures and wild
gestures, it wanted no Martin to imagine a Pandemonium. I pressed hard
upon the flying animals, and galloping down the lane, saw the pits
choke-full; while several of the quaggas, noticing their danger, turned
upon me, ears back, and teeth showing, compelling me to retreat with
equal celerity from them. Some natives standing in the lane made the
fugitives run the gauntlet with their assagais. As each quagga made a
dash at them, they pressed their backs into the hedge, and held their
hard ox-hide shields in his face, hurling their spears into his side as
he passed onward. One managed to burst through the hedge and escape;
the rest fell pierced with assagais, like so many porcupines. Men are
often killed in these hunts, when buffaloes turn back in a similar way.
“It was some little time before Bari and I could find a gap in the
hedge and get round to the pits, but at length we found one, and then a
scene exhibited itself which baffles description. So full were the pits
that many animals had run over the bodies of their comrades, and got
free. Never can I forget that bloody, murderous spectacle; a moaning,
wriggling mass of quaggas, huddled and jammed together in the most
inextricable confusion; some were on their backs, with their heels up,
and others lying across them; some had taken a dive and only displayed
their tails; all lay interlocked like a bucketful of eels. The savages,
frantic with excitement, yelled round them, thrusting their assagais
with smiles of satisfaction into the upper ones, and leaving them to
suffocate those beneath, evidently rejoicing in the agony of their
victims. Moseleli, the chief, was there in person, and after the lapse
of half an hour, the poles at the entrance of the pits being removed,
the dead bodies, in all the contortions and stiffness of death, were
drawn out by hooked stakes secured through the main sinew of the neck,
a rude song, with extemporary words, being chanted the while.”
The narrator mentions that out of one pit, only twelve feet square and
six deep, he saw twenty “quaggas” extracted.
Sometimes pitfalls are constructed for the reception of single
animals, such as the elephant, the hippopotamus, and the rhinoceros.
These are made chiefly in two modes. The pitfalls which are intended
for catching the three last mentioned animals are tolerably large, but
not very deep, because the size and weight of the prisoners prevent
them from making their escape. Moreover, a stout stake, some five feet
or more in length, and sharpened at the top, is placed in the middle
of the pit, so that the animal falls upon it and is impaled. The pits
are neatly covered with sticks, leaves, and earth, so ingeniously
disposed that they look exactly like the surface of the ground, and are
dangerous, not only to the beasts which they are intended to catch, but
to men and horses. So many accidents have happened by means of these
pits, that when a traveller goes from one district to another he sends
notice of his coming, so that all the pitfalls that lie in his way may
be opened.
Elephants are, of course, the most valuable game that can be taken in
these traps, because their tusks can be sold at a high price, and their
flesh supplies a vast quantity of meat. As the elephant is a terrible
enemy to their cornfields and storehouses, the natives are in the habit
of guarding the approaches by means of these pitfalls, and at first
find their stratagem totally successful. But the elephants are so
crafty that they soon learn caution from the fate of their comrades,
and it is as difficult to catch an elephant in a pitfall as it is to
catch an old rat in a trap. Having been accustomed to such succulent
repasts, the elephants do not like to give up their feasts altogether,
and proceed on their nocturnal expeditions much as usual. But some of
the oldest and wariest of the herd go in front, and when they come
near the cultivated ground, they beat the earth with their trunks, not
venturing a step until they have ascertained that their footing is
safe. As soon as they come to a pitfall, the hollow sound warns them
of danger. They instantly stop, tear the covering of the pitfall to
pieces, and, having thus unmasked it, proceed on their way.
The pitfall which is made for the giraffe is constructed on a different
principle. Owing to the exceedingly long limbs of the animal, it is dug
at least ten feet in depth. But, instead of being a mere pit, a wall
or bank of earth is left in the middle, about seven feet in height,
and shaped much like the letter A. As soon as the giraffe tumbles into
the pit, its fore and hind legs fall on opposite sides of the wall, so
that the animal is balanced on its belly, and wastes its strength in
plunging about in hopes of finding a foothold.
Sometimes a number of Kaffirs turn out for the purpose of elephant
hunting. By dint of the wary caution which they can always exercise
when in pursuit of game, they find out the animal which possesses the
finest tusks, and mark all his peculiarities; they then watch the spot
where he treads, and, by means of a lump of soft clay, they take an
impression of his footmarks. The reason for doing so is simple enough,
viz. that if they should have to chase him, they may not run the risk
of confounding his footmarks with those of other elephants. The sole
of every elephant’s foot is traversed by a number of indented lines,
and in no two specimens are these lines alike. The clay model of the
footprints serves them as a guide whereby they may assure themselves
that they are on the right track whenever they come to the neighborhood
of water, where the ground is soft, and where the footprints of many
elephants are sure to be found. Their next endeavor is to creep near
enough to the elephant to inflict a severe wound upon it, an object
which is generally attained by a number of the dark hunters gliding
among the trees, and simultaneously hurling their spears at the
unsuspecting animal. The wounded elephant is nearly certain to charge
directly at the spot from which he fancies that the assault has been
made, and his shriek of mingled rage and alarm is sure to cause the
rest of the herd to rush off in terror. The hunters then try by various
stratagems to isolate the wounded animal from its comrades, and to
prevent him from rejoining them, while at every opportunity fresh
assagais are thrown, and the elephant is never permitted to rest.
As a wounded elephant always makes for the bush, it would be quite safe
from white hunters, though not so from the lithe and naked Kaffirs,
who glide through the underwood and between the trees faster than the
elephant can push its way through them. Every now and then it will turn
and charge madly at its foes, but it expends its strength in vain, as
they escape by nimbly jumping behind trees, or, in critical cases, by
climbing up them, knowing that an elephant never seems to comprehend
that a foe can be anywhere but on the ground.
In this kind of chase they are much assisted by their dogs, which
bark incessantly at the animal, and serve to distract its attention
from the hunters. It may seem strange that so huge an animal as the
elephant should be in the least impeded by such small creatures as
dogs, which, even if he stood still and allowed them to bite his legs
to their hearts’ content, could make no impression on the thick and
tough skin which defends them. But the elephant has a strange terror
of small animals, and especially dreads the dog, so that, when it
is making up its mind to charge in one direction, the barking of a
contemptible little cur will divert it from its purpose, and enable its
intended victim either to secure himself behind a tree, or to become
the assailant, and add another spear to the number that are already
quivering in the animal’s vast body.
The slaughter of an elephant by this mode of hunting is always a long
and a cruel process. Even when the hunters are furnished with the best
fire-arms, a number of wounds are generally inflicted before it dies,
the exceptional case, when it falls dead at the first shot, being
very rare indeed. Now, however powerful may be the practised aim of a
Kaffir, and sharp as may be his weapon, he cannot drive it through the
inch-thick hide into a vital part, and the consequence is that the poor
animal is literally worried to death by a multitude of wounds, singly
insignificant, but collectively fatal. At last the huge victim falls
under the loss of blood, and great are the rejoicings if it should
happen to sink down in its ordinary kneeling posture, as the tusks
can then be extracted with comparative ease, and the grove of spears
planted in its body can be drawn out entire; whereas, when the elephant
falls on one side, all the spears upon that side are shattered to
pieces, and every one must be furnished with a new shaft.
The first proceeding is to cut off the tail, which is valued as a
trophy, and the next is to carve upon the tusks the mark of the hunter
to whom they belong, and who is always the man who inflicted the first
wound. The next proceeding is to cut a large hole in one side, into
which a number of Kaffirs enter, and busy themselves by taking out the
most valuable parts of the animal. The inner membrane of the skin is
saved for water-sacks, which are made in a very primitive manner, a
large sheet of the membrane being gathered together, and a sharp stick
thrust through the corners. The heart is then taken out, cut into
convenient pieces, and each portion wrapped in a piece of the ear. If
the party can encamp for the night on the spot, they prepare a royal
feast, by baking one or two of the feet in the primitive but most
effective oven which is in use, not only in Southern Africa, but in
many other parts of the world.
A separate oven is made for each foot, and formed as follows:--A hole
is dug in the ground, considerably larger than the foot which is to
be cooked, and a fire is built in it. As soon as it burns up, a large
heap of dry wood is piled upon it, and suffered to burn down. When the
heap is reduced to a mass of glowing ashes, the Kaffirs scrape out the
embers by means of a long pole, each man taking his turn to run to the
hole, scrape away until he can endure the heat no longer, and then run
away again, leaving the pole for his successor. The hole being freed
from embers, the foot is rolled into it, and covered with green leaves
and twigs. The hot earth and embers are then piled over the hole, and
another great bonfire lighted. As soon as the wood has entirely burned
itself out, the operation of baking is considered as complete, and the
foot is lifted out by several men furnished with long sharpened poles.
By means of this remarkable oven the meat is cooked more thoroughly
than could be achieved in any oven of more elaborate construction,
the whole of the tendons, the fat, the immature bone, and similar
substances being converted into a gelatinous mass, which the African
hunter seems to prefer to all other dishes, excepting, perhaps, the
marrow taken from the leg bones of the giraffe or eland.
Sometimes the trunk is cut into thick slices, and baked at the same
time with the feet. Although this part of the elephant may not be
remarkable for the excellence of its flavor, it has, at all events,
the capability of being made tender by cooking, which is by no means
the case with the meat that is usually obtained from the animals
which inhabit Southern Africa. Even the skull itself is broken up for
the sake of the oily fat which fills the honeycomb-like cells which
intervene between the plates of the skull. The rest of the meat is
converted into “biltongue,” by cutting it into strips and drying it in
the sun, as has already been described. As a general rule, the Kaffirs
do not like to leave an animal until they have dried or consumed the
whole of the meat. Under the ready spears and powerful jaws of the
natives, even an elephant is soon reduced to a skeleton, as may be
imagined from the fact that five Kaffirs can eat a buffalo in a day and
a half.
The skull and tusks can generally be left on the spot for some time,
as the hunters respect each other’s marks, and will not, as a rule,
take the tusks from an elephant that has been killed and marked by
another. The object in allowing the head to remain untouched is, that
putrefaction may take place, and render the task of extracting the
tusks easier than is the case when they are taken out at once. It
must be remembered that the tusks of an elephant are imbedded in the
skull for a considerable portion of their length, and that the only
mode of extracting them is by chopping away their thick, bony sockets,
which is a work of much time and labor. However, in that hot climate
putrefaction takes place very readily, and by the time that the hunters
have finished the elephant the tusks can be removed. Sometimes the
flesh becomes more than “high,” but the Kaffirs, and indeed all African
savages, seem rather to prefer certain meats when in the incipient
stage of putrefaction.
Careless of the future as are the natives of Southern Africa, they are
never wasteful of food, and, unlike the aborigines of North America,
they seldom, if ever, allow the body of a slain animal to become the
prey of birds and beasts. They will eat in two days the food that
ought to serve them for ten, and will nearly starve themselves to
death during the remaining eight days of famine, but they will never
throw away anything that can by any possibility be eaten. Even the
very blood is not wasted. If a large animal, such as a rhinoceros, be
killed, the black hunters separate the ribs from the spine, as the dead
animal lies on its side, and by dint of axe blades, assagai heads, and
strong arms, soon cut a large hole in the side. Into this hole the
hunters straightway lower themselves, and remove the intestines of the
animal, passing them to their comrades outside, who invert them, tie up
the end, and return them. By this time a great quantity of blood has
collected, often reaching above the ankles of the hunters. This blood
they ladle with their joined hands into the intestines, and so contrive
to make black puddings on a gigantic scale.
The flesh of the rhinoceros is not very tempting. That of an old animal
is so very tough and dry that scarcely any one except a native can
eat it; and even that of the young animal is only partly eatable by a
white man. When a European hunter kills a young rhinoceros, he takes a
comparatively small portion of it,--namely, the hump, and a layer of
fat and flesh which lies between the skin and the ribs. The remainder
he abandons to his native assistants, who do not seem to care very much
whether meat be tough or tender, so long as it is meat. The layer of
fat and lean on the ribs is only some two inches in thickness, so that
the attendants have the lion’s share, as far as quantity is concerned.
Quality they leave to the more fastidious taste of the white man.
The intestines of animals are greatly valued by the native hunters,
who laugh at white men for throwing them away. They state that, even
as food, the intestines are the best parts of the animal, and those
Europeans who have had the moral courage to follow the example of
the natives have always corroborated their assertion. The reader may
perhaps remember that the backwoodsmen of America never think of
rejecting these dainty morsels, but have an odd method of drawing them
slowly through the fire, and thus eating them as fast as they are
cooked. Moreover, the intestines, as well as the paunch, are always
useful as water-vessels. This latter article, when it is taken from a
small animal, is always reserved for cooking purposes, being filled
with scraps of meat, fat, blood, and other ingredients, and then
cooked. Scotch travellers have compared this dish to the “haggis” of
their native land.
The illustration opposite represents the wild and animated scene which
accompanies the death of an elephant. Some two or three hours are
supposed to have elapsed since the elephant was killed, and the chief
has just arrived at the spot. He is shown seated in the foreground,
his shield and assagais stacked behind him, while his page is holding
a cup of beer, and two of his chief men are offering him the tusks of
the elephant. In the middle distance are seen the Kaffirs preparing the
oven for the reception of the elephant’s foot. Several men are seen
engaged in raking out the embers from the hole, shielding themselves
from the heat by leafy branches of trees, while one of the rakers has
just left his post, being scorched to the utmost limit of endurance,
and is in the act of handing over his pole to a comrade who is about to
take his place at the fire.
[Illustration: COOKING ELEPHANT’S FOOT. (See page 132.)]
Two more Kaffirs are shown in the act of rolling the huge foot to
the oven, and strips of the elephant’s flesh are seen suspended from
the boughs in order to be converted into “biltongue.” It is a rather
remarkable fact that this simple process of cutting the meat into
strips and drying it in the air has the effect of rendering several
unsavory meats quite palatable, taking away the powerful odors which
deter even a Kaffir, and much more a white man, from eating them in a
fresh state.
In the extreme distance is seen the nearly demolished body of the
elephant, at which a couple of Kaffirs are still at work. It may here
be mentioned that after an elephant is killed, the Kaffirs take very
great pains about making the first incision into the body. The carcass
of the slain animal generally remains on the ground for an hour or two
until the orders of the chief can be received; and even in that brief
space of time the hot African sun produces a partial decomposition, and
causes the body of the animal to swell by reason of the quantity of
gas which is generated. The Kaffir who takes upon himself the onerous
task of making the first incision chooses his sharpest and weightiest
assagai, marks the direction of the wind, selects the best spot for the
operation, and looks carefully round to see that the coast is clear.
Having made all his preparations, he hurls his weapon deeply into the
body of the elephant, and simultaneously leaps aside to avoid the
result of the stroke, the enclosed gas escaping with a loud report, and
pouring out in volumes of such singularly offensive odor that even the
nostrils of a Kaffir are not proof against it.
I have more than once witnessed a somewhat similar scene when engaged
in the pursuit of comparative anatomy, the worst example being that of
a lion which had been dead some three or four weeks, and which was,
in consequence, swollen out of all shape. We fastened tightly all the
windows which looked upon the yard in which the body of the animal was
lying, and held the door ready to be closed at a moment’s notice. The
adventurous operator armed himself with a knife and a lighted pipe,
leaned well to the opposite side of the animal, delivered his stab,
and darted back to the door, which was instantly closed. The result
of the operation was very much like that which has been mentioned when
performed on the elephant, though on a smaller scale, and in a minute
or so the lion was reduced to its ordinary size.
Sometimes a great number of hunters unite for the purpose of assailing
one of the vast herds of animals which have already been mentioned.
In this instance, they do not resort to the pitfall, but attack the
animals with their spears. In order to do so effectually, they divide
themselves into two parties, one of which, consisting chiefly of the
younger men, and led by one or two of the old and experienced hunters,
sets off toward the herd, while the others, armed with a large supply
of assagais and kerries, proceed to one of the narrow and steep-sided
ravines which are so common in Southern Africa. (See engraving No. 2,
p. 121.)
The former party proceed very cautiously, availing themselves of
every cover, and being very careful to manœuvre so as to keep on the
leeward side of the herd, until they have fairly placed the animals
between themselves and the ravine. Meanwhile, sentries are detached at
intervals, whose duty it is to form a kind of lane toward the ravine,
and to prevent the herd from taking a wrong course. When all the
arrangements are completed, the hunters boldly show themselves in the
rear of the animals, who immediately move forward in a body--not very
fast at first, because they are not quite sure whether they are going
to be attacked. As they move along, the sentinels show themselves at
either side, so as to direct them toward the ravine; and when the van
of the herd has entered, the remainder are sure to follow.
Then comes a most animated and stirring scene. Knowing that when the
leaders of the herd have entered the ravine, the rest are sure to
follow, the driving party rushes forward with loud yells, beating their
shields, and terrifying the animals to such a degree that they dash
madly forward in a mixed concourse of antelopes, quaggas, giraffes,
and often a stray ostrich or two. Thick and fast the assagais rain
upon the affrighted animals as they try to rush out of the ravine, but
when they reach the end they find their exit barred by a strong party
of hunters, who drive them back with shouts and spears. Some of them
charge boldly at the hunters, and make their escape, while others rush
back again through the kloof, hoping to escape by the same way as they
had entered. This entrance is, however, guarded by the driving party,
and so the wretched animals are sent backward and forward along this
deadly path until the weapons of their assailants are exhausted, and
the survivors are allowed to escape.
These “kloofs” form as characteristic features of Southern Africa as do
the table mountains. They have been well defined as the re-entering
elbows or fissures in a range of hills; and it is a remarkable fact
that the kloof is mostly clothed with thick bush, whatever may be
the character of the surrounding country. In Colonel E. Napier’s
“Excursions in Southern Africa,” there is so admirable a description
of the kloof and the bush that it must be given in the language of the
writer, who has drawn a most perfect word-picture of South African
scenery:--
“The character of the South African ‘bush’ has features quite peculiar
in itself, and sometimes unites--while strongly contrasting--the grand
and sublime with the grotesque and ridiculous. When seen afar from a
commanding elevation--the undulating sea of verdure extending for miles
and miles, with a bright sun shining on a green, compact, unbroken
surface--it conveys to the mind of a spectator naught save images of
repose, peace, and tranquillity. He forgets that, like the hectic
bloom of a fatal malady, these smiling seas of verdure often in their
entangled depths conceal treacherous, death-dealing reptiles, ferocious
beasts of prey, and the still more dangerous, though no less crafty,
and more cruel Kaffir.
“On a nearer approach, dark glens and gloomy kloofs are found to fence
the mountain sides. These often merge downward into deep ravines,
forming at their base sometimes the bed of a clear, gurgling brook,
or that of a turbid, raging torrent, generally shadowed and overhung
by abundant vegetation, in all the luxuriance of tropical growth and
profusion. Noble forest trees, entwined with creepers, encircled by
parasitical plants and with long gray mantles of lichen, loosely
and beardlike floating from their spreading limbs, throw the ‘brown
horrors’ of a shadowy gloom o’er the dark, secluded, Druidical-looking
dells. But jabbering apes, or large, satyr-like baboons, performing
grotesque antics and uttering unearthly yells, grate strangely on the
ear, and sadly mar the solemnity of the scene; whilst lofty, leafless,
and fantastic euphorbia, like huge candelabra, shoot up in bare
profusion from the gray, rocky cliffs, pointing as it were in mockery
their skeleton arms at the dark and luxuriant foliage around. Other
plants of the cactus and milky tribes--of thorny, rugged, or smooth
and fleshy kinds--stretch forth in every way their bizarre, misshapen
forms; waving them to the breeze, from yon high, beetling crags,
so thickly clothed to their very base with graceful nojebooms, and
drooping, palm-like aloes; whose tall, slender, and naked stems spring
up from amidst the dense verdure of gay and flowering mimosas.
“Emerging from such darksome glens to the more sunny side of the
mountain’s brow, there we still find an impenetrable bush, but
differing in character from what we have just described--a sort of
high, thorny underwood, composed chiefly of the mimosa and portulacacia
tribe; taller, thicker, more impenetrable, and of more rigid texture
than even the tiger’s accustomed lair in the far depths of an Indian
jungle; but, withal, so mixed and mingled with luxuriant, turgid,
succulent plants and parasites, as--even during the dryest weather--to
be totally impervious to the destroying influence of fire.
“The bush is, therefore, from its impassable character, the Kaffir’s
never-failing place of refuge, both in peace and war. In his naked
hardihood, he either, snake-like, twines through and creeps beneath its
densest masses, or, shielded with the kaross, securely defies their
most thorny and abrading opposition. Under cover of the bush, in _war_,
he, panther-like, steals upon his foe; in _peace_, upon the farmer’s
flock. Secure, in both instances, from pursuit, he can in the bush set
European power, European skill, and European discipline at naught;
and hitherto, vain has been every effort to destroy by fire this, his
impregnable--for it is impregnable to all save himself--stronghold.”
After a successful hunt, such as has just been described, there are
great rejoicings, the chief of the tribe having all the slaughtered
game laid before him, and giving orders for a grand hunting dance. The
chief, who is generally too fat to care about accompanying the hunters,
takes his seat in some open space, mostly the central enclosure of
a kraal, and there, in company with a huge bowl of beer and a few
distinguished guests, awaits the arrival of the game. The animals have
hardly fallen before they are carried in triumph to the chief, and laid
before him. As each animal is placed on the ground, a little Kaffir boy
comes and lays himself over his body, remaining in this position until
the dance is over. This curious custom is adopted from an idea that it
prevents sorcerers from throwing their spells upon the game. The boys
who are employed for this purpose become greatly disfigured by the
blood of the slain animals, but they seem to think that the gory stains
are ornamental rather than the reverse.
At intervals, the hunting dance takes place, the hunters arranging
themselves in regular lines, advancing and retreating with the
precision of trained soldiers, shouting, leaping, beating their
shields, brandishing their weapons, and working themselves up to a
wonderful pitch of excitement. The leader of the dance, who faces them,
is, if possible, even more excited than the men, and leaps, stamps, and
shouts with an energy that seems to be almost maniacal. Meanwhile, the
chief sits still, and drinks his beer, and signifies occasionally his
approval of the dancers.
Besides those animals which the Kaffir kills for food, there are others
which he only attacks for the sake of their trophies, such as the
skin, claws, and teeth. The mode adopted in assailing the fierce and
active beasts, such as the lion, is very remarkable. Each man furnishes
himself, in addition to his usual weapons, with an assagai, to the
but-end of which is attached a large bunch of ostrich feathers, looking
very much like the feather brushes with which ladies dust delicate
furniture. They then proceed to the spot where the lion is to be found,
and spread themselves so as to make a circle round him. The lion is
at first rather disquieted at this proceeding, and, according to his
usual custom, tries to slip off unseen. When, however, he finds that
he cannot do so, and that the circle of enemies is closing on him, he
becomes angry, turns to bay, and with menacing growls announces his
intention of punishing the intruders on his domain. One of them then
comes forward, and incites the lion to charge him, and as soon as the
animal’s attention is occupied by one object, the hunters behind him
advance, and hurl a shower of assagais at him. With a terrible roar the
lion springs at the bold challenger, who sticks his plumed assagai into
the ground, leaping at the same time to one side. In his rage and pain,
the lion does not at the moment comprehend the deception, and strikes
with his mighty paw at the bunch of ostrich plumes, which he takes for
the feather-decked head of his assailant. Finding himself baffled, he
turns round, and leaps on the nearest hunter, who repeats the same
process; and as at every turn the furious animal receives fresh wounds,
he succumbs at last to his foes.
It is seldom that in such an affray the hunters come off scathless. The
least hesitation in planting the plumed spear and leaping aside entails
the certainty of a severe wound, and the probability of death. But, as
the Kaffirs seldom engage in such a hunt without the orders of their
chief, and are perfectly aware that failure to execute his commands
is a capital offence, it is better for them to run the risk of being
swiftly killed by the lion’s paw than cruelly beaten to death by the
king’s executioners.
That sanguinary monarch, Dingan, used occasionally to send a detachment
with orders to catch a lion alive, and bring it to him. They executed
this extraordinary order much in the same manner as has been related.
But they were almost totally unarmed, having no weapons but their
shields and kerries, and, as soon as the lion was induced to charge,
the bold warriors threw themselves upon him in such numbers that they
fairly overwhelmed him, and brought him into the presence of Dingan,
bound and gagged, though still furious with rage, and without a wound.
Of course, several soldiers lost their lives in the assault, but
neither their king nor their comrades seemed to think that anything out
of the ordinary course of things had been done. On one occasion, Dingan
condescended to play a practical joke upon his soldiers.
A traveller had gone to see him, and had turned loose his horse, which
was quietly grazing at a distance. At that time horses had not been
introduced among the Kaffirs, and many of the natives had never even
seen such an animal as a horse. It so happened that among the soldiers
that surrounded Dingan were some who had come from a distant part of
the country, and who were totally unacquainted with horses. Dingan
called them to him, and pointing to the distant horse, told them to
bring him that lion alive. They instantly started off, and, as usual,
one stood in advance to tempt the animal to charge, while the others
closed in upon the supposed lion, in order to seize it when it had made
its leap. They soon discovered their mistake, and came back looking
very foolish, to the great delight of their chief.
The buffalo is, however, a more terrible foe than the lion itself, as
it will mostly take the initiative, and attack before its presence
is suspected. Its habit of living in the densest and darkest thicket
renders it a peculiarly dangerous animal, as it will dash from its
concealment upon any unfortunate man who happens to pass near its lair;
and as its great weight and enormously solid horns enable it to rush
through the bush much faster than even a Kaffir can glide among the
matted growths, there is but small chance of escape. Weapons are but
of little use when a buffalo is in question, as its armed front is
scarcely pervious to a rifle ball, and perfectly impregnable against
such weapons as the Kaffir’s spear, and the suddenness of the attack
gives but little time for escape.
As the Kaffirs do not particularly care for its flesh, though of
course they will eat it when they can get nothing better, they will
hunt the animal for the sake of its hide, from which they make the
strongest possible leather. The hide is so tough that, except at close
quarters, a bullet which has not been hardened by the admixture of some
other metal will not penetrate it. Sometimes the Kaffir engages very
unwillingly in war with this dangerous beast, being attacked unawares
when passing near its haunts. Under these circumstances the man makes
for the nearest tree, and if he can find time to ascend it he is safe
from the ferocious brute, who would only be too glad to toss him in the
air first, and then to pound his body to a jelly by trampling on him.