AGRICULTURE.
DIVISION OF LABOR -- HOW LAND IS PREPARED FOR SEED -- CLEARING THE
LAND AND BREAKING UP THE GROUND -- EXHAUSTIVE SYSTEM OF AGRICULTURE
-- CROPS CULTIVATED BY KAFFIRS -- THE STAFF OF LIFE -- WATCH-TOWERS
AND THEIR USES -- KEEPING OFF THE BIRDS -- ENEMIES OF THE CORN-FIELD
-- THE CHACMA AND ITS DEPREDATIONS -- THE BABIANA ROOT -- USES OF THE
CHACMA -- THE HIPPOPOTAMUS AND ITS DESTRUCTIVE POWERS -- THE ELEPHANT
-- SINGULAR PLAN OF TERRIFYING IT -- ANTELOPES, BUFFALOES, AND WILD
SWINE -- ELABORATE FORTIFICATION -- BIRD KILLING -- THE LOCUST --
CURIOUS KAFFIR LEGEND -- FRUITS CULTIVATED BY THE KAFFIR -- FORAGE
FOR CATTLE -- BURNING THE BUSH AND ITS RESULTS.
As by the chase the Kaffirs obtain the greater part of their animal
food, so by agriculture they procure the chief part of their vegetable
nourishment. The task of providing food is divided between the two
sexes, the women not being permitted to take part in the hunt, nor
to meddle with the cows, while the men will not contaminate their
warrior hands with the touch of an agricultural implement. They have
no objection to use edge-tools, such as the axe, and will cut down the
trees and brushwood which may be in the way of cultivation; but they
will not carry a single stick off the ground, nor help the women to dig
or clear the soil.
When a new kraal is built, the inhabitants look out for a convenient
spot in the immediate neighborhood, where they may cultivate the
various plants that form the staple of South African produce. As a
general rule, ground is of two kinds, namely, bush and open ground,
the former being the more fertile, and the latter requiring less
trouble in clearing. The experienced agriculturist invariably prefers
the former, although it costs him a little more labor at first, and
although the latter is rather more inviting at first sight. This
favorable impression soon vanishes upon a closer inspection, for, as
a general rule, where it is not sandy, it is baked so hard by the sun
that a plough would have no chance against it, and even the heavy picks
with which the women work cannot make an impression without much labor.
Moreover, it requires much more water than is supplied from natural
sources, and, even when well moistened, is not very remarkable for its
fertility. Bush land is of a far better quality, and is prepared for
agriculture as follows:--
The men set to work with their little axes, and chop down all the
underwood and small trees, leaving the women to drag the fallen
branches out of the space intended for the field or garden. Large
trees they cannot fell with their imperfect instruments, and so they
are obliged to content themselves with cutting off as many branches as
possible, and then bringing the tree down by means of fire. The small
trees and branches that are felled are generally arranged round the
garden, so as to form a defence against the numerous enemies which
assail the crops. The task of building this fence belongs to the men,
and when they have completed it their part of the work is done, and
they leave the rest to the women.
Furnished with the heavy and clumsy hoe, the woman breaks up the
ground by sheer manual labor, and manages, in her curious fashion, to
combine digging and sowing in one operation. Besides her pick, laid
over her shoulder, and possibly a baby slung on her back, she carries
to the field a large basket of seed balanced on her head. When she
arrives at the scene of her labors, she begins by scattering the seed
broadcast over the ground, and then pecks up the earth with her hoe
to a depth of some three or four inches. The larger roots and grass
tufts are then picked out by hand and removed, but the smaller are not
considered worthy of special attention. This constitutes the operation
of sowing, and in a wonderfully short time a mixed crop of corn and
weeds shoots up. When both are about a month old, the ground is again
hoed, and the weeds are then pulled up and destroyed. Owing to the very
imperfect mode of cultivation, the soil produces uncertain results, the
corn coming up thickly and rankly in some spots, while in others not
a blade of corn has made its appearance. When the Kaffir chooses the
open ground for his garden, he does not always trouble himself to build
a fence, but contents himself with marking out and sowing a patch of
ground, trusting to good fortune that it may not be devastated by the
numerous foes with which a Kaffir’s garden is sure to be infested.
The Kaffir seems to have very little idea of artificial irrigation, and
none at all of renovating the ground by manure. Irrigation he leaves to
the natural showers, and, beyond paying a professional “rain-maker” to
charm the clouds for him, he takes little, if any, trouble about this
important branch of agriculture. As to manuring soil, he is totally
ignorant of such a proceeding, although the herds of cattle which are
kept in every kraal would enable him to render his cultivated land
marvellously fertile. The fact is, land is so plentiful that when one
patch of it is exhausted he leaves it, and goes to another; and for
this reason, abandoned gardens are very common, their position being
marked out by remnants of the fence which encircled them, and by the
surviving maize or pumpkin plants which have contrived to maintain an
unassisted existence.
Four or five gardens are often to be seen round a kraal, each situated
so as to suit some particular plant. Various kinds of crops are
cultivated by the Kaffirs, the principal being maize, millet, pumpkins,
and a kind of spurious sugar-cane in great use throughout Southern
Africa, and popularly known by the name of “sweet reed.” The two former
constitute, however, the necessaries of life, the latter belonging
rather to the class of luxuries. The maize, or, as it is popularly
called when the pods are severed from the stem, “mealies,” is the very
staff of life to a Kaffir, as it is from the mealies that is made the
thick porridge on which the Kaffir chiefly lives. If an European hire a
Kaffir, whether as guide, servant, or hunter, he is obliged to supply
him with a stipulated quantity of food, of which the maize forms the
chief ingredient. Indeed, so long as the native of Southern Africa can
get plenty of porridge and sour milk, he is perfectly satisfied with
his lot. When ripe, the ears of maize are removed from the stem, the
leafy envelope is stripped off, and they are hung in pairs over sticks
until they are dry enough to be taken to the storehouse.
A watch-tower is generally constructed in these gardens, especially if
they are of considerable size. The tower is useful for two reasons: it
enables the watcher to see to a considerable distance, and acts as a
protection against the wild boars and other enemies which are apt to
devastate the gardens, especially if they are not guarded by a fence,
or if the fence should be damaged. If the spot be unfenced, a guard
is kept on it day and night, but a properly defended garden needs no
night watchers except in one or two weeks of the year. The watch-tower
is very simply made. Four stout poles are fixed firmly in the ground,
and a number of smaller poles are lashed to their tops, so as to make
a flat platform. A small hut is built on part of the platform as a
protection against the weather, so that the inmate can watch the field
while ensconced in the hut, and, if any furred or feathered robbers
come within its precincts, can run out on the platform and frighten
them away by shouts and waving of arms. The space between the platform
and ground is wattled on three sides, leaving the fourth open. The
object of this wattling is twofold. In the first place, the structure
is rendered more secure; and in the second, the inmate of the tower can
make a fire and cook food without being inconvenienced by the wind.
The task of the fields is committed to the women and young girls, the
men thinking such duties beneath them. In order to keep off the birds
from the newly sprouted corn blades, or from the just ripening grain,
a very ingenious device is employed. A great number of tall, slender
posts are stuck at intervals all over the piece of land, and strings
made of bark are led from pole to pole, all the ends being brought to
the top of the watch-tower, where they are firmly tied. As soon as a
flock of birds alight on the field, the girl in charge of the tower
pulls the strings violently, which sets them all vibrating up and down,
and so the birds are frightened, and fly away to another spot. A system
almost identical with this is employed both in the Chinese and Japanese
empires, and the complicated arrangement of poles and strings, and the
central watch-tower, is a favorite subject for illustration in the rude
but graphic prints which both nations produce with such fertility.
The enemies of the cornfield are innumerable. There are, in the first
place, hosts of winged foes, little birds and insects, which cannot
be prohibited from entering, and can only be driven away when they
have entered. Then there are certain members of the monkey tribes,
notably the baboons, or chacmas, which care very little more for a
fence than do the birds, and which, if they find climbing the fence
too troublesome, can generally insinuate themselves through its
interstices. This cunning and active animal is at times too clever
even for the Kaffir, and will succeed in stealing unobserved into his
garden, and carrying off the choicest of the crops. Whatever a man will
eat a chacma will eat, and the creature knows as well as the man when
the crops are in the best order. Whether the garden contain maize,
millet, pumpkins, sweet reed, or fruits, the chacma is sure to select
the best; and even when the animals are detected, and chased out of the
garden, it is very annoying to the proprietor to see them go off with a
quantity of spoil, besides the amount which they have eaten.
The ordinary food of the chacma is a plant called Babiana, from the use
which the baboons make of it. It is a subterranean root, which has the
property of being always full of watery juice in the dryest weather,
so that it is of incalculable value to travellers who have not a large
supply of water with them, or who find that the regular fountains are
dried up. Many Kaffirs keep tame chacmas which they have captured when
very young, and which have scarcely seen any of their kind. These
animals are very useful to the Kaffirs, for, if they come upon a plant
or a fruit which they do not know, they offer it to the baboon; and if
he eats it, they know that it is suitable for human consumption.
On their journeys the same animal is very useful in discovering
water, or, at all events, the babiana roots, which supply a modicum
of moisture to the system, and serve to support life until water is
reached. Under these circumstances, the baboon takes the lead of the
party, being attached to a long rope, and allowed to run about as
it likes. When it comes to a root of babiana, it is held back until
the precious vegetable can be taken entire out of the ground, but,
in order to stimulate the animal to further exertions, it is allowed
to eat a root now and then. The search for water is conducted in a
similar manner. The wretched baboon is intentionally kept without drink
until it is half mad with thirst, and is then led by a cord as before
mentioned. It proceeds with great caution, standing occasionally on
its hind legs to sniff the breeze, and looking at and smelling every
tuft of grass. By what signs the animal is guided no one can even
conjecture; but if water is in the neighborhood the baboon is sure to
find it. So, although this animal is an inveterate foe of the field and
garden, it is not without its uses to man when its energies are rightly
directed.
If the gardens or fields should happen to be near the river side, there
is no worse foe for them than the hippopotamus, which is only too glad
to exchange its ordinary food for the rich banquet which it finds in
cultivated grounds. If a single hippopotamus should once succeed in
getting into a garden, a terrible destruction to the crop takes place.
In the first place, the animal can consume an almost illimitable amount
of green food: and when it gets among such dainties as cornfields and
pumpkin patches, it indulges its appetite inordinately. Moreover, it
damages more than it eats, as its broad feet and short thick legs
trample their way through the crops. The track of any large animal
would be injurious to a standing crop, but that of the hippopotamus is
doubly so, because the legs of either side are so wide apart that the
animal makes a double track, one being made with the feet of the right
side, and the other with those of the left.
Against these heavy and voracious foes, a fence would be of little
avail, as the hippopotamus could force its way through the barrier
without injury, thanks to its thick hide. The owner of the field
therefore encloses it within a tolerably deep ditch, and furthermore
defends the ditch by pointed stakes: so that, if a hippopotamus did
happen to fall into the trench, it would never come out again alive. A
similar defence is sometimes made against the inroads of the elephants.
Those animals do not often take it into their heads to attack a garden
in the vicinity of human habitations; but when they do so, it is
hardly possible to stop them, except by such an obstacle as a ditch.
Even the ordinary protection of a fence and the vicinity of human
habitations is worthless, when a number of elephants choose to make
an inroad upon some field; and, unless the whole population turns out
of the kraal and uses all means at their command, the animals will
carry out their plans. The elephant always chooses the night for his
marauding expeditions, so that the defenders of the crops have double
disadvantages to contend against. One weapon which they use against
the elephant is a very singular one. They have an idea that the animal
is terrified at the shrill cry of an infant, and as soon as elephants
approach a kraal, all the children are whipped, in hopes that the
elephants may be dismayed at the universal clamor, and leave the spot.
Antelopes of various kinds are exceedingly fond of the young corn
blades, and, if the field be without a fence, are sure to come in
numbers, and nibble every green shoot down to the very ground. Near
the bush the buffalo is scarcely less injurious, and more dangerous
to meddle with; and even the porcupine is capable of working much
damage. The wild swine, however, are perhaps the worst, because the
most constant invaders, of the garden. Even a fence is useless against
them, unless it be perfect throughout its length, for the pigs can
force themselves through a wonderfully small aperture, owing to their
wedge-shaped head, while their thick and tough skins enable them to
push their way through thorns and spikes without suffering any damage.
The “pigs,” as the wild swine are popularly called, always come from
the bush; and when several kraals are built near a bush, the chiefs of
each kraal agree to make a fence from one to the other, so as to shut
out the pigs from all the cultivated land. This fence is a very useful
edifice, but, at the same time, has a very ludicrous aspect to an
European. The reader has already been told that the Kaffir cannot draw
a straight line, much less build a straight fence; and the consequence
is, that the builders continually find that the fence is assuming the
form of a segment of a circle in one direction, and then try to correct
the error by making a segment of a circle in the opposite direction,
thus making the fence very much larger than is necessary, and giving
themselves a vast amount of needless trouble.
As to the winged enemies of the garden, many modes of killing them
or driving them away are employed. One method for frightening birds
has already been described, and is tolerably useful when the corn is
young and green; but when it is ripe, the birds are much too busy to
be deterred by such flimsy devices, and continue to eat the corn in
spite of the shaking strings. Under such circumstances, war is declared
against the birds, and a number of Kaffirs surround the enclosure, each
being furnished with a number of knob-kerries. A stone is then flung
into the corn for the purpose of startling the birds, and as they rise
in a dense flock, a shower of kerries is rained upon them from every
side. As every missile is sure to go into the flock, and as each Kaffir
contrives to hurl four or five before the birds can get out of range,
it may be imagined that the slaughter is very great. Tchaka, who was
not above directing the minutiæ of domestic life, as well as of leading
armies, subsidizing nations, and legislating for an empire, ordered
that the birds should be continually attacked throughout his dominions;
and, though he did not succeed in killing them all, yet he thinned
their numbers so greatly, that during the latter years of his life the
graminivorous birds had become scarce instead of invading the fields in
vast flocks.
Locusts, the worst of the husbandman’s enemies, could not be
extirpated, and, indeed, the task of even thinning their numbers
appeared impracticable. The only plan that seems to have the least
success is that of burning a large heap of grass, sticks, and leaves
well to windward of the fields, as soon as the locusts are seen in the
distance. These insects always fly with the wind, and when they find
a tract of country covered with smoke, they would naturally pass on
until they found a spot which was not defiled with smoke, and on which
they might settle. It is said that locusts were not known in the Zulu
territories until 1829, and that they were sent by the supernatural
power of Sotshangana, a chief in the Delagoa district, whom Tchaka
attacked, and by whom the Zulu warriors were defeated, as has already
been mentioned on page 124. The whole story was told to Mr. Shooter,
who narrates it in the following words:--
“When they had reached Sotshangana’s country, the Zulus were in great
want of food, and a detachment of them coming to a deserted kraal,
began, as usual, to search for it. In so doing, they discovered some
large baskets, used for storing corn, and their hungry stomachs
rejoiced at the prospect of a meal. But when a famished warrior
impatiently removed the cover from one of them, out rushed a multitude
of insects, and the anticipated feast flew about their ears.
Astonishment seized the host, for they never beheld such an apparition
before; every man asked his neighbor, but none could ‘tell its quality
or name.’ One of their number at last threw some light on the mystery.
He had seen the insects in Makazana’s country, and perhaps he told his
wandering companions that they had been collected for food. But they
soon learned this from the people of the kraal, who had only retired to
escape the enemy, and whose voices were heard from a neighboring rock.
In no case would the fugitives have been likely to spare their lungs,
since they could rail and boast and threaten with impunity; but when
they saw that their food was in danger, they lifted up their voices
with desperate energy, and uttered the terrible threat that if the
invaders ate their locusts, others should follow them home, and carry
famine in their train. The Zulus were too hungry to heed the woe, or to
be very discriminating in the choice of victuals, and the locusts were
devoured. But when the army returned home, the scourge appeared, and
the threatening was fulfilled.”
How locusts, the destroyers of food, are converted into food, and
become a benefit instead of a curse to mankind, will be seen in the
next chapter.
As to the fruits of this country, they are tolerably numerous, the most
valued being the banana, which is sometimes called the royal fruit;
a Kaffir monarch having laid claim to all bananas, and forced his
subjects to allow him to take his choice before they touched the fruit
themselves. In some favored districts the banana grows to a great size,
a complete bunch being a heavy load for a man.
Next in importance to food for man is forage for cattle, and this is
generally found in great abundance, so that the grazing of a herd
costs their owner nothing but the trouble of driving his cattle to and
from the grass land. In this, as in other hot countries, the grass
grows with a rapidity and luxuriance that tends to make it too rank
for cattle to eat. When it first springs up, it is green, sweet, and
tender; but when it has reached a tolerable length it becomes so harsh
that the cattle can hardly eat it. The Kaffir, therefore, adopts a plan
by which he obtains as much fresh grass as he likes throughout the
season.
When a patch of grass has been fed upon as long as it can furnish
nourishment to the cattle, the Kaffir marks out another feeding-place.
At night, when the cattle are safely penned within the kraal, the
Kaffir goes out with a firebrand, and, when he has gone well to
windward of the spot which he means to clear, he sets fire to the dry
grass. At first, the flame creeps but slowly on, but it gradually
increases both in speed and extent, and sweeps over the plain in
obedience to the wind. On level ground, the fire marches in a tolerably
straight line, and is of nearly uniform height, except when it happens
to seize upon a clump of bushes, when it sends bright spires of
flame far into the sky. But when it reaches the bush-clad hills, the
spectacle becomes imposing. On rushes the mass of flame, climbing the
hill with fearful strides, roaring like myriads of flags ruffled in the
breeze, and devouring in its progress every particle of vegetation. Not
an inhabitant of the bush or plain can withstand its progress, and the
fire confers this benefit on the natives, that it destroys the snakes
and the slow-moving reptiles, while the swifter antelopes are able to
escape.
When the fire has done its work, the tract over which it has passed
presents a most dismal spectacle, the whole soil being bare and black,
and the only sign of former vegetation being an occasional stump of a
tree which the flames had not entirely consumed. But, in a very short
time, the wonderfully vigorous life of the herbage begins to assert
itself, especially if a shower of rain should happen to fall. Delicate
green blades show their slender points through the blackened covering,
and in a short time the whole tract is covered with a mantle of uniform
tender green. Nothing can be more beautiful than the fresh green of the
young blades, as they are boldly contrasted with the deep black hue of
the ground. The nearest approach to it is the singularly beautiful tint
of our hedgerows in early spring--a tint as fleeting as it is lovely.
The charred ashes of the burned grass form an admirable top-dressing to
the new grass, which springs up with marvellous rapidity, and in a very
short time affords pasture to the cattle. The Kaffir is, of course,
careful not to burn too much at once; but by selecting different spots,
and burning them in regular succession, he is able to give his beloved
cows fresh pasturage throughout the year.