THE BOSJESMAN--_Concluded_.
THE AMUSEMENTS OF THE BOSJESMAN -- HOW HE SMOKES -- HIS DANCE --
CURIOUS ATTITUDES -- DANCING-RATTLES -- THE WATER-DRUM -- SPECIMENS
OF BOSJESMAN MUSIC -- ITS SINGULAR SCALE AND INTERVALS -- SUCCEDANEUM
FOR A HANDKERCHIEF -- A TRAVELLER’S OPINION OF THE DANCE AND SONG --
THE GOURA -- ITS CONSTRUCTION, AND MODE OF USING IT -- QUALITY OF
THE TONES PRODUCED BY IT -- A BOSJESMAN MELODY AS PERFORMED ON THE
GOURA -- THE JOUM-JOUM AND THE PERFORMER -- SOOTHING EFFECT OF THE
INSTRUMENT -- ART AMONG THE BOSJESMANS -- MR. CHRISTIE’S DESCRIPTIVE
SKETCH -- THE BOSJESMAN’S BRUSH AND COLORS -- HIS APPRECIATION OF A
DRAWING -- ANECDOTES OF BOSJESMANS.
The amusements of the Bosjesmans are very similar to those of the
Hottentots, and can be generally comprised in two words, namely,
singing and dancing. Both these words are to be understood in
their South African sense, and are not to be taken in an European
signification. Perhaps smoking ought to be included in the category
of amusements. How a Bosjesman smokes after a meal has already been
narrated. But there are seasons when he does not merely take a few
whiffs as a conclusion to a meal, but deliberately sets to work at
a smoking festival. He then takes the smoke in such quantities,
swallowing instead of ejecting it, that he is seized with violent
coughing fits, becomes insensible, and falls down in convulsions. His
companions then take upon themselves the duty of restoring him, and do
so in a rather singular manner.
As is usual in smoking parties, a supply of fresh water is kept at
hand, together with reeds, through which the smokers have a way
of discharging the smoke and water after a fashion which none but
themselves can perfectly accomplish. When one of their number falls
down in a fit of convulsions, his companions fill their mouths with
water, and then spirt it through the tube upon the back of his neck,
blowing with all their force, so as to produce as great a shock as
possible. This rather rough treatment is efficacious enough, and when
the man has fairly recovered, he holds himself in readiness to perform
the like office on his companions.
The dance of the Bosjesman is of a very singular character, and seems
rather oddly calculated for producing amusement either in performers or
spectators. “One foot,” writes Burchell, “remains motionless, while
the other dances in a quick, wild, irregular, manner, changing its
place but little, though the knee and leg are turned from side to side
as much as the attitude will allow. The arms have but little motion,
their duty being to support the body.
“The dancer continues singing all the while, and keeps time with every
movement, sometimes twisting the body in sudden starts, until at last,
as if fatigued by the extent of his exertions, he drops upon the ground
to recover breath, still maintaining the spirit of the dance, and
continuing to sing and keep time, by the motion of his body, to the
voices and accompaniments of the spectators. In a few seconds he starts
up again, and proceeds with increased vigor. When one foot is tired
out, or has done its share of the dance, the other comes forward and
performs the same part; and thus, changing legs from time to time, it
seemed as though he meant to convince his friends that he could dance
forever.”
When the Bosjesman dances in a house he is not able to stand upright,
and consequently is obliged to support himself between two sticks,
on which he leans with his body bent forward. Very little space is
required for such a dance, and in consequence the hut is nearly filled
with spectators, who squat in a circle, leaving just space enough in
the centre for the dancer to move in. In order to assist him in marking
time, he has a set of rattles which he ties round his ankles. They are
made of the ears of the springbok, the edges being sewed together, and
some fragments of ostrich shell placed loosely in the interior. They
are tied on the outside of the ankle.
The dances which I have seen performed by the Bosjesmans resembled
those described by Burchell, the dancer supporting himself on a long
stick, though he was in the open air, and occasionally beating time
with the stick upon the ground to the peculiar Bosjesman measure. The
spectators, whether men or women, accompany the dancer in his song by
a sort of melody of their own, and by clapping their hands, or beating
sticks on the ground, in time with his steps. They also beat a simple
instrument called the Water-Drum. This is nothing more than a wooden
bowl, or “bambus.” A little water is previously poured into the bowl,
and by its aid the skin is kept continually wet. It is beaten with
the forefinger of the right hand, and is kept to the proper pitch by
pressing the thumb and forefinger of the left hand upon the skin.
Not being skilled in the Bosjesman’s language, I was unable to
distinguish a single syllable used by the Bosjesman in dancing, but Mr.
Burchell gives them as follows. The dancer uses the word “Wawa-koo,”
repeated continually, while the spectators sing “Aye-O,” separating
the hands at the first syllable, and bringing them sharply together at
the second. The effect of the combined voices and dances may be seen
by the following notation, which was taken by Burchell. This strange
combination of sounds, which is so opposed to our system of music,
is grateful to the ear of most South Africans, and in principle is
prevalent among many of the tribes, though there are differences in
their modes and measures.
SPECTATORS. { [Music: Aye O aye O aye O aye eh aye O O O]
DANCER. { [Music: Wawa koo wawa koo wawa koo wawa koo wawa koo
{ wawa koo]
WATER-DRUM. { [Music]
{ _ad infinitum_
When engaged in this singular performance, the dancer seems so
completely wrapped up in his part, that he has no thought except to
continue his performance in the most approved style. On the occasion
just mentioned, the dancer did not interrupt his movement for a single
moment when the white man made his unexpected entrance into the hut,
and, indeed, seemed wholly unconscious of his presence. Shaking and
twisting each leg alternately until it is tired does not seem to our
eyes to be a particularly exhilarating recreation, especially when
the performer cannot stand upright, is obliged to assume a stooping
posture, and has only a space of a foot or two in diameter in which he
can move. But the Bosjesman derives the keenest gratification from this
extraordinary amusement, and the more he fatigues himself, the more he
seems to enjoy it.
As is likely in such a climate, with such exertions, and with an
atmosphere so close and odorous that an European can scarcely live in
it, the perspiration pours in streams from the performer, and has, at
all events, the merit of acting as a partial ablution. By way of a
handkerchief, the dancer carries in his hand the bushy tail of a jackal
fastened to a stick, and with this implement he continually wipes his
countenance. He seems to have borrowed this custom from the Bechuanas,
who take great pains in their manufacture of this article, as will be
seen when we come to treat of their habits.
After dancing until he is unable even to stand, the Bosjesman is forced
to yield his place to another, and to become one of the spectators.
Before doing so, he takes off the rattles, and passes them to his
successor, who assumes them as essential to the dance, and wears them
until he, in his turn, can dance no longer. Here is another dancing
tune taken down by Mr. Burchell on the same evening:--
THE COMPANY. { [Music: Aye O aye O aye O, aye eh aye O O O]
DANCER. { [Music: Lok a tay Lok a tay Lok a tay]
WATER-DRUM. { [Music]
It may seem strange that such odd music could have any charms for an
European who knew anything of music. Yet that such can be the case is
evident from the words of the above mentioned traveller. “I find it
impossible to give, by any means of mere description, a correct idea of
the pleasing impressions received while viewing this scene, or of the
kind of effect which the evening’s amusements produced upon my mind and
feelings. It must be seen, it must be participated in, without which
it would not be easy to imagine its force, or justly to conceive its
nature. There was in this amusement nothing which can make me ashamed
to confess that I derived as much enjoyment from it as the natives
themselves. There was nothing in it which approached to vulgarity, and,
in this point of view, it would be an injustice to these poor creatures
not to place them in a more respectable rank than that to which the
notions of Europeans have generally admitted them. It was not rude
laughter and boisterous mirth, nor drunken jokes, nor noisy talk, which
passed their hours away, but the peaceful, calm emotion of harmless
pleasure.
“Had I never seen and known more of these savages than the occurrences
of this day, and the pastimes of the evening, I should not have
hesitated to declare them the happiest of mortals. Free from care, and
pleased with a little, their life seemed flowing on, like a smooth
stream gliding through flowery meads. Thoughtless and unreflecting,
they laughed and smiled the hours away, heedless of futurity, and
forgetful of the past. Their music softened all their passions, and
thus they lulled themselves into that mild and tranquil state in which
no evil thoughts approach the mind. The soft and delicate voices of
the girls, instinctively accordant to those of the women and the men;
the gentle clapping of the hands; the rattles of the dancer; and the
mellow sound of the water drum, all harmoniously attuned, and keeping
time together; the peaceful, happy countenances of the party, and the
cheerful light of the fire, were circumstances so combined and fitted
to produce the most soothing effects on the senses, that I sat as
if the hut had been my home, and felt in the midst of this horde as
though I had been one of them; for some few moments ceasing to think of
sciences or of Europe, and forgetting that I was a lonely stranger in a
land of untutored men.”
Nor is this a solitary example of the effect of native music in its own
land, for other travellers have, as we shall see, written in equally
glowing terms of the peculiar charms of the sounds produced by the rude
instruments of Southern Africa, accompanied by the human voice.
We now come to the instrument which is, _par excellence_, the
characteristic instrument of Southern Africa. The water-drum is
a rather curious musical instrument, but there is one even more
remarkable in use among the Bosjesmans, which is a singular combination
of the stringed and wind principles. In general form it bears a great
resemblance to the Kaffir harp, but it has no gourd by way of a
sounding-board, and the tones are produced in a different manner. This
instrument is called the Goura, and is thus described by Le Vaillant:--
“The goura is shaped like the bow of a savage Hottentot. It is of
the same size, and a string made of intestines, fixed to one of its
extremities, is retained at the other by a knot in the barrel of a
quill which is flattened and cleft. This quill being opened, forms a
very long isosceles triangle, about two inches in length; and at the
base of this triangle the hole is made that keeps the string fast, the
end of which, drawn back, is tied at the other end of the bow with a
very thin thong of leather. This cord may be stretched so as to have
a greater or less degree of tension according to the pleasure of the
musician, but when several gouras play together, they are never in
unison.
“Such is the first instrument of a Hottentot, which one would not
suppose to be a wind instrument, though it is undoubtedly of that
kind. It is held almost in the same manner as a huntsman’s horn, with
that end where the quill is fixed toward the performer’s mouth, which
he applies to it, and either by aspiration or inspiration draws from
it very melodious tones. The savages, however, who succeed best on
this instrument, cannot play any regular tune; they only emit certain
twangs, like those drawn in a particular manner from a violin or
violoncello. I took great pleasure in seeing one of my attendants
called John, who was accounted an adept, regale for whole hours his
companions, who, transported and ravished, interrupted him every now
and then by exclaiming ‘Ah! how charming it is; begin that again.’
John began again, but his second performance had no resemblance to the
first: for, as I have said, these people cannot play any regular tune
upon this instrument, the tones of which are only the effect of chance,
and of the quality of the quill. The best quills are those which are
taken from the wings of a certain species of bustard, and whenever I
happened to kill one of these birds, I was always solicited to make a
small sacrifice for the support of our orchestra.”
In playing this remarkable instrument, the performer seats himself,
brings the quill to his mouth, and steadies himself by resting his
elbows on his knees, and putting the right forefinger into the
corresponding ear, and the left forefinger into his wide nostril. A
good performer uses much exertion in order to bring out the tones
properly, and it is a curious fact, that an accomplished player
contrives to produce octaves by blowing with increased strength, just
as is done with the flute, an instrument on which the sound of the
goura can be tolerably represented.
[Music]
The same traveller contrived to write down the air which was played
by a celebrated performer, and found that he always repeated the same
movement. The time occupied in playing it through was seventy seconds.
“When a woman plays the goura, it changes its name merely because she
changes the manner of playing it, and it is then transformed into a
_joum-joum_. Seated on the ground, she places it perpendicularly before
her, in the same manner as a harp is held in Europe. She keeps it firm
in its position by putting her foot between the bow and the string,
taking care not to touch the latter. With the right hand she grasps the
bow in the middle, and while she blows with her mouth in the quill, she
strikes the string in several places with a small stick five or six
inches in length, which she holds in the other hand. This produces some
variety in the modulations, but the instrument must be brought close
to the ear before one can catch distinctly all the modulations of the
sounds. This manner of holding the goura struck me much, especially as
it greatly added to the graces of the female who performed on it.”
The reader will see from this description that the tones of the
goura are not unlike those of the jews-harp, though inferior both in
volume and variety to those which can be produced from a tolerably
good instrument. Both the Hottentots and Bosjesmans soon learn to
manage the jews-harp, and, on account of its small size and consequent
portability, it has almost superseded the native goura.
Two more musical instruments are or were used by these people. One is
the native guitar, or Rabouquin, which somewhat resembles the familiar
“banjo” of the negro. It consists of a triangular piece of board,
furnished with a bridge, over which are stretched three strings, made
of the twisted intestines of animals. The strings are attached to
pegs, by which they can be tightened or loosened so as to produce the
required note. As Le Vaillant quaintly observes: “Any other person
might perhaps produce some music from it and render it agreeable, but
the native is content with drumming on the strings with his fingers at
random, so that any musical effect is simply a matter of chance.”
The last instrument which these natives possess is a kind of drum,
made of a hollowed log, over one end of which a piece of tanned skin
is tightly stretched. The drum is sometimes beaten with the fists and
sometimes with sticks, and a well-made drum will give out resonant
notes which can be heard at a considerable distance. This drum is
called by the name of Romelpot.
The effect of native music on an European ear has already been
mentioned on page 264. Dr. Lichtenstein, himself a good musician,
corroborates Burchell’s account, and speaks no less highly, though in
more technical and scientific language, of that music, and the peculiar
scale on which it is formed.
“We were by degrees so accustomed to the monotonous sound that our
sleep was never disturbed by it; nay, it rather lulled us to sleep.
Heard at a distance, there is nothing unpleasant in it, but something
plaintive and soothing. Although no more than six tones can be
produced from it, which do not besides belong to our gamut, but form
intervals quite foreign to it, yet the kind of vocal sound of these
tones, the uncommon nature of the rhythm, and even the oddness, I may
say wildness, of the harmony, give to this music a charm peculiar to
itself. I venture to make use of the term ‘harmony,’ for so it may
indeed be called, since, although the intervals be not the same as
ours, they stand in a proportion perfectly regular and intelligible, as
well as pleasing to the ear.
“Between the principal tones and the octave lie only three intervals;
the first is at least somewhat deeper than our great third; the second
lies in the middle, between the little and the great fifth; and the
third between the great sixth and the little seventh; so that a person
might imagine he hears the modulation first in the smallest seventh
accord. Yet everyone lies higher in proportion to the principal tone;
the ear feels less the desire of breaking off in the pure triple sound;
it is even more satisfied without it. Practised players continue to
draw out the second, sometimes even the third, interval, in the higher
octave. Still these high tones are somewhat broken, and seldom pure
octaves of the corresponding deep tones. Melodies, properly speaking,
are never to be heard; it is only a change of the same tones long
protracted, the principal tone being struck before every one. It
deserves to be remarked, that the intervals in question do not properly
belong to the instrument; they are, in truth, the psalmodial music of
the African savages.”
There is nothing more easy than to theorize, and nothing more difficult
than to make the theory “hold water,” as the saying is. I knew a
learned philologist, who elaborated a theory on the structure of
language, and illustrated it by careful watching of his successive
children, and noting the mode in which they struggled through their
infantile lispings into expression. First came inarticulate sounds,
which none but the mother could understand, analogous to the cries
of the lower animals, and employed because the yet undeveloped mind
had not advanced beyond the animal stage of existence. Then came
onomatopœia, or imitative sounds, and so, by regular degrees, through
substantives, verbs, adjectives, and pronouns, the powers of language
were systematically developed. This theory answered very well with the
first two children, but broke down utterly with the third, whose first
utterance was, “Don’t tease, go away.”
So has it been with the Bosjesman race; and, while they have been
described as the most degraded of the great human family, signs have
been discovered which show that they have some knowledge of the
rudiments of art. I allude here to the celebrated Bosjesman paintings
which are scattered through the country, mostly in caves and on
rocks near water springs, and which are often as well drawn as those
produced so plentifully by the American Indians. They almost invariably
represent figures of men and beasts, and in many cases the drawing is
sufficiently good to enable the spectator to identity the particular
animals which the native artist has intended to delineate.
The following account of some of these drawings is taken from the notes
of Mr. Christie, which he has liberally placed at my disposal:--
“I cannot add much to what is written of them, except to allude to
what are termed Bushman paintings, found in caverns and on flat stone
surfaces near some of their permanent water supplies. I have only met
with two instances of the former paintings, and they were in a cave in
the side of a krantz, in the north part of the Zwart Ruggens. I came
upon them while hunting koodoos. One side of the cavern was covered
with outlines of animals. Only the upper part was distinguishable, and
evidently represented the wildebeest, or gnoo, the koodoo, quagga, &c.
The figures were very rudely drawn, and the colors used were dull-red
and black, and perhaps white; the latter may possibly have been a
stalactite deposition from water.
“The other instance was near an outspan place on the Karroo road to
Graff Reinet, known as Pickle Fountain, where there is a permanent
spring of fresh water, near the course of an ancient stream now dry.
On a flat piece of sandstone which had once formed part of the bank
of the stream were the remains of a drawing, which may have been
the outline of a man with a bow and arrow, and a dog, but it was so
weather-worn that little more could be made out than the fact of its
being a drawing. The colors used, as in the cave, were red and black.
At the time of my seeing the drawings, I had with me a Bushman, named
Booy (who was born near what is marked in the map as the Commissioner’s
Salt Pan), but he could give me no information on the subject of the
paintings, and I am rather inclined to think that they are the work of
one of the Hottentot tribes now extinct.
“My Bushman was a very shrewd fellow, but, although I had been at that
time for some years among the natives, I had not become aware of the
poverty of their intellect. I had shown them drawings numberless times,
had described them, and listened to their remarks, but had not then
discovered that even the most intelligent had no idea of a picture
beyond a simple outline. They cannot understand the possibility of
perspective, nor how a curved surface can be shown on a flat sheet of
paper.”
Together with this account, Mr. Christie transmitted a copy of a
similar drawing found in a cavern in the George district. The color
used in the drawings is red, upon a yellow ground--the latter tint
being that of the stone on which they were delineated. The subject
of the drawing is rather obscure. The figures are evidently intended
to represent men, but they are unarmed, and present the peculiarity
of wearing headdresses, such as are not used by any of the tribes
with whom the Bosjesmans could have come in contact. They might have
often seen the Kaffirs, with their war ornaments of feathers, and the
Hottentots with their rude skin caps, but no South African tribe wears
a headdress which could in any way be identified with these. Partly
on this account, and partly because the figures are not armed with
bows and arrows, as is usual in figures that are intended to represent
Bosjesmans, Mr. Christie is of opinion that many years ago a boat’s
crew may have landed on the coast, and that the Bosjesmans who saw them
recorded the fact by this rock-picture.
The tools of the Bosjesman artist are simple enough, consisting of a
feather dipped in grease, in which he has mixed colored clays, and, as
Mr. Baines well observes, he never fails to give the animals which he
draws the proper complement of members. Like a child, he will place the
horns and ears half down the neck, and distribute the legs impartially
along the body; but he knows nothing of perspective, and has not the
least idea of foreshortening, or of concealing one limb or horn behind
another, as it would appear to the eye.
The same traveller rather differs from Mr. Christie in his estimation
of the artistic powers of the Bosjesman, and his capability for
comprehending a picture. According to him, a Bosjesman can understand
a colored drawing perfectly. He can name any tree, bird, animal, or
insect, that has been drawn in colors, but does not seem to appreciate
a perspective drawing in black and white. “When I showed them the
oil-painting of the Damara family, their admiration knew no bounds.
The forms, dress, and ornaments of the figures were freely commented
on, and the distinctive characteristics between them and the group of
Bushmen pointed out. The dead bird was called by its name, and, what
I hardly expected, even the bit of wheel and fore part of the wagon
was no difficulty to them. They enjoyed the sketch of Kobis greatly,
and pointed out the figures in the group of men, horses, and oxen very
readily. Leaves and flowers they had no difficulty with, and the only
thing they failed in was the root of the markwhae. But when it is
considered that if this, the real blessing of the desert, were lying
on the surface, an inexperienced Englishman would not know it from a
stone at a little distance, this is not to be wondered at. The dead
animals drawn in perspective and foreshortened were also named as fast
as I produced them, except a half-finished, _uncolored_ sketch of the
brindled gnoo. They had an idea of its proper name, but, said they, ‘We
can see only one horn, and it may be a rhinoceros or a wild boar.’”
* * * * *
The following anecdotes have been kindly sent to me by Captain Drayson,
R. A., who was engaged in the late Kaffir war:--
“The habits of the Bushman are those of a thoroughly wild hunter;
to him cattle are merely an incumbrance, and to cultivate the soil
is merely to do himself what Nature will do for him. The country in
which he resides swarms with game, and to kill this is to a Bushman no
trouble. His neighbors keep cattle, and that is as a last resource a
means of subsistence; but, as the Bushman wanders over the country, and
selects those spots in which the necessaries of life abound, he rarely
suffers from want. If a young Bushman be captured, as sometimes happens
when the Dutch Boers set out on an expedition against these thieves,
the relatives at once track the captive to its prison, and sooner or
later recover it. I once saw a Bushboy who had been eight years in a
Dutchman’s family, had learned to speak Dutch, to eat with a knife and
fork, and to wear clothes; but at the end of that time the Bushboy
disappeared. His clothes were found in the stables in the place of a
horse which he had taken with him. The spoor being rapidly followed,
was found to lead to the Draakensberg Mountains, among the fastnesses
of which the Boers had no fancy to follow, for from every cranny and
inaccessible ridge a poisonous arrow might be discharged, as the youth
had evidently rejoined his long-lost relatives.
“It was a great surprise to notice the effect on our Dutch sporting
companions of the intimation of ‘Bushmen near.’ We were riding on an
elevated spur of the Draakensberg, near the Mooi River, when a Boer
suddenly reined up his horse, and exclaimed:--
“‘Cess, kek die spoor von verdamt Boschmen!’
“Jumping off his horse he examined the ground, and then said: ‘A man
it is; one naked foot, the other with a velschoen.’ The whole party
immediately became intensely excited, they scattered in all directions
like a pack of hounds in cover; some galloped to the nearest ridge,
others followed on the spoor, all in search of the Bushman. ‘He has not
long gone,’ said one of my companions; ‘be ready.’
“‘Ready for what?’ I inquired.
“‘Ready to shoot the schelm.’
“‘Would you shoot him?’ I asked.
“‘Just so as I would a snake.’
“And then my companion explained to me that he had not long since
bought at a great price a valuable horse which he had taken to his
farm. In three weeks the horse was stolen by Bushmen. He followed
quickly, and the animal being fat, begun to tire, so two Bushmen who
were riding it jumped off, stabbed it with their arrows, and left it.
The horse died that night. Again, a neighbor had about twenty oxen
carried off. The Bushmen were the thieves, and, on being followed
closely, stabbed all the oxen, most of which died.
“Many other similar tales were told, our informant winding up with
these remarks:
“‘I have heard that every creature God makes is useful, and I think so
too; but it is only useful in its place. A puff-adder is useful where
there are too many toads or frogs; but when he comes into my house
he is out of place, and I kill him. A Bushman near my farm is out of
place, and I shoot him; for if I let him alone he poisons my horses and
cattle, and very likely me too.’
“Only twice did I ever see the Bushman at home; on the first occasion
it was just after a fearful storm, and they had sought shelter in
a kloof near our quarters. They emerged about three hundred yards
in advance of us, and immediately made off like the wind. Not to be
unconventional, we sent a bullet after them, but high over their
head; they stayed not for another. On a second occasion I was close
to them, and was first made aware of their presence in consequence of
an arrow striking a tree near; not aimed at me, but at some Daas, or
rock-rabbits, which were on the rocks close by. With no little care
and some speed I retreated from the neighborhood of such implements as
poisoned arrows, and then by aid of a glass saw the Bushmen first find
their arrow and then my spoor, at which latter they took fright, and
disappeared in a neighboring kloof.”