Return to Tati--Changed aspect of the country--Constant
delays--The Mashonas--At Manyami’s again--John Lee’s--Letter
home--The Inkwesi--Wild fruit--A hornbill’s nest--The
Impakwe and Ramaqueban Rivers--Graves of Englishmen--White
ants--Bushman remains--The Tati reached.
Frank Oates’s plan on leaving Gubuleweyo was to return slowly, by way
of Tati, to Bamangwato, there to prepare himself with a fresh outfit of
goods and other necessaries for a renewed attempt to reach the Zambesi
early in the year; unless on his arrival there he should find letters
which required his return to England. As it was yet too soon to think
of making at once for the Zambesi, he took his time upon the road to
Tati, not arriving there till near the end of February. He stopped to
hunt some time upon the Ramaqueban, and, the whole journey, progress
was inevitably slow, owing to the heavy state of the country from the
recent rains. The waggon was constantly sticking, and delays were
endless. The route taken was the same as that by which he had come to
Gubuleweyo, but the country was now rendered so much more attractive
with the advancing season, that some extracts may be given from the
Journal.
Leaving the neighbourhood of Gubuleweyo, as already mentioned, on
January 26th, he reached Kumala River the following day, and on the
28th again pushed forward towards the Shashani, where he arrived after
many stoppages two days later, John Lee’s farm being reached early on
the morning of the 1st of February. For three days before his arrival
at John Lee’s, the Journal reads as follows, the first extract finding
him at a point in the road still a few miles from the Shashani, where
his waggon had sunk deep the night before, necessitating a halt:--
“_January 29th._--During the night some rain fell; the morning was
cloudy, but fine. Got the waggon clear with some difficulty, and
started about noon, but it stuck again after going a few yards, the
dissel-boom breaking, which was shortened and used again, causing a
long delay.... At length we started fairly about 5.40 P.M. The sun was
getting low, and, as we went through some really beautiful scenery,
he set, and the sunset scene was a lovely one. I can now fancy that
South Africa may have much fine scenery, and I wish I could see the
Zambesi. In the foreground was undulating and broken ground, covered
with long grass, showing in some places a silvery white colour, in
others a yellow, and in others a green one. Beyond, the deep green of
the trees--not uniform in height and growth, but reminding one in their
graceful diversity of hedgerow trees or those of copses at home--rose
distinct against the deep violet kopjes on the horizon and the sunset
sky. The upper part of the sky was blue, with large lilac clouds;
lower down, the blue was streaked with pale yellow, and this again, as
it approached the kopjes, became golden streaked with lilac. We trekked
on well through the changing light, for it never became dark, and, ere
the sunset hues had faded from the sky, the moon was shedding a clear
light over the romantic scene. Fireflies were flitting, and I felt the
morning trek, when we entered Pretoria, come back forcibly to my mind.
That was then to me a wonderful change, from high veldt to bush veldt,
and the time of seeing it--in the weird light of early morning--added
to the charm. The road now, as then, was very rough and steep, over
stones, up hill and down; and at about 8 P.M. we crossed a steep-banked
river. The water was deep, and the bank on which we landed was so
steep, that the oxen, the moment before they scrambled up, were up to
their breasts in water, but we did it in gallant style.
“On we went, and at last were rising a hill, through what in Rocky
Mountain phraseology would be called a ‘park.’ The word is an
appropriate one, and I know no other that would describe this lovely
spot, reminding me of similar scenes in the Rocky Mountains. The ground
was open and park-like, with a fine sward and a few isolated trees,
whilst all around--forming a complete amphitheatre--rose rugged kopjes
in the distance. The moon shed a bright light on the whole. Suddenly,
smash went the dissel-boom, away went the oxen with it, down went John
most ludicrously on to the ground from the front-board, and the waggon
came to a standstill. The great awkward tree, stuck in by Wankee[32]
and John when we first came to grief, had at last become useless, and
now we set about making ourselves comfortable for the night, intending
to cut a fresh dissel-boom in the morning. It was about 8.20 when this
ludicrous breakdown happened, and it is long since I have so thoroughly
enjoyed a laugh as I did then at John’s expense. I was not sorry that
we were stopping here, and, as I drank in the scene with delight,
those parks in the mountains of the Far West were present to my mind,
and I felt happy, scarcely knowing why. The part of the country we
have passed through is called the ‘neck.’ To-night I heard the strange
melancholy baying of wild dogs--an animal I have never seen.
“_January 30th._--My pleasure in the place where we are outspanned
was put an end to this morning by a crowd of noisy forward Matabele
from a kraal a little distance off amongst the kopjes on our right. My
men had sent early, and beer and large quantities of milk were brought.
There were a few slaves here too, quite different in appearance and
bearing from their conquerors. They are quiet and humble in demeanour,
and profusely ornamented, where they can afford it, with brass wire
in rings round the wrists, of what I have been told is Portuguese or
native workmanship, though I think it may be brought up by our own
traders. Blue cut beads, too, and skins are much worn. These original
inhabitants, Mashonas I think, are far more in keeping with the scene,
to my mind, than their supplanters.[33]
[Illustration: NATIVE HUNTING-KNIVES.]
“Wankee cut a dissel-boom, and we inspanned about 2.15 P.M.
First we went up hill, and then began to descend through a tolerably
open grass country, with trees about as far apart as one sees them in
an orchard. The country we passed through is extremely pretty--grass
long, trees graceful and varied, broken crags, with kopjes all round.
Through it we descended to the Shashani, which is in a valley, and we
must have crossed it say about 3 P.M. We then soon crossed
a spruit, and after this in a heavy part of the road, where the ruts
had been worn into deep holes, we stuck. This would be about 3.40
P.M. We made vain efforts to get out, let the oxen feed a
little, and again tried, and tried in vain. The front oxen, and indeed
all the oxen, were very stupid, but I blame the driver, and, though it
was a fine moonlight night, he would try no more till next morning.
“_January 31st._--Fine hot day. Stupidity again in Wankee. He first
tried to pull the waggon back and then forward, and finally raised it
and put stones under it, as ought to have been done last night, for it
was taken out at once when this was tried. Two girls from the kraal
we passed yesterday came to the waggon _en route_ for Manyami’s. They
were overtaken by us on the road afterwards, and went some distance
in the waggon, and again came to the waggon at Manyami’s. Two little
looking-glasses delighted them beyond measure, and each little gift
caused an exclamation of delight and gratitude, ‘O Bossa!’ They were
perfectly unsophisticated; one I thought pretty. They sang, evidently
studying the most fascinating smiles whilst looking into the mirrors.
After we moved I had the oxen unyoked to feed for a short time, and
we started fairly at noon. The country was again extremely pretty and
well wooded, the road winding like a labyrinth amongst the picturesque
kopjes. We crossed several spruits, some of them awkward ones, and at
one had a good deal of trouble, but it had a good bottom, and we pulled
through. We reached Manyami’s and outspanned on high ground under an
abruptly-rising kopje about 3 P.M.
“Here old Manyami came to see me, and presented me with a small pot of
beer, begging a ‘limbo’ for his wife. I gave him a cup of coffee in
return, and about the value of the beer in limbo, as I am not disposed
to be over generous. I bought some calabash pumpkins, which I found
afterwards were like excellent vegetable marrows when boiled; also a
water-melon, the second I have bought within the last day or two. They
are in excellent condition now, and very refreshing. I also bought some
sour milk, which my boys like.
“Vincent came up on his way to Mungwato with a waggon and sixteen oxen,
returning from Gubuleweyo, where he had been with a load. His waggon
went on, and he remained behind to help me. I find him an excellent
driver and a very energetic fellow, and I believe he would be very glad
to go with me, as he is tired of trading under Hogg. However, he must
go on now.
“The sun was getting low as we inspanned. We soon came to a very bad
place--a huge pit in fact--where the road had been, to avoid which we
had to go through a very soft piece of ground, into which the waggon
sank deep, and I thought it was a case of a regular stick, but Vincent
got me out of this well, and showed his great superiority as a driver.
We got over some bad places after this, but at length got into a heavy
rut, the wheels on the off side of the waggon being deep in it, whilst
those on the other side were high on firm ground. It looked like a
serious case, and the sun set on our efforts. The dissel-boom was
pulled out twice, but at length so firmly locked with chains, and the
wheels raised so effectually with stones placed under them, that,
when Vincent left his work, which he had been going at like the fine
energetic fellow he is, and we sat down for a moment to drink a cup
of coffee, the waggon looked like getting off. This it did without
difficulty, and we started again about 10 P.M. We had one more
stick afterwards in a deep rut, but Vincent levelled the ground in a
few minutes, and we were off again, and finally crossed Mangwe drift
without a mishap. This was the greatest feat of all. The river was full
of water, the men were nearly up to their armpits (one crossed clinging
to ‘Blackberg’s’ tail), but we went through it without any delay or
trouble, and I was indeed thankful that our dissel-boom was chained.
After this we trekked a short distance along a good road to John Lee’s.
Here were Dawson’s two waggons sent up by Cruickshank, and Vincent’s
waggon sent by Hogg. Skinner’s waggon was some little way off. Skinner
and Dawson were waiting for the river to go down. We outspanned about
1.30 A.M., and had supper.”
At this point Frank Oates remained a few days, hoping for some
improvement in the weather. Soon after his arrival he wrote home as
follows:--
“MR. JOHN LEE’S, MANGWE,
“MATABELE COUNTRY.
“_February 1st, 1874._
“I take the opportunity of a waggon going to Bamangwato, to send
a few lines to let you know how I am getting on. I wrote last
to you from Mr. Thomson’s at Hope Fountain. Since then I have
been detained at Gubuleweyo, the King’s Town, first by bad
weather, and then, as the time of the grand dance of the year
was approaching, I waited to see it. The people come from all
the neighbouring kraals, and dance and feast for two or three
days. It is the feast of the first-fruits of the season, and
Mr. Thomson advised me to stay for it. After this, fearful rain
again delayed me, and then I had some trouble with my men, and
dismissed two, and had to have the case of a third tried before
the king. At last, last Monday, I got under weigh once more,
with a new waterproof tent on my waggon. The journey here is
about three days under ordinary circumstances, but it took me
six, in the present heavy state of the country and badness of
the river drifts. I had many sticks in the mud and breakages
of my dissel-boom. Last night I arrived here, and to-day is
Sunday. The man to whom I am going to give this letter drove my
waggon for the last eleven miles. He overtook me on the road,
and let his own empty waggon go on. We were about six hours in
accomplishing the distance, including delays, but, thanks to his
timely help, I pulled through. The last river we had to cross,
the Mangwe, was so swollen that the water was up to the men’s
chests, and looked as if it was coming into the waggon. The
men who were not in the waggon had to catch hold of the oxen’s
tails, or struggle through the stream as well as they could. It
would have been very unpleasant, especially with bad helpless
drivers, to have broken my dissel-boom in the middle of the
river, and I felt very glad when safely landed on the bank.
“From here I intend travelling leisurely to Mungwato, where I
hope to find letters. When I get there I shall decide whether or
not to make another attempt on the Victoria Falls. By leaving
Mungwato about April, I should have the fine season before me,
and could probably reach the Falls and return to Mungwato in
the space of three months. The worst of this country, however,
is that movements here are so slow and dependent on the caprice
of natives, and one is too much cut off from the world. Yet I
believe the Zambesi would repay one for much sacrifice of time
and patience. It is impossible, I am now convinced, to get on
with Kafirs and Hottentots without severity. Kindness is thrown
away upon them, and makes them worse than they are. I believe I
shall have to give the latter method up altogether, and resort
to castigation, which is an alternative I don’t like. They are,
almost to a man, dishonest, lazy, and impudent.
“The scenery about here _is_ pretty I admit, especially at this
time of year. Some of my moonlight treks between the King’s and
this place were very delightful, and wakened a little enthusiasm
and thoughts of former days, such as the usual dull uniformity
of South African scenery fails to elicit. The ground is broken
up into rugged crags, piled one upon another in such a manner
that you can’t help wondering how the mischief they ever got
there. The veldt is covered with long grass, like English mowing
grass. The trees are, for the most part, like English woodland
trees, but less in size; in some places forming a thick bush, in
others scattered over the greensward like English park timber.
Occasionally a remarkable tree occurs of unfamiliar aspect, but
this is quite the exception. The kopjes are numerous; some,
merely small piles of huge stones, with trees springing from
the interstices; others, hills of respectable size, built up of
crags, and sometimes shutting in the horizon on every side. Here
and there a stream runs through its deep stony bed in a deep
valley, and then comes the tug of war, and the moonlight scenery
is forgotten, whilst one’s lungs are exerted in yelling to the
oxen, calling each by his uncouth name.
“My dogs always ride with me in my bed. One of them is a most
faithful friend and agreeable companion to me. I should miss
them very much. I had to sell my pony to the king, to keep in
his good books, but was sorry to do it, although he may die now
any time of horse-sickness. If he lives he is a valuable animal,
and henceforth ‘salted.’ Birds are few here, and, for the most
part, not striking in appearance. The same applies to flowers.
“Old John Lee’s voice is droning away about some oxen, and the
family circle surrounds me, as I write this letter. Lee wants
to borrow my waggon for two months to send for some meal, and
to do his best to make me comfortable here in the meantime, but
I have made a mental vow not to let myself be talked into the
arrangement.... I shall be very glad to hear recent news of how
all are at home.
“_P.S._--... I am adding this P.S. in the waggon, but I miss
John Lee’s drone, which I find helps me to write. He discoursed
on locusts to-night. As he says, Kafirs eat them, horses,
sheep, and all sorts of game eat them, lions eat them, wolves
eat them, birds eat them--they _must_ be very nice; only white
men and vultures don’t eat them. I believe but for locusts an
immense number of people would have died of famine last year at
Mungwato.”
It was the 6th of February when Frank Oates left John Lee’s, and
the 9th when he reached the Inkwesi River. The country round Lee’s
farm is of a somewhat striking character, and, though much healthier
than most of the surrounding district, is not wholly free from the
annoyances elsewhere occasioned by the summer rains. “The scenery
here,” writes Frank Oates, “with the swollen current of the river and
huge magnificent boulders, is as fine in its way as any one would wish
to see. The gardens, however, which have suffered terribly from the
drought, are now suffering equally from the wet. They require both
irrigation for the dry, and drainage for the rainy, season.” The way in
which Lee lived with his family round him, and the sort of relationship
existing between them, afforded an odd example of a Dutchman’s life in
the interior. “It reminds one,” says the traveller, “of feudal times:
old Lee, the lord; his brother, a wretched serf; his father-in-law, not
much better; and all his poor relations living about in little huts
round his big house.”
Amongst the waggons stationed at John Lee’s during Frank Oates’s stay
there was that of Smith, the Dutchman, whom he had formerly met on
his way up country, near the Impakwe River. Smith was now starting on
a hunting trip towards the Tati, and the two again agreed to travel
together. Before leaving Frank Oates engaged John Lee’s brother, Karl,
to accompany him as driver to Bamangwato.
The country was still heavy, though somewhat improved by the last few
days of comparatively dry weather. A few miles before reaching the
Inkwesi, the road lay through bush veldt and corn-fields, with kopjes
interspersed at intervals. “The corn-fields are close to the road,”
writes Frank Oates, “and a large fence renders the road so narrow that
it is a difficult matter to drive a waggon. Some of my loose oxen
crossed a corn-field, and of course a row was made. The Hottentot,
Klaas, from Lee’s, had to give a coat, and some lead and powder,
because when he stuck his oxen trampled the corn whilst in the yoke,
the road being altogether hemmed in by the corn-fields. Karl says he
will get the extortionate payment refunded when John Lee knows. This is
the second crop of Indian corn, the former one having been destroyed by
locusts. We passed the Hottentot during this trek; he had had to kill
one of his best oxen, his driver having broken the ox’s leg by throwing
a stone. Here we come,” continues the writer, “to the last kraal, and
outspan, about two miles from the Inkwesi, amongst the kopjes. There
is a fine sugar-loaf-shaped kopje, craggy and tree-covered to the top,
and very steep. I wish I had time to try the ascent; there must be
a glorious view from it. The colours on the stones from lichens are
most beautiful, yellow predominating. The Kafirs were most impudent
and troublesome. The headman, a young fellow in European clothes, is
a good-looking and well-behaved fellow. He sat on my front-box; our
object is to get boys from him. There were five men killed by the king,
at Lee’s, Karl says, for refusing to come to live here; they said it
was only fit for monkeys. Near here was old Makobi’s kraal, where all
were massacred for deceiving the king, after owning allegiance to him.
A large quantity of milk was brought to us for sale. Heavy showers
came on, but the night was fine, clear, and starlight. Where we passed
Klaas an elephant had passed during the night. They followed his spoor,
but lost it. Smith shot a cow-elephant near here a year or two ago,
and they say a surly toothless bull-elephant lives about here now. The
kopje looked very pretty at night when all was quiet, and its dark
sugar-loaf form loomed up close to us against the starry sky.”
Next day (February 9th), on reaching the Inkwesi, Frank Oates chanced
to be alone, Smith having gone on in advance, in company with the
Hottentot above referred to. “After Karl had been to the kraal
about boys,” writes the traveller that day, “we inspanned at 10.30
A.M., and trekked about an hour, when we came to the drift of
the Inkwesi. The induna rode on my front-box. Some of the road was
rough; scenery pretty. Had to chop down part of a tree against which we
were running. We found Smith had crossed, and I sent in boys to try the
depth, and, though it was deep, I resolved to push forward, for fear of
rain and a swollen current. In some places it was over a man’s middle.
We stuck in the river; had many attempts to get out, but without
success. Two small oxen got half drowned, and we outspanned them and
inspanned two large ones. The boy who was leading the front oxen let go
the strap he held them by, and we had a great deal of trouble. At last
we off-loaded a large part of our cargo, sending it over on the boys’
backs. I worked hard; so did Karl. I then undressed and left the waggon
before they tried to get it on again. Old Smith now came up to us, in
the unadorned garb of nature, and mounted the front-box. (He thrashed
a young nigger for laughing at his appearance.) They got the waggon
out this time, but some of the oxen had to swim. Very little water got
inside, and we loaded up again, and at sundown inspanned to go a few
yards to where Smith and Klaas were already encamped. At night we all
had supper together, Smith contributing some excellent ‘stamped corn.’
This is a capital dish. The corn is first crushed, then boiled, and,
when this is over, salt and butter or fat stirred up with it. It is
something like stiff rice-pudding.”
Advancing together the following morning, the three stopped for a
day or two’s hunting a few miles further on, beyond the river. Here
buffalo and blue wildebeest were met with, and the spoor of ostriches
was seen. From a fine rocky plateau in the neighbourhood a good survey
of the surrounding district was obtained. “Looking to the south-west,”
writes the traveller, “we saw the distant conical range of the Tati
hills, between which and ourselves lay a fine green bush-covered plain,
through which flow the Impakwe and Ramaqueban Rivers. This plain
extends far to the west and north, but to the north-east is again
broken by kopjes in the direction of the Mangwe, whilst the fine craggy
hills of the Inkwesi rise nearer in the same direction.” Some delicious
fruits, not unlike greengages, known by the natives as “marula,” were
picked up about here on the march. Between the skin and the large
stone in the centre of each was a sweet liquid with scarcely any pulp.
“We also found,” adds the writer, “a number of berries, of which we
ate a good lot. These grow on low bushes, which have a sweet-scented
yellow flower, with a smell like that of sallow bloom. The fruit is
reddish-brown, about the size of a haw; dry, sweet, and containing a
stone. It is called ‘Kafir plum.’”
Here too a hornbill’s nest was found. “The boys,” says Frank Oates,
“brought me a young hornbill, and I was taken to the nest. A hollow
tree, with a hole in it, high up, was where the bird had come from.
They poked out and pulled the wing-feathers off the old hen when I was
not looking. I kept both birds. Karl says the old hen never leaves
the young, the cock feeding them all, and that she gets quite bare of
feathers. The number of young is two. The natives, he says, are very
fond of them to eat, roasted.”
[Illustration: AFRICAN GREY HORNBILL.--_Tockus
nasutus._]
The party next moved forward (February 12th) to the Impakwe, a further
distance of about six miles. “Here,” writes the traveller, “is some
distinct stone-work forming a circular wall, inside which are remains
of bricks coated with a substance as if smelting had been done here.
No mortar has been used, and the work is rough and I should say of no
great antiquity, the stones being small and loose and easily displaced,
so that I think they would not stand any great length of time. They are
cut in an oblong form and properly placed for building. Karl says it
was made for smelting copper, and used by the people whom Mosilikatze
found here. That it is any older I should much doubt. “Shot here,” he
concludes, “a beautiful sun-bird, whose beauty awoke my slumbering love
of ornithology.” Birds had been scarce of late, but became much more
plentiful at the Ramaqueban, which was reached the following morning.
[Illustration: YELLOW-BILLED HORNBILL.--_Tockus
flavirostris._]
Encamping on this river, they still remained a few days longer in the
neighbourhood before finally separating, usually taking from here
different directions during the day in search of game, and meeting
again at night. The game in the district, however, for the most part
proved scarce and wild, a circumstance afterwards accounted for by
the fact that other parties had been and still were hunting the
neighbourhood at the same time. There was, nevertheless, abundant
evidence of its being a good game country; and, as it was, giraffe,
koodoo, waterbuck, and sable antelope were met with, besides wild pig,
quagga, and sassaybi. The spoor of elephant and rhinoceros was also
seen, none of it, however, very recent.
The Ramaqueban--at this season a fine broad stream, with long grass
and a large undergrowth of rank weeds upon its banks--was crossed in
many of their rambles, and near it on one occasion were seen the graves
of two Englishmen. “Started at nine,” writes Frank Oates on February
16th, “crossed the Ramaqueban, and passed the graves of two Englishmen,
who died here, one of fever, one killed by an elephant. The latter had
come from England to shoot, and was killed by the tusks of the first
elephant he saw. The fever is very bad on this river; the vegetation is
extremely rank, and the water lies very deep over much of the veldt.
The graves,” he concludes, “had been surrounded by stakes to keep off
the wolves, but the river, overflowing its banks, had nearly washed
them away; still the heaps of stones covering the bodies and a few
stakes remain.”
The same evening, wandering far into the bush, Frank Oates slept
out with some of his boys who had accompanied him. “We stopped at 5
P.M.,” he says, “and huts were made. It was a hot night, and
the big fires made it worse. The white ants too kept tumbling over me
all night, and knocking down leaves from the roof.[34] We were perhaps
sixteen miles from the waggon.”
Still, however, though in a less tried district, there seemed but
little game, and what was seen was wild. Returning to the camp next
day, “I stopped in the afternoon,” he writes, “when the boys found a
nest of small bees, full of delicious honey, on which and coffee I
dined sumptuously.”
[Illustration: GIGANTIC ANT-HILL.]
And now discouraged by the wildness and scarcity of the game, the
Dutchman soon after--about the 20th--took his departure, returning
to John Lee’s, the Hottentot having left two days previously for the
Shashe River, whither he had been summoned to join another Dutch
hunter, Piet Jacobs, in search of elephant.
A little before the latter’s departure Frank Oates had chanced to hear
from him that, at a spot not far from their encampment, some miles up
the river, a number of Bushmen had been murdered the previous year,
and he resolved, if possible, to visit the place, that he might obtain
some of their remains. In this search his informant had undertaken
to accompany him, and had even sent to Tati for a reliable guide to
the spot, when suddenly, at the last moment, he changed his mind, and
excused himself from going upon the plea of illness. The circumstances
of his defection and some other incidents of the day are thus related
in the traveller’s Journal:--
“_February 18th._--Fine day; the first day without rain for an age.
Last night Klaas (the Hottentot) told me he was going on to Tati
to-day, being too unwell to accompany me in my excursion in quest of
the bones, but would leave me his two Bushmen--the one he had sent for
from Tati, who knew the place, and the one he has had with him here.
The former was out hunting, when his fourteen companions--men, women,
and children--were killed at their hunting kraal by the Matabele. He
found them all dead on his return. It seems that they were a party of
Mungwato Bushmen, and some of them had taken meat belonging to some
Bushmen from Manyami’s. The latter complained to the king, who said the
Mungwato Bushmen were to be killed. This was last winter. This morning
Klaas went away, leaving the two boys. I now found he was _going away
to hunt_. Jacobs had sent for him to hunt for elephants, said to be on
the Shashe. Presently the two Bushmen took their guns and skins and
walked off. I immediately felt the strongest suspicion, and called
Lee’s attention to them. He questioned them, and they told him they
were going to hunt. I felt very uneasy, and wanted him to stop them,
but he seemed to think it was all right. However, they did not return
at night. We think Klaas had arranged all this.... One of Smith’s boys,
a Matabele, was one of the party who killed the Bushmen, but he says he
thinks he could not find the place, the leaves being now on the trees.
He could find it, he says, going from his own kraal, but not from here.
He evidently, however, does not want, or care, to go. It is somewhere,
a day or a day and a half’s walk off, up the Ramaqueban.”
The two Bushmen, as Frank Oates had anticipated, failing after this
to reappear, the search for the remains had now for the present to
be abandoned, but later in the year, as will presently be seen, he
succeeded in obtaining possession of them.
The Bushmen of this country--such was Karl Lee’s account of
them--appear to be scattered over the whole district north of Mungwato,
keeping principally near the waggon-road, to get hunting jobs and bits
of meat. They are without chiefs, and have no fixed place of abode, and
no crops, building themselves rough temporary huts when they want to
stop anywhere for a time. They are capable of carrying immense loads,
and sometimes help the Matabele with their corn, receiving a little
of the grain in payment when they return into the veldt. They have no
guns, only assegais and dogs, and many of them have wounds of buffalo
upon their persons. They snare buck, and occasionally get big game with
their assegais.
Still lingering a day or two longer on the Ramaqueban after the
departure of his companions, Frank Oates completed the journey to the
Tati on the 23d, whence he did not start for Bamangwato till the 4th of
April.
[Illustration: WOODEN VESSEL.]