The sun has just touched the western horizon, bathing in a parting flood
of red and gold the round spurs of the rolling hills and the straggling
clusters of dome-shaped huts which lie dotted about the valley in
irregular order for a couple of miles. There is a continuous hum of
voices in the air, mingling with the low of cattle, and the whole place
seems to be teeming with human life. Indeed, such is the case; for this
kraal--or rather collection of kraals--is the head centre of Nteya's
location and the residence of that chief himself.
Each group of huts owns its cattle inclosure, whose dark space, girdled
with a strong thorn palisade, is now filled with the many-coloured forms
of its horned denizens. It is milking time, and the metallic squirt of
liquid into the zinc pails rises rhythmic above the deep hum of the
monotonous chant of the milkers. Women step forth from the kraal gates
balancing the full pails on their heads, their ochre-smeared bodies
shining like new flower pots, while their lords, _reim_ in hand, set to
work to catch a fresh cow--for among Kafirs milking is essentially man's
work. About the huts squat other groups of natives, men smoking their
queer shaped, angular pipes, and exchanging _indaba_ [Gossip or news];
women also smoking, and busy with their household affairs, whether of
the culinary or nursery order; round bellied, beady-eyed children
tumbling over each other in their romps, and dogs ever on the prowl to
pick up a stray bone, or to obtain a surreptitious lick at the interior
of a cooking-pot; and over all the never-ending flow of voices, the deep
bass of the men blending with the clearer feminine treble, but all
rhythmic and pleasing, for the language and voices of the Bantu races
are alike melodious. The blue reek of wood-smoke rising upon the
evening air, mingles with that pungent odour of grease and kine
inseparable from every Kafir kraal.
That something unwonted is impending here to-night is manifest. Men
would start suddenly from beside their fellows and gaze expectantly out
upon the approaches to the kraal, or now and again the heads of a whole
group would turn in eager scrutiny of the surrounding _veldt_. For
strung out upon the hillsides in twos and threes, or in parties of ten
or a dozen, some mounted, some afoot, come a great number of Kafirs. On
they come: those who are mounted kicking their shaggy little ponies into
a headlong gallop; those who are not, starting into a run, leaping into
the air, singing, or now and again venting a shrill and ear-splitting
whistle. From far and near--from every direction converging upon the
kraal, on they come. _And they are all armed_.
The excitement in the kraal itself intensifies. All rise to their feet
to receive the newcomers, each group of whom is greeted with boisterous
shouts of welcome. Snatches of war-songs rise upon the air, and the
rattle of assegai hafts blends with the barbaric melody. Still, pouring
in from all sides, come fresh arrivals, and by the time the sun has shot
his last fading ray upon the stirring scene, the kraal cannot have
contained far short of a thousand men.
Near the principal group of huts stands a circular inclosure about fifty
yards in diameter. Above the thorn fence bristle the great branching
horns of oxen. To this point all eyes are now turned, and the deafening
clamour of voices is hushed in expectation of a new diversion.
A narrow opening is made in the fence and half a dozen Kafirs enter. An
ox is turned out. No sooner is the poor beast clear of the fence than
it is suddenly seen to plunge and fall forward in a heap, stabbed to the
heart by a broad-bladed assegai. The slaughterer steps back to his
lurking position and stands with arm upraised. Quickly another ox
follows upon the first. The weapon, now dimmed and reddened with blood,
flashes in the air. The second animal plunges forward dead. A third
follows, with like result.
Then, scenting danger, and terrified moreover by the crowd which is
gathering outside, the beasts stubbornly refuse to move. They huddle
together with lowered heads, backing away from the opening and emitting
the muffled, moaning noise evoked in cattle by the scent of blood. In
vain their would-be drivers shout and goad them with assegais. Move
they will not.
Another opening is made on the opposite side to that of the first.
After some trouble two oxen are driven through. They rush out together,
one falling by the hand of the lurking slaughterer, the other meeting a
speedy death at the assegais of the spectators.
There still remain upwards of a dozen within the kraal, but of these not
one can be induced to pass out. Panic-stricken they huddle together
closer still, until at last, their terror giving way to a frenzy of
rage, the maddened brutes turn and furiously charge their tormentors.
The air is rent with savage bellowings and the clashing of horns. The
dust flies in clouds from the rumbling earth as the frenzied creatures
tear round and round the inclosure. Two of the Kafirs, less agile or
less fortunate than their fellows, are flung high in the air, falling
with a lifeless thud among the spectators outside; then, crashing
through the fence in a body, the panic-stricken bullocks stream forth
into the open, scattering the crowd right and left before the fury of
their rush.
Then ensues a wild and stirring scene. Their great horns lowered, the
infuriated animals course madly through the village, each beset by a
crowd of armed savages whose dark, agile forms, avoiding the fierce
impetus of their charge, may be seen to spring alongside, plying the
deadly assegai. One turns suddenly and heads straight for its pursuers,
bellowing hideously. Like magic the crowd parts, there is a whizz of
assegais in the air, and the poor beast crashes earthward, bristling
with quivering assegai hafts, as a pin cushion with pins. Yelling,
whistling like fiends, in their uncontrollable excitement, the savages
dart in and out among the fleeing beasts, and the red firelight gleams
upon assegai points and rolling eyeballs, and the air rings with the
frenzied bellowing of the pursued, and the wild shouts of the pursuers.
But it cannot last long. Soon the mad fury of the chase gives way to
the nauseous accompaniments of a slaughter house on a large scale. In
an incredibly short space of time, each of the bullocks is reduced to a
disjointed heap of flesh and bones. Men, staggering beneath huge slabs
of quivering meat, make their way to the fires, leaving the dogs to
snarl and quarrel over an abundant repast of steaming offal.
The great joints frizzle and sputter over the red coals. Squatted
around, a hungry gleam in their eyes, the Kafirs impatiently watch each
roasting morsel. Then, hardly waiting until it is warmed through, they
drag the meat from the fire. Assegais are plied, and soon the huge
joints are reduced to strips of half-raw flesh, and the champing of
hundreds of pairs of jaws around each red blaze takes the place of the
deep bass hum of conversation, as the savages throw all their energies
into the assimilation of their unwonted meal. It is like a cannibal
feast--the smoky flare of the great fires--the mighty slabs of red
flesh--the fierce, dark figures seated around--the gleam of weapons in
the firelight.
[The unwonted meal. In former days, meat was very sparingly eaten among
the Amaxosa races, milk and mealies being the staple articles of diet.
When employed on such a scale as above described, it had a curiously
stimulating effect upon a people habitually almost vegetarians. Hence
it was looked upon as a preparation for war.]
At length even the very bones are picked clean, and thrown over the
feasters' shoulders to the dogs. Then voices are raised and once more
the kraal becomes a scene of wild and excited stir. Roused by a copious
indulgence in an unwonted stimulant, the Kafirs leap to their feet.
Weapons are brandished, and the firelight glows upon assegai points and
rolling eyeballs. A wild war-song rises upon the air; then falling into
circular formation, the whole gathering of excited warriors join in,
beating time with their feet--clashing the hefts of their weapons
together. The weird rhythm is led off in a high, wailing key by a kind
of _choragus_, then taken up by the rest, rising louder and louder, and
the thunder of hundreds of pairs of feet keeping regular time, make the
very earth itself tremble, and the quivering rattle of assegai hafts is
echoed back from the dark, brooding hills, and the volume of the fierce
and threatening song, with its final chorus of "Ha--ha--ha!" becomes as
the mad roaring of a legion of wild beasts, ravaging for blood. Worked
up to a degree of incontrollable excitement, the savages foam at the
lips and their eyeballs seem to start from the sockets, as turning to
each other they go through the pantomime of encountering and slaying an
imaginary foe; and even in the background a number of women have formed
up behind the dancing warriors and with more than all the barbarity of
the latter are playing at beating out the brains of the wounded with
knob-kerries. The roar and rattle of the hideous performance goes up to
the heavens, cleaving the solemn silence of the sweet African night.
The leaping, bounding, perspiring shapes, look truly devilish in the red
firelight. The excitement of the fierce savages seems to have reached a
pitch little short of downright frenzy. Yet it shows no signs of
abating. _For they have eaten meat_.