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Other documents randomly have
different content
embattled castle. As the atmosphere became uniformly heated, the
mirage melted away into a soft, watery haze.
In usual refractions the inverted image of an object generally
appears above the object itself, but occasionally the effect is
reversed. Captain Scoresby, the well-known Arctic navigator, once by
these means discovered his father’s vessel the day before it actually
came in sight.
It has long puzzled the learned to account for the mirage. I
believe, however, it is now pretty well known to arise from the
unequal density and temperature of the lower strata of air.
The abundance of good water and pasturage had enabled our
cattle to get into excellent condition; and as the season was now far
advanced, and I was sufficiently well to travel, we deemed it
necessary to move slowly on toward the Cape Colony. Accordingly,
on the 9th of July we left our camp on the Aamhoup, a place where
we had experienced both misery and happiness.
Our course lay along and at the foot of a very picturesque range
of table hills, averaging about one thousand feet in height. To the
westward were also mountains of a similar nature, but less regular.
They were of the trap formation, and consisted chiefly of limestone.
Water continued for a time to be tolerably abundant, but
pasturage began soon to fail us. Two causes were to be assigned for
this, namely, the devastation of the locusts, and the inferior quality
of the soil, which became stony, interspersed here and there with
ridges of sand.
Among the latter we encountered herds of gemsboks, and troops
of lions following on their scent. The mere sight of the tracks of the
latter frightened a friend with whom I was traveling almost out of his
wits. We were riding in advance of our cattle at the time, and it was
with difficulty that I could prevent him from returning with
precipitation.
On the 4th of August we arrived in the neighborhood of another
Rhenish missionary station, called Bethany. Here we met with the
ebony-tree, of which I had only before seen a few stragglers in the
Swakop River, near the Usab gorge. Hence on to the Orange River
this tree became more or less abundant, but it was stunted and
gnarled. Our bivouac fires usually consisted of its wood.
While Hans and the men were busy preparing our food and camp
for the night, I strolled on to the station, which I found deserted by
every living creature. Only a short time previously the Rev. Mr.
Knudsen officiated here, but had been obliged to leave on account of
some disagreement with the native tribe and its chief, David
Christian. It had always been considered as inferior to most of the
other missionary stations in this part of Africa; but, what with the
absence of the inhabitants, the devastation of the locust—which had
destroyed every particle of vegetation—and the black and parched
appearance of the soil, it now looked wild and dreary in the extreme.
The lengthened shadows of evening threw an additional gloom over
this once busy scene of cheerful industry. Oh, changes, mysterious
and incomprehensible! Surely God, in his infinite wisdom, will not
permit the handiwork of his servants, raised only by years of
perseverance, toil, and privations, to perish without some
recompense!
Bethany, if I am not mistaken, became a scene of missionary labor
as early as 1820. The enterprising and venerable Mr. Schmelen then
officiated here, but he found it necessary, after a time, to abandon
the place. Subsequently to his departure it remained deserted for
upward of twenty years, when, in 1843, it was once more tenanted,
and this time by Mr. Knudsen, who, in his turn, as seen above, was
obliged to move off elsewhere.
After leaving Bethany, water and pasturage became every day
more scarce. All the vleys and pools of rain-water were dried up. The
Koanquip River, however, long befriended us, as in its bed we
generally managed to obtain a supply of grass and water for our
cattle, which now amounted to several hundred head.
But the labor and fatigue of watering the latter was immense. No
person who has not been circumstanced as we were can form the
least conception of the trouble, care, and anxiety that a large drove
of cattle occasions. Perhaps, after having dug for twenty consecutive
hours—and this I have done more than once—the water is found
insufficient in quantity, or (which is almost as bad) the ground falls
in, or the cattle themselves spoil it by their wallowing and
excrement.
These native cattle are the most troublesome and disgusting
brutes possible; for, after having spoiled the water by their own
wildness and wantonness, they rush furiously about, bellowing and
moaning. It is enough to discourage the stoutest heart.
When arriving at a place where we supposed water was to be
found, the plan usually adopted, in order to guard against the cattle
destroying our work, was to send them away to pasture. In the
mean time, every available man went speedily to work with such
implements as were procurable: spades, wooden troughs, pieces of
wood or of bark, were indifferently put in requisition; and even our
hands were used with great effect, though not without sustaining
injury. Having worked the aperture of sufficient depth and width, it
was fenced in by thorn-bushes, leaving only a single entrance. The
oxen were then sent for, and allowed to approach singly or in
greater number, according to the extent of the water. Sometimes,
however, if the nature of the ground did not permit the cattle to
have access to the water, a hollow was scooped in the earth near
the edge of the pit, into which (or into a piece of sail-cloth, if at
hand) the water was poured by means of small wooden pails,
usually denominated “bamboos.”
Owing to this tedious process, coupled with the slowness with
which water filters through sand, and the immense quantity (usually
five or six bucketsful) that a thirsty ox will drink, and the
quarrelsome disposition of the animals themselves, watering four
hundred head of cattle will often occupy a whole day or night; and,
since a person is in a great degree dependent on his cattle, whether
for food, draft, &c., he himself must never think of refreshment or
rest until their wants have been provided for.
 The scarcity of water, and the uncertainty of finding it in these
parched regions is so great, that when, after a long day’s journey,
the anxiously-looked-for pool is found to be dry, it is almost enough
to drive a man mad, especially if he be a stranger to the country,
and unaccustomed to traversing the African wilds. One’s cogitations
at such times are apt to be something to the following effect. “If I
advance and do not find water within a certain period, it will be
inevitable destruction. To retrace my steps to the last watering-place
is not to be thought of, as, from the distance and the exhausted
state of the cattle, it would never be reached. What remains for me
but to lie down and die?”
The common people at the Cape entertain a notion that cattle
refrain from feeding only once within the year, namely, on Christmas
eve. Then, it is affirmed, they fall on their knees, and with closed
mouths and half-shut eyes (a sign of placidity), silently thank the
Giver of all good things for the grass and water they have enjoyed
during the past twelve months. They say, moreover, that a person
may witness this act of devotion by keeping well to leeward and out
of sight of the animals.[61]
Our cattle consisted chiefly of the Damara breed, which, so far as
I am aware, differs widely from any found in Europe. They are big-
boned, but not particularly weighty; their legs are slender, and they
have small, hard, and durable feet. The hair on the body is short,
smooth, and glossy, and the extremity of the tail is adorned with a
tuft of long, bushy hair, nearly touching the ground. This tuft
constitutes the chief ornament of the Damara assegai.
But the horns are the most remarkable feature of the Damara
cattle. They are usually placed on the head at an angle of from
forty-five to ninety degrees, and are at times beautifully arched and
twisted, but rarely bent inward. They are of an incredible length, and
one often meets with oxen the tips of whose horns are from seven
to eight feet apart.
 SKULL OF A BECHUANA OX.

The Bechuana cattle (of greater bulk and stouter proportions)

seem to surpass the Damara cattle in this respect. Among many
other curious and interesting objects, there is now in the collection
of Colonel Thomas Steel, of Upper Brook Street, a perfect cranium of
a young Bechuana ox,[62] of which the wood-cut is a fair
representation. The following are its dimensions:

Entire length of horns from tip to tip along 13 ft. 5 in.

the curve
Distance (straight) between the tips of the 8 8¼
horns
Circumference of horns at the root 1 6½
Breadth of cranium between the eyes 0 9¼
Length ” ” ” 2 2

But I have been told on good authority that in some parts of Africa
horns of cattle are found greatly to exceed the above dimensions.
The horns, indeed, are of so enormous a size as seriously to
inconvenience the animal. Their length and weight have been known
to be so great as to twist the head to one side, one of the horns
dragging on the ground, while the other pointed upward.
 The Damaras prize their oxen in proportion to the size of their
horns. Some African tribes take much pains in forming them of a
certain shape. This is effected either by sawing off the tips, splitting
them, bending them forcibly when yet tender, and so forth.
The Damara cow is of slender proportions and very wild. Before
she can be milked, it is always needful to lash her head to a tree, in
like manner as the Laplanders treat their reindeer, or to tie her hind
legs together. The best cow rarely gives more than two or three
pints of milk daily, and, should her calf die or be taken from her, she
absolutely refuses to give any at all, in which case it is necessary to
resort to artificial means. One plan is to stuff a calf-skin with hay or
grass, and afterward to place it on the ground for the cow to slobber
over. Sometimes the adoption of the latter expedient gives rise to
ludicrous scenes; for the cow, when tenderly caressing her supposed
offspring, has all at once got scent of the hay or grass, when,
thrusting her snout into the skin, she has greedily devoured its
contents!
The Damaras, as well as other nations, take great delight in
having whole droves of cattle of the same color. The Namaquas have
a perfect mania for a uniform team. Bright brown is the favorite
color; and I myself have always found beasts of this hue to be the
strongest and most generally serviceable. Dark brown oxen with a
yellowish streak along the back—by the Dutch designated “geel-
bak”—are also usually stout and enduring. Yellow, and more
especially white, oxen are considered weak, and unable to bear
much fatigue or hardship.
The Damaras, as with almost every other people of Southern
Africa, value their cattle next to their women, and take a pride in
possessing animals that look high bred. The ox, in fact, forms the
chief theme of the songs of the Damaras. They, moreover, rarely or
never make use of a handsome animal as a beast of burden, but
employ quiet, ugly bulls for such purposes. These have a buffalo
look about them, and their horns, moreover, rarely attain to any size.
 From their quick step, good feet, and enduring powers, the
Damara cattle are much prized by the farmers of the Cape Colony.
The only drawback is their wildness and immense size of their horns,
which they sometimes use with fatal effect.
The day before we reached the Orange River we fell in with a
kraal of Hottentots, whom, to our great surprise, we found living in a
locality altogether destitute of water! The milk of their cows and
goats supplied its place. Their cattle, moreover, never obtained
water, but found a substitute in a kind of ice-plant
(mesembryanthemum), of an exceedingly succulent nature, which
abounds in these regions. But our own oxen, not accustomed to
such diet, would rarely or never touch it. Until I had actually
convinced myself—as I had often the opportunity of doing at an
after period—that men and beasts could live entirely without water, I
should, perhaps, have had some difficulty in realizing this singular
fact.
On the 21st of August we effected the passage of the Orange
River in safety at what is called the Zendlings Drift, or the missionary
ford. We had no boat, and those of the men who could not swim
were obliged to lay hold of the tails of the cattle, to which they
pertinaciously clung. On gaining the opposite bank, which was very
steep, the oxen, in climbing it, entirely submerged their charge, to
the great delight and amusement of such of their companions as had
landed at a more convenient point.
The Orange River was at this season almost at its lowest, yet it
was a noble and highly picturesque stream. Looking eastward, its
aspect was particularly imposing. Its breadth at this point might
have been from two to three hundred yards. The banks were on
both sides lined with evergreen thorns, drooping willows, ebony-
trees, &c.; and the water forced its passage through a bold and
striking gorge, overhung by precipices from two to three thousand
feet high. But the country all round was desolate. The hills, which at
some distant period had evidently been subject to volcanic
eruptions, had a sunburnt and crumbling appearance, and were
almost wholly destitute of vegetation. The soil in the neighborhood
of the mountains consisted of pure sand, and was covered with low
and succulent shrubs, from which our cattle, hitherto accustomed to
revel in the almost boundless savannas of Damara-land, turned with
disgust. The country for several weeks’ journey in advance of us was
represented as of a similar nature.
We began now seriously to tremble for the poor beasts, which had
already lost flesh. Upward of two months’ traveling had to be
performed before we could reach our destination.
With the exception of that portion of Namaqua-land and Damara-
land bordering on the coast, the part of the country I speak of has
the most inauspicious appearance I ever saw. Its sterility arises
probably from being situated near the limit, not only of the “thunder-
rains,” but of the regular rains (“mist-rains,” as they are called in the
colony), and the consequent frequency of great droughts. Indeed,
scarcely any rain falls here in some years.
 CHAPTER XXVI.
Great Namaqua-land.—Its Boundaries and Extent.—Its Rivers.—Nature of
the Country.—Vegetation and Climate.—Geological Structure.—
Minerals.—“Topnaars” and “Oerlams.”—Houses.—Mythology and
Religion.—Tumuli.—Wonderful Rock.—Curious Legend of the Hare.—
Coming of Age.—The Witch-doctor.—Amulets.—Superstitions.—A
Namaqua’s notion of the Sun.—Marriage.—Polygamy.—Children.—
Barbarous Practice.—Longevity.—Singular Customs.—Ornaments.—
Tattooing.—Arms.—Idle Habits.—Fond of Amusements.—Music and
Dancing.—Spirits.—Mead.—Domestic Animals.

Having now brought my narrative to a period when I am about to

leave Great Namaqua-land, it may be well to say a few words of this
country, its inhabitants, their manners and customs, &c.
The portion of Africa known as Namaqua-land is divided into two
distinct parts, viz., Little and Great Namaqua-land. By the former is
understood the territory (now British) between the Orange River and
about the 31st degree of latitude on the south; by the latter, the
country between the last-named river and Damara-land, its eastern
boundary being the Kalahari desert, while on the west it is washed
by the billows of the Atlantic Ocean.
Great Namaqua-land covers a surface of no less than one hundred
and twelve thousand geographical square miles,[63] with probably a
population of scarcely thirty thousand souls, or less than four
persons to the square mile. Excepting the great Sahara itself, there
is, perhaps, not a country in the world, of equal extent, so scantily
peopled, so destitute of water, so dismal, and so generally barren
and useless. It is truly a “region of curses.”
The coast-line of Great Namaqua-land, like that of Damara-land,
consists of a dreary sandy waste, extending in places from thirty to
forty miles into the interior—in others to a hundred or more—and is,
with very few exceptions, uninhabitable.
 Some of the rivers, such as the Kuisip, and others of little
importance, empty themselves into the Atlantic; but the larger
portion run in an easterly direction, and are chiefly tributaries to the
Fish River. This remarkable water-course, which takes its rise in the
most northerly limit of Great Namaqua-land, finally joins the Orange
River about three or four days’ journey from where the latter finds
an outlet into the sea, thus intersecting the country throughout its
entire length.
Great Namaqua-land is characterized by immense sandy plains,
traversed by hill and rock, and thickly strewn with quartz, which
reflects a dazzling and perplexing light. Two to three days’ journey
south of Rehoboth, the dense thorny bush, so peculiar to Damara-
land, ceases, and with the exception of a few mimosas along the
water-courses, and occasional ebony-trees, the arboreous vegetation
is scanty and stunted. For more than six months of the year it is
scorched by an almost vertical sun. The rains, which are always
accompanied by heavy thunder, are periodical and very partial. In its
northern portion, the wet season sets in at the same time as in
Damara-land; but in a southerly direction, the rains are later and
more uncertain; and, as has been said in the last chapter, little or
none falls about the lower course of the Orange River and the
neighborhood. The springs (which are often either hot or salt) are
indifferent and scantily distributed. The periodical water-courses,
therefore, afford the chief supply.
The Namaquas, as well as the Damaras, are loud in their
complaints that less rain falls now than half a century back. Indeed,
the numerous ancient beds of rivers in the vast sandy plains, and
the deeply-scored slopes and sides of the now “sunburnt” and
crumbling hills, clearly indicate that almost the whole country north
of the Orange River, as far as Europeans have penetrated from the
Cape side, has at some former period been much more abundantly
watered. In some parts, the destruction of forests, which are well
known to retain and condense vapory particles, may partly account
for such atmospheric changes; but in this region we must look for
other causes.
 In a geological point of view, Great Namaqua-land presents many
interesting features. Between the Orange River and Walfisch Bay,
beginning at the sea-side, three distinct terrace-like risings of the
country are recognized. Besides the granite, which is the prevailing
rock, great masses of quartz are met with either, as aforesaid,
scattered over its surface, or filling up the large gaps and fissures
occasioned by ancient eruptions. Iron and sandstone, and slate
formations, are also not uncommon.
At some remote period this land must have been subjected to
volcanic agencies; and though not one of these has taken place in
the memory of the present generation, rumbling noises underground
and tremors of the earth are of frequent occurrence. The existence
of hot water springs; the confusion of the fantastically and curiously-
shaped hills—“the strata bending and dipping from the perpendicular
to the horizontal, and in others extending in a straight line from one
hill to another”—bear ample testimony to its volcanic nature. The
presence, moreover, of vast quantities of minerals is a further
evidence of its igneous character. Tin, lead, iron, and copper ore is
often met with. I have had specimens of the latter mineral in my
possession containing from forty to ninety per cent. of pure metal.
At eight to ten days’ journey with “ox wagon,” east of the missionary
station, Bethany, meteoric iron is found in apparently inexhaustible
quantities. I have seen lumps, of several hundred weights, brought
from thence, so pure and malleable that the natives converted it into
balls for their guns, &c., without any previous application of fire. As
Great Namaqua-land becomes better known, it is more than
probable that it will be found equally prolific in minerals—if not more
so—as Little Namaqua-land, where, of late, extensive and valuable
mines have been brought to light.
The term Hottentot and Namaqua have probably originated with
Europeans, since neither is found in the native language. The
Hottentots of these regions may be divided into two great branches,
viz., the “Topnaars” and the “Oerlams.” With the latter is generally
understood the newcomers and the semi-civilized; but the real
signification of the term is doubtful. Some conjecture the “Oerlam”
to be a corruption of the Dutch word “o’erland,” or overland—that is,
people who have come over land. Be this as it may, the Namaqua-
Hottentots consider it as a compliment to be addressed as “Oerlam.”
“Topnaar,” on the other hand, signifies the First, the Highest, the
Great, or those who originally inhabited Great Namaqua-land, and
they view with considerable jealousy the progress and superiority of
the “Oerlams,” whom they justly consider as intruders.
The northern Namaquas are divided into numerous tribes, each
under petty chiefs. The principal of these are Jonker Afrikaner,
Cornelius, Amral, Zwartbooi, Jan Boois, William Fransman, Paul
Goliath, David Christian, and Bondel Zwartz.
The Namaquas dwell in small round huts, made on the same
principle as those of the Damaras, and covered with mats composed
of rushes, which are prepared in the following manner: A quantity of
the inner bark of the mimosa is collected and dried. When wanted
for immediate use, the required portion is put into hot water and
softened. Each member of the family then fills his mouth with as
much of the fibre as it can hold, and chews it until it becomes quite
pliable, when it is at once converted into strings by the rude process
of twisting it on the naked leg. A large quantity is in this manner
manufactured in an incredibly short time. The rushes are then cut to
the desired length, and laid out on the ground singly, and in a row,
when holes are made, at intervals of about two inches, through each
rush, and the string in question passed through them by means of a
bone or thorn needle. The ends of the rushes, however, are secured
more strongly by back-stitches. These mats serve a double purpose.
In warm weather they are open and airy, while, being of a porous
texture, a shower closes them, and after a while they become proof
against the most deluging rains.
When they remove their habitations, these mattings and the
frame-work of the hut, which consists of semicircular boughs, are
packed on oxen. Their household utensils, such as calabashes, milk-
pails, pots, &c., are suspended to the boughs, and in the midst of all
this confusion is often seated the good dame of the house,
surrounded by her promising offspring.
It has been asserted by travelers and others that the Namaquas
have not the slightest idea of a Superior Being, or of a life hereafter.
Yet they believe in Heitjeebib, or Heitjekobib, whom they consider to
have the power to grant or withhold them success and prosperity.
But whether Heitjeebib is a deity, a goblin, or merely a deified
ancestor, I shall not presume to say. At all events, they affirm he
exists in the graves of all deceased people; and whenever a
Hottentot passes a burial-place, he invariably throws a stone, a
bush, or other token of offering and affection on the tomb,
pronouncing the name of Heitjeebib, and invoking his blessing and
protection in his undertakings. From being thus constantly added to,
these heaps often attain a great size. They are found throughout the
country (I have observed them even in Damara-land), and
frequently in situations perfectly “stoneless,” from which may be
inferred that the natives carry the materials a long distance. Captain
Harris mentions having seen similar heaps among the Matabili, but
was unable to account for their presence. The Hottentots have an
indistinct notion that they came from an easterly direction, and it is
possible that the stone tumuli found by the traveler may have
something to do with this tradition.
The natives in these parts have a strange tale of a rock in which
the tracks of all the different animals indigenous to the country are
distinctly visible; moreover, that man and beast lived here together
in great amity; but one day, from some unknown cause, their Deity
appeared unexpectedly and dispersed them. I never had the good
fortune to obtain a sight of this marvelous rock. Mr. Moffat, who
makes mention of a similar story prevailing among the Bechuanas,
was equally unsuccessful. “Once I heard a man of influence,” says
the reverend gentleman, “telling his story on the subject. I, of
course, could not say that I believed the wondrous tale, but very
mildly hinted that he might be misinformed, on which he swore, by
his ancestors and his king, that he had visited the spot, and paid a
tax to see the wonder; and that, consequently, his testimony was
indubitable.”
The Namaquas have the following singular superstition with
regard to the hare, which no adult is allowed to eat. The legend
involves the sublime Christian doctrine of immortality.
Once upon a time the moon called the hare, and commanded him
to convey to man the following message: “As I die and am born
again,[64] so you shall die and be again alive.” The hare hastened to
obey; but instead of saying, “As I die and am born again,” he said,
“As I die and am not born again.” On his return, the moon inquired
what words he had conveyed to mankind; and on being informed,
the luminary exclaimed, “What! have you said to man, ‘As I die and
am not born again, so you shall die and not be again alive!’” And
with this he hurled a stick at the hare with such force as to split
open his lips, which is the cause of the peculiar formation of this
animal’s mouth. The hare quickly betook himself to flight, and is said
to be flying to the present day. The old Namaquas used to say, “We
are still enraged with the hare, because he has brought such a bad
message, and we will not eat him.”
On the occasion of a youth coming of age, or, rather, when
becoming a “man,” there is great rejoicing. From that day forward he
is forbidden to eat the hare, or even to come in contact with the fire
where this animal has been prepared. Should he transgress this
command, he is not unfrequently banished from his werft, though,
on paying a fine, he may again be admitted to the community. He is,
moreover, no longer permitted to “suck the goats.”[65]
The Namaquas, like almost all nations who are sunk in barbarism,
have great faith in sorcery, and male and female witch-doctors
equally play conspicuous parts. These impostors are supposed to
have the power to procure rain, to restore the sick to health, to
discover the cause of a person’s death, and to perform other
miracles. They are crafty creatures, and know how to take
advantage of the popular ignorance. Even civilized men have been
deceived by their wiles. Their principal stipulation before they
exercise any of their arts is to have some animal slaughtered, which
they prescribe according to their fancy and to the wealth of their
patients. Mr. Moffat tells us that a stout ox might be a cure for a
slight cold in a chieftain, while a kid would be a remedy for a fever
among the poor, from whom there could be no chance of obtaining
any thing greater.
The Namaqua witch-doctor is called kaiaob, or kaiaobs if a
woman. On being called to the sick-bed, after having examined the
patient, he or she generally declares that the ailment is caused by a
great snake (toros) having fired an arrow into the stomach. The
sorcerer operates by feeling this part of the body, and by a good
squeezing endeavors to coax the illness away. Another approved
plan is to make a small incision on the body about the place where
the cause of the disease is supposed to lurk, and to suck it out. The
production of a snake, a frog, an insect, or the like, is frequently the
result. Eyebrecht solemnly declared that he once was an eye-witness
to such an operation on a woman at Jonker’s place. When the witch-
doctor arrived, a sheep was killed, and the sinews of the back were
cut out and rolled up into a small ball, which the patient was made
to swallow, the remainder of the animal, of course, being
appropriated to the sorcerer’s own stomach. A few days afterward
the wizard returned, and cut some small holes in the abdomen of
the patient, on which a small snake escaped, then a lizard,
numerous other animals following.
To become a witch-doctor of any importance, a person is required
to be instructed by one previously well versed in the mysteries of the
black art. He must begin his lessons by swallowing animal poison, be
bitten by venomous reptiles, or have poison inoculated into his body.
A cap, a handkerchief, or any sort of clothing worn by such a person
until it has become perfectly saturated with filth is considered the
most infallible cure for all kinds of diseases, poisonous bites, &c. On
emergences a corner of this treasure is washed, and the dirty water
thus produced is given to the patient, beast or man, to drink. The
chief Amral assured me that he possessed a cap of this kind with
which he had effected innumerable cures. “It is sure,” he said, “to
cause relief when nothing else is of any avail.” The witch-doctors
have also other disgusting methods of effecting cures.
Like most of the tribes in Southern Africa, the Namaquas have
great faith in amulets, which consist, as usual, of the teeth and
claws of lions, hyænas, and other wild beasts, pieces of wood, bone,
dried flesh and fat, roots of plants, &c.
When a chief died, it was formerly customary to call the whole
tribe together, and to give a grand feast in honor of the occasion.
The fat, and all the choice parts of the slaughtered animals, were
preserved for the son of the deceased, who was to succeed his
father in the chieftainship.[66] The raw fat was placed on his head,
and worn until it became dry, when it was transferred to some
crone, who carefully preserved it as a much-prized amulet.
During his journeyings in Great Namaqua-land, Sir James
Alexander was told by the natives that the Bushwomen have it in
their power to change their forms into lions, hyænas, and other
beasts of prey. The following legend illustrates this superstition:
“Once on a time, a certain Namaqua was traveling in company
with a Bushwoman carrying a child on her back. They had
proceeded some distance on their journey, when a troop of wild
horses (zebras) appeared, and the man said to the woman, ‘I am
hungry; and as I know you can turn yourself into a lion, do so now,
and catch us a wild horse, that we may eat.’
“The woman answered, ‘You’ll be afraid.’
“‘No, no,’ said the man. ‘I am afraid of dying of hunger, but not of
you.’
“While he was speaking, hair began to appear at the back of the
woman’s neck, her nails assumed the appearance of claws, and her
features altered. She set down the child.
“The man, alarmed at the change, climbed a tree close by, while
the woman glared at him fearfully; and, going to one side, she threw
off her skin petticoat, when a perfect lion rushed out into the plain.
It bounded and crept among the bushes toward the wild horses;
and, springing on one of them, it fell, and the lion lapped its blood.
The lion then came back to where the child was crying, and the man
called from the tree, ‘Enough! enough! Don’t hurt me. Put off your
lion’s shape. I’ll never ask to see this again.’
“The lion looked at him and growled. ‘I’ll remain here till I die,’
exclaimed the man, ‘if you don’t become a woman again.’ The mane
and tail began to disappear, the lion went toward the bush where
the skin petticoat lay: it was slipped on, and the woman, in her
proper shape, took up the child. The man descended, partook of the
horse’s flesh, but never again asked the woman to catch game for
him.”
On the death of a person, some of his cattle (the richer the
deceased, the more numerous the animals) are killed, and a banquet
is given to his relations and friends. On these occasions the poor
beasts are suffocated. Ordinarily, and when intended for food alone,
animals are dispatched by some sharp-cutting instrument. The flesh,
never eaten raw, and not often when roasted, is usually served up
when boiled.
The ideas of a Namaqua as to the formation and rotary motion of
the heavenly bodies, if not very profound, are unquestionably very
original. “The sun, by some of the people of this benighted land,”
says an enterprising traveler, “is considered to be a mass of fat,
which descends nightly to the sea, where it is laid hold of by the
chief of a white man’s ship, who cuts away a portion of tallow, and,
giving the rest a kick, it bounds away, sinks under the wave, goes
round below, and then comes up again in the east.”
When a man feels a desire to enter the matrimonial state, he goes
to the father of the woman on whom he has settled his affection,
and demands her in marriage. If the parent be favorable to the
match, the affair may be considered as settled. An ox or a cow is
then killed outside the door of the bride’s home, and the ceremony is
over.
 Polygamy is practiced without limitation. If a man become tired of
his wife, he unceremoniously returns her to the parental roof, and
however much she (or the parents) may object to so summary a
proceeding, there is no remedy.
Widows are left to shift for themselves.
They neither cradle nor circumcise their children, which they are
said to name in the following singular manner. No man nor woman
has more than one name, which is retained even after marriage. If a
daughter be born, she assumes the name of her father, while a boy
would be called after his mother, with very little alteration. I never
could understand the reason of this.
Within the memory of the present generation, a barbarous
practice prevailed of leaving old and disabled people to perish far
away from the dwellings of men. A slight fence was raised round the
“living-dead,” and a small supply of water was placed at his side,
when he was abandoned to his fate. Mr. Moffat, during his
wanderings in Namaqua-land, saw one of these wretches (a
woman), and on inquiring the cause of her being thus deserted, she
replied, “I am old, you see, and no longer able to serve them
(referring to her grown-up children). When they kill game, I am too
feeble to help in carrying home the flesh; I am incapable of
gathering wood to make fire; and I can not carry their children on
my back, as I used to do.”
The Namaquas may be said to be long-lived, for individuals have
been known to reach the advanced age of ninety, and even one
hundred years. This is the more remarkable, when the very
wretched life they lead is taken into consideration.
The Namaquas have a singular custom both among themselves
and with regard to strangers, which consists in the adoption of a
“father” and a “mother.” This practice is so widely observed, that few
who come in contact with the several tribes are able to avoid it.
Almost every European trader, indeed, possesses in each village
which he is in the habit of frequenting either a so-called “father” or
“mother.” But the custom is a most inconvenient one, to the traveler
at least, for he may be pretty sure that, as soon as this near degree
of consanguinity is established between himself and a Namaqua, he
will be asked for a horse or an ox, or it may be for the very coat
upon his back, which, as in duty bound, he is expected to hand over
to “papa” or “mamma,” as the case may be. The poor son, it is true,
has also the privilege of demanding any thing that may captivate his
fancy; but since a native is usually more forward and importunate
than a European, the bargain, as a rule, is generally a losing one to
the latter.
When two Namaquas are talking together, and one is relating a
story, the listener repeats the last words of the speaker, even if he
should know as much of the matter as his informant. For instance: if
a man begin his recital by saying, “As I walked along the river, a very
large rhinoceros rushed suddenly upon me.” “Rushed suddenly upon
me,” echoes the auditor. “He was very fat.” “Very fat,” the other
ejaculates, and so forth.
The Namaquas are fond of ornamenting their persons profusely
with brass, iron, and copper, but more especially with small beads of
various colors. A kind of black, dull bead, manufactured by
themselves, is particularly esteemed. A quantity of resin is procured,
which they melt and mix with powdered charcoal, and, during the
process of cooling, it is diligently kneaded, until, being converted to
the consistency of gum, it is drawn out into long, narrow bars. Again
it is gently heated over a slow fire, when small bits are detached and
worked between the fingers till they assume the desired shape.
Their patterns of bead-work are by no means devoid of taste.
These people tattoo themselves, and also anoint and besprinkle
their bodies with a profusion of grease and powders. The latter are
of several kinds, and are chiefly obtained from the leaves of plants
of the croton and diosma families. These powders are called “buku”
by the Namaquas, and are much esteemed, more especially the kind
procured south of the Orange River, which has a very agreeable and
aromatic scent.
 The sole arms of the Namaquas of the present day are guns. Their
original weapons, which consisted of the bow and arrow, the
assegai, and an immense shield (made out of an entire, single-
folded ox-hide), are now rarely seen.
The Namaquas are an excessively idle race. They may be seen
basking in the sun for days together in listless inactivity, frequently
almost perishing from thirst or hunger, when, with very little
exertion, they may have it in their power to satisfy the cravings of
nature. If urged to work, they have been heard to say, “Why should
we resemble the worms of the ground?” A few may occasionally be
seen employing themselves in making neat little camp-stools and in
repairing guns, for which they have a certain aptitude. Jonker
Afrikaner—be it said to his honor—is by far the most industrious
Hottentot that I have yet seen.
They are excessively fond of diversions, more especially music and
dancing. They do not, however, distinguish themselves by grace in
their movements, nor do they even possess that dexterity and
flexibility of limb that the Ovambo ladies—at the expense of our
peace of mind—exhibited at King Nangoro’s court ball.
They understand and practice the art of distilling spirits. When a
certain kind of berry, of a sweet and agreeable taste, is ripe, large
quantities are collected and put into a skin bag to ferment. On being
sufficiently advanced, they are deposited in a large pot and boiled,
and the steam drawn off into another vessel joined to it by an old
gun-barrel. The liquor is then allowed to settle for a few days, and
becomes so strong and intoxicating that a small glass or two is
sufficient to upset any man’s reason not previously accustomed to it.
I have seen the natives become perfectly maddened by its effect.
They also make a kind of mead (a favorite drink with the ancient
Northmen), which is a pleasant and refreshing beverage, and, unless
partaken of to excess, is comparatively harmless.
The domestic animals of the country are the cow, the sheep, the
goat, and the dog. The sheep is highly prized by them, so much so
that at one time (before the introduction of tobacco) it was more
thought of than any thing else—even than women! The original
breed of Namaqua cattle is nearly extinct. The southern tribes still
possess it, though more or less mixed with that of the colony and
Damara-land. In shape and size the Namaqua cattle approach nearer
the European breed than to that indigenous to the countries north of
them. They are of moderate size, very compact, and have short but
stout horns (usually curved inward), with rather large hoofs.
 CHAPTER XXVII.
Leave the Orange River.—Arrival at Komaggas.—Gardening and
Agriculture.—The Author starts alone for the Cape.—Colony Horses.—
Enmity of the Boers to “Britishers.”—Dutch Salutation.—The Author
must have been at Timbuctoo, whether or no.—He arrives at Cape-
Town.—Cuts a sorry figure.—Is run away with.—A Feast of Oranges.
—Ghost Stories.—Cattle Auction.—Hans and John Allen proceed to
Australia.—Preparations for Journey to the Ngami.—Departure from
the Cape.

On the 25th of August we left the inhospitable banks of the

Orange River. After rather more than a week’s slow travel through
dreary and uninteresting tracts of land, covered by a deep, yielding
sandy soil, bearing a dwarfish vegetation, we arrived at Komaggas,
also a Rhenish missionary station. The Rev. Mr. Weich now officiated
here.[67] The congregation consists of a promiscuous collection of
Hottentots and the offspring of other dark-colored natives.
Komaggas is picturesquely situated, and well supplied with water.
Gardening is brought almost to perfection; and, notwithstanding the
dryness of the atmosphere, corn is cultivated with success in the
neighborhood. Indeed, the best wheat in the west part of the colony,
I am informed, is grown here; but its cultivation is attended with
much labor, since it can only be raised on the summit of hills (which
retain moisture longer than the lowlands) rising not unfrequently
several thousand feet above the sea.
Except at the station and one or two other spots, the extensive
grounds are scantily watered and ill adapted for grazing. During our
visit, numbers of cattle were dying from starvation. The region is,
moreover, in some seasons infected by diseases fatal to beasts of
pasture, and these maladies, of late years, have been of so
destructive a character as nearly to exterminate the cattle. Indeed,
many of the Bastards and Hottentots, who chiefly inhabit these
parts, and who were formerly living in great abundance, are reduced
to beggary from this cause.
I now determined to leave Hans, and proceed in advance to Cape-
Town, with a view of making arrangements about the sale of the
cattle and the intended expedition to the Ngami. As we were now in
a locality where horses might be obtained, I procured three or four
of these animals without delay, partly for cash and partly for cattle.
The rate of exchange was from five to ten oxen, according to the
qualities of the horse; or, if money, 100 rix doll. (£7.10). A first-rate
hack might be purchased for £10, though, of course, high-bred
horses were more expensive.
The Cape Colony horse is a wonderful beast. He is supposed to be
of Spanish descent, but of late years has been much crossed by
various breeds. Without any pretension to beauty, he is, perhaps,
unrivaled in docility, hardiness, and endurance. In eight days (one of
which was devoted to rest) I rode, accompanied by a Hottentot
servant, from near Komaggas to Cape-Town, a distance of upward of
four hundred miles by road, thus averaging fifty miles per day. On an
after occasion I remember to have performed upward of ninety miles
at a very great pace, only once or twice removing the saddle for a
few minutes. And be it borne in mind that the animals were young,
indifferently broken-in, unshod, and had never been stall-fed.
A most striking instance of the extraordinary endurance of Colony
horses occurred a few years ago in Great Namaqua-land. The animal
in question belonged to a son of the Hottentot chief Zwartbooi, who
one day, while hunting in an open tract of country, fell in with a
troop of eleven giraffes, to which he immediately gave chase, and
the whole of which he rode down and shot in succession. But the
immense exertion was too much for the gallant creature, whose life
was thus sacrificed.
This remarkable horse was well known throughout Great
Namaqua-land, and is said to have been quite mad with excitement
when he observed a wild animal. He only ceased to pursue when the
game was either killed or no longer in sight.
 The Colony horses, with a little training, answer admirably for
either hunting or shooting. They may be taught to remain stationary
for hours together by merely turning the bridle over their heads,
resting the extremities of the reins on the ground. They seldom trot;
the usual pace is a canter, and occasionally an amble.
So much has already been said and written on the Cape Colony,
its sturdy Boers, its soil, its productions, and so forth, that it would
be superfluous to add any thing farther. Suffice it to mention a few
of the most remarkable incidents of my journey.
Soon after leaving Komaggas, my horse—a young half-trained
stallion which had only been ridden thrice—shied, and, rearing on
his hind legs, came to the ground on his back with sudden violence.
Providentially, the soil was soft and yielding, and although I
sustained his whole weight for a few seconds, I escaped with no
worse consequence than a tight squeezing.
After leaving Komaggas the homesteads of the Boer became daily
more numerous. Riding up one morning to a house, with a view of
obtaining some bread and flour, I was greeted with the following civil
address: “Daar komt weder die verdoomde Engelsman;” that is,
“There comes again the cursed Englishman.” Though I had heard
much of the aversion these men entertain for all that is British, and
their coarse language in general, I certainly had not expected that
they would have carried their animosity so far. Walking straight up to
the individual that had thus accosted me, I said, in as good Dutch as
I could muster, “My good friend, in my country, when a stranger
does us the honor to pay us a visit, before even asking his errand or
his name, much less abusing him, we invite him to our table; and,
when he has quenched his thirst and satisfied his hunger, we may
probably inquire whence he comes or where he goes;” and with this
I leaped into the saddle. The fellow clearly felt the rebuke, for, on
turning my horse’s head away, he endeavored to persuade me to
stop; but his rude salutation had quite spoiled my appetite.
As a rule, however, though frequently coarse and abrupt in their
language and conversation, they are undeniably hospitable; and
when a person can converse with them in their own language, and
accommodate himself to their manners and peculiarities, they are
excellent fellows, as I have often experienced. To several of their
customs, nevertheless, the stranger will find some difficulty in
reconciling himself.
In these localities, on meeting a wayfaring man, the Dutch Boer
invariably thus accosts him: “Good-day! Where do you come from?
Where are you going? Are you married? How many children have
you?” and so forth. If you should be so unfortunate as not to have
entered into the marriage state, he is astonished beyond measure,
and looks upon you with something like contempt.
Like most people who are novices in a foreign language, I
committed at first sad mistakes, and many a joke and laugh
originated at my expense. Once, indeed, my awkwardness cost me
the loss of a supper, of which I stood greatly in need, having ridden
some fifty miles in the course of the day without tasting food of any
description. In the Dutch language, “danken” signifies a direct
refusal; but, not being aware of this, I interpreted it in the very
reverse sense, as meaning, “If you please.” As often, therefore, as I
repeated the ominous word, so often had I the mortification of
seeing the smoking dishes pass by me!
Refreshing myself one afternoon at a comfortable farmhouse, the
worthy host inquired whence and how far I had journeyed. Having
made a rough calculation in my own mind, I told him the
approximate distance. No sooner had I done so than he clasped his
hands together, and, turning to his wife, exclaimed, in the utmost
amazement, “Gracious heavens! the man has been in Timbuctoo!”
“No, my good friend, not quite so far,” I remarked. But he became
too much absorbed in the novel idea, and, without attending to me,
he went on to say, “Yes, indeed, the man has been at Timbuctoo.” I
again took the liberty to remonstrate, when his brother, who was
also present, ejaculated, “Yes, brother, you are right. Timbuctoo! ah!
eh? yes! Let me see, Timbuctoo. Ah! I remember to have read that it
is situated at the end of Africa, in a place where you can see nothing
but sand.” Once more I attempted to explain, but to no purpose.
Right or wrong, I must have been at Timbuctoo. I secretly wished I
had been there.
Finding they apparently knew more about my travels than I did, I
left them to themselves to discuss the merit of the journey, and,
diving into the eatables which had been liberally spread before me, I
did ample justice to their hospitality.
On the 22d of September I reached Cape-Town, where my
appearance afforded no little delight and amusement to the mob,
who shouted merrily after me, “Look at the jockey! ha! ha! ha!” My
dress was certainly highly picturesque. An old English hunting-cap—
a present from a friend—adorned my head. The striped jacket that I
wore, now well bleached with sun and rain, had shrunk to such a
degree as to reach only a few inches down my back; and as for
sleeves, they just covered the elbows, the rest having been left on
the “Wacht-een-bigte” bushes. My nether garments, consisting of a
pair of moleskin trowsers, were on a par with my jacket, for they
hardly reached to the calf of my leg; and, to complete the “turn-out,”
my “veld” shoes were of untanned leather, and so sunburnt as to
resemble bricks. And as Cape-Town at that time could boast of no
“Moses and Son,” or “Silver and Co.,” it was only by degrees, and
exploring the different shops, that I was able to remodel my dress.
I lost no time in advertising our cattle; and, having secured a good
auctioneer and made some other arrangements, I again set off to
join my party.
Just as I left Cape-Town, my horse, which was excessively shy,
took fright, and started off at a rate which would have “taken the
shine” out of even John Gilpin’s runaway steed. In the attempt to
stop him, the bit (a very substantial one) broke, and in an instant I
was at the animal’s mercy. Finding myself in an awkward
predicament, and being desirous to shorten the race as much as
possible, I unhesitatingly gave him both spur and whip, and, as a
consequence, ditches, walls, and fences were leaped and passed at
a fearful rate, to the great danger of myself and those I
encountered. I do not profess to be skilled in horsemanship, my
experience as an equestrian being very small. It was, therefore, as
much as I could do to keep my seat. Nevertheless, I had the good
fortune to escape unhurt, for after a while my steed became
exhausted, and pulled up of his own accord.
I found Hans in good health. The Dutch Boers had once or twice
behaved rudely, but the Dane’s herculean appearance and
independent manner quickly cooled their ire, and he was allowed to
pass unmolested. He told his adventures with graphic effect and racy
humor.
Oranges, which are very abundant in these parts, were beginning
to ripen. One day some of our Damaras expressed a wish to taste
the enticing fruit, and, being supplied with a shilling, they started off.
In a short time they brought back no less than two hundred
oranges. They had scarcely finished a dozen or two, however, before
the effect became irresistible. The acidity of the fruit at this time of
the year was so great that it acted with the force of gun-cotton; and,
after having a “good blow-out,” they were so disordered as to be
unable to taste food for several successive days. Indeed, they were
effectually cured of their orange mania.
At the bivouac fire I was often entertained with ghost-stories.
John, our wagon-driver, who seemed fully to believe in apparitions,
was the chief narrator.
“Ghosts,” said he, “abound in and about the neighborhood of the
Cape. At times they appear in the shape of dogs; at others, in that
of human beings. Once, late at night, I was coming from Simon’s
Bay, when the oxen all of a sudden stopped short, and would have
darted right into the bush had I not been quick to turn them. Just
then, nothing could be seen; but presently a large white dog, with a
chain round the neck, appeared. He passed us slowly without
injuring us in any way, and shaped his course over a cross-road,
when we continued our journey. At another time I met the “spook”
(ghost) in the form of a very tall black man, accompanied by a large
dog of the same color.
 “Frequently, when returning late at night to my master’s place,
while yet at a distance, I have seen the whole yard and dwelling-
house splendidly illuminated, but on coming to the spot all was
gone.
“As a protection to the garden, my master had erected a hut,
where men slept at night. After a while, however, the place became
so haunted that the watchmen fled, and slept any where they could
in the bush. The ‘spooks’ were seen continually to promenade up
and down the walks arm-in-arm, taking an occasional peep into the
house.
“In dark nights a ghost would sometimes appear at the head of
the team, and, laying hold of the thong attached to the leading ox,
would conduct the cattle out of their proper course, I being totally
unconscious of the proceedings at the time.
“Again, I would hear wagons and carriages coming along the road
at a brisk pace, and, while making way for them to pass, I found, to
my astonishment, that the vehicles were already far ahead of us.”
On the 18th of October, and when within a day’s ride of Cape-
Town, we disposed of our cattle by public auction.
Owing to the great distance we had brought them, and the
scarcity of pasturage during the latter part of the journey, our cattle
had become very lean, and, although they were in themselves an
exceedingly fine lot, their want of condition neither suited the
butcher nor the grazier. In their emaciated state, indeed, it would
require fully a year before they would become acclimatized and
refattened, in which interval, and before getting accustomed to their
new pasturage, many would probably die. They scarcely averaged
£2 per head. The cows sold almost the best; not on account of the
milk they yielded, for that was little or nothing, but simply because,
strange to say, they were exempted from a peculiar disease
(strangury) which kills the oxen in these parts. The Boers are in
consequence obliged to make use of cows for agricultural purposes.
 It is customary on these occasions to give a banquet to the
purchasers, who chiefly consist of Dutch farmers; and if the cattle
are known to be fit for slaughter, the butchers of the metropolis also
come in for a share. A large quantity of wine is supposed to be
necessary to facilitate the sale. Fortunately, this kind of liquor is very
cheap; and though a person may have to entertain from fifty to one
hundred people for two days together, the expense of such festivities
rarely exceeds seven or eight pounds sterling.
Our hands being now free, the first object to which we turned our
attention was to secure a vessel to carry us back to Walfisch Bay.
There happened just then to be none at the Cape but we were
promised one within a certain period. In the mean time, we occupied
ourselves in making the needful purchases, &c.
I also made excursions into the neighborhood. Among other
interesting places, I visited, in company with Mr. Bain (the
distinguished South African geologist), the famous pass, called after
my kind host, Bain’s Kloof, through which the road leads across the
Drakenstein mountains from the village of Wellington to the district
of Worcestershire. The vignette below is a view of a certain part of
the pass designated Dacre’s pulpit, and has been selected from the
portfolio of an accomplished friend in Cape-Town.
 DACRE’S PULPIT.

We had nearly finished our arrangements when the news arrived

at the Cape of the extraordinary successes met with at the
Australian gold-diggings, and the same mania, though not quite to
the same extent, which had turned the people’s heads all over the
world, took possession of the inhabitants of this colony. Every
available vessel was bought up or chartered for the “diggings.” I
began seriously to apprehend that this would deprive us of the craft
we had engaged. Indeed, the owner did actually sell her, but,
fortunately, placed another at our disposal, the alteration, however,
causing us very great delay.
Though the loss, at this period, of the assistance of Hans would
have been grievous and irreparable, I thought it my duty to explain
to him the respective advantages of remaining with me and going to
Australia. By adhering to the trading, he would be pretty sure to
secure a fair income annually, while by adopting the other plan he