CHAPTER XIII.
HUNTING.
THE KAFFIR’S LOVE FOR THE CHASE — THE GAME AND CLIMATE OF AFRICA — THE ANTELOPES OF AFRICA — HUNTING THE KOODOO — USES OF THE HORNS — A SCENE ON THE UMGENIE RIVER — THE DUIKER-BOK AND ITS PECULIARITIES — ITS MODE OF ESCAPE AND TENACITY OF LIFE — SINGULAR MODE OF CONCEALMENT — THE ELAND, ITS FLESH AND FAT — CURIOUS SUPERSTITION OF THE ZULU WARRIORS — THIGH-TONGUES — MODE OF HUNTING THE ELAND — THE GEMSBOK — ITS INDIFFERENCE TO DRINK — DIFFICULTY OF HUNTING IT — HOW THE GEMSBOK WIELDS ITS HORNS — THEIR USES TO MAN — MODES OF TRAPPING AND DESTROYING ANTELOPES WHOLESALE — THE HOPO, OR LARGE PITFALL, ITS CONSTRUCTION AND MODE OF EMPLOYMENT — EXCITING SCENE AT THE HOPO — PITFALLS FOR SINGLE ANIMALS — THE STAKE AND THE RIDGE — THE GIRAFFE PITFALL — HUNTING THE ELEPHANT — USE OF THE DOGS — BEST PARTS OF THE ELEPHANT — HOW THE FOOT IS COOKED — VORACITY OF THE NATIVES — GAME IN A “HIGH” CONDITION — EXTRACTING THE TUSKS AND TEETH — CUTTING UP AN ELEPHANT — FLESH, FAT, AND SKIN OF THE RHINOCEROS — SOUTH AFRICAN “HAGGIS” — ASSAILING A HERD OF GAME — SLAUGHTER IN THE RAVINE — A HUNTING SCENE IN KAFFIRLAND — THE “KLOOF” AND THE “BUSH” — FALLS OF THE UMZIMVUBU RIVER — HUNTING DANCE — CHASE OF THE LION AND ITS SANGUINARY RESULTS — DINGAN’S DESPOTIC MANDATE — HUNTING THE BUFFALO.
Excepting war, there is no pursuit which is so engrossing to a Kaffir as the chase; and whether he unites with a number of his comrades in a campaign against his game, whether he pursues it singly, or whether he entices it into traps, he is wholly absorbed in the occupation, and pursues it with an enthusiasm to which a European is a stranger. Indeed, in many cases, and certainly in most instances, where a Kaffir is the hunter, the chase becomes a mimic warfare, which is waged sometimes against the strong, and sometimes against the weak; which opposes itself equally to the fierce activity of the lion, the resistless force of the elephant, the speed of the antelope, and the wariness of the zebra. The love of hunting is a necessity in such a country, which fully deserves the well-known title of the “Happy Hunting Grounds.” There is, perhaps, no country on earth where may be found such a wonderful variety of game in so small a compass, and which will serve to exercise, to the very utmost, every capacity for the chase that mankind can possess.
Southern Africa possesses the swiftest, the largest, the heaviest, the fiercest, the mightiest, and the tallest beasts in the world. The lofty mountain, the reed-clad dell, the thorny bush, the open plain, the river bank, and the very water itself, are filled with their proper inhabitants, simply on account of the variety of soil, which always produces a corresponding variety of inhabitants. The different kinds of herbage attract and sustain the animals that are suited to them; and were they to be extinct, the animals must follow in their wake. The larger carnivora are in their turn attracted by the herbivorous inhabitants of the country, and thus it happens that even a very slight modification in the vegetation has altered the whole character of a district. Mr. Moffatt has mentioned a curious instance of this fact.
He and his companions were in great jeopardy on account of a disappointed “rain-maker.” The country had originally been even remarkable for the quantity of rain which fell in it, and for its consequent fertility. The old men said that their forefathers had told them “of the floods of ancient times, the incessant showers which clothed the very rocks with verdure, and the giant trees and forests which once studded the brows of the Hamhana hills and neighboring plains. They boasted of the Kuruman and other rivers, with their impassable torrents, in which the hippopotami played, while the lowing herds walked up to their necks in grass, filling their makukas (milk-sacks) with milk, making every heart to sing for joy.”
That such tales were true was proved by the numerous stumps of huge acacia-trees, that showed where the forest had stood, and by the dry and parched ravines, which had evidently been the beds of rivers, and clothed with vegetation. For the drought the missionaries were held responsible, according to the invariable custom of the rain-makers, who are only too glad to find something on which to shift the blame when no rain follows their incantations. It was in vain that Mr. Moffatt reminded them that the drought had been known long before a white man set his foot on the soil. A savage African is, as a general rule, impervious to dates, not even having the least idea of his own age, so this argument failed utterly.
The real reason was evidently that which Mr. Moffatt detected, and which he tried in vain to impress upon the inhabitants of the land. They themselves, or rather their forefathers, were responsible for the cessation of rain, and the consequent change from a fertile land into a desert. For the sake of building their kraals and houses, they had cut down every tree that their axes could fell, and those that defied their rude tools they destroyed by fire. Now it is well known that trees, especially when in full foliage, are very powerful agents in causing rain, inasmuch as they condense the moisture floating in the air, and cause it to fall to the earth, instead of passing by in suspension. Every tree that is felled has some effect in reducing the quantity of rain; and when a forest is levelled with the ground, the different amount of rainfall becomes marked at once.
These tribes are inveterate destroyers of timber. When they wish to establish themselves in a fresh spot, and build a new kraal, they always station themselves close to the forest, or at all events to a large thicket, which in the course of time is levelled to the ground, the wood having been all used for building and culinary purposes. The tribe then go off to another spot, and cut down more timber; and it is to this custom that the great droughts of Southern Africa may partly be attributed.
The game which inhabited the fallen forests is perforce obliged to move into districts where the destructive axe has not been heard, and the whole of those animals that require a continual supply of water either die off for the want of it, or find their way into more favored regions. This is specially the case with the antelopes, which form the chief game of this land. Southern Africa absolutely teems with antelopes, some thirty species of which are known to inhabit this wonderful country. They are of all sizes, from the great elands and koodoos, which rival our finest cattle in weight and stature, to the tiny species which inhabit the bush, and have bodies scarcely larger than if they were rabbits. Some of them are solitary, others may be found in small parties, others unite in herds of incalculable numbers; while there are several species that form associations, not only with other species of their own group, but with giraffes, zebras, ostriches, and other strange companions. Each kind must be hunted in some special manner; and, as the antelopes are generally the wariest as well as the most active of game, the hunter must be thoroughly acquainted with his business before he can hope for success.
One of the antelopes which live in small parties is the koodoo, so well known for its magnificent spiral horns. To Europeans the koodoo is only interesting as being one of the most splendid of the antelope tribe, but to the Kaffir it is almost as valuable an animal as the cow. The flesh of the koodoo is well-flavored and tender, two qualities which are exceedingly rare among South African antelopes. The marrow taken from the leg bones is a great luxury with the Kaffirs, who are so fond of it that when they kill a koodoo they remove the leg bones, break them, and eat the marrow, not only without cooking, but while it is still warm. Revolting as such a practice may seem to us, it has been adopted even by English hunters, who have been sensible enough to accommodate themselves to circumstances.
Then, its hide, although comparatively thin, is singularly tough, and, when cut into narrow slips and properly manipulated, is used for a variety of purposes which a thicker hide could not fulfil. The toughness and strength of these thongs are really wonderful, and the rapidity with which they are made scarcely less so. I have seen an experienced skindresser cut a strip from a dried koodoo skin, and in less than half a minute produce a long, delicate thong, about as thick as ordinary whipcord, as pliant as silk, and beautifully rounded. I have often thought that the much vexed question of the best leather for boot-laces might be easily solved by the use of koodoo hide. Such thongs would be expensive in the outset, but their lasting powers would render them cheap in the long run.
The horns of the koodoo are greatly valued in this country, and command a high price, on account of their great beauty. The Kaffirs, however, value them even more than we do. They will allow the horns of the eland to lie about and perish, but those of the koodoo they carefully preserve for two special purposes,—namely, the forge and the smoking party. Although a Kaffir blacksmith will use the horns of the domestic ox, or of the eland, as tubes whereby the wind is conveyed from the bellows to the fire, he very much prefers those of the koodoo, and, if he should be fortunate enough to obtain a pair, he will lavish much pains on making a handsome pair of bellows. He also uses the koodoo horn in the manufacture of the remarkable water-pipe in which he smokes dakka, or hemp. On page 167 may be seen a figure of a Kaffir engaged in smoking a pipe made from the koodoo horn.
Like many other antelopes, the koodoo is a wary animal, and no small amount of pains must be taken before the hunter can succeed in his object. The koodoo is one of the antelopes that require water, and is not like its relative, the eland, which never cares to drink, and which contrives, in some mysterious manner, to be the largest, the fattest, and the plumpest of all the antelope tribe, though it lives far from water, and its principal food is herbage so dry that it can be rubbed to powder between the hands.
Each of the antelopes has its separate wiles, and puts in practice a different method of escape from an enemy. The pretty little Duiker-bok, for example, jumps about here and there with an erratic series of movements, reminding the sportsman of the behavior of a flushed snipe. Suddenly it will stop, as if tired, and lie down in the grass; but when the hunter comes to the spot, the animal has vanished. All the previous movements were merely for the purpose of distracting the attention of the hunter, and as soon as the little antelope crouched down, it lowered its head and crawled away on its knees under cover of the herbage. It is owing to this habit that the Dutch colonists called it the Duiker, or Diver. This little antelope is found in long grass, or among stunted bushes, and the wary Kaffir is sure to have his weapons ready whenever he passes by a spot where he may expect to find the Duyker, or Impoon, as he calls it. The creature is wonderfully tenacious of life, and, even when mortally wounded, it will make its escape from a hunter who does not know its peculiarities.
Other antelopes that inhabit grass and bush land have very ingenious modes of concealing themselves. Even on the bare plain they will crouch down in such odd attitudes that all trace of their ordinary outline is gone, and they contrive to arrange themselves in such a manner that at a little distance they much resemble a heap of withered grass and dead sticks, the former being represented by their fur, and the latter by their horns and limbs. An untrained eye would never discover one of these animals, and novices in African hunting can seldom distinguish the antelope even when it is pointed out to them.
Whenever a practised hunter sees an antelope crouching on the ground, he may be sure that the animal is perfectly aware of his presence, and is only watching for an opportunity to escape. If he were to go directly toward it, or even to stop and look at it, the antelope would know that it is detected, and would dart off while still out of range. But an experienced hunter always pretends not to have seen the animal, and instead of approaching it in a direct line, walks round and round the spot where it is lying, always coming nearer to his object, but never taking any apparent notice of it. The animal is quite bewildered by this mode of action, and cannot make up its mind what to do. It is not sure that it has been detected; and therefore does not like to run the risk of jumping up and openly betraying itself, and so it only crouches closer to the ground until its enemy is within range. The pretty antelope called the Ourebi is often taken in this manner.
Some antelopes cannot be taken in this manner. They are very wary animals, and, when they perceive an enemy, they immediately gallop off, and will go wonderful distances in an almost straight line. One of these animals is the well-known eland, an antelope which, in spite of its enormous size and great weight, is wonderfully swift and active; and, although a large eland will be nearly six feet high at the shoulders, and as largely built as our oxen, it will dash over rough hilly places at a pace that no horse can for a time equal. But it cannot keep up this pace for a very long time, as it becomes extremely fat and heavy; and if it be continually hard pressed, and not allowed to slacken its pace or to halt, it becomes so exhausted that it can be easily overtaken. The usual plan in such cases is to get in front of the tired eland, make it turn round, and thus drive it into the camping spot, where it can be killed, so that the hunters save themselves the trouble of carrying the meat to camp.
Eland hunting is always a favorite sport both with natives and white men, partly because its flesh is singularly excellent, and partly because a persevering chase is almost always rewarded with success. To the native, the eland is of peculiar value, because it furnishes an amount of meat which will feed them plentifully for several days. Moreover, the flesh is always tender, a quality which does not generally belong to South African venison. The Zulu warriors, however, do not eat the flesh of the eland, being restrained by superstitious motives.
Usually, when an antelope is killed, its flesh must either be eaten at once, before the animal heat has left the body, or it must be kept for a day or two, in order to free it from its toughness. But the flesh of the eland can be eaten even within a few hours after the animal has been killed. The hunters make a rather curious preparation from the flesh of the eland. They take out separately the muscles of the thighs, and cure them just as if they were tongues. These articles are called “thigh-tongues,” and are useful on a journey when provisions are likely to be scarce. Perhaps one of the greatest merits of the eland in a Kaffir’s eyes is the enormous quantity of fat which it will produce when in good condition. As has already been mentioned, fat is one of the necessaries of life to a Kaffir, as well as one of the greatest luxuries, and a bull eland in good condition furnishes a supply that will make a Kaffir happy for a month.
There is another South African antelope, which, like the eland, runs in a straight course when alarmed, but which, unlike the eland, is capable of great endurance. This is the splendid gemsbok, an antelope which is nearly as large as the eland, though not so massively built. This beautiful antelope is an inhabitant of the dry and parched plains of Southern Africa, and, like the eland, cares nothing for water, deriving all the moisture which it needs from certain succulent roots of a bulbous nature, which lie hidden in the soil, and which its instinct teaches it to unearth. This ability to sustain life without the aid of water renders its chase a very difficult matter, and the hunters, both native and European, are often baffled, not so much by the speed and endurance of the animal, as by the dry and thirsty plains through which it leads them, and in which they can find no water. The spoils of the gemsbok are therefore much valued, and its splendid horns will always command a high price, even in its own country, while in Europe they are sure of a sale.
The horns of this antelope are about three feet in length, and are very slightly curved. The mode in which they are placed on the head is rather curious. They are very nearly in a line with the forehead, so that when the animal is at rest their tips nearly touch the back. Horns thus set may be thought to be deprived of much of their capabilities, but the gemsbok has a rather curious mode of managing these weapons. When it desires to charge, or to receive the assaults of an enemy, it stoops its head nearly to the ground, the nose passing between the fore-feet. The horns are then directed toward the foe, their tips being some eighteen or twenty inches from the ground. As soon as the enemy comes within reach, the gemsbok turns its head strongly upward, and impales the antagonist on its horns, which are so sharp that they seem almost to have been pointed and polished by artificial means.
Dogs find the gemsbok to be one of their worst antagonists; for if they succeed in bringing it to bay, it wields its horns with such swift address that they cannot come within its reach without very great danger. Even when the animal has received a mortal wound, and been lying on the ground with only a few minutes of life in its body, it has been known to sweep its armed head so fiercely from side to side that it killed several of the dogs as they rushed in to seize the fallen enemy, wounded others severely, and kept a clear space within range of its horns. Except at certain seasons of the year, when the gemsbok becomes very fat, and is in consequence in bad condition for a long chase, the natives seldom try to pursue it, knowing that they are certain to have a very long run, and that the final capture of the animal is very uncertain.
As to those antelopes which gather themselves together in vast herds, the South African hunter acts on very different principles, and uses stratagem rather than speed or force. One of their most successful methods of destroying the game wholesale is by means of the remarkable trap called the Hopo. The hopo is, in fact, a very large pitfall, dug out with great labor, and capable of holding a vast number of animals. Trunks of trees are laid over it at each end, and a similar arrangement is made at the sides, so that a kind of overlapping edge is given to it, and a beast that has fallen into it cannot possibly escape. From this pit two fences diverge, in a V-like form, the pit being the apex. These fences are about a mile in length, and their extremities are a mile, or even more, apart.
Many hundreds of hunters then turn out, and ingeniously contrive to decoy or drive the herd of game into the treacherous space between the fences. They then form themselves into a cordon across the open end of the V, and advance slowly, so as to urge the animals onward. A miscellaneous company of elands, hartebeests, gnoos, zebras, and other animals, is thus driven nearer and nearer to destruction. Toward the angle of the V, the fence is narrowed into a kind of lane or passage, some fifty yards in length, and is made very strongly, so as to prevent the affrighted animals from breaking through. When a number of them have fairly entered the passage, the hunters dash forward, yelling at the full stretch of their powerful voices, brandishing their shields and assagais, and so terrifying the doomed animals that they dash blindly forward, and fall into the pit. It is useless for those in front to recoil when they see their danger, as they are pushed onward by their comrades, and in a few minutes the pit is full of dead and dying animals. Many of the herd escape when the pit is quite full, by passing over the bodies of their fallen companions, but enough are taken to feast the whole tribe for a considerable time. Those on the outskirts of the herd often break wildly away, and try to make their escape through the cordon of armed hunters. Many of them succeed in their endeavors, but others fall victims to the assagais which are hurled at them upon all sides.
Even such large game as the giraffe, the buffalo, and the rhinoceros have been taken in this ingenious and most effective trap. Dr. Livingstone mentions that the small sub-tribe called the Bakawas took from sixty to seventy head of cattle per week in the various hopos which they constructed.
The animated scene which takes place at one of these hunts is well described by Mr. H. H. Methuen, in his “Life in the Wilderness.” After mentioning the pitfall and the two diverging fences, between which a herd of quaggas had been enclosed, he proceeds as follows: “Noises thickened round me, and men rushed past, their skin cloaks streaming in the wind, till, from their black naked figures and wild gestures, it wanted no Martin to imagine a Pandemonium. I pressed hard upon the flying animals, and galloping down the lane, saw the pits choke-full; while several of the quaggas, noticing their danger, turned upon me, ears back, and teeth showing, compelling me to retreat with equal celerity from them. Some natives standing in the lane made the fugitives run the gauntlet with their assagais. As each quagga made a dash at them, they pressed their backs into the hedge, and held their hard ox-hide shields in his face, hurling their spears into his side as he passed onward. One managed to burst through the hedge and escape; the rest fell pierced with assagais, like so many porcupines. Men are often killed in these hunts, when buffaloes turn back in a similar way.
“It was some little time before Bari and I could find a gap in the hedge and get round to the pits, but at length we found one, and then a scene exhibited itself which baffles description. So full were the pits that many animals had run over the bodies of their comrades, and got free. Never can I forget that bloody, murderous spectacle; a moaning, wriggling mass of quaggas, huddled and jammed together in the most inextricable confusion; some were on their backs, with their heels up, and others lying across them; some had taken a dive and only displayed their tails; all lay interlocked like a bucketful of eels. The savages, frantic with excitement, yelled round them, thrusting their assagais with smiles of satisfaction into the upper ones, and leaving them to suffocate those beneath, evidently rejoicing in the agony of their victims. Moseleli, the chief, was there in person, and after the lapse of half an hour, the poles at the entrance of the pits being removed, the dead bodies, in all the contortions and stiffness of death, were drawn out by hooked stakes secured through the main sinew of the neck, a rude song, with extemporary words, being chanted the while.”
The narrator mentions that out of one pit, only twelve feet square and six deep, he saw twenty “quaggas” extracted.
Sometimes pitfalls are constructed for the reception of single animals, such as the elephant, the hippopotamus, and the rhinoceros. These are made chiefly in two modes. The pitfalls which are intended for catching the three last mentioned animals are tolerably large, but not very deep, because the size and weight of the prisoners prevent them from making their escape. Moreover, a stout stake, some five feet or more in length, and sharpened at the top, is placed in the middle of the pit, so that the animal falls upon it and is impaled. The pits are neatly covered with sticks, leaves, and earth, so ingeniously disposed that they look exactly like the surface of the ground, and are dangerous, not only to the beasts which they are intended to catch, but to men and horses. So many accidents have happened by means of these pits, that when a traveller goes from one district to another he sends notice of his coming, so that all the pitfalls that lie in his way may be opened.
Elephants are, of course, the most valuable game that can be taken in these traps, because their tusks can be sold at a high price, and their flesh supplies a vast quantity of meat. As the elephant is a terrible enemy to their cornfields and storehouses, the natives are in the habit of guarding the approaches by means of these pitfalls, and at first find their stratagem totally successful. But the elephants are so crafty that they soon learn caution from the fate of their comrades, and it is as difficult to catch an elephant in a pitfall as it is to catch an old rat in a trap. Having been accustomed to such succulent repasts, the elephants do not like to give up their feasts altogether, and proceed on their nocturnal expeditions much as usual. But some of the oldest and wariest of the herd go in front, and when they come near the cultivated ground, they beat the earth with their trunks, not venturing a step until they have ascertained that their footing is safe. As soon as they come to a pitfall, the hollow sound warns them of danger. They instantly stop, tear the covering of the pitfall to pieces, and, having thus unmasked it, proceed on their way.
The pitfall which is made for the giraffe is constructed on a different principle. Owing to the exceedingly long limbs of the animal, it is dug at least ten feet in depth. But, instead of being a mere pit, a wall or bank of earth is left in the middle, about seven feet in height, and shaped much like the letter A. As soon as the giraffe tumbles into the pit, its fore and hind legs fall on opposite sides of the wall, so that the animal is balanced on its belly, and wastes its strength in plunging about in hopes of finding a foothold.
Sometimes a number of Kaffirs turn out for the purpose of elephant hunting. By dint of the wary caution which they can always exercise when in pursuit of game, they find out the animal which possesses the finest tusks, and mark all his peculiarities; they then watch the spot where he treads, and, by means of a lump of soft clay, they take an impression of his footmarks. The reason for doing so is simple enough, viz. that if they should have to chase him, they may not run the risk of confounding his footmarks with those of other elephants. The sole of every elephant’s foot is traversed by a number of indented lines, and in no two specimens are these lines alike. The clay model of the footprints serves them as a guide whereby they may assure themselves that they are on the right track whenever they come to the neighborhood of water, where the ground is soft, and where the footprints of many elephants are sure to be found. Their next endeavor is to creep near enough to the elephant to inflict a severe wound upon it, an object which is generally attained by a number of the dark hunters gliding among the trees, and simultaneously hurling their spears at the unsuspecting animal. The wounded elephant is nearly certain to charge directly at the spot from which he fancies that the assault has been made, and his shriek of mingled rage and alarm is sure to cause the rest of the herd to rush off in terror. The hunters then try by various stratagems to isolate the wounded animal from its comrades, and to prevent him from rejoining them, while at every opportunity fresh assagais are thrown, and the elephant is never permitted to rest.
As a wounded elephant always makes for the bush, it would be quite safe from white hunters, though not so from the lithe and naked Kaffirs, who glide through the underwood and between the trees faster than the elephant can push its way through them. Every now and then it will turn and charge madly at its foes, but it expends its strength in vain, as they escape by nimbly jumping behind trees, or, in critical cases, by climbing up them, knowing that an elephant never seems to comprehend that a foe can be anywhere but on the ground.
In this kind of chase they are much assisted by their dogs, which bark incessantly at the animal, and serve to distract its attention from the hunters. It may seem strange that so huge an animal as the elephant should be in the least impeded by such small creatures as dogs, which, even if he stood still and allowed them to bite his legs to their hearts’ content, could make no impression on the thick and tough skin which defends them. But the elephant has a strange terror of small animals, and especially dreads the dog, so that, when it is making up its mind to charge in one direction, the barking of a contemptible little cur will divert it from its purpose, and enable its intended victim either to secure himself behind a tree, or to become the assailant, and add another spear to the number that are already quivering in the animal’s vast body.
The slaughter of an elephant by this mode of hunting is always a long and a cruel process. Even when the hunters are furnished with the best fire-arms, a number of wounds are generally inflicted before it dies, the exceptional case, when it falls dead at the first shot, being very rare indeed. Now, however powerful may be the practised aim of a Kaffir, and sharp as may be his weapon, he cannot drive it through the inch-thick hide into a vital part, and the consequence is that the poor animal is literally worried to death by a multitude of wounds, singly insignificant, but collectively fatal. At last the huge victim falls under the loss of blood, and great are the rejoicings if it should happen to sink down in its ordinary kneeling posture, as the tusks can then be extracted with comparative ease, and the grove of spears planted in its body can be drawn out entire; whereas, when the elephant falls on one side, all the spears upon that side are shattered to pieces, and every one must be furnished with a new shaft.
The first proceeding is to cut off the tail, which is valued as a trophy, and the next is to carve upon the tusks the mark of the hunter to whom they belong, and who is always the man who inflicted the first wound. The next proceeding is to cut a large hole in one side, into which a number of Kaffirs enter, and busy themselves by taking out the most valuable parts of the animal. The inner membrane of the skin is saved for water-sacks, which are made in a very primitive manner, a large sheet of the membrane being gathered together, and a sharp stick thrust through the corners. The heart is then taken out, cut into convenient pieces, and each portion wrapped in a piece of the ear. If the party can encamp for the night on the spot, they prepare a royal feast, by baking one or two of the feet in the primitive but most effective oven which is in use, not only in Southern Africa, but in many other parts of the world.
A separate oven is made for each foot, and formed as follows:—A hole is dug in the ground, considerably larger than the foot which is to be cooked, and a fire is built in it. As soon as it burns up, a large heap of dry wood is piled upon it, and suffered to burn down. When the heap is reduced to a mass of glowing ashes, the Kaffirs scrape out the embers by means of a long pole, each man taking his turn to run to the hole, scrape away until he can endure the heat no longer, and then run away again, leaving the pole for his successor. The hole being freed from embers, the foot is rolled into it, and covered with green leaves and twigs. The hot earth and embers are then piled over the hole, and another great bonfire lighted. As soon as the wood has entirely burned itself out, the operation of baking is considered as complete, and the foot is lifted out by several men furnished with long sharpened poles. By means of this remarkable oven the meat is cooked more thoroughly than could be achieved in any oven of more elaborate construction, the whole of the tendons, the fat, the immature bone, and similar substances being converted into a gelatinous mass, which the African hunter seems to prefer to all other dishes, excepting, perhaps, the marrow taken from the leg bones of the giraffe or eland.
Sometimes the trunk is cut into thick slices, and baked at the same time with the feet. Although this part of the elephant may not be remarkable for the excellence of its flavor, it has, at all events, the capability of being made tender by cooking, which is by no means the case with the meat that is usually obtained from the animals which inhabit Southern Africa. Even the skull itself is broken up for the sake of the oily fat which fills the honeycomb-like cells which intervene between the plates of the skull. The rest of the meat is converted into “biltongue,” by cutting it into strips and drying it in the sun, as has already been described. As a general rule, the Kaffirs do not like to leave an animal until they have dried or consumed the whole of the meat. Under the ready spears and powerful jaws of the natives, even an elephant is soon reduced to a skeleton, as may be imagined from the fact that five Kaffirs can eat a buffalo in a day and a half.
The skull and tusks can generally be left on the spot for some time, as the hunters respect each other’s marks, and will not, as a rule, take the tusks from an elephant that has been killed and marked by another. The object in allowing the head to remain untouched is, that putrefaction may take place, and render the task of extracting the tusks easier than is the case when they are taken out at once. It must be remembered that the tusks of an elephant are imbedded in the skull for a considerable portion of their length, and that the only mode of extracting them is by chopping away their thick, bony sockets, which is a work of much time and labor. However, in that hot climate putrefaction takes place very readily, and by the time that the hunters have finished the elephant the tusks can be removed. Sometimes the flesh becomes more than “high,” but the Kaffirs, and indeed all African savages, seem rather to prefer certain meats when in the incipient stage of putrefaction.
Careless of the future as are the natives of Southern Africa, they are never wasteful of food, and, unlike the aborigines of North America, they seldom, if ever, allow the body of a slain animal to become the prey of birds and beasts. They will eat in two days the food that ought to serve them for ten, and will nearly starve themselves to death during the remaining eight days of famine, but they will never throw away anything that can by any possibility be eaten. Even the very blood is not wasted. If a large animal, such as a rhinoceros, be killed, the black hunters separate the ribs from the spine, as the dead animal lies on its side, and by dint of axe blades, assagai heads, and strong arms, soon cut a large hole in the side. Into this hole the hunters straightway lower themselves, and remove the intestines of the animal, passing them to their comrades outside, who invert them, tie up the end, and return them. By this time a great quantity of blood has collected, often reaching above the ankles of the hunters. This blood they ladle with their joined hands into the intestines, and so contrive to make black puddings on a gigantic scale.
The flesh of the rhinoceros is not very tempting. That of an old animal is so very tough and dry that scarcely any one except a native can eat it; and even that of the young animal is only partly eatable by a white man. When a European hunter kills a young rhinoceros, he takes a comparatively small portion of it,—namely, the hump, and a layer of fat and flesh which lies between the skin and the ribs. The remainder he abandons to his native assistants, who do not seem to care very much whether meat be tough or tender, so long as it is meat. The layer of fat and lean on the ribs is only some two inches in thickness, so that the attendants have the lion’s share, as far as quantity is concerned. Quality they leave to the more fastidious taste of the white man.
The intestines of animals are greatly valued by the native hunters, who laugh at white men for throwing them away. They state that, even as food, the intestines are the best parts of the animal, and those Europeans who have had the moral courage to follow the example of the natives have always corroborated their assertion. The reader may perhaps remember that the backwoodsmen of America never think of rejecting these dainty morsels, but have an odd method of drawing them slowly through the fire, and thus eating them as fast as they are cooked. Moreover, the intestines, as well as the paunch, are always useful as water-vessels. This latter article, when it is taken from a small animal, is always reserved for cooking purposes, being filled with scraps of meat, fat, blood, and other ingredients, and then cooked. Scotch travellers have compared this dish to the “haggis” of their native land.
The illustration opposite represents the wild and animated scene which accompanies the death of an elephant. Some two or three hours are supposed to have elapsed since the elephant was killed, and the chief has just arrived at the spot. He is shown seated in the foreground, his shield and assagais stacked behind him, while his page is holding a cup of beer, and two of his chief men are offering him the tusks of the elephant. In the middle distance are seen the Kaffirs preparing the oven for the reception of the elephant’s foot. Several men are seen engaged in raking out the embers from the hole, shielding themselves from the heat by leafy branches of trees, while one of the rakers has just left his post, being scorched to the utmost limit of endurance, and is in the act of handing over his pole to a comrade who is about to take his place at the fire.
COOKING ELEPHANT’S FOOT.
(See page 132.)
Two more Kaffirs are shown in the act of rolling the huge foot to the oven, and strips of the elephant’s flesh are seen suspended from the boughs in order to be converted into “biltongue.” It is a rather remarkable fact that this simple process of cutting the meat into strips and drying it in the air has the effect of rendering several unsavory meats quite palatable, taking away the powerful odors which deter even a Kaffir, and much more a white man, from eating them in a fresh state.
In the extreme distance is seen the nearly demolished body of the elephant, at which a couple of Kaffirs are still at work. It may here be mentioned that after an elephant is killed, the Kaffirs take very great pains about making the first incision into the body. The carcass of the slain animal generally remains on the ground for an hour or two until the orders of the chief can be received; and even in that brief space of time the hot African sun produces a partial decomposition, and causes the body of the animal to swell by reason of the quantity of gas which is generated. The Kaffir who takes upon himself the onerous task of making the first incision chooses his sharpest and weightiest assagai, marks the direction of the wind, selects the best spot for the operation, and looks carefully round to see that the coast is clear. Having made all his preparations, he hurls his weapon deeply into the body of the elephant, and simultaneously leaps aside to avoid the result of the stroke, the enclosed gas escaping with a loud report, and pouring out in volumes of such singularly offensive odor that even the nostrils of a Kaffir are not proof against it.
I have more than once witnessed a somewhat similar scene when engaged in the pursuit of comparative anatomy, the worst example being that of a lion which had been dead some three or four weeks, and which was, in consequence, swollen out of all shape. We fastened tightly all the windows which looked upon the yard in which the body of the animal was lying, and held the door ready to be closed at a moment’s notice. The adventurous operator armed himself with a knife and a lighted pipe, leaned well to the opposite side of the animal, delivered his stab, and darted back to the door, which was instantly closed. The result of the operation was very much like that which has been mentioned when performed on the elephant, though on a smaller scale, and in a minute or so the lion was reduced to its ordinary size.
Sometimes a great number of hunters unite for the purpose of assailing one of the vast herds of animals which have already been mentioned. In this instance, they do not resort to the pitfall, but attack the animals with their spears. In order to do so effectually, they divide themselves into two parties, one of which, consisting chiefly of the younger men, and led by one or two of the old and experienced hunters, sets off toward the herd, while the others, armed with a large supply of assagais and kerries, proceed to one of the narrow and steep-sided ravines which are so common in Southern Africa. (See engraving No. 2, p. 121.)
The former party proceed very cautiously, availing themselves of every cover, and being very careful to manœuvre so as to keep on the leeward side of the herd, until they have fairly placed the animals between themselves and the ravine. Meanwhile, sentries are detached at intervals, whose duty it is to form a kind of lane toward the ravine, and to prevent the herd from taking a wrong course. When all the arrangements are completed, the hunters boldly show themselves in the rear of the animals, who immediately move forward in a body—not very fast at first, because they are not quite sure whether they are going to be attacked. As they move along, the sentinels show themselves at either side, so as to direct them toward the ravine; and when the van of the herd has entered, the remainder are sure to follow.
Then comes a most animated and stirring scene. Knowing that when the leaders of the herd have entered the ravine, the rest are sure to follow, the driving party rushes forward with loud yells, beating their shields, and terrifying the animals to such a degree that they dash madly forward in a mixed concourse of antelopes, quaggas, giraffes, and often a stray ostrich or two. Thick and fast the assagais rain upon the affrighted animals as they try to rush out of the ravine, but when they reach the end they find their exit barred by a strong party of hunters, who drive them back with shouts and spears. Some of them charge boldly at the hunters, and make their escape, while others rush back again through the kloof, hoping to escape by the same way as they had entered. This entrance is, however, guarded by the driving party, and so the wretched animals are sent backward and forward along this deadly path until the weapons of their assailants are exhausted, and the survivors are allowed to escape.
These “kloofs” form as characteristic features of Southern Africa as do the table mountains. They have been well defined as the re-entering elbows or fissures in a range of hills; and it is a remarkable fact that the kloof is mostly clothed with thick bush, whatever may be the character of the surrounding country. In Colonel E. Napier’s “Excursions in Southern Africa,” there is so admirable a description of the kloof and the bush that it must be given in the language of the writer, who has drawn a most perfect word-picture of South African scenery:—
“The character of the South African ‘bush’ has features quite peculiar in itself, and sometimes unites—while strongly contrasting—the grand and sublime with the grotesque and ridiculous. When seen afar from a commanding elevation—the undulating sea of verdure extending for miles and miles, with a bright sun shining on a green, compact, unbroken surface—it conveys to the mind of a spectator naught save images of repose, peace, and tranquillity. He forgets that, like the hectic bloom of a fatal malady, these smiling seas of verdure often in their entangled depths conceal treacherous, death-dealing reptiles, ferocious beasts of prey, and the still more dangerous, though no less crafty, and more cruel Kaffir.
“On a nearer approach, dark glens and gloomy kloofs are found to fence the mountain sides. These often merge downward into deep ravines, forming at their base sometimes the bed of a clear, gurgling brook, or that of a turbid, raging torrent, generally shadowed and overhung by abundant vegetation, in all the luxuriance of tropical growth and profusion. Noble forest trees, entwined with creepers, encircled by parasitical plants and with long gray mantles of lichen, loosely and beardlike floating from their spreading limbs, throw the ‘brown horrors’ of a shadowy gloom o’er the dark, secluded, Druidical-looking dells. But jabbering apes, or large, satyr-like baboons, performing grotesque antics and uttering unearthly yells, grate strangely on the ear, and sadly mar the solemnity of the scene; whilst lofty, leafless, and fantastic euphorbia, like huge candelabra, shoot up in bare profusion from the gray, rocky cliffs, pointing as it were in mockery their skeleton arms at the dark and luxuriant foliage around. Other plants of the cactus and milky tribes—of thorny, rugged, or smooth and fleshy kinds—stretch forth in every way their bizarre, misshapen forms; waving them to the breeze, from yon high, beetling crags, so thickly clothed to their very base with graceful nojebooms, and drooping, palm-like aloes; whose tall, slender, and naked stems spring up from amidst the dense verdure of gay and flowering mimosas.
“Emerging from such darksome glens to the more sunny side of the mountain’s brow, there we still find an impenetrable bush, but differing in character from what we have just described—a sort of high, thorny underwood, composed chiefly of the mimosa and portulacacia tribe; taller, thicker, more impenetrable, and of more rigid texture than even the tiger’s accustomed lair in the far depths of an Indian jungle; but, withal, so mixed and mingled with luxuriant, turgid, succulent plants and parasites, as—even during the dryest weather—to be totally impervious to the destroying influence of fire.
“The bush is, therefore, from its impassable character, the Kaffir’s never-failing place of refuge, both in peace and war. In his naked hardihood, he either, snake-like, twines through and creeps beneath its densest masses, or, shielded with the kaross, securely defies their most thorny and abrading opposition. Under cover of the bush, in war, he, panther-like, steals upon his foe; in peace, upon the farmer’s flock. Secure, in both instances, from pursuit, he can in the bush set European power, European skill, and European discipline at naught; and hitherto, vain has been every effort to destroy by fire this, his impregnable—for it is impregnable to all save himself—stronghold.”
After a successful hunt, such as has just been described, there are great rejoicings, the chief of the tribe having all the slaughtered game laid before him, and giving orders for a grand hunting dance. The chief, who is generally too fat to care about accompanying the hunters, takes his seat in some open space, mostly the central enclosure of a kraal, and there, in company with a huge bowl of beer and a few distinguished guests, awaits the arrival of the game. The animals have hardly fallen before they are carried in triumph to the chief, and laid before him. As each animal is placed on the ground, a little Kaffir boy comes and lays himself over his body, remaining in this position until the dance is over. This curious custom is adopted from an idea that it prevents sorcerers from throwing their spells upon the game. The boys who are employed for this purpose become greatly disfigured by the blood of the slain animals, but they seem to think that the gory stains are ornamental rather than the reverse.
At intervals, the hunting dance takes place, the hunters arranging themselves in regular lines, advancing and retreating with the precision of trained soldiers, shouting, leaping, beating their shields, brandishing their weapons, and working themselves up to a wonderful pitch of excitement. The leader of the dance, who faces them, is, if possible, even more excited than the men, and leaps, stamps, and shouts with an energy that seems to be almost maniacal. Meanwhile, the chief sits still, and drinks his beer, and signifies occasionally his approval of the dancers.
Besides those animals which the Kaffir kills for food, there are others which he only attacks for the sake of their trophies, such as the skin, claws, and teeth. The mode adopted in assailing the fierce and active beasts, such as the lion, is very remarkable. Each man furnishes himself, in addition to his usual weapons, with an assagai, to the but-end of which is attached a large bunch of ostrich feathers, looking very much like the feather brushes with which ladies dust delicate furniture. They then proceed to the spot where the lion is to be found, and spread themselves so as to make a circle round him. The lion is at first rather disquieted at this proceeding, and, according to his usual custom, tries to slip off unseen. When, however, he finds that he cannot do so, and that the circle of enemies is closing on him, he becomes angry, turns to bay, and with menacing growls announces his intention of punishing the intruders on his domain. One of them then comes forward, and incites the lion to charge him, and as soon as the animal’s attention is occupied by one object, the hunters behind him advance, and hurl a shower of assagais at him. With a terrible roar the lion springs at the bold challenger, who sticks his plumed assagai into the ground, leaping at the same time to one side. In his rage and pain, the lion does not at the moment comprehend the deception, and strikes with his mighty paw at the bunch of ostrich plumes, which he takes for the feather-decked head of his assailant. Finding himself baffled, he turns round, and leaps on the nearest hunter, who repeats the same process; and as at every turn the furious animal receives fresh wounds, he succumbs at last to his foes.
It is seldom that in such an affray the hunters come off scathless. The least hesitation in planting the plumed spear and leaping aside entails the certainty of a severe wound, and the probability of death. But, as the Kaffirs seldom engage in such a hunt without the orders of their chief, and are perfectly aware that failure to execute his commands is a capital offence, it is better for them to run the risk of being swiftly killed by the lion’s paw than cruelly beaten to death by the king’s executioners.
That sanguinary monarch, Dingan, used occasionally to send a detachment with orders to catch a lion alive, and bring it to him. They executed this extraordinary order much in the same manner as has been related. But they were almost totally unarmed, having no weapons but their shields and kerries, and, as soon as the lion was induced to charge, the bold warriors threw themselves upon him in such numbers that they fairly overwhelmed him, and brought him into the presence of Dingan, bound and gagged, though still furious with rage, and without a wound. Of course, several soldiers lost their lives in the assault, but neither their king nor their comrades seemed to think that anything out of the ordinary course of things had been done. On one occasion, Dingan condescended to play a practical joke upon his soldiers.
A traveller had gone to see him, and had turned loose his horse, which was quietly grazing at a distance. At that time horses had not been introduced among the Kaffirs, and many of the natives had never even seen such an animal as a horse. It so happened that among the soldiers that surrounded Dingan were some who had come from a distant part of the country, and who were totally unacquainted with horses. Dingan called them to him, and pointing to the distant horse, told them to bring him that lion alive. They instantly started off, and, as usual, one stood in advance to tempt the animal to charge, while the others closed in upon the supposed lion, in order to seize it when it had made its leap. They soon discovered their mistake, and came back looking very foolish, to the great delight of their chief.
The buffalo is, however, a more terrible foe than the lion itself, as it will mostly take the initiative, and attack before its presence is suspected. Its habit of living in the densest and darkest thicket renders it a peculiarly dangerous animal, as it will dash from its concealment upon any unfortunate man who happens to pass near its lair; and as its great weight and enormously solid horns enable it to rush through the bush much faster than even a Kaffir can glide among the matted growths, there is but small chance of escape. Weapons are but of little use when a buffalo is in question, as its armed front is scarcely pervious to a rifle ball, and perfectly impregnable against such weapons as the Kaffir’s spear, and the suddenness of the attack gives but little time for escape.
As the Kaffirs do not particularly care for its flesh, though of course they will eat it when they can get nothing better, they will hunt the animal for the sake of its hide, from which they make the strongest possible leather. The hide is so tough that, except at close quarters, a bullet which has not been hardened by the admixture of some other metal will not penetrate it. Sometimes the Kaffir engages very unwillingly in war with this dangerous beast, being attacked unawares when passing near its haunts. Under these circumstances the man makes for the nearest tree, and if he can find time to ascend it he is safe from the ferocious brute, who would only be too glad to toss him in the air first, and then to pound his body to a jelly by trampling on him.