SLEEPING ACCOMMODATION — HOW SOLDIERS ON THE CAMPAIGN SLEEP — THE KAFFIR’S BED — IGNORANCE OF WEAVING — PORTABLE FURNITURE — A SINGULAR PROJECTILE — THE KAFFIR’S PILLOW — ITS MATERIAL AND USUAL SHAPE — A KAFFIR’S IDEAS OF ORNAMENT — MODE OF REPOSING — DINGAN AT HOME — DOMESTIC DISCIPLINE — KAFFIR MUSIC — ENERGETIC PERFORMANCE — SOME NATIVE MELODIES — QUALITY OF VOICE — MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS — THE “HARP” AND MODE OF PLAYING IT — PECULIAR TONES OF THE HARP — THE KAFFIR’S FLUTE — EARTHENWARE AMONG THE KAFFIRS — WOMEN THE ONLY POTTERS — HOW THE POTS ARE MADE — GENERAL FORM OF THE POTS AND THEIR USES — EARTHEN GRAIN-STORES — THRESHING OUT GRAIN BEFORE STOWAGE — THE TREES OF AFRICA — THE THORNS AND THEIR PROPERTIES — THE GRAPPLE-PLANT — THE WAIT-A-BIT, AND HOOK-AND-SPIKE THORNS — MONKEY-ROPES — VARIOUS TIMBERS.

The sleeping accommodation of a Kaffir is of the simplest kind, and to European minds forms about as uncomfortable a set of articles as can be imagined. Indeed, with many of the young unmarried men, the only permanent accommodation for sleeping is that which is furnished by the floor of the hut, or the ground itself if they should be forced to sleep in the open air. Soldiers on a campaign always sleep on the ground, and as they are forced to leave all their clothes behind them, they seek repose in the most primitive manner imaginable. It has already been mentioned that, in order to secure celerity of movement, a Kaffir soldier carries nothing but his weapon, and is not even encumbered by dress. Hence he has a notable advantage over European soldiers, who would soon perish by disease were they obliged to go through a campaign without beds, tents, kit, or commissariat.

Our Highland soldiers are less dependent on accessory comforts than most European regiments, and will contentedly wrap themselves in their plaids, use their knapsacks as pillows, and betake themselves to sleep in the open air. But they have at all events their plaid, while the Kaffir warrior has nothing but his shield, which he may use as a bed if he likes, and it is, perhaps, fortunate for him that long training in hard marches renders him totally indifferent as to the spot on which he is to lie. His chief care is that the place which he selects should not be wet, or be in the close neighborhood of ants’ nests or snakes’ haunts, and his next care is to arrange his body and limbs so as to fit the inequalities of the ground. As to the hardness of his extemporized couch, he thinks little or nothing of it.

But when our Kaffir lad is admitted into the ranks of men, and takes to himself his first wife, he indulges in the double luxury of a bed and a pillow—the former being made of grass stems and the latter of wood. This article of furniture is almost the same throughout Southern Africa, and, among the true Kaffir tribes, the bed of the king himself and that of his meanest subject are identical in material and shape. It is made of the stems of grasses, some three feet in length, and about as thick as crowquills. These are laid side by side, and are fastened together by means of double strings which pass round the grass stems, and are continually crossed backward and forward so as to form them into a mat about three feet in width and six in length. This method of tying the grass stems together is almost identical with that which is employed by the native tribes that inhabit the banks of the Essequibo River, in tying together the slender arrows which they project through their blow-guns. The ends of the grass stems are all turned over and firmly bound down with string, so as to form a kind of selvage, which protects the mat from being unravelled.

On looking at one of these sleeping-mats, the observer is apt to fancy that a vast amount of needless trouble has been taken with it—that the maker would have done his work quicker and better, and that the article itself would have looked much more elegant, had he woven the materials instead of lashing them with string. But the Kaffir has not the faintest idea of weaving, and even the primitive hand-loom, which is so prevalent in different parts of the world, is not to be found in Southern Africa.

The Kaffir can dress skins as well as any European furrier. He can execute basket-work which no professional basket-maker can even imitate, much less rival. He can make spear blades and axes which are more suitable to his country than the best specimens of European manufacture. But he has not the least notion of the very simple operation of weaving threads into cloth. This ignorance of an almost universal art is the more remarkable because he can weave leather thongs and coarse hairs into elaborate ornaments, and can string beads together so as to form flat belts or even aprons. Still, such is the fact, and a very curious fact it is.

When the sleeper awakes in the morning, the bed is rolled into a cylindrical form, lashed together with a hide thong, and suspended out of the way in the hut. The student of Scripture will naturally be reminded of the command issued to the paralytic man, to “take up his bed and walk,” the bed in question being the ordinary thin mattress in use in the East, which is spread flat on the ground when in use, and is rolled up and put away as soon as the sleeper rises from his couch. If a Kaffir moves from one residence to another, his wife carries his bed with her, sometimes having her own couch balanced on the top of her head, and her husband’s strapped to her shoulders. This latter mode of carrying the bed may be seen in the illustration “Dolls,” on page 33, where the woman is shown with the bed partly hidden under her kaross.

Should the Kaffir be a man of rather a luxurious disposition, he orders his wife to pluck a quantity of grass or fresh leaves, and by strewing them thickly on the ground and spreading the mat over them, he procures a bed which even an ordinary European would not despise. Although the bed is large enough to accommodate a full-sized man, it is wonderfully light. My own specimen, which is a very fair example of a Kaffir bed, weighs exactly two pounds and one ounce, so that the person who carries it is incommoded not so much by its weight as by its bulk. The bulk is, however, greatly diminished by the firmness with which it is rolled up, so that it is made into a cylinder only three or four inches in diameter. The reader may remember a story of a runaway bride, named Uzinto, who rather astonished a Kaffir chief by pitching her bed headlong through the door of the hut. By reference to the illustration on page 209, it is easy to see how readily the bed could be thrown through the narrow entrance, and how sharp a blow could be struck by it if thrown with any force.

The pillow used by the Kaffir is even less comfortable than his bed, inasmuch as it consists of nothing but a block of wood. The shape and dimensions of these pillows are extremely variable. The specimens that I have are fifteen inches in length and nearly six in height, and, as they are cut out of solid blocks of the acacia tree, the weight is considerable.

Upon the pillow the maker has bestowed great pains, and has carved the eight legs in a very elaborate manner, cutting them into pyramidal patterns, and charring the alternate sides of each little pyramid, so as to produce the contrast of black and white which seems to be the Kaffir’s ideal of beauty in wood-carving. It may here be noticed that the Kaffir is not at all inventive in patterns, and that a curious contrast exists between his architecture and his designs. The former, it may be remarked, is all built upon curved lines, while in the latter the lines are nearly straight. It is very seldom indeed that an uncivilized Kaffir draws a pattern which is not based upon straight lines, and even in those instances where he introduces circular patterns the circles are small.

Comfortless as these pillows seem to us, they are well enough suited to the Kaffir; even the married men, whose heads are closely shaven, and who have not even the protection of their hair against the hardness of the wood, are far better pleased with their pillow than they would be with the softest cushion that could be manufactured out of down and satin. Nor is this taste peculiar to the Kaffir, or even to the savage. No Englishman who has been accustomed to a hard and simple mattress would feel comfortable if obliged to sleep in a feather-bed; and many travellers who have been long accustomed to sleep on the ground have never been able to endure a bed afterward. I have known several such travellers, one of whom not only extended his dislike of English sleeping accommodations to the bed, but to the very pillow, for which article he always substituted a block of oak, slightly rounded at the top.

The illustration, “Dingan at home,” on page 209, represents the mode in which a Kaffir reposes. The individual who is reclining is the great Kaffir monarch, Dingan, and the reader will observe that his bed is a mere mat, and that his pillow is only a block of wood. The hut which is here represented is the celebrated one which he built at his garrison town Ukunginglove, and it was specially noted because it was supported by twenty pillars. The fireplace of this hut was remarkable for its shape, which, instead of being the simple circle in general use among the Kaffirs, resembled in form that ornament which is known to architects by the name of quatrefoil. A few of his wives are seen seated round the apartment, and, as Dingan was so great a man, they were not permitted to stand upright, or even to use their feet in any way, so that, if they wished to move from one part of the hut to another, they were obliged to shuffle about on their knees. The illustration is taken from a sketch by Captain Gardiner, who was invited by Dingan to an interview in the house, and during which interview he rather astonished his guest by retiring for a short time, and then presenting himself with his face, limbs, and body entirely covered with red and white spots, like those on toy horses.

The reader can form, from the contemplation of this drawing, a tolerably accurate idea of the luxuries afforded by the wild, savage life which some authors are so fond of praising.

As to music, the Kaffir has rather curious ideas on the subject. His notion of melody is but very slight, while his timing is perfection itself. The songs of the Kaffir tribes have already been mentioned, and the very fact that several hundred men will sing the various war songs as if they were animated with a single spirit shows that they must all keep the most exact time. In this point they aid themselves by the violent gestures in which they indulge. A Kaffir differs from an European vocalist in this point, namely, that he always, if possible, sits down when he sings. He and his companions will squat in a circle, sometimes three or four rows deep, and will shout some well-known song at the top of their voices, swaying their polished bodies backward and forward as if they were one man, and aiding the time by thumping the ground with their knob-kerries, and bringing their elbows violently against their ribs so as to expel the notes from their lungs with double emphasis.

Some of the tunes which are sung by the Kaffirs at their dances are here given, the music being taken from the Rev. J. Shooter’s work. The reader will at once see how boldly the time is marked in them, and how well they are adapted for their purpose. Neither are they entirely destitute of tune, the last especially having a wild and quaint sort of melody, which is calculated to take a strong hold of the ear, and to haunt the memories of those who have heard it sung as only Kaffirs can sing it. Among some of the Bosjesman tribes a sort of harmony—or rather sustained discord—is employed, as will be seen in a succeeding page, but the Zulus seem to excel in unison songs, the force of which can be imagined by those who are familiar with the grand old hymns and Gregorian tunes that have been suffered to lie so long in obscurity.

Of course, the quality of a Kaffir’s voice is not that which would please an European vocalist. Like all uncultivated songsters, the Kaffir delights in strong contrasts, now using a high falsetto, and now dropping suddenly into a gruff bass. It is a very remarkable fact that this method of managing the voice is tolerably universal throughout the world, and that the accomplished vocalist of Kaffirland, of China, of Japan, of Persia, and of Arabia, sings with exactly that falsetto voice, that nasal twang, and that abrupt transition from the highest to the lowest notes, which characterize our uneducated singers in rural districts. Put a Wiltshire laborer and a Chinese gentleman into different rooms, shut the doors so as to exclude the pronunciation of the words, ask them to sing one of their ordinary songs, and the hearer will scarcely be able to decide which room holds the English and which the Chinese vocalist. In the specimens of music which have been given, the reader will notice in several places the sudden rise or drop of a whole octave, and also the curiously jerking effect of many passages, both eminently characteristic of music as performed in country villages where modern art has not modified the voice.

The musical instruments of the Kaffir are very few, and those of the most simple kind. One is the whistle that is often diverted from its normal duty as a mere whistle, to become a musical instrument, which, although it has no range of notes, can at all events make itself heard through any amount of vocal accompaniment. And, as a Kaffir thinks that a song is no song unless it is to be sung with the whole power of the lungs, so does he think that the whistle in question is a valuable instrument in his limited orchestra.

There is, however, one musical instrument which is singularly soft and low in its tones, and yet which is in great favor with the Kaffir musicians. This is the instrument which is sometimes called a harp, sometimes a guitar, and sometimes a fiddle, and which has an equal right to either title, inasmuch as it has not the least resemblance to either of those instruments. For the sake of brevity, we shall take the first of these names, and call it a harp. At first sight, the spectator would probably take it for an ordinary bow, to which a gourd had been tied by way of ornament, and, indeed, I have known the instrument to be thus described in a catalogue.

The instrument which is represented in the illustration entitled “Harp” on page 155 is taken from a specimen which was brought from the Natal district by the late H. Jackson, Esq., to whom I am indebted for so many of the weapons and implements which appear in this work. The bow is about five feet in length, and is made exactly as if it were intended to be used for propelling arrows. The true Kaffir, however, never uses the bow in warfare, or even in hunting, thinking it to be a cowardly sort of weapon, unworthy of the hand of a warrior, and looking upon it in much the same light as the knights of old looked first on the cross-bows, and afterward on fire-arms, neither of which weapons give fair play for a warrior’s skill and strength. The cord is made of twisted hair, and is much longer than the bow, so that it can be tightly or loosely strung according to the tone which the dusky musician desires to produce. Near one end of the bow a round hollow gourd is firmly lashed by means of a rather complicated arrangement of leathern thongs. When the gourd is in its place, and the string is tightened to its proper tension, the instrument is complete.

When the Kaffir musician desires to use it, he holds it with the gourd upon his breast, and strikes the cord with a small stick, producing a series of sounds which are certainly rather musical than otherwise, but which are so faint as to be scarcely audible at the distance of a few yards. Although the sound is so feeble, and the instrument is intended for time rather than tone, the Kaffirs are very fond of it, and will play on it by the hour together, their enthusiasm being quite unintelligible to an European ear.

Generally the performer is content with the tones which he obtains by stringing the bow to a certain note, but an expert player is not content with such an arrangement. He attaches a short thong to the string, and to the end of the thong he fastens a ring. The forefinger of the left hand is passed through the ring, and the performer is able as he plays to vary the tone by altering the tension of the string. The object of the calabash is to give depth and resonance to the sound, and it is remarkable that a similar contrivance is in use in many parts of the world, hollow bamboo tubes, earthenware drums, and brass vessels being used for the same purpose.

The reader may perhaps remember that in the middle ages, and indeed in some districts up to a comparatively later time, a single-stringed fiddle was used in the country. It was simply a bow, with a blown bladder inserted between the string and the staff, and looked very much like the Kaffir instrument with the gourd turned inside, so as to allow the string to pass over it. Instead of being merely struck with a small stick, it was played with a rude kind of bow; but, even in the hands of the most skilful performer, its tones must have been anything but melodious. The Kaffir harp is used both by men and women. There is also a kind of rude flageolet, or flute, made of a reed, which is used by the Kaffirs. This instrument is, however, more general among the Bechuanas, and will be described in a future page.

In the course of the work, mention has been made of the earthenware pots used by the Kaffirs. These vessels are of the rudest imaginable description, and afford a curious contrast to the delicate and elaborate basket-work which has been already mentioned. When a Kaffir makes his baskets, whether he be employed upon a small milk-vessel or a large store-house, he invents the most delicate and elaborate patterns, and, out of the simplest possible materials, produces work which no European basket-maker can surpass. But when vessels are to be made with clay the inventive powers of the maker seem to cease, and the pattern is as inferior as the material. Perhaps this inferiority may be the result of the fact that basket-making belongs to the men, who are accustomed to cut patterns of various kinds upon their spoons and gourds, whereas the art of pottery, which implies really hard work, such as digging and kneading clay, is handed over to the women, who are accustomed to doing drudgery.

The Kaffir has no knowledge of machinery, and, just as he is ignorant of the rudest form of a loom for weaving thread into fabrics, so is he incapable of making the simplest kind of a wheel by which he may aid the hand in the shaping of pottery. This is perhaps the more remarkable, as the love of the circular form is so strong in the Kaffir mind that we might naturally imagine him to invent a simple kind of wheel like that which is employed by the peasants of India. But, as may be conjectured from the only attempts at machinery which a Kaffir makes, namely, a bellows whereby he saves his breath, and the extremely rude mill whereby he saves his teeth, the construction of a revolving wheel is far beyond him. In making their pots the women break to pieces the nests of the white ant, and, after pounding the material to a fine powder, mix it with water, and then knead it until it is of a proper consistency. They then form the clay into rings, and build up the pots by degrees, laying one ring regularly upon another until the requisite shape is obtained. It is evident therefore, that the manufacture of a tolerably large pot is a process which occupies a considerable time, because it has to be built up very slowly, lest it should sink under its own weight.

The only tool which is used in the manufacture of Kaffir pottery is a piece of wood, with which the operator scrapes the clay rings as she applies them, so as to give a tolerably smooth surface, and with which she can apply little pieces of clay where there is a deficiency. The shapes of these pots and pans are exceedingly clumsy, and their ungainly look is increased by the frequency with which they become lop-sided in consequence of imperfect drying. Examples of these articles may be seen in several parts of this work. At the farther end of the illustration No. 1, on page 63, may be seen several of the larger pots, which are used for holding grain after it has been husked.

The operation of husking, by the way, is rather a peculiar one, and not at all pleasant for the spectators who care for their eyes or faces. The dry heads of maize are thrown in a heap upon the hard and polished floor of the hut, and a number of Kaffirs sit in a circle round the heap, each being furnished with the ever-useful knob-kerrie. One of them strikes up a song, and the others join in full chorus, beating time with their clubs upon the heads of maize. This is a very exciting amusement for the performers, who shout the noisy chorus at the highest pitch of their lungs, and beat time by striking their knob-kerries upon the grain. With every blow of the heavy club, the maize grains are struck from their husks, and fly about the hut in all directions, threatening injury, if not absolute destruction, to the eyes of all who are present in the hut. Yet the threshers appear to enjoy an immunity which seems to be restricted to themselves and blacksmiths; and while a stranger is anxiously shading his eyes from the shower of hard maize grains, the threshers themselves do not give a thought to the safety of their eyes, but sing at the top of their voice, pound away at the corn cobs, and make the grains fly in all directions, as if the chorus of the song were the chief object in life, and the preservation of their eyesight were unworthy of a thought.

After the maize has been thus separated from the husk, a large portion is hidden away in the subterranean granaries, which have already been mentioned, while a considerable quantity is placed in their large earthen jars for home consumption. In boiling meat, two pots are employed, one being used as a cover inverted over the other, and the two are luted tightly together so as to preserve the flavor of the meat. Except for the three purposes of preserving grain, cooking food, and boiling beer, the Kaffir seldom uses earthenware vessels, his light baskets answering every purpose, and being very much more convenient for handling.

From the preceding pages, the reader may form a tolerable idea of the habits and customs of the tribes which inhabit this portion of the world, and of whom one race has been selected as the typical example. Of the many other tribes but slight notice will be taken, and only the most salient points of their character will be mentioned. On the whole it will be seen that the life of a South African savage is not so repulsive as is often thought to be the case, and that, bating a few particulars, a Kaffir lives a tolerably happy and peaceful life. He is of course called upon to serve in the army for a certain time, but he shares this liability with inhabitants of most civilized nations, and when he returns after the campaign he is rewarded for good conduct by a step in social rank, and the means wherein to maintain it.

Domestic life has, of course, its drawbacks among savages as among civilized nations; and there are, perhaps, times when the gallant soldier, who has been rewarded with a wife or two for his courage in the field, wishes himself once more engaged on a war march. The natural consequence of the low esteem in which the women are viewed, and the state of slavery in which they are held, is that they are apt to quarrel fiercely among themselves, and to vent upon each other any feelings of irritation that they are forced to suppress before their lords and masters.

Even among ourselves we see how this querulous spirit is developed in proportion to want of cultivation, and how, in the most degraded neighborhoods, a quarrel starts up between two women on the very slightest grounds, and spreads in all directions like fire in tow. So, in a Kaffir kraal, a couple of women get up a quarrel, and the contagion immediately spreads around. Every woman within hearing must needs take part in the quarrel, just like dogs when they hear their companions fighting, and the scene in the kraal becomes, as may be seen by the illustration No. 2, page 209, more lively than pleasant. Even this drawback to domestic life is not without its remedy, which generally takes the shape of a stick, so that the men, at least, pass tolerably tranquil lives. Their chief characteristics are the absolute power of their king, and their singular subservience to superstition; but, as they have never been accustomed to consider their lives or their property their own, they are quite happy under conditions which would make an Englishman miserable.

Any account of Southern Africa would be imperfect without a short description of one or two of the conspicuous trees, especially of the thorns which render the “bush” so impervious to an European, but which have no effect on the naked and well-oiled skin of a Kaffir. Frequently the traveller will pursue his journey for many days together, and will see scarcely a tree that does not possess thorns more or less formidable. These thorns may be roughly divided into two groups, namely, the straight and the hooked.

The straight thorns are produced by trees belonging to the great group of Acacias, in which Southern Africa is peculiarly rich. They are too numerous to be separately noticed, and it is only needful to say that the two chief representatives of this formidable tree are the Kameel-dorn (Acacia giraffæ) and the Karroo-dorn (Acacia Capensis). The former tree has sharp brown thorns, very thick and strong, and is remarkable for the fact that its pod does not open like that of most trees of the same group. It is called by the Dutch colonists the Kameel-dorn, because the giraffe, or kameel, grazes upon its delicate leaves; but its native name is Mokáala, and by that title it is known throughout the greater part of Southern Africa. The wood of the Kameel-dorn varies in color, being pale-red toward the circumference of the trunk, and deepening toward the centre into dark reddish-brown. The very heart of the tree, which is extremely heavy, and of a very dark color, is used in the manufacture of knob-kerries, and similar articles, the chief of which are the handles of the feather-headed sticks, which have already been mentioned in the chapter upon hunting. The tree is found almost exclusively on rich sandy plains where is little water.

The other species, which is known by the name of Karroo-dorn, or White-thorn, is generally found on the banks of rivers or water-courses, and is therefore a most valuable tree to the thirsty traveller, who always looks out for the Karroo-thorn tree, knowing that it is generally on the bank of some stream, or that by digging at its foot he may find water. The leaves of this tree are extremely plentiful; but they are of so small a size that the tree affords but very little shade, and the effect of the sunbeams passing through a thick clump of these trees is most singular. Several stems generally rise from the same root, and it is a remarkable fact that the older trees can easily be known by the dead branches, which snap across, and then fall downward, so that their tips rest on the ground, while at the point of fracture they are still attached to the tree. Insects, especially the wood-devouring beetles, are supposed to be the cause of this phenomenon, as the dead branches are always found to be perforated with their burrows.

Every branch and twig of this tree is covered with the sharp white thorns, which grow in pairs, and vary much in length, averaging generally from two to four inches. They are sometimes even seven inches in length; and deficiency in length is more than compensated by great thickness, one of them in some cases measuring nearly two inches in circumference. They are white in color, and are hollow, the thickness of their walls scarcely exceeding that of a quill. They are, however, exceedingly strong, and are most formidable impediments to any who encounter them. There is a story of a lion, which I could not bring myself to believe until I had seen these thorns, but which now seems perfectly credible. The lion had sprung at his prey, but had slipped in his spring, and fallen into a thorn-bush, where he lay impaled among the sharp spikes, and so died from the effects of his many wounds. If the bush had been composed of such thorns as those which have been described, it would have been a much more wonderful thing for him to have escaped than to have perished.

The danger, as well as annoyance, which is caused by these thorns may be imagined from an accident which befell one of Le Vaillant’s oxen. The animal happened to be driven against an acacia, and some of the thorns penetrated its breast, of course breaking into the wound. All those which could be seen were extracted with pincers; but several of them had broken beneath the skin, and could not be touched. These caused so violent an inflammation that, after waiting for twenty-four hours in hopes of saving its life, it was found necessary to put it to death.

This thorn is very useful for various reasons. In the first place, its bark is employed in the manufacture of the strings with which the natives weave their mats together, and which they often use in tying together the flexible sticks which form the framework of their huts. From the thorns of the tree the young maidens form various ornaments, and with these thorns they decorate their heads, if they should not be fortunate enough to procure the quills of the porcupine for that purpose. Moreover, the dried wood makes an excellent fire, burning easily and rapidly, and throwing out a brisk and glowing, though rather transient heat.

Several of the acacias are useful as food-providers, the gum which exudes from them being eaten as a regular article of diet. The reader may remember that the poor Damara woman, who was left to die in the wilderness, was supplied with gum as an article of food. Several of the trees supply the gum in very large quantities. Mr. Burchell, the well-known traveller, thinks that the gum which exudes from these trees is so clear and good that it might largely take the place of the gum-arabic of commerce, and form as regular article of merchandise as the ivory, hides, and feathers, which form the staple of South African trade. “On the branches of these acacias, which have so great a resemblance to the true acacia of the ancients, or the tree which yields the gum-arabic, as to have been once considered the same species, I frequently saw large lumps of very good and clear gum.

“Wherever they had been wounded by the hatchets of the natives, there most commonly the gum exuded; and by some similar operations it is probable that the trees might, without destroying them, be made to produce annually a large crop. And if a computation could be made of the quantity that might be obtained from those trees only which line the banks of the Gariep and its branches, amounting to a line of wood (reckoning both sides) of more than two thousand miles, one would feel inclined to suppose that it might be worth while to teach and encourage the natives to collect it. This they certainly would be ready to do, if they heard that tobacco could always be obtained in exchange.

“But if to the acacias of the river are added the myriads which crowd almost every river in extra-tropical Southern Africa, or even between the Cape and the Gariep only, we may feel satisfied that there are trees enough to supply a quantity of this drug more than equal to the whole consumption of Great Britain. Of the productiveness of the Acacia Capensis as compared with that of the Acacia vera, I have no information that enables me to give an opinion; but with respect to the quality, I think we may venture to pronounce it to be in no way inferior.”

These are fair representatives of the straight-thorned plant of Southern Africa. The best example of the hook-thorned vegetation is that which is described by Burchell as the Grapple-plant; but it is better known by the expressive name of Hook-thorn. The scientific title of this plant is Uncaria procumbens, the former name being given to it on account of the hooks with which it is armed, and the latter to the mode in which it grows along the ground.

When in blossom, this is a singularly beautiful plant, the large flowers being of a rich purple hue, and producing a most lovely effect as they spread themselves over the ground, or hang in masses from the trees and shrubs. The long, trailing branches are furnished throughout their length with sharp barbed thorns, set in pairs. Unpleasant as are the branches, they become worse when the purple petals fall and the seed-vessels are developed. Then the experienced traveller dreads its presence, and, if he can do so, keeps clear of the ground which is tenanted by such a foe. The large seed-vessels are covered with a multitude of sharp and very strong hooked thorns. When the seed is ripe, the vessel splits along the middle, and the two sides separate widely from each other, so that they form an array of hooks which reminds the observer of the complicated devices used by anglers in pike-fishing. The illustration No. 1, on page 247, represents a still closed seed-vessel, and, formidable as it looks, its powers are more than doubled when it is open and dry, each half being covered with thorns pointing in opposite directions. The thorns are as sharp as needles, and nearly as strong as if they were made of the same material.

The reader may easily imagine the horrors of a bush which is beset with such weapons. No one who wears clothes has a chance of escape from them. If only one hooked thorn catches but his coat-sleeve, he is a prisoner at once. The first movement bends the long, slender branches, and hook after hook fixes its point upon him. Struggling only trebles the number of his thorned enemies, and the only mode by which he can free himself is to “wait-a-bit,” cut off the clinging seed-vessels, and, when he is clear of the bush, remove them one by one. This terrible plant was most fatal to the English soldiers in the last Kaffir wars, the unwieldy accoutrements and loose clothing of the soldier being seized by the thorns, and holding the unfortunate man fast, while the naked Kaffir could glide among the thorns unharmed, and deliver his assagai with impunity. If the reader would like to form an idea of the power of these thorns, he can do so by thrusting his arm into the middle of a thick rose-bush, and mentally multiplying the number of thorns by a hundred, and their size by fifty. In shape the thorns have a singular resemblance to the fore-claws of the lion, and they certainly, though inanimate, are scarcely less efficacious.

There is one of the acacia tribe (Acacia detinens) which is nearly as bad in its way as the grapple-plant. In Burchell’s “Travels” there is a very good account of this shrub, which is known to the colonists by the title of Vacht-een-bidgt, or Wait-a-bit thorn. “The largest shrubs were about five feet high—a plant quite unknown to me, but well known to the Klaarwater people... and is the same thorny bush which gave us so much annoyance the night before, where it was above seven feet high.

“I was preparing to cut some specimens of it, which the Hottentots observing, warned me to be very careful in doing so, otherwise I should be certainly caught fast in its branches. In consequence of this advice. I proceeded with the utmost caution; but, with all my care, a small twig got hold of one sleeve. While thinking to disengage it quietly with the other hand, both arms were seized by these rapacious thorns; and the more I tried to extricate myself, the more entangled I became; till at last it seized my hat also, and convinced me that there was no possibility for me to free myself but by main force, and at the expense of tearing all my clothes. I therefore called out for help, and two of my men came and released me by cutting off the branches by which I was held. In revenge for the ill-treatment, I determined to give to the tree a name which should serve to caution future travellers against allowing themselves to venture within its clutches.” The monitory name to which allusion has been made is that of detinens as applied to that particular species of acacia.

Besides these plants, there is one which deserves a brief mention, on account of its remarkable conformation. This is the Three-thorn, a species of Rhigozum, which is very common in parts of Southern Africa. It is a low shrub, somewhere about three or four feet in height, and its branches divide very regularly into threes, giving it a quaint and altogether singular aspect. There is another remarkable species, called the Haak-en-steek, or the Hook-and-prick thorn. In this species the thorns are very curiously arranged. First comes a short, hooked thorn; and if the traveller contrives to be caught by this hook, and tries to pull himself away, he forces down upon himself a pair of long, straight thorns, two inches in length, and as sharp as needles.

It will be seen that the variety of thorns which beset the traveller is very great indeed. Dr. Kirk ingeniously divides them into three classes, namely, those which tear the flesh, those which tear the clothes, and those which tear both—this last class being by far the largest.

The reader may remember that the “Stink-wood” has occasionally been mentioned. This same tree with the unsavory name seems to have been rather neglected, if we may believe the account written by Le Vaillant nearly a century ago. He remarks of this tree, that it grows plentifully in several parts of Southern Africa, and is found near Algoa Bay, whence it is transported to the Cape, and there used in the manufacture of furniture. The tree is a very slow-growing one, and, like such trees, produces wood of a very hard texture. When freshly cut it is pale, but after the lapse of time it gradually darkens into a rich chestnut varied with black. Like the hard woods, it is susceptible of a very high polish, and possesses besides the invaluable property of being free from worms, which seem to perceive even in the dried wood the unpleasant odor which distinguishes it when green. In general look and mode of growth this tree much resembles the oak of our own country.

When a traveller first enters a South African forest, he is rather surprised by two circumstances; the first being that the trees do not surpass in size those which grace an ordinary English copse, and that in many cases they are far inferior both in size and beauty. The next point that strikes his attention is, the vast number of creepers which spread their slender branches from tree to tree, and which, in some instances, envelope the supporting tree so completely that they wholly hide it from view. They have the faculty of running up the trunks of trees, pushing their branches to the very extremity of the boughs, and then letting drop their slender filaments, that are caught by lower boughs and hang in festoons from them. At first the filaments are scarcely stronger than packthread, but by degrees they become thicker and thicker, until they are as large as a man’s arm. These creepers multiply in such profusion that they become in many places the chief features of the scenery, all the trees being bound together by the festoons of creepers which hang from branch to branch.

The Dutch settlers call them by the name of Bavians-tow, or Baboon-ropes, because the baboons and monkeys clamber by means of them to the extremities of the branches where the fruit grows. The scientific name for the plant is Cynanchum obtusifolium. The natives, ever watchful for their own interests, make great use of these creepers, and the Kaffirs use them largely in lashing together the various portions of their huts. The fruit of the Bavians-tow is only found at the extremity of the branches, where the young filaments shoot out. When ripe it is something like a cherry, and is of a bright crimson color. It goes by the popular name of “wild grape,” and is much liked by monkeys, birds, and men. From the fruit a kind of spirit is distilled, and a very good preserve can be made from it.

These baboon-ropes are not the only parasitic growths upon trees. In many parts of the country there is a kind of long, fibrous moss which grows upon the trees, and is often in such profusion that it completely covers them, hiding not only the trunk and branches, but even the twigs and leafage. This mossy growth extends to a considerable length, in some cases attaining as much as ten or twelve feet. It is yellow in color, and when short is very soft and fine, so that it can be used for most of the purposes to which cotton or tow are applied. But, when it reaches the length of six or seven feet, it becomes hard and wiry, and is comparatively useless. I have now before me a quantity of this tow-like lichen, which had been used in packing a large box full of Kaffir weapons and implements. There is a tree which furnishes a very useful timber, called from its color, “Geele-hout,” a yellow wood. This tree is a species of Taxus, but there are at least two species which produce the wood. The timber is much used for beams, planks, and building purposes generally.

Many travellers have thought that these and several other trees would form valuable articles of merchandise, and that they might be profitably imported to Europe. That they afford really valuable woods, and that some of them would be extremely useful in delicate and fancy work, is indisputable. The only difficulty is, that to cut and transport them at present involves so much expense that the arrangement would hardly be sufficiently profitable for the investment of so much capital.