THE AMUSEMENTS OF THE BOSJESMAN — HOW HE SMOKES — HIS DANCE — CURIOUS ATTITUDES — DANCING-RATTLES — THE WATER-DRUM — SPECIMENS OF BOSJESMAN MUSIC — ITS SINGULAR SCALE AND INTERVALS — SUCCEDANEUM FOR A HANDKERCHIEF — A TRAVELLER’S OPINION OF THE DANCE AND SONG — THE GOURA — ITS CONSTRUCTION, AND MODE OF USING IT — QUALITY OF THE TONES PRODUCED BY IT — A BOSJESMAN MELODY AS PERFORMED ON THE GOURA — THE JOUM-JOUM AND THE PERFORMER — SOOTHING EFFECT OF THE INSTRUMENT — ART AMONG THE BOSJESMANS — MR. CHRISTIE’S DESCRIPTIVE SKETCH — THE BOSJESMAN’S BRUSH AND COLORS — HIS APPRECIATION OF A DRAWING — ANECDOTES OF BOSJESMANS.

The amusements of the Bosjesmans are very similar to those of the Hottentots, and can be generally comprised in two words, namely, singing and dancing. Both these words are to be understood in their South African sense, and are not to be taken in an European signification. Perhaps smoking ought to be included in the category of amusements. How a Bosjesman smokes after a meal has already been narrated. But there are seasons when he does not merely take a few whiffs as a conclusion to a meal, but deliberately sets to work at a smoking festival. He then takes the smoke in such quantities, swallowing instead of ejecting it, that he is seized with violent coughing fits, becomes insensible, and falls down in convulsions. His companions then take upon themselves the duty of restoring him, and do so in a rather singular manner.

As is usual in smoking parties, a supply of fresh water is kept at hand, together with reeds, through which the smokers have a way of discharging the smoke and water after a fashion which none but themselves can perfectly accomplish. When one of their number falls down in a fit of convulsions, his companions fill their mouths with water, and then spirt it through the tube upon the back of his neck, blowing with all their force, so as to produce as great a shock as possible. This rather rough treatment is efficacious enough, and when the man has fairly recovered, he holds himself in readiness to perform the like office on his companions.

The dance of the Bosjesman is of a very singular character, and seems rather oddly calculated for producing amusement either in performers or spectators. “One foot,” writes Burchell, “remains motionless, while the other dances in a quick, wild, irregular, manner, changing its place but little, though the knee and leg are turned from side to side as much as the attitude will allow. The arms have but little motion, their duty being to support the body.

“The dancer continues singing all the while, and keeps time with every movement, sometimes twisting the body in sudden starts, until at last, as if fatigued by the extent of his exertions, he drops upon the ground to recover breath, still maintaining the spirit of the dance, and continuing to sing and keep time, by the motion of his body, to the voices and accompaniments of the spectators. In a few seconds he starts up again, and proceeds with increased vigor. When one foot is tired out, or has done its share of the dance, the other comes forward and performs the same part; and thus, changing legs from time to time, it seemed as though he meant to convince his friends that he could dance forever.”

When the Bosjesman dances in a house he is not able to stand upright, and consequently is obliged to support himself between two sticks, on which he leans with his body bent forward. Very little space is required for such a dance, and in consequence the hut is nearly filled with spectators, who squat in a circle, leaving just space enough in the centre for the dancer to move in. In order to assist him in marking time, he has a set of rattles which he ties round his ankles. They are made of the ears of the springbok, the edges being sewed together, and some fragments of ostrich shell placed loosely in the interior. They are tied on the outside of the ankle.

The dances which I have seen performed by the Bosjesmans resembled those described by Burchell, the dancer supporting himself on a long stick, though he was in the open air, and occasionally beating time with the stick upon the ground to the peculiar Bosjesman measure. The spectators, whether men or women, accompany the dancer in his song by a sort of melody of their own, and by clapping their hands, or beating sticks on the ground, in time with his steps. They also beat a simple instrument called the Water-Drum. This is nothing more than a wooden bowl, or “bambus.” A little water is previously poured into the bowl, and by its aid the skin is kept continually wet. It is beaten with the forefinger of the right hand, and is kept to the proper pitch by pressing the thumb and forefinger of the left hand upon the skin.

Not being skilled in the Bosjesman’s language, I was unable to distinguish a single syllable used by the Bosjesman in dancing, but Mr. Burchell gives them as follows. The dancer uses the word “Wawa-koo,” repeated continually, while the spectators sing “Aye-O,” separating the hands at the first syllable, and bringing them sharply together at the second. The effect of the combined voices and dances may be seen by the following notation, which was taken by Burchell. This strange combination of sounds, which is so opposed to our system of music, is grateful to the ear of most South Africans, and in principle is prevalent among many of the tribes, though there are differences in their modes and measures.

When engaged in this singular performance, the dancer seems so completely wrapped up in his part, that he has no thought except to continue his performance in the most approved style. On the occasion just mentioned, the dancer did not interrupt his movement for a single moment when the white man made his unexpected entrance into the hut, and, indeed, seemed wholly unconscious of his presence. Shaking and twisting each leg alternately until it is tired does not seem to our eyes to be a particularly exhilarating recreation, especially when the performer cannot stand upright, is obliged to assume a stooping posture, and has only a space of a foot or two in diameter in which he can move. But the Bosjesman derives the keenest gratification from this extraordinary amusement, and the more he fatigues himself, the more he seems to enjoy it.

As is likely in such a climate, with such exertions, and with an atmosphere so close and odorous that an European can scarcely live in it, the perspiration pours in streams from the performer, and has, at all events, the merit of acting as a partial ablution. By way of a handkerchief, the dancer carries in his hand the bushy tail of a jackal fastened to a stick, and with this implement he continually wipes his countenance. He seems to have borrowed this custom from the Bechuanas, who take great pains in their manufacture of this article, as will be seen when we come to treat of their habits.

After dancing until he is unable even to stand, the Bosjesman is forced to yield his place to another, and to become one of the spectators. Before doing so, he takes off the rattles, and passes them to his successor, who assumes them as essential to the dance, and wears them until he, in his turn, can dance no longer. Here is another dancing tune taken down by Mr. Burchell on the same evening:—

It may seem strange that such odd music could have any charms for an European who knew anything of music. Yet that such can be the case is evident from the words of the above mentioned traveller. “I find it impossible to give, by any means of mere description, a correct idea of the pleasing impressions received while viewing this scene, or of the kind of effect which the evening’s amusements produced upon my mind and feelings. It must be seen, it must be participated in, without which it would not be easy to imagine its force, or justly to conceive its nature. There was in this amusement nothing which can make me ashamed to confess that I derived as much enjoyment from it as the natives themselves. There was nothing in it which approached to vulgarity, and, in this point of view, it would be an injustice to these poor creatures not to place them in a more respectable rank than that to which the notions of Europeans have generally admitted them. It was not rude laughter and boisterous mirth, nor drunken jokes, nor noisy talk, which passed their hours away, but the peaceful, calm emotion of harmless pleasure.

“Had I never seen and known more of these savages than the occurrences of this day, and the pastimes of the evening, I should not have hesitated to declare them the happiest of mortals. Free from care, and pleased with a little, their life seemed flowing on, like a smooth stream gliding through flowery meads. Thoughtless and unreflecting, they laughed and smiled the hours away, heedless of futurity, and forgetful of the past. Their music softened all their passions, and thus they lulled themselves into that mild and tranquil state in which no evil thoughts approach the mind. The soft and delicate voices of the girls, instinctively accordant to those of the women and the men; the gentle clapping of the hands; the rattles of the dancer; and the mellow sound of the water drum, all harmoniously attuned, and keeping time together; the peaceful, happy countenances of the party, and the cheerful light of the fire, were circumstances so combined and fitted to produce the most soothing effects on the senses, that I sat as if the hut had been my home, and felt in the midst of this horde as though I had been one of them; for some few moments ceasing to think of sciences or of Europe, and forgetting that I was a lonely stranger in a land of untutored men.”

Nor is this a solitary example of the effect of native music in its own land, for other travellers have, as we shall see, written in equally glowing terms of the peculiar charms of the sounds produced by the rude instruments of Southern Africa, accompanied by the human voice.

We now come to the instrument which is, par excellence, the characteristic instrument of Southern Africa. The water-drum is a rather curious musical instrument, but there is one even more remarkable in use among the Bosjesmans, which is a singular combination of the stringed and wind principles. In general form it bears a great resemblance to the Kaffir harp, but it has no gourd by way of a sounding-board, and the tones are produced in a different manner. This instrument is called the Goura, and is thus described by Le Vaillant:—

“The goura is shaped like the bow of a savage Hottentot. It is of the same size, and a string made of intestines, fixed to one of its extremities, is retained at the other by a knot in the barrel of a quill which is flattened and cleft. This quill being opened, forms a very long isosceles triangle, about two inches in length; and at the base of this triangle the hole is made that keeps the string fast, the end of which, drawn back, is tied at the other end of the bow with a very thin thong of leather. This cord may be stretched so as to have a greater or less degree of tension according to the pleasure of the musician, but when several gouras play together, they are never in unison.

“Such is the first instrument of a Hottentot, which one would not suppose to be a wind instrument, though it is undoubtedly of that kind. It is held almost in the same manner as a huntsman’s horn, with that end where the quill is fixed toward the performer’s mouth, which he applies to it, and either by aspiration or inspiration draws from it very melodious tones. The savages, however, who succeed best on this instrument, cannot play any regular tune; they only emit certain twangs, like those drawn in a particular manner from a violin or violoncello. I took great pleasure in seeing one of my attendants called John, who was accounted an adept, regale for whole hours his companions, who, transported and ravished, interrupted him every now and then by exclaiming ‘Ah! how charming it is; begin that again.’ John began again, but his second performance had no resemblance to the first: for, as I have said, these people cannot play any regular tune upon this instrument, the tones of which are only the effect of chance, and of the quality of the quill. The best quills are those which are taken from the wings of a certain species of bustard, and whenever I happened to kill one of these birds, I was always solicited to make a small sacrifice for the support of our orchestra.”

In playing this remarkable instrument, the performer seats himself, brings the quill to his mouth, and steadies himself by resting his elbows on his knees, and putting the right forefinger into the corresponding ear, and the left forefinger into his wide nostril. A good performer uses much exertion in order to bring out the tones properly, and it is a curious fact, that an accomplished player contrives to produce octaves by blowing with increased strength, just as is done with the flute, an instrument on which the sound of the goura can be tolerably represented.

The same traveller contrived to write down the air which was played by a celebrated performer, and found that he always repeated the same movement. The time occupied in playing it through was seventy seconds.

“When a woman plays the goura, it changes its name merely because she changes the manner of playing it, and it is then transformed into a joum-joum. Seated on the ground, she places it perpendicularly before her, in the same manner as a harp is held in Europe. She keeps it firm in its position by putting her foot between the bow and the string, taking care not to touch the latter. With the right hand she grasps the bow in the middle, and while she blows with her mouth in the quill, she strikes the string in several places with a small stick five or six inches in length, which she holds in the other hand. This produces some variety in the modulations, but the instrument must be brought close to the ear before one can catch distinctly all the modulations of the sounds. This manner of holding the goura struck me much, especially as it greatly added to the graces of the female who performed on it.”

The reader will see from this description that the tones of the goura are not unlike those of the jews-harp, though inferior both in volume and variety to those which can be produced from a tolerably good instrument. Both the Hottentots and Bosjesmans soon learn to manage the jews-harp, and, on account of its small size and consequent portability, it has almost superseded the native goura.

Two more musical instruments are or were used by these people. One is the native guitar, or Rabouquin, which somewhat resembles the familiar “banjo” of the negro. It consists of a triangular piece of board, furnished with a bridge, over which are stretched three strings, made of the twisted intestines of animals. The strings are attached to pegs, by which they can be tightened or loosened so as to produce the required note. As Le Vaillant quaintly observes: “Any other person might perhaps produce some music from it and render it agreeable, but the native is content with drumming on the strings with his fingers at random, so that any musical effect is simply a matter of chance.”

The last instrument which these natives possess is a kind of drum, made of a hollowed log, over one end of which a piece of tanned skin is tightly stretched. The drum is sometimes beaten with the fists and sometimes with sticks, and a well-made drum will give out resonant notes which can be heard at a considerable distance. This drum is called by the name of Romelpot.

The effect of native music on an European ear has already been mentioned on page 264. Dr. Lichtenstein, himself a good musician, corroborates Burchell’s account, and speaks no less highly, though in more technical and scientific language, of that music, and the peculiar scale on which it is formed.

“We were by degrees so accustomed to the monotonous sound that our sleep was never disturbed by it; nay, it rather lulled us to sleep. Heard at a distance, there is nothing unpleasant in it, but something plaintive and soothing. Although no more than six tones can be produced from it, which do not besides belong to our gamut, but form intervals quite foreign to it, yet the kind of vocal sound of these tones, the uncommon nature of the rhythm, and even the oddness, I may say wildness, of the harmony, give to this music a charm peculiar to itself. I venture to make use of the term ‘harmony,’ for so it may indeed be called, since, although the intervals be not the same as ours, they stand in a proportion perfectly regular and intelligible, as well as pleasing to the ear.

“Between the principal tones and the octave lie only three intervals; the first is at least somewhat deeper than our great third; the second lies in the middle, between the little and the great fifth; and the third between the great sixth and the little seventh; so that a person might imagine he hears the modulation first in the smallest seventh accord. Yet everyone lies higher in proportion to the principal tone; the ear feels less the desire of breaking off in the pure triple sound; it is even more satisfied without it. Practised players continue to draw out the second, sometimes even the third, interval, in the higher octave. Still these high tones are somewhat broken, and seldom pure octaves of the corresponding deep tones. Melodies, properly speaking, are never to be heard; it is only a change of the same tones long protracted, the principal tone being struck before every one. It deserves to be remarked, that the intervals in question do not properly belong to the instrument; they are, in truth, the psalmodial music of the African savages.”

There is nothing more easy than to theorize, and nothing more difficult than to make the theory “hold water,” as the saying is. I knew a learned philologist, who elaborated a theory on the structure of language, and illustrated it by careful watching of his successive children, and noting the mode in which they struggled through their infantile lispings into expression. First came inarticulate sounds, which none but the mother could understand, analogous to the cries of the lower animals, and employed because the yet undeveloped mind had not advanced beyond the animal stage of existence. Then came onomatopœia, or imitative sounds, and so, by regular degrees, through substantives, verbs, adjectives, and pronouns, the powers of language were systematically developed. This theory answered very well with the first two children, but broke down utterly with the third, whose first utterance was, “Don’t tease, go away.”

So has it been with the Bosjesman race; and, while they have been described as the most degraded of the great human family, signs have been discovered which show that they have some knowledge of the rudiments of art. I allude here to the celebrated Bosjesman paintings which are scattered through the country, mostly in caves and on rocks near water springs, and which are often as well drawn as those produced so plentifully by the American Indians. They almost invariably represent figures of men and beasts, and in many cases the drawing is sufficiently good to enable the spectator to identity the particular animals which the native artist has intended to delineate.

The following account of some of these drawings is taken from the notes of Mr. Christie, which he has liberally placed at my disposal:—

“I cannot add much to what is written of them, except to allude to what are termed Bushman paintings, found in caverns and on flat stone surfaces near some of their permanent water supplies. I have only met with two instances of the former paintings, and they were in a cave in the side of a krantz, in the north part of the Zwart Ruggens. I came upon them while hunting koodoos. One side of the cavern was covered with outlines of animals. Only the upper part was distinguishable, and evidently represented the wildebeest, or gnoo, the koodoo, quagga, &c. The figures were very rudely drawn, and the colors used were dull-red and black, and perhaps white; the latter may possibly have been a stalactite deposition from water.

“The other instance was near an outspan place on the Karroo road to Graff Reinet, known as Pickle Fountain, where there is a permanent spring of fresh water, near the course of an ancient stream now dry. On a flat piece of sandstone which had once formed part of the bank of the stream were the remains of a drawing, which may have been the outline of a man with a bow and arrow, and a dog, but it was so weather-worn that little more could be made out than the fact of its being a drawing. The colors used, as in the cave, were red and black. At the time of my seeing the drawings, I had with me a Bushman, named Booy (who was born near what is marked in the map as the Commissioner’s Salt Pan), but he could give me no information on the subject of the paintings, and I am rather inclined to think that they are the work of one of the Hottentot tribes now extinct.

“My Bushman was a very shrewd fellow, but, although I had been at that time for some years among the natives, I had not become aware of the poverty of their intellect. I had shown them drawings numberless times, had described them, and listened to their remarks, but had not then discovered that even the most intelligent had no idea of a picture beyond a simple outline. They cannot understand the possibility of perspective, nor how a curved surface can be shown on a flat sheet of paper.”

Together with this account, Mr. Christie transmitted a copy of a similar drawing found in a cavern in the George district. The color used in the drawings is red, upon a yellow ground—the latter tint being that of the stone on which they were delineated. The subject of the drawing is rather obscure. The figures are evidently intended to represent men, but they are unarmed, and present the peculiarity of wearing headdresses, such as are not used by any of the tribes with whom the Bosjesmans could have come in contact. They might have often seen the Kaffirs, with their war ornaments of feathers, and the Hottentots with their rude skin caps, but no South African tribe wears a headdress which could in any way be identified with these. Partly on this account, and partly because the figures are not armed with bows and arrows, as is usual in figures that are intended to represent Bosjesmans, Mr. Christie is of opinion that many years ago a boat’s crew may have landed on the coast, and that the Bosjesmans who saw them recorded the fact by this rock-picture.

The tools of the Bosjesman artist are simple enough, consisting of a feather dipped in grease, in which he has mixed colored clays, and, as Mr. Baines well observes, he never fails to give the animals which he draws the proper complement of members. Like a child, he will place the horns and ears half down the neck, and distribute the legs impartially along the body; but he knows nothing of perspective, and has not the least idea of foreshortening, or of concealing one limb or horn behind another, as it would appear to the eye.

The same traveller rather differs from Mr. Christie in his estimation of the artistic powers of the Bosjesman, and his capability for comprehending a picture. According to him, a Bosjesman can understand a colored drawing perfectly. He can name any tree, bird, animal, or insect, that has been drawn in colors, but does not seem to appreciate a perspective drawing in black and white. “When I showed them the oil-painting of the Damara family, their admiration knew no bounds. The forms, dress, and ornaments of the figures were freely commented on, and the distinctive characteristics between them and the group of Bushmen pointed out. The dead bird was called by its name, and, what I hardly expected, even the bit of wheel and fore part of the wagon was no difficulty to them. They enjoyed the sketch of Kobis greatly, and pointed out the figures in the group of men, horses, and oxen very readily. Leaves and flowers they had no difficulty with, and the only thing they failed in was the root of the markwhae. But when it is considered that if this, the real blessing of the desert, were lying on the surface, an inexperienced Englishman would not know it from a stone at a little distance, this is not to be wondered at. The dead animals drawn in perspective and foreshortened were also named as fast as I produced them, except a half-finished, uncolored sketch of the brindled gnoo. They had an idea of its proper name, but, said they, ‘We can see only one horn, and it may be a rhinoceros or a wild boar.’”

The following anecdotes have been kindly sent to me by Captain Drayson, R. A., who was engaged in the late Kaffir war:—

“The habits of the Bushman are those of a thoroughly wild hunter; to him cattle are merely an incumbrance, and to cultivate the soil is merely to do himself what Nature will do for him. The country in which he resides swarms with game, and to kill this is to a Bushman no trouble. His neighbors keep cattle, and that is as a last resource a means of subsistence; but, as the Bushman wanders over the country, and selects those spots in which the necessaries of life abound, he rarely suffers from want. If a young Bushman be captured, as sometimes happens when the Dutch Boers set out on an expedition against these thieves, the relatives at once track the captive to its prison, and sooner or later recover it. I once saw a Bushboy who had been eight years in a Dutchman’s family, had learned to speak Dutch, to eat with a knife and fork, and to wear clothes; but at the end of that time the Bushboy disappeared. His clothes were found in the stables in the place of a horse which he had taken with him. The spoor being rapidly followed, was found to lead to the Draakensberg Mountains, among the fastnesses of which the Boers had no fancy to follow, for from every cranny and inaccessible ridge a poisonous arrow might be discharged, as the youth had evidently rejoined his long-lost relatives.

“It was a great surprise to notice the effect on our Dutch sporting companions of the intimation of ‘Bushmen near.’ We were riding on an elevated spur of the Draakensberg, near the Mooi River, when a Boer suddenly reined up his horse, and exclaimed:—

“‘Cess, kek die spoor von verdamt Boschmen!’

“Jumping off his horse he examined the ground, and then said: ‘A man it is; one naked foot, the other with a velschoen.’ The whole party immediately became intensely excited, they scattered in all directions like a pack of hounds in cover; some galloped to the nearest ridge, others followed on the spoor, all in search of the Bushman. ‘He has not long gone,’ said one of my companions; ‘be ready.’

“‘Ready for what?’ I inquired.

“‘Ready to shoot the schelm.’

“‘Would you shoot him?’ I asked.

“‘Just so as I would a snake.’

“And then my companion explained to me that he had not long since bought at a great price a valuable horse which he had taken to his farm. In three weeks the horse was stolen by Bushmen. He followed quickly, and the animal being fat, begun to tire, so two Bushmen who were riding it jumped off, stabbed it with their arrows, and left it. The horse died that night. Again, a neighbor had about twenty oxen carried off. The Bushmen were the thieves, and, on being followed closely, stabbed all the oxen, most of which died.

“Many other similar tales were told, our informant winding up with these remarks:

“‘I have heard that every creature God makes is useful, and I think so too; but it is only useful in its place. A puff-adder is useful where there are too many toads or frogs; but when he comes into my house he is out of place, and I kill him. A Bushman near my farm is out of place, and I shoot him; for if I let him alone he poisons my horses and cattle, and very likely me too.’

“Only twice did I ever see the Bushman at home; on the first occasion it was just after a fearful storm, and they had sought shelter in a kloof near our quarters. They emerged about three hundred yards in advance of us, and immediately made off like the wind. Not to be unconventional, we sent a bullet after them, but high over their head; they stayed not for another. On a second occasion I was close to them, and was first made aware of their presence in consequence of an arrow striking a tree near; not aimed at me, but at some Daas, or rock-rabbits, which were on the rocks close by. With no little care and some speed I retreated from the neighborhood of such implements as poisoned arrows, and then by aid of a glass saw the Bushmen first find their arrow and then my spoor, at which latter they took fright, and disappeared in a neighboring kloof.”