Kafir Stories
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William Charles Scully >> Kafir Stories
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It was only after tremendous difficulty that Whitson and Langley
succeeded in escaping from the mountains. However, on the evening of
the third day after their adventure in the cave, they came in sight of
the police camp, Whitson sat down on a stone, and motioned his
companion to do the same.
"See here, Sonny," he said, "I want to have a short talk with you. I am
a bit cross with you as the cause of my having been sucked in by that
damned, murdering old walrus. You ought to know the inhabitants of this
country better than a simple stranger like me, and so I took your lead.
Now, another thing, you nearly bust us both by your blasted foolishness
in going to sleep that day; but let that pass, because perhaps it would
have been worse if we had not been put on our guard; not but that it
would take a damned smart cannibal to eat Hiram Whitson. But this is
what I am coming to: you my boy are a darned sight too fond of hearing
your own tongue clack. Now, lake a warning from me, and don't let a
word of what has happened since we left Camp--for Pietermaritzburg--
pass your lips. I did all the shooting, and I'm not a bit ashamed of
it; but, by the eternal God, if you open your lips to a soul, I'll
shoot you like a dog or a cannibal. Remember that, Sonny, and say it
quietly over to yourself the first time you fee that you want to blab.
Now shake hands."
This was probably the longest speech that Whitson had ever made.
About two years after the events narrated, Whitson took his discharge
and returned to America. He left behind him a sealed packet addressed
to his Commanding Officer, and which was not to be delivered for twelve
months after his departure.
Owing, however, to a strange combination of fortuitous circumstances,
this packet never reached its proper destination; its wrapper, bearing
the address, having been scorched off in a fire which took place in the
house where it was left.
NOTE.
Many people have heard or read of the cannibals of Natal, who turned
large tracts of country into a shambles in the early part of this
century, after Tshaka's impis had swept off all the cattle, and then
kept the miserable people continually on the move, so that they were
unable to cultivate. One Umdava originated the practice of eating human
flesh. Gathering together the fragments of four scattered tribes, he
trained them to hunt human beings as others hunted game. This gang was
a greater scourge to the country surrounding the present site of
Pietermaritzburg than even Tshaka's murdering hordes. It was broken up
in or about the year 1824 when the Europeans first came to the country,
and the remnants of many scattered tribes returned and settled under
their protection.
All this is history with which most people in South Africa are
familiar, but many do not know that some of the cannibals fled to
Basutoland where, amongst almost inaccessible mountains, they carried
on their horrible practices for many years.
It is a well-known fact that when men once surrender themselves to any
unnatural and brutal vice, the gratification of the abnormal instinct
thus acquired becomes the most imperative need of their nature. The
Falkland Islands case, as bearing specially upon the foregoing
narrative, may be mentioned. Some convicts escaped from the Falkland
Islands convict station, and succeeded in reaching the coast of
Patagonia. They then endeavoured to make their way to Monte Video, but,
having to keep along the shore so as to avoid the natives who would
have killed them had they ventured inland, were easily intercepted by
the Government cutter which was always dispatched in cases of the kind
to head off fugitives upon their only possible course. Of the party,
only one man was found alive. In their dreadful need the men had cast
lots as to who should be killed and eaten by the others, and this went
on until only the one man remained. His sufferings had been so horrible
that he was let off any further punishment, and simply brought back to
the Island to complete the term of his sentence. Some months after,
this man induced another to escape with him in a boat, and when the
boat was overtaken it was found he had killed his companion for the
purpose of eating the latter's flesh. This was apparent from the fact
that the supply of food which the fugitives had taken with them was not
exhausted.
UKUSHWAMA.
"No ghosts, they say.
What is a ghost?--
Nay, what are thoughts and stars and winds?
They cannot tell--they show at most
Those formal swathes the pedant binds
Across clear eyes, the while he plugs
The apertures of liberal lugs."
SHAGBAG on Dogmatism.
I.
I had been for two days endeavouring to frame a workable quarantine
scheme in respect of an outbreak of lung sickness amongst the natives'
cattle in several of those deep valleys which cleave the Xomlenzi range
from the Northern bank of the Tina River, and it was late in afternoon
when I reached the kraal of my friend Numjala, Headman over a section
of the Baca tribe of Kafirs. The mounted policeman who had accompanied
me let his tired horse fall in a particularly bad drift, thus laming
the animal, and had had to remain behind in consequence. Thus I was
alone, but this circumstance did not trouble me, because my horse was
fresh, and I knew the country well.
Numjala is a roan of parts; he must be well over sixty years of age,
but his eye is bright and his wit is keen. He is well off, for a
native, and very hospitable.
The moon being new, her pale crescent sank quickly after the sun, but
the sky was perfectly clear and the stars more than ordinarily bright.
To reach home I had about twelve miles to ride, that is, by taking a
short cut along footpaths; along the main road the distance was nearer
twenty.
Numjala was very anxious that I should spend the night at his kraal,
and offered, would I agree to remain, to kill a juicy looking kid and
roast it for supper. I had, however, promised my wife to return by
midnight, and I feared she might be uneasy were I not to do so; I
therefore declined the invitation.
"Does your horse lead well?" asked Numjala.
"Not particularly," I replied; "why do you ask?"
"You say you are going by the footpath past the Ghoda bush?"
"Yes."
"Unless your horse leads well, you will never get him past the Ghoda
to-night, this being the night of the New Moon. You will certainly
never ride him past."
The Ghoda bush is a narrow strip of forest running down the side of a
steep mountain which forms one side of a valley, the other side being
formed of a perpendicular cliff, at the foot of which a stream brawls.
The strip of forest does not quite reach the stream, a grassy glade,
about twenty-five yards in width, lying between. Over this glade the
footpath leads. The Ghoda is about a mile from Numjala's kraal, and
just beyond it is the drift over the stream.
"What has the Moon to do with it?" I asked.
"That is a hard question. I only know that no horse can be ridden past
the Ghoda after sundown when the Moon is new."
"Look here, Numjala," I said reprovingly, "a man of your intelligence
ought to be ashamed of even pretending to believe such a thing. Why
this is worse than what you told me about the grass not growing at the
spot where Ncapayi and his men were killed by the Pondos."
"Is it?"
(Ncapayi, Great Chief of the Baca tribe, with many hundreds of his
followers, was killed in 1845 in a battle fought with the Pondos on the
Northern bank of the Umzimvubo river, between what is now Mount Frere
and the sea.)
"Yes, and nearly as bad as your account of the snow falling on Tshaka's
impi and killing hundreds of his soldiers, whilst it fell nowhere else
in the neighbourhood."
"Why should not that be true?"
Fearing that it would be useless to attempt demonstrating to Numjala
that, logically, no one is bound to prove a negative, I evaded his
question, and said:
"You told me the other day that you believed in witchcraft. Surely you
did not mean that?"
"Why not? Did not your great Prophet--every one of whose sayings all
you white people believe so thoroughly and follow so carefully"--it
will be seen that Numjala can be sarcastic--"believe in evil spirits,
and even drive them forth? Is it not this that the witch-doctor claims
to do? Did not the Prophet of the Wesleyans believe in witchcraft? Now,
if you believe the words of your Prophets about some things, why not
about others?"
I was surprised at these words, knowing Numjala to be a heathen, and I
suppose I must have shown this, for he added:
"I have talked with the missionaries, or rather they have talked to me.
Besides, my brother's son is an evangelist, and he has told me a lot
about what is taught in the schools."
"But, surely, Numjala, your experience must have taught you that
witchcraft is all humbug (imfeketu), and that before the English rule,
the witch-doctor was simply the instrument of the chief for suppressing
people who became too rich or too powerful."
"The witch-doctor may often be a humbug (kohlisi), and yet it is
possible that there may be such a thing as witchcraft. A missionary, to
whom I pointed out that some who preached the gospel had been since
proved evil men, once said much the same thing to me about religion. I
am an old man, and I have learnt many things, and one is this: He who
always says of the thing he does not understand, 'This cannot be,' is
in danger of being put to shame."
"Well, Numjala, tell me the story about the Ghoda bush, for I am sure
there is a story."
"I will tell it if you stay here to-night."
"But I must go home."
"Well then, I will make a bargain with you. You have already passed the
Ghoda, and therefore you know the footpath leading to the drift."
"Yes, I know it well. I traveled it only the day before yesterday."
"Very well. You will take the pathway tonight, and if you can ride your
horse past the Ghoda, well and good--you will go home to your wife. If
not, you will return and sleep here. The kid will be roasted, and you
shall hear the story. Do you agree?"
"Certainly I do."
"Just one thing:--remember that you are to ride past. It is possible,
although I think it unlikely, that you might reach the drift if you
blind-folded the horse and led him."
"I quite understand. Good-bye."
"I will not say 'Good-bye.' You will return and hear the story."
As I rode away laughing, I heard Numjala calling out to his son
Tantiso, telling him to catch a certain kid, kill it, and prepare it
for immediate roasting. My course led down the hillside, and then along
the level bottom of the valley on the left-hand side of which is the
Ghoda Bush. The stream was on my right, and the pathway on which I was
riding ran parallel with it, distant about twenty yards.
As I drew near the Ghoda I felt somewhat creepy. My horse was a steady
old stager, not at all given to shying. He went along at a quick amble,
and as I neared the fateful spot, I freshened up my courage with the
thought that in a few moments I would have crossed the drift, and then
the Ghoda and its ghost would be well behind me. My horse was stepping
out briskly and without showing the least sign of suspicion, when all
at once he gave a loud snort and wheeled sharply to the right,
completely unseating me, However, I did not fall off, as I managed to
clutch hold of his mane. As I swung back into the saddle, I saw that we
had narrowly escaped falling down the sleep bank into the stream.
To save my self-respect, I made another attempt to pass, but more or
less the same thing happened, except that I kept my seat, and managed
to avoid going so near the bank, I then left the horse to himself, and
he ambled back to Numjala's kraal. When I dismounted he was wet with
perspiration, and trembling violently. I will not say how I felt, but
my sensations were not comfortable.
Numjala evinced no surprise, nor did he attempt to triumph over me in
any way. Neither did he (then, or ever) ask me what had happened. He
took my return, quite as a matter of course.
We sat down to supper. The kid was excellent, and the foaming koumis
from the big calabash equal to champagne. After supper I spread my rug
at one side of the fireplace--Numjala unrolled his mat at the other. We
lay down and smoked our pipes in silence for some time, and then
Numjala told me the following story.
II.
It is many years since I first came to live on this spot. I was then a
poor man, although the 'great son' of my father, who was a chief of
some importance. He died with Ncapayi in the battle on the Umzimvubo,
and shortly afterwards all our cattle were swept off, I had then only
two wives, and the eldest child by the first wife was a girl whom I
called Nomalie. Many daughters have been borne to me since, and my
kraal is full of their 'lobola' cattle, but the only girl of the lot
that I was ever really fond of was Nomalie--perhaps because she was my
first child.
"She grew up--tall and straight, with well-formed limbs. I remember
that from her birth she had a soft look in her face, and her eyes were
very large. She was rather light in colour. It was said that her
mother's grandfather was a white man. Her mother's family came from the
Amavangwane country, which is on the sea-coast, and I have been told
that long ago a white man came out of the sea and took a woman of the
tribe as his wife. One of this man's daughters was the mother of my
wife, who was Nomalie's mother. It was strange that my wife showed no
trace whatever of white descent, whilst Nomalie most certainly did,
both in colour and feature.
"As soon as ever Nomalie reached a marriageable age, many men wanted to
marry her, but when the suitors came to 'metja' (woo) she would have
nothing to do with them. I soon found out the reason of this; she had
grown fond of a young man named Xolilizwe, a son of the right-hand
house of one of Ncapayi's counselors who, like me, had lost all his
wealth. Xolilizwe dwelt with his uncle Kwababana--a very old man--over
the hill at the back of the cliff facing the Ghoda. He was a few years
older than Nomalie, and he often used to stay for weeks at a time here
at my kraal. Xolilizwe was all that a young man should be, except that
he was poor, and his uncle, old Kwababana, could give him nothing.
"Xolilizwe was brave and strong, and I had gladly given him Nomalie,
but you know what we Kafirs are; no man will give his daughter to one
who cannot pay 'ikazi' (dowry). Besides, no girl would want to marry
such a man--no matter how much she liked him--for she would always be
known as the woman for whom no dowry had been paid, and this would be a
reproach to her and all her relations.
"Nomalie was very young, and I was so fond of her that I did not want
to force her to marry against her will. But seeing how matters stood, I
told Xolilizwe that he had better keep away. Shortly after this he
disappeared from the neighbourhood.
"In the days I speak of, Lukwazi was the most important man in these
parts. Although inferior to me in rank, he was very rich, and Makaula,
Ncapayi's successor, had made him Chief over the people in this
neighbourhood; consequently I was under him. Nearly all my father's
people having been killed, the few who remained were placed under
Lukwazi, his kraal was the one on the top of the second ridge beyond
the Ghoda. No one liked Lukwazi, though many feared him on account of
his cunning, and his wealth gave him power. He was a very big man, of a
wrathful temper, and they said that though he loved the smell of other
men's blood, he feared to smell his own. At the time I speak of he was
an elderly man, and had (I think) twelve wives and many children.
"Well, one day Lukwazi called here in passing, and saw Nomalie. About a
week afterwards two of his messengers came and said that he wanted her
as his wife. I was both glad and sorry. Glad, because I was poor and
wanted cattle, and when it is a question of lobola, a chief gives more
than an ordinary man; but sorry because I disliked Lukwazi, and felt
uneasy at giving him my favourite daughter. Of course I could not
refuse, I being Lukwazi's man.
"Nomalie cried bitterly, and at first declared that she would never go
to him, but I told her that she must, and that I would, if necessary,
make her do so. I could not afford to fall out with Lukwazi, my Chief,
and a powerful, revengeful man. Besides, the girl had to marry some
one, and I naturally wanted her to marry him who would pay the most
cattle. After a while she ceased to object, but she went about looking
so sad that I never liked to see her. She used to come near me, and
look into my face, and this made me feel so sorrowful that I tried to
avoid her as much as possible. Just before they took her away I was so
distressed at the sight of her misery that I could have even then put a
stop to the marriage only that I was afraid to make an enemy of
Lukwazi.
"At length they came to fetch her, and I shall never forget the look
she gave me over her shoulder whilst being led away. Then I comforted
myself with the thought that when she came back after the fifth day,
driving the ox for the marriage feast, she would not look so miserable.
"In the middle of the second night after Nomalie had gone I was
sleeping in my hut, and I heard some one trying to open the door. I
asked, 'Who is there?' and a voice (Nomalie's) replied, 'It is I, your
child.' I removed the door-pole, and Nomalie entered. I said, 'My
child, what is this thing?' but she did not speak. I threw some twigs
on the embers, and when they blazed up, what I saw made me burn with
wrath. The girl was naked, and her body and limbs were covered with
wheals and scars where the women had beaten her because she would not
allow Lukwazi to approach her.
"She sat down next to the fire and looked at me in silence until I
could endure it no longer, so working up a semblance of anger to hide
my pity, I said roughly, 'Why have you brought disgrace on your house,
by leaving your husband? I shall send you back to-morrow!' Instead of
replying, she stood up, and taking my large spear from where it was
sticking in the roof, she handed it to me. She then knelt down, and
placing a hand upon each of her breasts, she drew them apart, and
looked into my face. I knew she meant this to indicate that she wished
me to drive the spear into her, rather than to send her back. To see if
she were in earnest, I lifted the spear as if to strike, still keeping
up the semblance of anger--but she just closed her eyes, smiled, and
leant slightly towards me, I then saw she was in earnest, so I flung
down the spear and said in a kinder voice that she should remain, and
that Lukwazi might keep his cattle. When I had said this, she flung
herself to the ground on her face, and wept as though she would die.
"Next day, Lukwazi's messengers came for Nomalie, but I told them they
could not have her. Afterwards Lukwazi himself came with ten men armed,
and said he would take his wife by force. I stood in front of the door
of the hut, leaving Nomalie alone inside, and told Lukwazi that the
girl refused to return to him, and that after the way she had been
ill-treated, I should not force her to do so, Lukwazi said that the girl
was now his wife, that he had married her with my consent, that he had
now come to fetch her, and that he meant to have her. Just then I felt
something put into my hand from behind, and when I closed my fingers on
it I found this thing to be the handle of my big, broad-bladed spear.
Then I heard the wicker door of the hut being closed, and the cross-bar
being slipt into its place.
"Now when I realised what Nomalie had done thus silently, and other own
accord, my heart filled with pride in my daughter, and I began to
answer Lukwazi more boldly. I told him that I knew I had the law on my
side--the girl had returned showing marks of ill-treatment, and I was
therefore justified in keeping her--at all events until an inquiry had
been held. Lukwazi said that, law or no law, he was going to take the
girl away then and there, so I told him that I would slay with my spear
the first man who tried to enter the hut. At this, Lukwazi and his
followers became very wrathful, and I think they would have attacked me
had it not been for what my daughter then did.
"Over the loud voices of the men we heard hers calling Lukwazi by name,
and then all ceased speaking for the moment, Lukwazi replied to her,
saying, 'What is it, my wife?'"
"The door of the hut is fast barred, and you cannot break it down so
quickly but that I may set the hut in flames in several places before
you enter. I will die in the fire rather than go with you."
"On hearing this, they all looked at one another, and shortly
afterwards they moved off, Lukwazi still looking wrathful, and
muttering fierce threats against me and my house.
"About a month afterwards Xolilizwe returned. He brought eight head of
cattle which he had stolen from the Fingoes. He came here and asked me
to give him Nomalie as his wife, offering the cattle he had stolen as
an installment of the dowry, the balance of which he would pay later
on, when able to do so. I consented, as I wanted to make up to the girl
for any previous hardness, so she went as the wife of Xolilizwe to the
kraal of his uncle, old Kwababana. There was not much of a marriage
feast, for I still feared the anger of Lukwazi, and did not want to
annoy him further. I warned Xolilizwe to be careful, as I felt sure
Lukwazi would try and be revenged on some of us--and most probably on
him through the witchdoctor. In fact I strongly advised him to take
Nomalie away quietly, and go and dwell with our people on the
Umzimkulu.
"It was early in summer when Nomalie went to dwell with Xolilizwe as
his wife, and about three months before the feast of the first-fruits
(Ukushwama). You know something about what then happens. Each chief
sends away by night, and has a pumpkin, a mealie-cob, and a stick of
'imfe' (sweet-reed) stolen from the territory of some chief belonging
to another tribe. These are mixed with medicines by the witch-doctor,
and partaken of by the Chief and his family, in the calf-kraal before
dawn on the morning of the day of the new moon. You have no doubt also
heard that when a chief confers the honours of chieftainship upon his
'great son,' who is to succeed him, a special Shwama is held, and that
on such an occasion the stolen first-fruits have to be mixed, by the
witch-doctor in the skull of a man who has been killed for the purpose.
Many Europeans refuse to believe that this kind of thing still happens;
nevertheless it does, and it will happen in spite of all the Government
may do, so long as the Baca tribe is in existence. Even a Christian
chief would require Ukushwama to be performed in respect of his son, or
otherwise--as he well knows--the son would never be recognised as
legitimately a chief.
"Now the skull used at Ukushwama must be that of a man of a certain
rank, and is supposed to be that of an old man; but this is not
absolutely indispensable. I have told you that Lukwazi, although a
chief, was of low birth. Now, amongst the people in this neighbourhood
were very few whose rank was even equal to his own, and therefore when
it became known that at the next feast of first-fruits, his son
Bobazayo was to take the great Shwama, people began to wonder whose
skull would be required.
"I thought over the matter myself, and I found that the only three men
about here whose skulls would do, were Kwababana--Xolilizwe's uncle--
Xolilizwe, and myself. I at once made up my mind that Kwababana would
be the man, because he was very old, and besides his rank was highest,
his father having been the brother of Madikane.
"A short time before the feast, which begins with the new moon in the
month which you call February, I went away to the 'great place'
(residence of the paramount Chief of the tribe) intending to return in
time for the opening ceremony.
"When I returned on the second-last day of the old moon, I was quite
surprised to hear that Kwababana was quite well.
"As no one had heard of a killing, there was much speculation going on
as to where a skull had been obtained; it being usual to kill for this
purpose nearly a month before the feast--although this, again, is not a
necessary condition.
"Well, we all assembled at Lukwazi's kraal on the last night of the old
moon. I had not seen Xolilizwe since my return, and I was surprised at
not finding him at Lukwazi's. Just before daylight the Shwama was
administered to Bobazayo in the calf-kraal, and then to the members of
his family. Upon two points I kept wondering: one was in connection
with the skull--whose was it, and where had the witch-doctor obtained
it? The other was the absence of Xolilizwe--where was he, and what
excuse would he give for not being present when the great son of the
Chief took the Shwama?
"We drank beer, and danced, and made merry all the forenoon. I saw a
man near me who must have passed Kwababana's kraal in coming to the
feast, and I asked him if he had seen anything of Xolilizwe. He told me
he had heard that Xolilizwe was away following the spoor of old
Kwababana's only milking cow, which had been stolen three days
previously, and had not returned.
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