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axe is held in the right hand. Many were adorned with tiger skins and
tails, and had plumes of feathers waving on their heads. In the
centre a sufficient space was left for the privileged—those who had
killed an enemy in battle—to dance and sing, in which they exhibited
the most violent and fantastic gestures conceivable, which drew forth
from the spectators the most clamorous applause. When they retire
to their seats the speaker commences by commanding silence—“Be
silent, ye Batlapis. Be silent, ye Barolongs”—addressing each tribe
distinctly, not excepting the white people if any happen to be present,
and to which each responds with a groan. He then takes from his
shield a spear, and points it in the direction in which the enemy is
advancing, imprecating a curse upon them, and thus declaring war
by repeatedly thrusting his spear in that direction, as if plunging it
into the enemy. This receives a loud whistling sound of applause. He
next directs his spear towards the Bushman-country, south and
south-west, imprecating also a curse on those “ox-eaters,” as they
are called. The king on this, as on all similar occasions, introduced
the business of the day by, “Ye sons of Molehabangue”—viewing all
the influential men present as the friends or allies of his kingdom,
which rose to more than its former eminence under the reign of that
monarch, his father—“the Mantatees are a strong and victorious
people; they have overwhelmed many nations and they are
approaching to destroy us. We have been apprised of their manners,
their deeds, their weapons, and their intentions. We cannot stand
against the Mantatees; we must now concert, conclude, and be
determined to stand; the case is a great one. You have seen the
interest the missionary has taken in your safety; if we exert ourselves
as he has done the Mantatees can come no farther. You see the
white people are our friends. You see Mr. Thompson, a chief man of
the Cape, has come to see us on horseback; he has not come to lurk
behind our houses as a spy, but comes openly, and with confidence;
his intentions are good, he is one on whom the light of day may
shine, he is our friend. I now wait to hear what the general opinion is.
Let everyone speak his mind, and then I shall speak again.” Mothibi
manœuvred his spear as at the commencement, and then pointing it
towards heaven, the audience shouted “Pula” (rain), on which he sat
down amidst a din of applause.
Between each speaker a part or verse of a war-song is sung, the
same antics are then performed, and again universal silence is
commanded. The second speaker, Moshume, said, “To-day we are
called upon to oppose an enemy, who is the enemy of all. Moffat has
been near the camp of the enemy; we all opposed his going; we are
to-day all glad that he went; he did not listen to us; he has warned us
and the Griquas. What are we now to do? If we flee, they will
overtake us; if we fight, they will conquer; they are as strong as a
lion; they kill and eat; they leave nothing. [Here an old man
interrupted the speaker, begging him to roar aloud that all might
hear.] I know ye, Batlapis,” continued Moshume, “that at home and in
the face of women ye are men, but women in the face of the enemy;
ye are ready to run when you should stand; think and prepare your
hearts this day; be united in one; make your hearts hard.”
Incha, a Morolong, commenced his speech by recommending that
the Batlapis should wait till the Mantatees arrived and then attack
them. He had scarcely said this, when he was interrupted by Isite, a
young chief, who sprang up calling out, “No, no; who called upon you
to speak foolishness? Was there ever a king or chief of the Batlapis
who said you must stand up and speak? Do you intend to instruct
the sons of Molehabangue? Be silent. You say you know the men,
and yet you wish us to wait till they enter our town. The Mantatees
are conquerors, and if we flee we must lose all. Hear, and I will
speak:—Let us attack the enemy where they are, and not wait till
they approach our town; if we retreat there will be time for those in
the rear to flee. We may fight and flee, and at last conquer; this we
cannot do if we wait till they approach our town.” This speech was
loudly cheered, while Incha silently sat down. A chief considerably
advanced in years afterwards addressed the assembly. “Ye sons of
Molehabangue! ye sons of Molehabangue! ye have done well this
day. You are now acting wisely, first to deliberate, and then to
proceed. The missionary has discovered our danger, like the rising
sun after a dark night; a man sees the danger he was in when
darkness shut his eyes. We must not act like Bahuanas; we must act
like Makovas (white people). Is that our pitsho? No; it is the pitsho of
the missionary; therefore we must speak and act like Makovas.”
Taisho arose, and having commanded silence, was received with
reiterated applause, on which an old warrior rushed furiously up to
him, and holding forth his arm, called out, “Behold the man who shall
speak wisdom! Be silent, be instructed; a man—a wise man—has
stood up to speak.” Taisho informed the preceding speaker that he
was the man who charged his people with desertion in time of war.
“Ye cowards; ye vagabonds!” he exclaimed, “deny the charge if you
can. Shall I count up how often you have done so? Were I to repeat
the instances, you would decamp like a chastened dog, or with
shame place your head between your knees.” Addressing the
assembly, he said, “I do not rise to-day to make speeches; I shall
wait till the day of mustering. I beseech you to reflect on what is
before you, and let the subject sink deep into your hearts, that you
may not turn your backs in the day of battle.” Turning to the king, he
said, “You are too indifferent about the concerns of your people; you
are rolled up in apathy; you are now called upon to show that you
are a king and a man.”
When several other speakers had delivered their sentiments,
chiefly exhorting to unanimity and courage, Mothibi resumed his
central position, and after the usual gesticulations commanded
silence. Having noticed some remarks of the preceding speakers, he
added, “It is evident that the best plan is to proceed against the
enemy, that they come no nearer; let not our towns be the seat of
war; let not our houses be the scenes of bloodshed and destruction.
No; let the blood of the enemy be spilt at a distance from our wives
and children.” Turning to the aged chief, he said: “I hear you, my
father; your words are true, they are good for the ear: it is good that
we be instructed by the Makovas. I wish those evil who will not obey;
I wish that they may be broken in pieces.” Then addressing the
warriors: “There are many of you who do not deserve to eat out of a
bowl, but only out of a broken pot; think on what has been said, and
obey without muttering. I command you, ye chiefs of the Batlapis,
Batlaros, Bamaires, Barolongs, and Bakotus, that you acquaint all
your tribes of the proceedings of this day; let none be ignorant. I say
again, ye warriors, prepare for the battle; let your shields be strong,
your quivers full of arrows, and your battle-axes as sharp as hunger.
Be silent, ye kidney-eaters (addressing the old men [among these
people only the aged eat kidneys; the young avoid them from
superstitious motives]), ye who are of no farther use but to hang
about for kidneys when an ox is slaughtered. If your oxen are taken
where will you get any more?” Turning to the women, he said:
“Prevent not the warrior from going out to battle by your cunning
insinuations. No; rouse the warrior of glory, and he will return with
honourable scars, fresh marks of valour will cover his thighs, and we
shall then renew the war song and dance, and relate the story of our
conquest.” At the conclusion of this speech the air was rent with
acclamations, the whole assembly occasionally joining in the dance,
the women frequently taking the weapons from the hands of the men
and brandishing them in the most violent manner; people of all ages
using the most extravagant and frantic gestures for nearly two hours.
The warrior of Southern Africa would seem to be a man of
different mettle to the South-Sea Islander, whose bark is so much
more formidable than his bite. The instance about to be quoted in
proof of this may, in its singleness, seem not much; there is,
however, about it a tone that is significant of the magnanimity of a
race, rather than of an isolated case of barbarous heroism. The
nature of this noble African’s offence is not mentioned by the
missionary who relates the story; but that it was not monstrous, may
be fairly assumed from the criminal’s behaviour:—
“He was a man of rank, and wore on his head the usual badge of
dignity. He was brought to head-quarters. His arm bore no shield,
nor his hand a spear; he had been divested of these, which had
been his glory. He was brought into the presence of the king and his
chief council, charged with a crime for which it was in vain to expect
pardon, even at the hands of a more humane government. He
bowed his fine elastic figure and kneeled before the judge. The case
was investigated silently, which gave solemnity to the scene. Not a
whisper was heard among the listening audience, and the voices of
the council were only audible to each other and the nearest
spectators. The prisoner, though on his knees, had something
dignified and noble in his mien. Not a muscle of his countenance
moved, but his bright black eyes indicated a feeling of intense
interest, which the moving balance between life and death only could
produce. The case required little investigation; the charges were
clearly substantiated, and the culprit pleaded ‘Guilty.’ But alas! he
knew it was at a bar where none ever heard the heart-reviving sound
of pardon, even for offences small compared with his. A pause
ensued, during which the silence of death pervaded the assembly. At
length the monarch spoke, and addressing the prisoner, said: ‘You
are a dead man; but I shall do to-day what I never did before; I spare
your life for the sake of my friend and father,’ pointing to the spot
where I stood. ‘I know his spirit weeps at the shedding of blood; for
his sake I spare your life. He has travelled from a far country to see
me, and he has made my heart white; but he tells me that to take
away life is an awful thing, and never can be undone again. He has
pleaded with me not to go to war, nor destroy life. I wish him when
he returns to his own home again to return with a heart as white as
he has made mine. I spare you for his sake, for I love him, and he
has saved the lives of my people. But,’ continued the king, ‘you must
no more associate with the nobles of the land, nor enter the towns of
the princes of the people, nor ever again mingle in the dance of the
mighty. Go to the poor of the field, and let your companions be the
inhabitants of the desert.’ The sentence passed, the pardoned man
was expected to bow in grateful adoration to him whom he was wont
to look upon and exalt in songs applicable only to one to whom
belongs universal sway and the destinies of man. But no; holding his
hands clasped on his bosom he replied: ‘O king, afflict not my heart!
I have merited thy displeasure; let me be slain like a warrior; I cannot
live with the poor.’ And, raising his hand to the ring he wore on his
brow, he continued, ‘How can I live among the dogs of the king and
disgrace these badges of honour which I won among the spears and
shields of the mighty? No, I cannot live. Let me die, O Pezoolu!’ His
request was granted, and his hands tied direct over his head. How
my exertions to save his life were vain. He disdained the boon on the
conditions offered, preferring death with honours he had won at the
point of his spear—honours which even the act that condemned him
did not tarnish—to exile and poverty among the children of the
desert. He was led forth, a man walking on each side. My eye
followed him till he reached the top of a precipice, over which he was
precipitated into the deep pool of the river beneath, where the
crocodiles, accustomed to such meals, were yawning to devour him
ere he could reach the bottom.”
Turning to Eastern Africa, we are somewhat surprised to find the
native “a good archere and a fayre.” “The cubit-high Armiger,” Mr.
Burton tells us, “begins as soon as he can walk with miniature
weapons, a cane bow and reed bird-bolts tipped with wood, to
practise till perfect at gourds and pumpkins; he considers himself a
man when he can boast of iron tips. The bow in East Africa is
invariably what is called a self-bow, that is to say, made of a single
piece, and backed weapons are unknown. It is uncommonly stiff.
When straight it may measure five feet from tip to tip. It is made with
the same care as the spear from a branch of the matta tree
laboriously cut and scraped so as to taper off towards the horns and
smeared with oil or grease, otherwise it is easily sprung, and it is
sometimes adorned with plates of tin and zinc with copper or brass
wire and tips. The string is made of gut, the tendons of a bullock’s
neck or hock, and sometimes of tree fibre; it is nearly double the bow
in length, the extra portion being whipped for strength as well as
contingent use round the upper horn. In shooting, the bow is grasped
with the left hand; but the thumb is never extended along the back,
the string is drawn with the two bent forefingers, though sometimes
the shaft is held after the Asiatic fashion with the thumb and index.
The bow is pulled with a jerk and not let fly, as the Europeans, with a
long steady loose. The best bows are made by the tribes near the
Pufyi River.
The Universal Weapon.
“The arrow is about two feet in length; the shaft is made of some
light wood and often the reed. Its fault is want of weight; to inflict
damage upon an antelope it must not be used beyond point-blank
fifteen to twenty paces, and a score will be shot into a bullock before
it falls. The musketeer, despising the arrow at a distance fears it in
close quarters, knowing that for the one shot the archer can
discharge a dozen. Fearing the action of the wind upon the light
shafts, the archer inserts into the cloven end three or four feathers.
The pile or iron head is curiously and cruelly barbed with long waving
tails, the neck is toothed and edged by denting the iron when hot
with an axe, and it is sometimes half sawed that it may break before
extraction. The East Africans also have ‘forkers’ or two-headed
shafts and bird-bolts, or blunt arrows tipped with some hard wood,
used when the weapon is likely to be lost. Before loosing an arrow
the archer throws into the air a pinch of dust, not to find out the wind,
but for good luck, like the Tartars of Tibet before discharging their
guns. In battle the heavy-armed man holds his spear and a sheaf of
spare arrows in the bow hand, whilst a quiver slung to the left side
contains reserve missiles; and a little axe stuck in the right side of
the girdle is ready when the rest fail. The ronga or quiver is a bark
case neatly cut and stained. It is of two forms, full length and
provided with a cover for poisoned, and half length for unpoisoned,
arrows.”
A Savage Bowman.
The Fans of Equatorial Africa have a great diversity of arms.
“Among the crowd to-day,” says M. Du Chaillu, writing in a Fan
village in which he was lodging, “I saw men armed with cross-bows,
from which are shot either iron-headed arrows or the little
insignificant-looking, but really most deadly poison-tipped arrows.
These are only slender reeds, a foot long, whose sharpened ends
are dipped into a deadly vegetable poison which these people know
how to make. The arrows are so light that they would blow away if
simply laid in the grove of the bow. To prevent this they use a kind of
sticky gum, a lump of which is kept on the under side of the bow, and
with which a small spot in the grove is slightly rubbed. The handle of
the bow is ingeniously split, and by a little peg, which acts as a
trigger, the bow-string is disengaged, and as the spring is very strong
it sends the arrow to a great distance, and, light as it is, with great
force. But the merest puncture kills inevitably. They are good
marksmen with their bows, which require great strength to bend.
They have to sit on their haunches and apply both feet to the middle
of the bow, while they pull with all their strength on the string to bend
it back. The larger arrows have an iron head something like the
sharp barbs of a harpoon. These are used for hunting wild beasts,
and are about two feet long. But the more deadly weapon is the little
insignificant stick of bamboo, not more than twelve inches long, and
simply sharpened at one end. This is the famed poison-arrow, a
missile which bears death wherever it touches, if only it pricks a pin’s
point of blood. The poison is made of the juices of a plant, which was
not shown me. They dip the sharp ends of the arrows several times
in the sap, and let it get thoroughly dried into the wood. It gives the
point a red colour. The arrows are very carefully kept in a little bag
made neatly of the skin of some wild animal. They are much dreaded
among the tribes about here, as they can be thrown or projected with
such power as to take effect at a distance of fifteen yards, and with
such velocity that you cannot see them at all till they are spent; this I
have often proved myself. There is no cure for a wound from one of
these harmless-looking little sticks—death follows in a very short
time. Some of the Fans bore on their shoulders the terrible war-axe,
one blow of which quite suffices to split a human skull. Some of
these axes, as well as their spears and other iron-work, were
beautifully ornamented with scroll-work and wrought in graceful lines
and curves, which spoke well for their artisans.
Fan Weapons.
“The war-knife which hangs by the side is a terrible weapon for a
hand-to-hand conflict, and, as they explained to me, is designed to
thrust through the enemy’s body: they are about three feet long.
There is another huge knife also worn by some of the men in the
crowd before me. This is over a foot long, by about eight inches
broad, and is used to cut down through the shoulders of an
adversary. It must do tremendous execution. Then there is a very
singular pointed axe which is thrown from a distance as American
Indians use the tomahawk. When thrown it strikes with the point
down and inflicts a terrible wound. They use it with great dexterity.
The object aimed at with this axe is the head. The point penetrates
to the brain and kills the victim immediately; and then the round edge
of the axe is used to cut the head off, which is borne off by the victor
as a trophy.
“The spears, which are six or seven feet in length, are thrown by
the natives with great force and with an accuracy of aim which never
ceased to surprise me. They make the long slender rod fairly whistle
through the air. Most of them can throw a spear effectively to the
distance of from twenty to thirty yards.
“Most of the knives and axes were ingeniously sheathed in covers
made of snake-skins, or human skin taken from some victim in
battle. Many of these sheaths are ingeniously made, and are slung
round the neck by cords which permit the weapon to hang at the side
out of the wearer’s way. Though so warlike they have no armour; in
fact, their working in iron is as yet too rude for such a luxury. The
only weapon of defence is the huge shield of elephant’s hide; but this
is even bullet-proof: as it is very large, three and a half feet long by
two and a half broad, it suffices to cover the whole body.
“Besides their weapons many of the men wore a small knife, but
rather unwieldy, which served the various offices of a jack knife, a
hatchet, and a table-knife. But though rude in shape they used it with
great dexterity.”
Africa, South and East, having come in for their shares of notice,
let us turn to Western Africa and see how there is managed the
terrible game of war. Anything connected with bloodshed in this
portion of the globe at once suggests Dahomey. Very well, Dahomey
let it be; let us, with Mr. Forbes, attend a review of King Gezo’s
“women” soldiers:
“At noon we attended the parade of the amazon army, ostensibly
the taking the oath of fidelity by those extraordinary troops, and a
most novel and exciting scene it proved. Under a canopy of
umbrellas on the south side of the Ahjahee market-place,
surrounded by ministers, carbooceers, dwarfs, hunchbacks, etc., all
militaire, on a skull-ornamented war-stool sat the king, in front sat the
too-noo-noo, whilst on the right, under a similar canopy, similarly
attended, was a female court, in front of which was the man-hae-
pah. In different parts of the field bivouacked the amazon regiments.
As I arrived and took my seat on the king’s right hand, one regiment
was marching off, and a herald called—
‘Ah Haussoo-lae-beh-Haussoo!’
Oh King of Kings!
All the female court then left their stools, and, heading the
amazons, advanced and saluted the king, and then retiring, resumed
their positions: whilst, from the midst of the amazon army, a little girl
of six years of age advanced and said: ‘The king spoke thrice when
he spoke of war: let the king speak once now: let it be on
Abeahkeutah.’ Again all the amazons advanced, and shouting, called
on Da Souza to emulate his father. ‘As the porcupine shoots a quill a
new one grows in its place, so let matters be in the port of Whydah:
let one ship replace another.’ All again prostrated themselves and
threw dirt on their heads: while two amazon heralds recited the
names of the king, and added one from the Attahpahan war, the
glah-glash, or Chimpanzee. Again all rose, whilst an amazon chief
makes the following speech: ‘As the blacksmith takes an iron bar
and by fire changes its fashion, so have we changed our nature. We
are no longer women, we are men. By fire, we will change
Abeahkeutah. The king gives us cloth, but without thread. If corn is
put in the sun to dry and not looked after, will not the goats eat it? If
Abeahkeutah be left too long some other nation will spoil it. A cask of
rum cannot roll itself; a table in a house becomes useful when
anything is placed thereon: the Dahoman army without the amazons
are as both, unassisted. Spitting makes the belly more comfortable,
and the outstretched hand will be the receiving one: so we ask you
for war, that our bellies may have their desire and our hands be
filled.’ At the conclusion of this harangue the female court again
rose, and, heading the amazons, saluted the king, when, pointing to
the hearers, all sang in chorus:
‘Soh-jah-mee!’
May thunder and lightning kill us if we break our oaths