While Hans and the men were busy preparing our food and camp for the night, I strolled on to the station, which I found deserted by every living creature. Only a short time previously the Rev. Mr. Knudsen officiated here, but had been obliged to leave on account of some disagreement with the native tribe and its chief, David Christian. It had always been considered as inferior to most of the other missionary stations in this part of Africa; but, what with the absence of the inhabitants, the devastation of the locust—which had destroyed every particle of vegetation—and the black and parched appearance of the soil, it now looked wild and dreary in the extreme. The lengthened shadows of evening threw an additional gloom over this once busy scene of cheerful industry. Oh, changes, mysterious and incomprehensible! Surely God, in his infinite wisdom, will not permit the handiwork of his servants, raised only by years of perseverance, toil, and privations, to perish without some recompense!
Bethany, if I am not mistaken, became a scene of missionary labor as early as 1820. The enterprising and venerable Mr. Schmelen then officiated here, but he found it necessary, after a time, to abandon the place. Subsequently to his departure it remained deserted for upward of twenty years, when, in 1843, it was once more tenanted, and this time by Mr. Knudsen, who, in his turn, as seen above, was obliged to move off elsewhere.
After leaving Bethany, water and pasturage became every day more scarce. All the vleys and pools of rain-water were dried up. The Koanquip River, however, long befriended us, as in its bed we generally managed to obtain a supply of grass and water for our cattle, which now amounted to several hundred head.
But the labor and fatigue of watering the latter was immense. No person who has not been circumstanced as we were can form the least conception of the trouble, care, and anxiety that a large drove of cattle occasions. Perhaps, after having dug for twenty consecutive hours—and this I have done more than once—the water is found insufficient in quantity, or (which is almost as bad) the ground falls in, or the cattle themselves spoil it by their wallowing and excrement.
These native cattle are the most troublesome and disgusting brutes possible; for, after having spoiled the water by their own wildness and wantonness, they rush furiously about, bellowing and moaning. It is enough to discourage the stoutest heart.
When arriving at a place where we supposed water was to be found, the plan usually adopted, in order to guard against the cattle destroying our work, was to send them away to pasture. In the mean time, every available man went speedily to work with such implements as were procurable: spades, wooden troughs, pieces of wood or of bark, were indifferently put in requisition; and even our hands were used with great effect, though not without sustaining injury. Having worked the aperture of sufficient depth and width, it was fenced in by thorn-bushes, leaving only a single entrance. The oxen were then sent for, and allowed to approach singly or in greater number, according to the extent of the water. Sometimes, however, if the nature of the ground did not permit the cattle to have access to the water, a hollow was scooped in the earth near the edge of the pit, into which (or into a piece of sail-cloth, if at hand) the water was poured by means of small wooden pails, usually denominated “bamboos.”
Owing to this tedious process, coupled with the slowness with which water filters through sand, and the immense quantity (usually five or six bucketsful) that a thirsty ox will drink, and the quarrelsome disposition of the animals themselves, watering four hundred head of cattle will often occupy a whole day or night; and, since a person is in a great degree dependent on his cattle, whether for food, draft, &c., he himself must never think of refreshment or rest until their wants have been provided for.
The scarcity of water, and the uncertainty of finding it in these parched regions is so great, that when, after a long day’s journey, the anxiously-looked-for pool is found to be dry, it is almost enough to drive a man mad, especially if he be a stranger to the country, and unaccustomed to traversing the African wilds. One’s cogitations at such times are apt to be something to the following effect. “If I advance and do not find water within a certain period, it will be inevitable destruction. To retrace my steps to the last watering-place is not to be thought of, as, from the distance and the exhausted state of the cattle, it would never be reached. What remains for me but to lie down and die?”
The common people at the Cape entertain a notion that cattle refrain from feeding only once within the year, namely, on Christmas eve. Then, it is affirmed, they fall on their knees, and with closed mouths and half-shut eyes (a sign of placidity), silently thank the Giver of all good things for the grass and water they have enjoyed during the past twelve months. They say, moreover, that a person may witness this act of devotion by keeping well to leeward and out of sight of the animals.[61]
Our cattle consisted chiefly of the Damara breed, which, so far as I am aware, differs widely from any found in Europe. They are big-boned, but not particularly weighty; their legs are slender, and they have small, hard, and durable feet. The hair on the body is short, smooth, and glossy, and the extremity of the tail is adorned with a tuft of long, bushy hair, nearly touching the ground. This tuft constitutes the chief ornament of the Damara assegai.