Scarcely had I finished when two or three, evidently Kaffirs of distinction, appeared, and notified by signs that I was to follow them. I immediately did so, and crawling out of the hut was again conducted to the chief Metilulu’s presence.
This time, however, the interview was not to take place in the hut, but an open space, where I found him seated, surrounded by his councillors, and with the rough jug containing the beloved joila, Kaffir beer, by his side. Indeed, it seemed to me that he never moved without it, and so it proved, eating and drinking being the prerogatives of a Kaffir chief. Thus they alone of the race are fat.
Metilulu’s dress was also different. No doubt he wished to awe me with his appearance. On his head, stuck into the issikoko, were numerous feathers of brilliant hues, some long and erect, others drooping by the side of his dusky face. Fastened round his throat, so as to fall on his chest, were the tails of wild animals, as the leopard; from his waist fell others to the knee, so thickly as to answer the purpose of the Kaffir apron, while hanging from the elbow and the calf of the leg was the long white silky hair of some kind of goat, finally, a kaross or cloak of splendid fur fell from his shoulders.
In his hand he carried an assagai, while a young Kaffir standing a little behind, held his high oval shield. The councillors’ costumes were something similar, though their head-dresses were rather eccentric, and they did not possess so many tails, which can only be procured by killing the animals to whom they belong, and the Kaffir who does that, will seldom be found to part with this trophy of his courage.
Being led up to Metilulu, I was told through the interpreter to sit down, upon doing which I was ordered to begin my description of my native land. They had heard of it—a country over there—pointing northward; but they would hear more.
I instantly complied, and gave a glowing account of the power of England, her wealth, and customs. To all, the chief and his councillors listened with the greatest attention, and the only time he expressed incredulity was on my mentioning it to be governed by a Queen.
“A woman!” he ejaculated, “impossible.”
I assured him it was not so: that four queens had ruled England at different periods.
“If so,” he rejoined, of course through the interpreter, “how would you have me believe the nation brave and warlike who could be governed by a woman?”
Such a speech was not surprising, when it is remembered that the Kaffir regards himself as a very superior being to a woman, whom, though termed wife, he knows only as a servant to fulfil his behests, and wait upon him in all minor offices. The only things a Kaffir does being to attend to his beloved cows, which often he values far more highly than his wives,—for polygamy is practised in Caffraria—to hunt, to smoke, and to sleep.