Chapter Eight.
A Visit to the Cattle—A Koodoo Hunt—My Position is Rather Improved.
The interpreter, had been coming in search of me, and I was no little pleased to meet him, for we got on very well together. Whether Tugela’s—that being his name—stay in the colonies had given him a liking for white men, or he desired to practice the language, I cannot tell, but certainly he was unremitting in his attentions, and I have to confess that I should never have witnessed many of the curious customs of Caffraria which I have now the pleasure of relating but for his kind aid; as a proof of this even at the present moment the young fellow had sought me out, that I might be a witness to the peculiar and cruel—but of the latter the Kaffir thinks little, being apparently incapable of understanding the suffering of others—practice of training the horns of the cattle.
In Tugela’s company, therefore, leaving the snuff-takers to enjoy the powder to their hearts’ content, or rather boxes’ contents, we proceeded to the isibaya, or enclosure, within the kraal. The place was full of the beloved oxen. The affection experienced for them, however, as I before remarked, does not keep the poor animals from being cruelly tortured, as I speedily found, when, from an advantageous position, I beheld the following scene.
The place was full of cattle, and I had the opportunity of noticing the peculiarities of these animals. Smaller than ours, their horns take the most eccentric shapes, some being bent downwards, curving back even to the head again; others curled outwards, while some of the cattle appeared to possess four, nay, eight horns.
I might, and no doubt should, have thought this a natural production, had I not witnessed the following. Those creatures which I have mentioned were browsing at pleasure, but a large number of calves were collected together, surrounded by “boys” and men; these were armed with knives and roughly made saws, with which, to my astonishment, they were cutting and sawing the horns, tender and soft as yet, owing to the age of the miserable animals. I could not help showing my surprise, and questioning Tugela upon it. He smiled, perhaps at my bad taste in not admiring the appearance it produced, and most decidedly laughed at my commiseration of the pain the poor brutes must suffer, he, like all the Kaffirs, appearing to think nothing of this. “See,” he said, directing my attention to one group, where a Kaffir was holding the nose of a calf, while another with a saw was sawing a cross on the top of the sprouting horns, “now, when they grow there will be four of them at each side of the head, instead of one.”
The Kaffir belief of the beauty this training gave to the animal was certainly not mine; and, seizing an opportunity, I strolled off to the other side of the isibaya. But, it seemed, I had got from the frying-pan into the fire; for, to my horror, I came upon a group of natives literally catting strips of hide from the face and neck of the wretched oxen, so as to hang down before them, bleeding now, but which I learned would, when dry, become a fringe, enhancing, according to their idea, the animal’s charms. I have no doubt my young readers will find it difficult to credit this barbarous custom, as in their case, so perhaps should I, had I not really witnessed it. As a mother takes pleasure in decking out her baby with gay ribbons and fine laces, so does the Kaffir cut the horns into eccentric shapes, and strip portions from the hide and dewlap of the animal, both from very love of the recipient.
I must admit, though not a member of that truly excellent Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, that I grew rather sick at the sight, and was not sorry to see Tugela coming towards me—evidently, from the expression of his features, the bearer of some intelligence.