On the third day of our travelling we came in sight of a range of hills to the east of us, running from the south, and projecting some way into the Harts valley. I was told that they were in the district of the chief Mitzima, and that the point at the extreme end was called Spitzkopf by the Boers.
In various parts of the plains we were crossing there were patches of bright red, giving the effect of crimson carpets spread upon the ground. On closer inspection they proved to be masses of free-blooming lilies. Other spots were distinguished by a different species of lily, growing very luxuriantly, and having very dark green leaves, which were perpetually found covered with many varieties of weevils.
Near a sugar-plantation that we passed I saw four women at work; and as we wanted some milk I asked them if they could get some, without my waiting until we reached Mitzima. They all seemed pleased at being asked, and sticking their hoes into the ground ran off, laughing and shouting, to their huts, about 300 yards away. They were not long in returning, two of them carrying earthenware pans, and the third, a lean old hag, bringing a wooden bowl, all full of sweet new milk. The only remuneration they required was a lump of tobacco. I was rather surprised at the choice; but my man, Gert, who acted as interpreter, told me that they were very fond of snuff—an assertion which was confirmed by their taking the tobacco, and after rubbing it in their hands, stuffing it into their capacious nostrils, chuckling out “Monati! monati!” (That is fine! that is fine!)
In the course of the afternoon we passed a farmstead composed of three huts, which in cleanliness surpassed anything I ever saw amongst the Batlapin tribe. They were built of strong stakes, and were very spacious. Beneath a shed formed of rushes stood a good substantial waggon, and in the courtyard was another smaller waggon, to which the farmer and his labourers were doing some repairs. Besides this I noticed—what was a great rarity in the Batlapin country in 1873—a good, useful plough. Half a dozen leathern milk-bags, too, were hanging in the cattle-enclosure. In the shed, two Batlapin men were busy making a waggon-tilt out of an old piece of canvas; and I do not remember ever having seen any of the tribe working so industriously. Fifteen little black children were playing merrily enough in the immediate neighbourhood of the farm, none of them having the least pretence to clothing beyond a narrow strip of leather serving for an apron; a few elder children were minding the cattle on the river-bank a mile away; and altogether the place had a singular air of comfort and prosperity.
Nearer and nearer we approached the heights that had opened before us in the morning. They were the most northerly branch of the chain of hills beginning near Hebron, on the right bank of the Vaal. I found the geological formation especially interesting, the rocks sometimes standing in upright blocks, ranged side by side in pillars almost like petrified human forms, and sometimes lying piled up horizontally, like the steps of a gigantic staircase.
Mitzima’s village was on the nearer side of the Spitzkopf. We did not stay long, but started off again late in the afternoon. The number of the glens, however, that we had to cross delayed us so much, and tried the strength of our animals so severely, that it proved impossible for us to proceed far that night, and we came to a halt about a mile and a half short of the mountain-head, not far from three little Batlapin farms. A storm that seemed to be gathering at our back made us cautious in our movements, as we knew that a rainfall of even half an hour would be enough to convert any one of the defiles into a rushing and dangerous torrent. In spite of the evening being so far advanced, our arrival did not escape notice at the farms, and several of the occupants hurried out to pay us a visit.
The night spent here was bright and fine, although decidedly cold. The rocks on the hillside cast long, deep shadows, falling like phantoms across the plain; the Spitzkopf, like a giant on guard, seemed to keep perpetual watch; while the shrill voices of the Batlapins, chanting their wild songs, echoed from the distance, and completed the weird effect of the general scene.
BATLAPINS ON A JOURNEY.
Page 126.