On the sixth day after the adventure with the baboons, they reached a long range of hills, among which Poeskop's sharp eyes soon detected signs of native life. He informed Mr. Blakeney that the last time he had travelled that way the place was uninhabited. Entering a broad, open valley, here and there littered with boulders and adorned with patches of bush, they outspanned not far from a stream of water that ran by. Then Poeskop, accompanied by Mr. Blakeney and the boys, all fully armed, went up the slope of a low hill towards some huts that nestled among trees and rocks. It was manifest that natives were about, and that the little settlement was a good deal perturbed at the advent of the travellers. Black figures flitted hither and thither, and cries could be heard.
"What are they, Poeskop?" asked Mr. Blakeney.
"Berg Damaras, I think, baas," replied the Bushman; "but I don't quite understand the place. They seem to have houses up in the trees. I'll go forward and see what they have to say. I don't think they'll harm us; but if they try to, do you and the young baases shoot."
They moved on together for another hundred and fifty yards, and then Poeskop went ahead, and keeping about a hundred yards in front neared the village. The commotion became yet louder, shrill female voices were heard, and men appeared, armed with bows and arrows and assegais; the aspect of affairs looked by no means peaceful. Still advancing, and without betraying an atom of fear or suspicion, the Bushman moved confidently forward till he was within earshot. Then, raising his voice, he addressed the natives. As he had supposed, they were Berg Damaras, a wild, miserable, down-trodden people, who are infamously treated by other tribes, and shelter themselves in the remotest places they are able to find among the wide and unpeopled deserts of this part of Africa.
Poeskop soon calmed their apprehensions and established friendly relations with them. They had a curious tale to tell. They had been in this place no more than a few months, having been driven from their previous locality by the assaults of lions, which had destroyed a good many of their clan and created a terror among them. The lions had either followed them to this valley, or they had stumbled upon a fresh band of man-eaters, and their lives were rendered a burden to them by the night attacks of these dangerous Carnivora. They had at last resorted to the expedient of building huts among the trees, where they passed their nights, and, as lions cannot climb, managed to escape annihilation.
Poeskop having opened up amicable relations with these unfortunates, Mr. Blakeney and the boys came up and were introduced. The Berg Damaras seemed miserably poor. They numbered not more than seventy or eighty souls, men, women, and children, and evidently lived a harassed, shuddering kind of existence. Occasionally stronger tribes, such as the Ovampo and Ganguellas, raided them, murdered such of them as they caught, and carried off their women and children as slaves. The lions seemed to have completed their dejection, and they had little spirit left in them. These people speak a pure Hottentot tongue, and have many ancient Hottentot manners and customs. Yet, unlike the yellow-skinned Hottentots, their skins are black. They are supposed to have been a feeble, aboriginal negroid race, who became enslaved by the Namaqua Hottentots, and, acquiring the tongue of their conquerors, lost their own language.
Having given the headman of these miserable people some tobacco and beads, and gained his confidence, Mr. Blakeney and the boys strolled round the kraal. They were especially interested in the sleeping huts, placed among the foliage of some tallish trees. These had been very ingeniously devised, platforms of stout poles serving for floors. The walls were composed of ant-hill clay and branches, the whole being covered by deep thatches of reeds and grass.
"Well," said Mr. Blakeney, "I've heard of such a thing before, but I never expected to see natives driven by lions to make their huts among the branches of trees. Many years ago, when Moselikatse, father of Lobengula, swept over a great part of South Africa and destroyed whole kraals of Basutos and Bechuanas, the people were so reduced, and the lions, from feeding on human flesh, became so bold, that some of the tribesfolk were compelled for a time to roost among the trees in this way. But they must be poor creatures to put up with such a terrorism. A kraal, even a little one, of Zulus or Kaffirs, or indeed even Bechuanas and Basutos, would in ordinary circumstances never submit to such a state of things. They would just sally out, hunt up the lions in daylight, and kill them with their assegais. They might lose a few slain in the operation, but they would clear out the lions somehow."
"I suppose," said Guy, "these poor creatures are too weak and too few in number to tackle a lion. They look far too depressed for anything of the kind."
"Yes," replied Mr. Blakeney, "no doubt that's the case. And, after all, one can hardly blame them. Even for a white man and a good shot, armed with a modern rifle, a lion is by no means a pleasant beast to tackle. One is never quite sure how the affray is going to turn out. The Zulus must have been hardy fellows indeed in the old days, in the time of Chaka and Dingaan, and Panda and Cetywayo. If a lion annoyed a kraal and killed oxen or goats, a number of young soldiers were told off to kill it. And kill it they had to, with their spears, and no other weapon. Of course, on the other hand, they knew that if they didn't kill the lion, their own lives were forfeit. Chaka and Dingaan, and even Cetywayo, allowed of no failures of this kind. Cowardice meant death. Not that the Zulus ever feared death. A braver and bolder race of savages never existed."