Warfare among the Hottentots scarcely deserves the name, because we can hardly use such a term as “warfare” where there is no distinction of officer or private, where there is no commander, and no plan of action. The men who are able to wield the bow and arrow advance in a body upon the enemy, and are led by any one who thinks himself brave enough to take the command. When they come to close quarters with the enemy, every one fights in the way that suits himself best, without giving support to those of his own side, or expecting it from his comrades. Even the chief man of a horde is not necessarily the leader, and indeed his authority over the horde is more nominal than real. A mere boy may assume the leadership of the expedition, and, if he is courageous enough to take the lead, he may keep it until some still braver warrior comes to the front. It evident that such warfare is merely a succession of skirmishes or duels, much as was the case in the days of Hector and Achilles, each soldier selecting his own particular adversary, and fighting him until one of the two is killed, runs away, or renders himself prisoner.
As far as is known, the Hottentots never made war, according to the usual acceptation of the word. If insulted or aggrieved by having their cattle stolen, they would go off and make reprisals, but they had no idea of carrying on war for any political object. This is probably the reason why they were so completely overcome by the Kaffir tribes, who had some knowledge of warfare as an art, and who drove them further and further away from their own domains, until their nationality was destroyed, and they were reduced to a mere aggregation of scattered tribes, without unity, and consequently without power.
However nationally unwarlike the Hottentot may be, and however incapable he may be of military organization, he can be made into a soldier who is not only useful, but unapproachable in his own peculiar line. Impatient, as a rule, of military discipline, he hates above all things to march in step, to go through the platoon exercise, and to perform those mechanical movements which delight the heart of the drill-sergeant. He is, as a rule, abhorrent of anything like steady occupation, and this tendency of mind incapacitates him from being an agriculturist, while it aids in qualifying him for the hunter’s life. Now, as a rule, a good hunter makes a good soldier, especially of the irregular kind, and the training which is afforded by the pursuit of the fleet, powerful, and dangerous beasts of Africa, makes the Hottentot one of the best irregular soldiers in the world.
But he must be allowed to fight in his own way, to choose his own time for attack, to make it in the mode that suits him best, and to run away if flight happens to suit him better than battle. He has not the least idea of getting himself killed or wounded on mere points of honor; and if he sees that the chances of war are likely to go much against him, he quietly retreats, and “lives to fight another day.” To this mode of action he is not prompted by any feeling of fear, but merely by the commonsense view of the case. His business is to kill the enemy, and he means to do it. But that desirable object cannot be attained if he allows them to kill him, and so he guards himself against the latter event as much as possible. Indeed, if he is wounded when he might have avoided a wound, he feels heartily ashamed of himself for having committed such an error; and if he succeeds in killing or wounding an enemy without suffering damage himself, he glories in his superior ingenuity, and makes merry over the stupidity of his foe.
Fear—as we understand the word—has very little influence over the Hottentot soldier, whether he be trained to fight with the white man’s fire-arms, or whether he uses the bow and arrow of his primitive life. If he must fight, he will do so with a quiet and dogged valor, and any enemy that thinks to conquer him will find that no easy task lies before him.
Mr. Christie has narrated to me several incidents which show the obstinate courage with which a Hottentot can fight when pressed. One of them is as follows:—
“During the Kaffir war of 1847, a body of Hottentots were surrounded by a large party of Kaffirs, and, after a severe struggle, succeeded in cutting their way through their dark foes. One of the Hottentots, however, happened to be wounded near the spine, so that he lost the use of his legs, and could not stand. Even though suffering under this severe injury, he would not surrender, but dragged himself to an ant-hill, and supported his back against it, so that his arms were at liberty. In this position he continued to load and fire, though completely exposed to the bullets and assagais of the Kaffirs. So true was his aim, even under these circumstances, that he killed and wounded a considerable number of them; and, when a reinforcing party came to their help, the brave fellow was at the point of death, but still breathing, though his body was completely riddled with bullets, and cut to pieces with spears.”
This anecdote also serves to show the extraordinary tenacity of life possessed by this race—a tenacity which seems to rival that of the lower reptiles. On one occasion, Mr. Christie was in a surgeon’s house in Grahamstown, when a Hottentot walked in, and asked the surgeon to look at his head, which had been damaged on the previous night by a blow from a knob-kerrie. He took off his hat and the handkerchief which, according to custom, was wrapped round his head, and exhibited an injury which would have killed most Europeans on the spot, and certainly would have prostrated them utterly. On the crown of his head there was a circular wound, about an inch in diameter, and more than half an inch deep, the bone having been driven down on the brain by a blow from the heavy knob of the weapon. The depressed part of the skull was raised as well as could be done, and the remainder cut away. The operation being over, the man replaced his hat and handkerchief, and walked away, apparently little the worse for his accident, or the operation which succeeded it.
On another occasion, the same gentleman saw a Hottentot wagon-driver fall from his seat under the wheels. One of the forewheels passed over his neck, and, as the wagon was loaded with some two tons of firewood, it might be supposed that the man was killed on the spot. To the surprise of the beholder, he was not only alive when free of the wheel, but had presence of mind to roll out of the way of the hind wheel, which otherwise must have gone over him. Mr. Christie ran to him, and helped him to his feet. In answer to anxious questions, he said that he was not much hurt, except by some small stones which had been forced into his skin, and which he asked Mr. Christie to remove. Indeed, these men seem not only to be tenacious of life, but to suffer very little pain from injuries that would nearly kill a white man, or at all events would cause him to be nearly dead with pain alone. Yet, callous as they are to bodily injuries, they seem to be peculiarly susceptible to poison that mixes with the blood, and, if bitten by a snake, or wounded by a poisoned arrow, to have very much less chance of life than a European under similar conditions.
We will conclude this history of the Hottentots with a few remarks on their treatment of sickness and their burial of the dead.