To the thieving propensities of these people there was no end. They would peep into the rude hut that was used for a church, in order to see who was preaching, and would then go off to the preacher’s house, and rob it at their ease. When the missionaries, at the expense of great labor, made a series of irrigating canals, for the purpose of watering their gardens, the women would slyly cut the banks of the channels, and divert the water. They even broke down the dam which led the water from the river, merely for the sake of depriving somebody of something; and when, in spite of all their drawbacks, some vegetables had been grown, the crops were stolen, even though a constant watch was kept over them. These accomplished thieves have even been known to steal meat out of the pot in which it was being boiled, having also the insolence to substitute a stone for the pilfered meat. One traveller found that all his followers were so continually robbed by the Bechuanas, that at last he ceased from endeavoring to discover the thieves, and threatened instead to punish any man who allowed an article to be stolen from him. They do not even spare their own chief, and would rob him with as little compunction as if he were a foreigner.
Dr. Lichtenstein, who certainly had a better opinion of the Bechuanas than they deserved, was once cheated by them in a very ingenious manner. He had purchased three ivory rings with some tobacco, but when he left the place he found that the same ring had been sold to him three successive times, the natives behind him having picked his pocket with the dexterity of a London thief, and then passed the ring to their companions to be again offered for sale.
Altogether, the character of the Bechuanas does not seem to be an agreeable one, and even the missionaries who have gone among them, and naturally are inclined to look on the best side of their wild flocks, have very little to say in their favor, and plenty to say against them. They seem to be as heartless toward the infirm and aged as the Namaquas, and if one of their number is ill or wounded, so that he cannot wait upon himself, he is carried outside the camp, and there left until he recovers or dies. A small and frail hut is built for him, a portion of food is given to him daily, and in the evening a fire is made, and fuel placed near so that it may be kept up. On one occasion the son of a chief was wounded by a buffalo, and, according to ancient custom, was taken out of the camp. The fire happened to go out, and in consequence a lion came and carried off the wounded man in the night. It was once thought that this cruel custom arose from the fear of infection, but this is evidently not the case, as persons afflicted with infectious diseases are not disturbed as long as they can help themselves. Superstition may probably be the true reason for it.
They have but little regard for human life, especially for that of a woman, and a husband may kill his wife if he likes, without any particular notice being taken of it. One traveller mentions that a husband became angry with his wife about some trifling matter, seized his assagai, and killed her on the spot. The body was dragged out by the heels, and thrown into the bush to be devoured by the hyænas, and there was an end of the whole business. The traveller, being horrified by such an action, laid an information before the chief, and was only laughed at for his pains, the chief thinking that for any one to be shocked at so ordinary an occurrence was a very good joke.
Still, the Bechuana has his redeeming qualities. They are not quarrelsome, and Burchell remarks that, during all the time which he spent among them, he never saw two men openly quarrelling, nor any public breach of decorum. They are persevering and industrious in the arts of peace, and, as has been seen, learn to work in iron and to carve wood with a skill that can only be attained by long and careful practice. They are more attached to the soil than many of the neighboring tribes, cultivating it carefully, and in this art far surpassing the Kaffirs. Their houses, too, are of elaborate construction, and built with a care and solidity which show that the inhabitants are not nomads, but residents on one spot.
The government of the Bechuanas is primarily monarchical, but not entirely despotic. The king has his own way in most matters, but his chiefs can always exercise a check upon him by summoning a parliament, or “Picho,” as it is called. The Picho affords a truly wild and picturesque spectacle. The artist has [illustrated] this on [page 287]. The warriors, in their full panoply of war, seat themselves in a circle, in the midst of which is the chair of the king. The various speakers take their turns at addressing the assembly, and speak with the greatest freedom, not even sparing the king himself, but publicly arraigning him for any shortcomings, real or fancied, and sometimes gaining their point. As to the king himself, he generally opens the parliament with a few sentences, and then remains silent until all the speeches have been delivered. He then answers those that have been made against himself, and becomes greatly excited, leaping about the ring, brandishing his spear and shield, and lashing himself into an almost frantic state. This is the usual procedure among savages, and the more excited that a man becomes, the better he is supposed to speak afterward.
An extract from Mr. Moffatt’s account of a Picho will give a good idea of the proceedings:—“Although the whole exhibits a very grotesque scene, business is carried on with the most perfect order. There is but little cheering, and still less hissing, while every speaker fearlessly states his own sentiments. The audience is seated on the ground (as represented in the [engraving]), each man having before him his shield, to which is attached a number of spears. A quiver containing poisoned arrows is hung from the shoulder, and a battle-axe is held in the right hand. Many were adorned with tiger-skins and tails, and had plumes of feathers waving on their heads. In the centre a sufficient space was left for the privileged—those who had killed an enemy in battle—to dance and sing, in which they exhibited the most violent and fantastic gestures conceivable, which drew forth from the spectators the most clamorous applause.
“When they retire to their seats, the speaker commences by commanding silence. ‘Be silent, ye Batlapis, be silent, ye Barolongs,’ addressing each tribe distinctly, not excepting the white people, if any happen to be present, and to which each responds with a groan. He then takes from his shield a spear, and points it in the direction in which the enemy is advancing, imprecating a curse upon them, and thus declaring war by repeatedly thrusting his spear in that direction, as if plunging it into an enemy. This receives a loud whistling sound of applause. He next directs his spear toward the Bushman country, south and southwest, imprecating also a curse on those ‘ox-eaters,’ as they are called.
“The king, on this, as on all similar occasions, introduced the business of the day by ‘Ye sons of Molchabanque’—viewing all the influential men present as the friends or allies of his kingdom, which rose to more than its former eminence under the reign of that monarch, his father—‘the Mantatees are a strong and victorious people; they have overwhelmed many nations, and they are approaching to destroy us. We have been apprised of their manners, their deeds, their weapons, and their intentions. We cannot stand against the Mantatees; we must now concert, conclude, and be determined to stand. The case is a great one.... I now wait to hear what the general opinion is. Let every one speak his mind, and then I shall speak again.’ Mothibi manœuvred his spear as at the commencement, and then pointing it toward heaven, the audience shouted, ‘Pula’ (rain), on which he sat down amidst a din of applause. Between each speaker a part or verse of a war-song is sung, the same antics are then performed, and again universal silence is commanded....
“When several speakers had delivered their sentiments, chiefly exhorting to unanimity and courage, Mothibi resumed his central position, and, after the usual gesticulations, commanded silence. Having noticed some remarks of the preceding speakers, he added: ‘It is evident that the best plan is to proceed against the enemy, that they come no nearer. Let not our towns be the seat of war; let not our houses be the scenes of bloodshed and destruction. No! let the blood of the enemy be spilt at a distance from our wives and children.’ Turning to the aged chief, he said: ‘I hear you, my father; I understand you, my father; your words are true, they are good for the ear; it is good that we be instructed by the Makoöas; I wish those evil who will not obey; I wish that they may be broken in pieces.’