He and his companions were in great jeopardy on account of a disappointed “rain-maker.” The country had originally been even remarkable for the quantity of rain which fell in it, and for its consequent fertility. The old men said that their forefathers had told them “of the floods of ancient times, the incessant showers which clothed the very rocks with verdure, and the giant trees and forests which once studded the brows of the Hamhana hills and neighboring plains. They boasted of the Kuruman and other rivers, with their impassable torrents, in which the hippopotami played, while the lowing herds walked up to their necks in grass, filling their makukas (milk-sacks) with milk, making every heart to sing for joy.”
That such tales were true was proved by the numerous stumps of huge acacia-trees, that showed where the forest had stood, and by the dry and parched ravines, which had evidently been the beds of rivers, and clothed with vegetation. For the drought the missionaries were held responsible, according to the invariable custom of the rain-makers, who are only too glad to find something on which to shift the blame when no rain follows their incantations. It was in vain that Mr. Moffatt reminded them that the drought had been known long before a white man set his foot on the soil. A savage African is, as a general rule, impervious to dates, not even having the least idea of his own age, so this argument failed utterly.
The real reason was evidently that which Mr. Moffatt detected, and which he tried in vain to impress upon the inhabitants of the land. They themselves, or rather their forefathers, were responsible for the cessation of rain, and the consequent change from a fertile land into a desert. For the sake of building their kraals and houses, they had cut down every tree that their axes could fell, and those that defied their rude tools they destroyed by fire. Now it is well known that trees, especially when in full foliage, are very powerful agents in causing rain, inasmuch as they condense the moisture floating in the air, and cause it to fall to the earth, instead of passing by in suspension. Every tree that is felled has some effect in reducing the quantity of rain; and when a forest is levelled with the ground, the different amount of rainfall becomes marked at once.
These tribes are inveterate destroyers of timber. When they wish to establish themselves in a fresh spot, and build a new kraal, they always station themselves close to the forest, or at all events to a large thicket, which in the course of time is levelled to the ground, the wood having been all used for building and culinary purposes. The tribe then go off to another spot, and cut down more timber; and it is to this custom that the great droughts of Southern Africa may partly be attributed.
The game which inhabited the fallen forests is perforce obliged to move into districts where the destructive axe has not been heard, and the whole of those animals that require a continual supply of water either die off for the want of it, or find their way into more favored regions. This is specially the case with the antelopes, which form the chief game of this land. Southern Africa absolutely teems with antelopes, some thirty species of which are known to inhabit this wonderful country. They are of all sizes, from the great elands and koodoos, which rival our finest cattle in weight and stature, to the tiny species which inhabit the bush, and have bodies scarcely larger than if they were rabbits. Some of them are solitary, others may be found in small parties, others unite in herds of incalculable numbers; while there are several species that form associations, not only with other species of their own group, but with giraffes, zebras, ostriches, and other strange companions. Each kind must be hunted in some special manner; and, as the antelopes are generally the wariest as well as the most active of game, the hunter must be thoroughly acquainted with his business before he can hope for success.
One of the antelopes which live in small parties is the koodoo, so well known for its magnificent spiral horns. To Europeans the koodoo is only interesting as being one of the most splendid of the antelope tribe, but to the Kaffir it is almost as valuable an animal as the cow. The flesh of the koodoo is well-flavored and tender, two qualities which are exceedingly rare among South African antelopes. The marrow taken from the leg bones is a great luxury with the Kaffirs, who are so fond of it that when they kill a koodoo they remove the leg bones, break them, and eat the marrow, not only without cooking, but while it is still warm. Revolting as such a practice may seem to us, it has been adopted even by English hunters, who have been sensible enough to accommodate themselves to circumstances.
Then, its hide, although comparatively thin, is singularly tough, and, when cut into narrow slips and properly manipulated, is used for a variety of purposes which a thicker hide could not fulfil. The toughness and strength of these thongs are really wonderful, and the rapidity with which they are made scarcely less so. I have seen an experienced skindresser cut a strip from a dried koodoo skin, and in less than half a minute produce a long, delicate thong, about as thick as ordinary whipcord, as pliant as silk, and beautifully rounded. I have often thought that the much vexed question of the best leather for boot-laces might be easily solved by the use of koodoo hide. Such thongs would be expensive in the outset, but their lasting powers would render them cheap in the long run.
The horns of the koodoo are greatly valued in this country, and command a high price, on account of their great beauty. The Kaffirs, however, value them even more than we do. They will allow the horns of the eland to lie about and perish, but those of the koodoo they carefully preserve for two special purposes,—namely, the forge and the smoking party. Although a Kaffir blacksmith will use the horns of the domestic ox, or of the eland, as tubes whereby the wind is conveyed from the bellows to the fire, he very much prefers those of the koodoo, and, if he should be fortunate enough to obtain a pair, he will lavish much pains on making a handsome pair of bellows. He also uses the koodoo horn in the manufacture of the remarkable water-pipe in which he smokes dakka, or hemp. On [page 167] may be seen a figure of a Kaffir engaged in smoking a pipe made from the koodoo horn.
Like many other antelopes, the koodoo is a wary animal, and no small amount of pains must be taken before the hunter can succeed in his object. The koodoo is one of the antelopes that require water, and is not like its relative, the eland, which never cares to drink, and which contrives, in some mysterious manner, to be the largest, the fattest, and the plumpest of all the antelope tribe, though it lives far from water, and its principal food is herbage so dry that it can be rubbed to powder between the hands.
Each of the antelopes has its separate wiles, and puts in practice a different method of escape from an enemy. The pretty little Duiker-bok, for example, jumps about here and there with an erratic series of movements, reminding the sportsman of the behavior of a flushed snipe. Suddenly it will stop, as if tired, and lie down in the grass; but when the hunter comes to the spot, the animal has vanished. All the previous movements were merely for the purpose of distracting the attention of the hunter, and as soon as the little antelope crouched down, it lowered its head and crawled away on its knees under cover of the herbage. It is owing to this habit that the Dutch colonists called it the Duiker, or Diver. This little antelope is found in long grass, or among stunted bushes, and the wary Kaffir is sure to have his weapons ready whenever he passes by a spot where he may expect to find the Duyker, or Impoon, as he calls it. The creature is wonderfully tenacious of life, and, even when mortally wounded, it will make its escape from a hunter who does not know its peculiarities.