Divination Scene.
The Southern African has most implicit belief in witch power. Whatever is incomprehensible to him must be submitted to a “witch man,” and be by him construed. While Mr. Casalis was a guest among the Basutos, he had opportunity of witnessing several of these witch ceremonies. Let the reader picture to himself a long procession of black men almost in a state of nudity, driving an ox before them, advancing towards a spot of rising ground, on which are a number of huts surrounded with reeds. A fierce-looking man, his body plastered over with ochre, his head shaded by long feathers, his left shoulder covered with a panther skin, and having a javelin in his hand, springs forwards, seizes the animal, and after shutting it up in a safe place, places himself at the head of the troop, who still continue their march. He then commences the song of divination, and every voice joins in the cry. “Death, death, to the base sorcerer who has stolen into our midst like a shadow. We will find him, and he shall pay with his head. Death, death to the sorcerer.” The diviner then brandishes his javelin, and strikes it into the ground as if he were already piercing his victim. Then raising his head proudly, he executes a dance accompanied with leaps of the most extraordinary kind, passing under his feet the handle of his lance, which he holds with both hands. On reaching his abode, he again disappears, and shuts himself up in a hut into which no one dare enter. The consulters then stop and squat down side by side, forming a complete circle. Each one has in his hand a short club. Loud acclamations soon burst forth, the formidable diviner comes forth from his sanctuary where he has been occupied in preparing the sacred draught, of which he has just imbibed a dose sufficient to enable him to discover the secrets of all hearts. He springs with one bound into the midst of the assembly: all arms are raised at once, and the ground trembles with the blows of the clubs. If this dismal noise does not awake the infernal gods whom he calls to council, it serves at least to strike terror into the souls of those wretches who are still harbouring sinister designs. The diviner recites with great volubility some verses in celebration of his own praise, and then proceeds to discover of what the present consists, which he expects in addition to the ox he has already received, and in whose hands this present will be found. This first trial of his clairvoyance is designed to banish every doubt. One quick glance at a few confederates dispersed throughout the assembly apprises them of their duty.
“There are,” cries the black charlatan, “many objects which man may use in the adornment of his person. Shall I speak of those perforated balls of iron which we get from Barolong?”
The assembly strike the ground with their clubs, but the confederates do it gently.
“Shall I speak of those little beads of various colours which the whites as we are told pick up by the sea side?”
All strike with equal violence.
“I might have said rather that you had brought me one of those brilliant rings of copper.”
The blows this time are unequal.
“But no, I see your present; I distinguish it perfectly well.... It is the necklace of the white men.”