A few short extracts from some of the speeches will serve to show the manner in which these meetings are conducted. 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, 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 the enemy. This receives a loud whistling sound of applause. He next directs his spear towards the Bushman-country, south and south-west, 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 Molehabangue”—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. You have seen the interest the missionary has taken in your safety; if we exert ourselves as he has done the Mantatees can come no farther. You see the white people are our friends. You see Mr. Thompson, a chief man of the Cape, has come to see us on horseback; he has not come to lurk behind our houses as a spy, but comes openly, and with confidence; his intentions are good, he is one on whom the light of day may shine, he is our friend. I now wait to hear what the general opinion is. Let everyone speak his mind, and then I shall speak again.” Mothibi manœuvred his spear as at the commencement, and then pointing it towards 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. The second speaker, Moshume, said, “To-day we are called upon to oppose an enemy, who is the enemy of all. Moffat has been near the camp of the enemy; we all opposed his going; we are to-day all glad that he went; he did not listen to us; he has warned us and the Griquas. What are we now to do? If we flee, they will overtake us; if we fight, they will conquer; they are as strong as a lion; they kill and eat; they leave nothing. [Here an old man interrupted the speaker, begging him to roar aloud that all might hear.] I know ye, Batlapis,” continued Moshume, “that at home and in the face of women ye are men, but women in the face of the enemy; ye are ready to run when you should stand; think and prepare your hearts this day; be united in one; make your hearts hard.”
Incha, a Morolong, commenced his speech by recommending that the Batlapis should wait till the Mantatees arrived and then attack them. He had scarcely said this, when he was interrupted by Isite, a young chief, who sprang up calling out, “No, no; who called upon you to speak foolishness? Was there ever a king or chief of the Batlapis who said you must stand up and speak? Do you intend to instruct the sons of Molehabangue? Be silent. You say you know the men, and yet you wish us to wait till they enter our town. The Mantatees are conquerors, and if we flee we must lose all. Hear, and I will speak:—Let us attack the enemy where they are, and not wait till they approach our town; if we retreat there will be time for those in the rear to flee. We may fight and flee, and at last conquer; this we cannot do if we wait till they approach our town.” This speech was loudly cheered, while Incha silently sat down. A chief considerably advanced in years afterwards addressed the assembly. “Ye sons of Molehabangue! ye sons of Molehabangue! ye have done well this day. You are now acting wisely, first to deliberate, and then to proceed. The missionary has discovered our danger, like the rising sun after a dark night; a man sees the danger he was in when darkness shut his eyes. We must not act like Bahuanas; we must act like Makovas (white people). Is that our pitsho? No; it is the pitsho of the missionary; therefore we must speak and act like Makovas.” Taisho arose, and having commanded silence, was received with reiterated applause, on which an old warrior rushed furiously up to him, and holding forth his arm, called out, “Behold the man who shall speak wisdom! Be silent, be instructed; a man—a wise man—has stood up to speak.” Taisho informed the preceding speaker that he was the man who charged his people with desertion in time of war. “Ye cowards; ye vagabonds!” he exclaimed, “deny the charge if you can. Shall I count up how often you have done so? Were I to repeat the instances, you would decamp like a chastened dog, or with shame place your head between your knees.” Addressing the assembly, he said, “I do not rise to-day to make speeches; I shall wait till the day of mustering. I beseech you to reflect on what is before you, and let the subject sink deep into your hearts, that you may not turn your backs in the day of battle.” Turning to the king, he said, “You are too indifferent about the concerns of your people; you are rolled up in apathy; you are now called upon to show that you are a king and a man.”
When several other 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; your words are true, they are good for the ear: it is good that we be instructed by the Makovas. I wish those evil who will not obey; I wish that they may be broken in pieces.” Then addressing the warriors: “There are many of you who do not deserve to eat out of a bowl, but only out of a broken pot; think on what has been said, and obey without muttering. I command you, ye chiefs of the Batlapis, Batlaros, Bamaires, Barolongs, and Bakotus, that you acquaint all your tribes of the proceedings of this day; let none be ignorant. I say again, ye warriors, prepare for the battle; let your shields be strong, your quivers full of arrows, and your battle-axes as sharp as hunger. Be silent, ye kidney-eaters (addressing the old men [among these people only the aged eat kidneys; the young avoid them from superstitious motives]), ye who are of no farther use but to hang about for kidneys when an ox is slaughtered. If your oxen are taken where will you get any more?” Turning to the women, he said: “Prevent not the warrior from going out to battle by your cunning insinuations. No; rouse the warrior of glory, and he will return with honourable scars, fresh marks of valour will cover his thighs, and we shall then renew the war song and dance, and relate the story of our conquest.” At the conclusion of this speech the air was rent with acclamations, the whole assembly occasionally joining in the dance, the women frequently taking the weapons from the hands of the men and brandishing them in the most violent manner; people of all ages using the most extravagant and frantic gestures for nearly two hours.
The warrior of Southern Africa would seem to be a man of different mettle to the South-Sea Islander, whose bark is so much more formidable than his bite. The instance about to be quoted in proof of this may, in its singleness, seem not much; there is, however, about it a tone that is significant of the magnanimity of a race, rather than of an isolated case of barbarous heroism. The nature of this noble African’s offence is not mentioned by the missionary who relates the story; but that it was not monstrous, may be fairly assumed from the criminal’s behaviour:—
“He was a man of rank, and wore on his head the usual badge of dignity. He was brought to head-quarters. His arm bore no shield, nor his hand a spear; he had been divested of these, which had been his glory. He was brought into the presence of the king and his chief council, charged with a crime for which it was in vain to expect pardon, even at the hands of a more humane government. He bowed his fine elastic figure and kneeled before the judge. The case was investigated silently, which gave solemnity to the scene. Not a whisper was heard among the listening audience, and the voices of the council were only audible to each other and the nearest spectators. The prisoner, though on his knees, had something dignified and noble in his mien. Not a muscle of his countenance moved, but his bright black eyes indicated a feeling of intense interest, which the moving balance between life and death only could produce. The case required little investigation; the charges were clearly substantiated, and the culprit pleaded ‘Guilty.’ But alas! he knew it was at a bar where none ever heard the heart-reviving sound of pardon, even for offences small compared with his. A pause ensued, during which the silence of death pervaded the assembly. At length the monarch spoke, and addressing the prisoner, said: ‘You are a dead man; but I shall do to-day what I never did before; I spare your life for the sake of my friend and father,’ pointing to the spot where I stood. ‘I know his spirit weeps at the shedding of blood; for his sake I spare your life. He has travelled from a far country to see me, and he has made my heart white; but he tells me that to take away life is an awful thing, and never can be undone again. He has pleaded with me not to go to war, nor destroy life. I wish him when he returns to his own home again to return with a heart as white as he has made mine. I spare you for his sake, for I love him, and he has saved the lives of my people. But,’ continued the king, ‘you must no more associate with the nobles of the land, nor enter the towns of the princes of the people, nor ever again mingle in the dance of the mighty. Go to the poor of the field, and let your companions be the inhabitants of the desert.’ The sentence passed, the pardoned man was expected to bow in grateful adoration to him whom he was wont to look upon and exalt in songs applicable only to one to whom belongs universal sway and the destinies of man. But no; holding his hands clasped on his bosom he replied: ‘O king, afflict not my heart! I have merited thy displeasure; let me be slain like a warrior; I cannot live with the poor.’ And, raising his hand to the ring he wore on his brow, he continued, ‘How can I live among the dogs of the king and disgrace these badges of honour which I won among the spears and shields of the mighty? No, I cannot live. Let me die, O Pezoolu!’ His request was granted, and his hands tied direct over his head. How my exertions to save his life were vain. He disdained the boon on the conditions offered, preferring death with honours he had won at the point of his spear—honours which even the act that condemned him did not tarnish—to exile and poverty among the children of the desert. He was led forth, a man walking on each side. My eye followed him till he reached the top of a precipice, over which he was precipitated into the deep pool of the river beneath, where the crocodiles, accustomed to such meals, were yawning to devour him ere he could reach the bottom.”
Turning to Eastern Africa, we are somewhat surprised to find the native “a good archere and a fayre.” “The cubit-high Armiger,” Mr. Burton tells us, “begins as soon as he can walk with miniature weapons, a cane bow and reed bird-bolts tipped with wood, to practise till perfect at gourds and pumpkins; he considers himself a man when he can boast of iron tips. The bow in East Africa is invariably what is called a self-bow, that is to say, made of a single piece, and backed weapons are unknown. It is uncommonly stiff. When straight it may measure five feet from tip to tip. It is made with the same care as the spear from a branch of the matta tree laboriously cut and scraped so as to taper off towards the horns and smeared with oil or grease, otherwise it is easily sprung, and it is sometimes adorned with plates of tin and zinc with copper or brass wire and tips. The string is made of gut, the tendons of a bullock’s neck or hock, and sometimes of tree fibre; it is nearly double the bow in length, the extra portion being whipped for strength as well as contingent use round the upper horn. In shooting, the bow is grasped with the left hand; but the thumb is never extended along the back, the string is drawn with the two bent forefingers, though sometimes the shaft is held after the Asiatic fashion with the thumb and index. The bow is pulled with a jerk and not let fly, as the Europeans, with a long steady loose. The best bows are made by the tribes near the Pufyi River.
The Universal Weapon.
“The arrow is about two feet in length; the shaft is made of some light wood and often the reed. Its fault is want of weight; to inflict damage upon an antelope it must not be used beyond point-blank fifteen to twenty paces, and a score will be shot into a bullock before it falls. The musketeer, despising the arrow at a distance fears it in close quarters, knowing that for the one shot the archer can discharge a dozen. Fearing the action of the wind upon the light shafts, the archer inserts into the cloven end three or four feathers. The pile or iron head is curiously and cruelly barbed with long waving tails, the neck is toothed and edged by denting the iron when hot with an axe, and it is sometimes half sawed that it may break before extraction. The East Africans also have ‘forkers’ or two-headed shafts and bird-bolts, or blunt arrows tipped with some hard wood, used when the weapon is likely to be lost. Before loosing an arrow the archer throws into the air a pinch of dust, not to find out the wind, but for good luck, like the Tartars of Tibet before discharging their guns. In battle the heavy-armed man holds his spear and a sheaf of spare arrows in the bow hand, whilst a quiver slung to the left side contains reserve missiles; and a little axe stuck in the right side of the girdle is ready when the rest fail. The ronga or quiver is a bark case neatly cut and stained. It is of two forms, full length and provided with a cover for poisoned, and half length for unpoisoned, arrows.”