Richard Galbraith, Mariner; Or, Life among the KaffirsPhillips, E. W. (Emma Watts)
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Richard Galbraith, Mariner; Or, Life among the Kaffirs
Phillips, E. W. (Emma Watts)
Shipwrecks -- Fiction; South Africa -- Fiction
I had scarcely taken all this in, when a young Kaffir, whom I had seen
sent away, returned; and no sooner had he delivered his message, than
about half-a-dozen of my guards surrounding me, began to move on, the
crowd falling back, yet still following and chattering like so many
monkeys.
Proceeding nearly half round the kraal, we came to a hut of much larger
dimensions than the others, while I observed on the thatch the skulls of
several oxen to be fastened. The entrance was so low that I had to pass
through on my hands and knees, preceded and followed by my guards. The
first thing that struck me on putting my head in, was the exceedingly
disgusting odour of the interior, most repulsive to the sensitive organs
of the European.
The anxiety respecting my position, however, made me pay little heed to
this; but rising to my feet I gazed round with some curiosity.
The interior walls were composed of hardened mud, the roof being
supported by pillars, covered, to my surprise, by beads, and from which
were hung shields, assagais, and gourds; while bunches of maize, much
blackened by soot, were suspended from the roof. Around the sides of
the hut were ranged rudely-made baskets, pitchers, and other culinary
utensils, and on the floor, flattened to a perfect evenness and polish,
were several sleeping-mats, constructed from animals' skins.
On one of the latter, I was not surprised to see the fat Kaffir who had
been present at the dance, and thinking it as well to be polite--even
should they not understand the European fashion of being so--I made a
most profound obeisance.
The chief having looked fixedly at me, addressed my guards who, I could
tell by their manner and actions, were explaining how I had fallen into
their hands. This coming to an end, with some dignity and much
importance he spoke to me, whereupon, shaking my head, I gave him to
understand that his language was unknown to me. Metilulu, for that I
afterwards learned was his name, then gave an order to one of the
attendants, who, quitting the hut, speedily returned with a young,
rather good-looking Kaffir, possessing a figure like the marble statues
I had seen in other lands and my own. He was indeed splendid, and I was
admiringly examining this fine specimen of humanity, when I was startled
by hearing myself addressed in my own tongue, though the pronunciation
was queer. I found it was the young Kaffir who thus spoke. He stood
between the chief and me, and said--
"The mighty Elephant, the pride of his tribe, says, are you European?"
"I am," I answered, no little pleased to think that I could explain my
position, and perhaps win their commiseration. "I am a shipwrecked
sailor, who was cast on your land the evening before last."
"You are not Boer?--you are not spy?" he continued suspiciously, after
repeating my words to the chief.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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