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The Wisdom of the Serpent.
In the good old days in Southern Africa distinction of any kind on the part of a Kaffir was a decided subjective disadvantage. Any man among the southern Bantu tribes possessing to a remarkable degree such attributes as strength, valour in war, or skill in the hunting-field, or who distinguished himself by any especially notable deed, was liable to be waylaid by the myrmidons of his chief and expeditiously killed. His skull would then be taken to the principal of the Royal College of Witch-doctors, who would fill it with a potion and give the gruesome cup to be quaffed by the head of the tribe just before dawn next morning at the gate of the calf-pen. It was held that the chief would thus acquire in a simple, easy, and expeditious manner the much envied qualities of the distinguished deceased.
Occasionally portions of such physical organs as were supposed to have been specially concerned in the distinguished man’s supremacy in his particular line would be pounded up with the ashes of magical roots to form an ingredient of the potion. Like the phrenologist, who thought to localise certain faculties under various bumps upon the human skull, the Kaffir doctor inferred that different organs of the human body were respectively the seats of different mental qualities, and, further, that it was possible to assimilate the latter through the digestive apparatus.
When the late Kreli, chief of the Gcaleka tribe, was a young man, he was thought to be somewhat dull and lacking in power of initiative, so a great council of the tribe was held to decide as to what should be done to improve the chief’s understanding and sharpen his wits generally. After long and anxious deliberation the council decided that the best way to endow Kreli with the missing qualities was to cause him to drink a potion out of the skull of one of the councillors—an old man of great parts who had been an ornament to the tribal senate since long before the death of Hintza, Kreli’s father. The proposition was carried by acclamation, there being only one dissentient. Certain rites had, however, to precede the killing, and during the celebration of these the distinguished possessor of the coveted skull managed to make his escape across the colonial boundary.
The elders, no doubt shocked at the want of patriotism displayed by their colleague, once more met, and it was then decided as an alternative to remove the first phalanx of the little finger of the young chiefs left hand. That the operation had the desired effect there can be no doubt, for Kreli became astute in peace and valiant in war—facts which the British and Colonial Governments ascertained to their joint cost on several subsequent occasions. Since the date of that momentous operation every youth of the Gcaleka tribe has, on reaching a certain age, been similarly mutilated, and several other tribes have adopted the same custom.
Half a century ago, more or less, a certain trader named John Flood had developed a flourishing business in the present district of ’Mqanduli, then, as now, the territory occupied by the Bomvana tribe. Flood was a man of keen business instincts. He had, at a time when no one else dreamt of doing such a thing, established a trading station in the very heart of independent Kaffirland. There being no competition of any kind, the surrounding tribes were solely dependent upon him for their supply of civilised goods, for the general use of which they rapidly acquired a taste. It was desperately hard work conveying the merchandise from Cape Colony through a very rugged and absolutely roadless country, but the large profit made quite justified the expenditure of labour and money. Beads, brass wire, iron hoes, and blankets were the principal lines in which this trader dealt. In exchange he obtained large herds of cattle, which he periodically despatched to the colonial markets.
The trading station consisted of three large huts of native make, one of which was used as a shop, the others being respectively the trader’s sleeping apartment and kitchen. Flood had, of course, a native wife—a girl named Nolai, daughter of a petty chief in the vicinity. I regret to have to record that his domestic conditions were not quite satisfactory. Nolai happened to prefer a certain young man of her own race, who had wooed her in the days of her spinsterhood, but had been too poor to pay the number of cattle which her astute father had required as dowry. Twice during the first year of her married life had Nolai absconded from the dwelling of her spouse, only, however, to be ignominiously brought back by her brothers. Had they failed in this duty a return of the dowry cattle would have been claimed by the deserted husband. Flood, as a matter of fact, would have much preferred the cattle to the uncongenial Nolai, but, apparently, her relations shared in this preference. He had serious thoughts of taking another and, as he hoped, more suitable wife. This, no doubt, he would have done had it not been for the python.
The trading station was situated near the boundary of the Gcaleka territory, the chief of which, Kreli, exercised suzerainty over and imposed tribute upon the chief of the Bomvanas. In the vicinity of the station was a large, dense forest full of noble timber and swarming with wild beasts.
Among the natives of those days certain animals were looked upon as Royal game, and the chiefs were as strict in enforcing their rights in this respect as ever was William the Conqueror or the Plantagenets. Each tribe had its special laws relating to this privilege, and some of these laws were very peculiar. Of course, different tribes selected different animals for this distinction, but among the Gcalekas and the various clans which acknowledged Kreli as their head, “Munyu,” the python, was regarded as being more than ordinarily the special game of the paramount chief. As a matter of fact, pythons seldom ventured so far south as Gcalekaland, and it was probably the fact of their extreme rarity which accounted for these creatures being so jealously reserved for the use of the highest in the land.
The gall is well known by witch-doctors to be the seat of fierceness in all animals. Matiwamè, chief of the destroying horde of Fetcani, drank the gall of every chief he slew, with the view of increasing that very liberal endowment of ferocity which nature had given him. Moreover, the gall of snakes is supposed not alone to endow the drinker thereof with ophidian rancour and malice, but to give immunity from the effects of snake-bite.
The wisdom of the serpent is proverbial among all the sons of Ham. Upon several grounds, therefore, a potion made of the gall of the King of Snakes is a thing much to be desired by any chief.
Should the chief have been fortunate enough to succeed in killing a python he would use the skull of the creature as a cup out of which to drink the potion. Nevertheless, the chief was by no means sorry if someone else, allowing his passion for sport to overcome his regard for the law, did the killing; but in such a case he would cause the courageous sportsman to be killed as well for the purpose of obtaining his skull and gall. The two galls would then be mixed together, divided, and quaffed in equal parts out of the respective skulls of the python and the python’s slayer.
The advantages of this arrangement must, of course, be obvious. At the expense of probably not more inconvenience than the average Briton undergoes in crossing from Dover to Calais when on his annual holiday, the chief would imbibe the wisdom, the subtlety and the ferocity of the serpent, as well as the prowess of the mighty man who had conquered it. What, indeed, could be simpler or more satisfactory.
One fateful day in middle spring the trader happened to be riding along the edge of the big forest, looking for a horse which had strayed. He carried his double-barrelled gun, for guinea-fowl abounded, and he was desirous of shooting a couple for his supper. Suddenly his pony swerved wildly to one side with a violent snort, and John Flood measured his length upon the ground. The pony galloped homeward mad with fright.
The trader rose to his feet, recovered his gun and looked quickly in the direction of the spot from which his pony had recoiled in such terror. There he saw an immense python climbing sinuously and with deliberation into a large thorn-tree. The snake was so intent upon a monkey which sat, fascinated and rigid, in the upper branches, that it appeared to take no notice of the man. It was a monster, and had evidently quite recently sloughed its skin after the long winter’s sleep, for its scales gleamed gloriously in the brilliant afternoon sunshine.
