I Have Come Into Villages Where, Had We Acted
A Domineering Part, And Rummaged Every Hut, We Should Have Found
Nothing;
but by sitting down quietly, and waiting with patience
until the villagers were led to form a favorable opinion
Of us,
a woman would bring out a shellful of the precious fluid
from I know not where.
The so-called Desert, it may be observed, is by no means
a useless tract of country. Besides supporting multitudes of both
small and large animals, it sends something to the market of the world,
and has proved a refuge to many a fugitive tribe - to the Bakalahari first,
and to the other Bechuanas in turn - as their lands were overrun
by the tribe of true Caffres, called Matebele. The Bakwains, the Bangwaketze,
and the Bamangwato all fled thither; and the Matebele marauders,
who came from the well-watered east, perished by hundreds
in their attempts to follow them. One of the Bangwaketze chiefs,
more wily than the rest, sent false guides to lead them on a track where,
for hundreds of miles, not a drop of water could be found,
and they perished in consequence. Many Bakwains perished too.
Their old men, who could have told us ancient stories,
perished in these flights. An intelligent Mokwain related to me
how the Bushmen effectually balked a party of his tribe
which lighted on their village in a state of burning thirst.
Believing, as he said, that nothing human could subsist without water,
they demanded some, but were coolly told by these Bushmen that they had none,
and never drank any.
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