This Information Was Duly Carried To The Chief, Who, If A
Sensible Man, Came At Once; But, If He Happened To Be Timid And
Suspicious, Waited Until He Had Used Divination, And His Warriors Had
Time To Come In From Outlying Hamlets.
When he makes his appearance,
all the people begin to clap their hands in unison, and continue
doing so till he sits down opposite to us.
His counsellors take
their places beside him. He makes a remark or two, and is then
silent for a few seconds. Our guides then sit down in front of the
chief and his counsellors, and both parties lean forward, looking
earnestly at each other; the chief repeats a word, such as "Ambuiatu"
(our Father, or master) - or "moio" (life), and all clap their hands.
Another word is followed by two claps, a third by still more
clapping, when each touches the ground with both hands placed
together. Then all rise and lean forward with measured clap, and sit
down again with clap, clap, clap, fainter, and still fainter, till
the last dies away, or is brought to an end by a smart loud clap from
the chief. They keep perfect time in this species of court
etiquette. Our guides now tell the chief, often in blank verse, all
they have already told his people, with the addition perhaps of their
own suspicions of the visitors. He asks some questions, and then
converses with us through the guides. Direct communication between
the chief and the head of the stranger party is not customary. In
approaching they often ask who is the spokesman, and the spokesman of
the chief addresses the person indicated exclusively. There is no
lack of punctilious good manners. The accustomed presents are
exchanged with civil ceremoniousness; until our men, wearied and
hungry, call out, "English do not buy slaves, they buy food," and
then the people bring meal, maize, fowls, batatas, yams, beans, beer,
for sale.
The Manganja are an industrious race; and in addition to working in
iron, cotton, and basket-making, they cultivate the soil extensively.
All the people of a village turn out to labour in the fields. It is
no uncommon thing to see men, women, and children hard at work, with
the baby lying close by beneath a shady bush. When a new piece of
woodland is to be cleared, they proceed exactly as farmers do in
America. The trees are cut down with their little axes of soft
native iron; trunks and branches are piled up and burnt, and the
ashes spread on the soil. The corn is planted among the standing
stumps which are left to rot. If grass land is to be brought under
cultivation, as much tall grass as the labourer can conveniently lay
hold of is collected together and tied into a knot. He then strikes
his hoe round the tufts to sever the roots, and leaving all standing,
proceeds until the whole ground assumes the appearance of a field
covered with little shocks of corn in harvest. A short time before
the rains begin, these grass shocks are collected in small heaps,
covered with earth, and burnt, the ashes and burnt soil being used to
fertilize the ground. Large crops of the mapira, or Egyptian dura
(Holcus sorghum), are raised, with millet, beans, and ground-nuts;
also patches of yams, rice, pumpkins, cucumbers, cassava, sweet
potatoes, tobacco, and hemp, or bang (Cannabis setiva). Maize is
grown all the year round. Cotton is cultivated at almost every
village. Three varieties of cotton have been found in the country,
namely, two foreign and one native. The "tonje manga," or foreign
cotton, the name showing that it has been introduced, is of excellent
quality, and considered at Manchester to be nearly equal to the best
New Orleans. It is perennial, but requires replanting once in three
years. A considerable amount of this variety is grown in the Upper
and Lower Shire valleys. Every family of any importance owns a
cotton patch which, from the entire absence of weeds, seemed to be
carefully cultivated. Most were small, none seen on this journey
exceeding half an acre; but on the former trip some were observed of
more than twice that size.
The "tonje cadja," or indigenous cotton, is of shorter staple, and
feels in the hand like wool. This kind has to be planted every
season in the highlands; yet, because it makes stronger cloth, many
of the people prefer it to the foreign cotton; the third variety is
not found here. It was remarked to a number of men near the Shire
Lakelet, a little further on towards Nyassa, "You should plant plenty
of cotton, and probably the English will come and buy it." "Truly,"
replied a far-travelled Babisa trader to his fellows, "the country is
full of cotton, and if these people come to buy they will enrich us."
Our own observation on the cotton cultivated convinced us that this
was no empty flourish, but a fact. Everywhere we met with it, and
scarcely ever entered a village without finding a number of men
cleaning, spinning, and weaving. It is first carefully separated
from the seed by the fingers, or by an iron roller, on a little block
of wood, and rove out into long soft bands without twist. Then it
receives its first twist on the spindle, and becomes about the
thickness of coarse candlewick; after being taken off and wound into
a large ball, it is given the final hard twist, and spun into a firm
cop on the spindle again: all the processes being painfully slow.
Iron ore is dug out of the hills, and its manufacture is the staple
trade of the southern highlands. Each village has its smelting-
house, its charcoal-burners, and blacksmiths. They make good axes,
spears, needles, arrowheads, bracelets and anklets, which,
considering the entire absence of machinery, are sold at surprisingly
low rates; a hoe over two pounds in weight is exchanged for calico of
about the value of fourpence.
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