The yacht arrived in Swakopmund as planned, was fitted out and one afternoon set out to begin its coastal trip. The captain, a little Irishman, was not a drunkard; but he was a religious maniac, and prayed constantly. I am a long way from asserting that he was to blame for the accident, but after four days the message reached us that he had anchored the ship overnight near Sandwich Harbour so close to the coast that it had been wrecked on the cliffs, with the loss of all hands. As a result, Berlin’s enthusiasm for the guano expedition diminished, and it was abandoned.
Dr Rhode, who I noted was charitable, already had other posts for me. I heard from a third party that he had said: “I want to keep testing Mansfeld until the day he says ‘No, I can’t do that; I don’t dare do that’”. However, he never heard me say that. Berlin had reserved a sum of money for the acquisition of young cows and heifers for the farm Heusis in the Khomas highlands; so that became my new responsibility, and of course I said yes to it.
“How many cows, where and how you acquire them and what price you pay for them is down to you,” is all Dr Rhode said to me, “and after that… away you go!” For myself I ordered from Spitzkopje a cart with twelve oxen, five natives and a horse to Rössing Station; and over the course of three months collected altogether approximately six hundred cows and heifers from various different farms around the district, in each case having them delivered by the seller to Heusis in herds of fifty to one hundred head of cattle. Our farm manager at Heusis was a first-class connoisseur of cattle, formerly from Argentina, and it was a source of the greatest satisfaction to me that he reported to Swakopmund that I had bought only top-quality animals, and cheaply; something of which—as a businessman rather than a farmer—he had not thought me capable.
On my return to Swakopmund there was already another call for assistance from Spitzkopje; Sabatta had not paid, and I was to go to see him once again. A mule-cart got me to Spitzkopje, and because I had now travelled quite enough by ox-cart, this time I decided that I would travel only on horseback. I rode quickly, with three good horses, one packhorse and a native, and was in Franzfontein in three-and-a-half days. Only the most necessary stores were packed, of course: a few rusks, a little tea and sugar; a field canteen or small tea-kettle; a little rough tobacco for use as gifts or barter for natives; and a blanket. My rifle and canteen filled with water were always on my own horse. At night I slept in the bush beside the horses, and afterwards left them to graze while I watched; because of the danger of lions in this region horses were kept tethered to a tree at night.
I dealt forcefully with Sabatta. This time I did not stay with him, but on the military station with Oberleutnant von François,[15] and after I had, within three days, forced Sabatta to give up the balance of the debt he owed, I rode back to Spitzkopje. When I arrived, Schlettwein was in Swakopmund, where he had a blazing row with Dr Rhode, leading to the termination of his contract. At the same time I received an order for my return to Swakopmund to await further news. Schlettwein returned furious, and rode back over to Swakopmund two days later. It was said that he had challenged Dr Rhode to sack him there and then in the hope of embarrassing Rhode, who had no suitable successor in place. Schlettwein had admittedly not been serious, but Dr Rhode immediately accepted his resignation and sent me a special message: “Schlettwein is going. Remain at Spitzkopje until further notice and take over management of the farm.”
Although I was no farmer by vocation, nevertheless I had observed on other farms what I had missed at Spitzkopje. Schlettwein had himself in the last year been over-occupied in writing a book on farm management, how it is and how it should be, and had consequently himself missed out some of the ‘how it should be’.
The inadequate old thorn-bush cattle kraal at the farm was falling to pieces, and I therefore built a large new kraal from earthen bricks which we fired ourselves. I sorted the stock into large and small animal herds, and in order to relieve pressure on the pastures near the stockyards, allocated herds to outlying watering places, always under the supervision of a reliable native. Only the milk-cows with calves, the imported Friesian cattle, the Angora goats and a selected herd of young female sheep and goats which had not yet been mated, were pastured in the vicinity of the stockyards and brought at night into the cattle kraal at the farm. The mares were kept separately from the stallions and there one year we suffered large losses of foals taken by leopards overnight, so herded the foals at night (sometimes up to sixty of them) with their mothers into special enclosures under guard.
In the evening every herd was counted, so the phrase ‘lost in the bush’ soon became redundant. Of course, the shepherds often brought in at night a dead sheep that had died of snakebite, or some other illness, but only after the cause of death was identified did they get it for their cooking pot. One shepherd, frustrated that no snake had bitten his charges and no animal dropped dead in the field to satisfy his appetite for fresh meat, helped nature along. He shoved a pointed stick into the sheep’s back passage, ripping the intestines so that the poor animal died a miserable death. I discovered this while examining the dead beast; an elderly Baster, who happed to be at the farm, watched and confirmed my diagnosis as an old trick of the natives. Rather than mutton that evening, that shepherd got a proper beating from the biggest cowherd. The other natives shook their heads and said, “The old jackal (as they called me) notices everything.”
When all the cattle had been safely returned to the kraal, and all the cows milked, and the natives received their rations from the store, then my day’s work was finally over. But often I was woken during the night by a rider from a remote cattle station, with a message that this or that had happened, and then I had to ride there at once.
We lost foals to leopards, sheep to leopards and hyenas, and newborn lambs to the jackals. I shot a lot of these predators, or trapped or poisoned them, and when we knew that a leopard had been prowling round the cattle kraal I would stand guard at night for some hours on watch. Spitzkopje was blessed with all sorts of snakes, especially the black mambas; I killed these creatures on the stoep and even inside the house, while in the rocks behind the house you had to watch out at every step. There was wonderful hunting for buck: kudu, gemsbok (oryx), springbok, steenbok, etc. I rarely even had to slaughter a sheep, but lived mostly on venison.
To look after the farmhouse I had brought in a young Bergdamara woman, a niece of Chief Cornelius,[16] as cook and housekeeper (“not just a kaffir”, as Cornelius said), and was looked after accordingly. She was educated at the mission, could read and write, spoke pretty good German, and did an excellent job of looking after the kitchen and the entire household—so that as host, I maintained the reputation of the Company whether looking after guests, farmers, army officers or government officials.
I had a good friendship with Chief Cornelius, which benefited me greatly, for his people had a fearful respect for him. If I was looking for good farm-workers or shepherds, he would bring them to me himself—and woe to those who let him down. Cornelius often used to ride over to me, accompanied by his adjutants; stay two or three days and eat and drink to his heart’s content.
At home I had two dogs; a tame sheep, a tame steenbok and a little baboon, so there was always some company. I had also raised two leopards from cubs to maturity, and kept them in a large barred enclosure which I used to go into every day to feed them until one day one of them (the female, of course) took a dislike to my visits and attacked me, and I no longer dared to enter. I sent them to the Zoological Garden in Berlin.
By 1899 I had already contracted malaria, then in the following years had serious attacks, spending a whole week with severe seizures. I often suffered terribly, on my own, with no other white people in the district. In 1903 I left to go to Germany until I had got rid of the illness.
The nearest doctor was in Swakopmund, 135 kilometres away, so I had to play both doctor and veterinarian. I had to provide maternity care not only to horses and cows but also to one native woman; treated all fever and other
illnesses; doctored all the sick and injured myself and once even amputated the finger of a young Herero girl with blood poisoning, without any pain at all. Well, not for me, anyway.
By the end of 1900 Rinderpest had broken out again in the region. They sent me a corporal of the Schutztruppe who had been trained in vaccination. Between us we vaccinated six hundred head of stock, and were delighted that we lost only three animals. Every month I was riding out to our largest cattle posts on the edge of the Omaruru River, about sixty kilometres from Spitzkopje, a journey which always took two days and a night.
In Spitzkopje there are very few sources of water; you need to know their exact location. Anyone lost in this country will die of thirst, and before my time several white men died here in this way. One day I met a white man who had come from Swakopmund in an ox-waggon, going to Omaruru. He was half-dead from thirst, and told me that he and his companion had left the waggon and had run on ahead, becoming lost and spending the night alone in the bush. He had already wandered for two days looking for water, and his friend, who had not reappeared, was still lost. I immediately saddled a horse, took water, a small flask of cognac and some food, and rode in the direction of the area where the two men had become separated. After hours of riding backwards and forwards I saw in the dense bush on the back of the Spitzkopje, only about an hour away from the farmhouse, a half-naked figure crawling round. He was immediately hostile in response to my calls, and tried to throw stones at me, but was so weak that he could barely lift them.
I dismounted and went to the man, held him down on the ground and poured water into him sip by sip until he had drunk enough for his head to begin to clear again. After a long while feeding him water, cognac and food I brought the poor fellow back to such a point of normality that he had stopped viewing me as an enemy but as a rescuer. He had spent two days and nights walking round in wide circles. He had gradually become half-mad with thirst, and gradually discarded all his clothes until he had only trousers and a shirt ripped to shreds by thorns and eventually was no longer able to limp on any further. I put him on my horse and, leading it on foot, brought him back to the farm. After three days’ rest and care I sent them on their way with an ox-waggon which had by good fortune come to Spitzkopje on its way to Omaruru.
From time to time I had to go in person to Swakopmund, either riding on horseback or by means of a small wheeled cart, drawn by six strong mules, which then rumbled away like a thunderstorm. As there was no water or pasture to be had en route, the journey had to be made in a single trip of 135 kilometres, with regular ten minute breaks, making a rather arduous journey for both man and animals. During this time the farm was left under the supervision of a Baster foreman, and the respect of the natives for their chief’s niece guaranteed that the house was not disturbed.
During my stay on Spitzkopje I collected many curios: horns of the various antelope species, mostly shot by myself; Herero, native and Bushman weapons and everyday objects; snake skins and snake skulls prepared with fangs; and skulls of all kinds of animals and the natives of various races. I collected Herero, Bergdamara, Baster, Hottentot and even a Bushman skull. Obtaining a Bushman skull is difficult and dangerous, because if Bushmen were told that one of their dead had been dug up, they would take the strongest possible revenge. Despite that, my desire to get such a skull was stronger than the risk of retribution. One day I heard from the native women that they had seen a grave in the high rocks behind the farmhouse. It was immediately obvious to me that this could only be that of a Bushman, who buried their dead under stones, and who used in earlier times to live on Spitzkopje.
My offers of rewards for getting the skull were rejected in horror by the farm workers, and I was warned that the Bushmen would surely kill me. I wanted to have the skull, so I had to get it myself, in secret, and the same night—for I had to consider betrayal by my own natives, even if they were generally trustworthy.
When the native compound became silent in the late evening, I armed myself with a stick and, taking a lantern, went out and climbed some two hundred metres up the rocks and over huge stone boulders, often on my hands and knees, cautious of snakes in the dark. Eventually I came to the location the women had described, and I found the grave in a cleft in the rocks. First I had to remove the large rocks that covered the grave; that took about an hour’s hard work until the skeleton was uncovered and I could remove the skull I coveted.
I wrapped up my prize in a large handkerchief and tied it round my neck, and climbed down carefully. I was bruised and somewhat exhausted, as this grave-robbing expedition had taken some five hours. No natives had seen me; my only witness was the moon, who thankfully did not tell the Bushmen.
However, I could not conceal the boiling of the head night and day on the cooking-stove from my good Hottentot cook. She told me that she would have nothing to do with this escapade, and refused to stay in the house any longer.[17]
When I left Germany in 1928 I lent my entire collection, which later included magnificent specimens of ores and minerals, to the Anthropological School at Wandsbek near Hamburg for their South-West Africa museum. I have retained ownership, however, so I can always get it back. I will probably never use it again, but I wanted my sons to be able to have the collection if any of them express an interest in it.
Apparently Dr Rhode was back with other plans for me, because I received a message from Swakopmund that a trained farm manager had been recruited from Germany and was coming up to Spitzkopje with the waggons that I had just sent down to get provisions, and that I was to hand the entire operation of Spitzkopje over to him. As neither of the waggons was back on the day that I expected them to return, I took a ride out into the bush, and met one of the natives from the waggons. He reported that both waggons had been outspanned overnight by a river about fifteen kilometres away when the white man they had brought from Swakopmund had disappeared into the darkness; they had heard a shot, and were looking for him.
“What a beautiful mess”, I said to myself. It had been made abundantly clear to the passenger that he was not allowed to leave the waggon because he would otherwise become lost and perish in the veld. I rode out immediately. When I reached the outspanned waggons the foreman, a Baster, told me that they had just found the man, dead. They were afraid to go to him, and had waited until I arrived. This was very sensible, because it would otherwise have spoiled the footprints, which I needed to use to establish what had happened. When I questioned the natives they told me that during the whole trip the man was very nervous and withdrawn; that he had not put his gun down for an instant, and had constantly warned them that if they tried anything he would shoot them all. He said that he regretted coming to this dangerous country and wanted to return to Germany immediately.
I slowly followed the man’s tracks; they were clear, and led to a small hill covered in bushes. He was lying on his face, gun still in his hand, its muzzle at his right temple; he was dead and already stiff. It was clearly suicide: his words and phrases appeared close to paranoia, and I felt reassured that no hint of suspicion of murder could attach to the workers (all of whom were trusted employees of long standing). The stranger was a man of about thirty-five, a large, powerfully-built figure, and it was not easy to fetch the heavy body from the hill and load it onto the waggon.
I rode back in the evening and met the waggon carrying the body. The next morning we had to hurry to Spitzkopje to bury him immediately, since the corpse was already distended and blown up by the great heat. I then had a lot of work making reports about the events to the Company and the colonial authorities in Swakopmund, as well as writing to his relatives in Germany.
The year 1900 had brought little rain, and as the rainy season from February to April 1901 passed by Spitzkopje without the anticipated downpours, there was not enough grazing there for the cattle, so it was decided to bring most of the animals to Heusis. This wonderful job fell to me again; it was a genuinely enjoyable task but tough, with risks because the pasture and water conditions were
very poor and we had just fourteen days to bring the cows, oxen, bullocks and calves to their destination.
I set off with seven mounted cattle-drivers and a bullock cart for food and so on. For days the smallest, weakest calves had to be carried in the waggon. In those days the steep, mountainous track between Otjimbingwe and Heusis was so bad that the waggon overturned twice—but only after we, anticipating the danger-spots, had unloaded the calves and provisions beforehand.
I usually rode ahead to look for watering holes and find places to rest. At one point in the mountains I found excellent pasture, but the local water-hole was dry. The location was framed by steep cliffs about sixty metres high, and on the top I found a pool in the rocks containing plenty of water. To bring the stock up to drink from it was impossible, of course, but they had to drink, and there was nothing for it but to create a sort of waterfall, so to speak, using a bucket and feed bags to pour the water and send it running down the rock walls. It took hours before we had shifted enough water for all the animals.
Every evening when we made camp we had to cut thorn branches to build into a kraal for the animals. Because they were never properly fed and watered, they never stayed quiet, and began to wander, often breaking out of the kraal, so we got very little sleep. You can imagine how happy I was when I was able to deliver my four-legged problem children to Heusis after a fourteen-day march, having lost only three animals on the way.
After two days’ rest at Heusis I sent the cart with the natives straight back to Spitzkopje. I rode the following day from Heusis to Windhoek, where I had a number of tasks to carry out for various businesses in Swakopmund. I was invited to the officers’ mess several times, which left me very contented. Then the three-day ride back to Spitzkopje.
The Autobiography of Eugen Mansfeld Page 3