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Child Of Storm
By
H. Rider Haggard
Cont=
ents
CHAPTER
I. - ALLAN QUATERMAIN HEARS OF MAMEENA..
CHAPTER
II. - THE MOONSHINE OF ZIKALI
CHAPTER
III. - THE BUFFALO WITH THE CLEFT HORN..
CHAPTER
V. - TWO BUCKS AND THE DOE
CHAPTER
VII. - SADUKO BRINGS THE MARRIAGE GIFT.
CHAPTER
VIII. - THE KING'S DAUGHTER
CHAPTER
IX. - ALLAN RETURNS TO ZULULAND
CHAPTER
XI. - THE SIN OF UMBELAZI
CHAPTER
XIII. - UMBELAZI THE FALLEN
CHAPTER
XIV. - UMBEZI AND THE BLOOD ROYAL.
CHAPTER
XV. - MAMEENA CLAIMS THE KISS
CHAPTER
XVI. - MAMEENA--MAMEENA--MAMEENA!.
Dear Mr. Stuart,
For twenty years, I believe I am right in sayi=
ng,
you, as Assistant Secretary for Native Affairs in Natal, and in other offic=
es,
have been intimately acquainted with the Zulu people. Moreover, you are one=
of the
few living men who have made a deep and scientific study of their language,=
their
customs and their history. So I confess that I was the more pleased after y=
ou
were so good as to read this tale--the second book of the epic of the venge=
ance
of Zikali, "the Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born," and of t=
he
fall of the House of Senzangakona[*]--when you wrote to me that it was anim=
ated
by the true Zulu spirit.
[*--"Marie" was the first.
The third and final act in the drama is yet to come.].
I must admit that my acquaintance with this pe=
ople
dates from a period which closed almost before your day. What I know of the=
m I
gathered at the time when Cetewayo, of whom my volume tells, was in his glo=
ry, previous
to the evil hour in which he found himself driven by the clamour of his
regiments, cut off, as they were, through the annexation of the Transvaal, =
from
their hereditary trade of war, to match himself against the British strengt=
h. I
learned it all by personal observation in the 'seventies, or from the lips =
of
the great Shepstone, my chief and friend, and from my colleagues Osborn,
Fynney, Clarke and others, every one of them long since "gone down.&qu=
ot;
Perhaps it may be as well that this is so, at =
any
rate in the case of one who desires to write of the Zulus as a reigning nat=
ion,
which now they have ceased to be, and to try to show them as they were, in =
all their
superstitious madness and bloodstained grandeur.
Yet then they had virtues as well as vices. To
serve their Country in arms, to die for it and for the King; such was their
primitive ideal. If they were fierce they were loyal, and feared neither wo=
unds
nor doom; if they listened to the dark redes of the witch-doctor, the
trumpet-call of duty sounded still louder in their ears; if, chanting their
terrible "Ingoma," at the King's bidding they went forth to slay
unsparingly, at least they were not mean or vulgar. From those who continua=
lly
must face the last great issues of life or death meanness and vulgarity are=
far
removed. These qualities belong to the safe and crowded haunts of civilised
men, not to the kraals of Bantu savages, where, at any rate of old, they mi=
ght
be sought in vain.
Now everything is changed, or so I hear, and
doubtless in the balance this is best. Still we may wonder what are the
thoughts that pass through the mind of some ancient warrior of Chaka's or
Dingaan's time, as he suns himself crouched on the ground, for example, whe=
re
once stood the royal kraal, Duguza, and watches men and women of the Zulu b=
lood
passing homeward from the cities or the mines, bemused, some of them, with =
the
white man's smuggled liquor, grotesque with the white man's cast-off garmen=
ts,
hiding, perhaps, in their blankets examples of the white man's doubtful
photographs--and then shuts his sunken eyes and remembers the plumed and ki=
lted
regiments making that same ground shake as, with a thunder of salute, line =
upon
line, company upon company, they rushed out to battle.
Well, because the latter does not attract me, =
it
is of this former time that I have tried to write--the time of the Impis and
the witch-finders and the rival princes of the royal House--as I am glad to
learn from you, not quite in vain. Therefore, since you, so great an expert=
, approve
of my labours in the seldom-travelled field of Zulu story, I ask you to all=
ow
me to set your name upon this page and subscribe myself,
Gratefully and sincerely yours,
H. RIDER HAGGARD.
Ditchingham, 12th October, 1912.
To Ja=
mes
Stuart, Esq., Late Assistant Secretary for Native Affairs, Natal.
Mr. Allan Quatermain's story of the wicked and
fascinating Mameena, a kind of Zulu Helen, has, it should be stated, a broad
foundation in historical fact. Leaving Mameena and her wiles on one side, t=
he
tale of the struggle between the Princes Cetewayo and Umbelazi for successi=
on
to the throne of Zululand is true.
When the differences between these sons of his
became intolerable, because of the tumult which they were causing in his
country, King Panda, their father, the son of Senzangakona, and the brother=
of
the great Chaka and of Dingaan, who had ruled before him, did say that
"when two young bulls quarrel they had better fight it out." So, =
at
least, I was told by the late Mr. F. B. Fynney, my colleague at the time of=
the
annexation of the Transvaal in 1877, who, as Zulu Border Agent, with the ex=
ceptions
of the late Sir Theophilus Shepstone and the late Sir Melmoth Osborn, perha=
ps
knew more of that land and people than anyone else of his period.
As a result of this hint given by a maddened k=
ing,
the great battle of the Tugela was fought at Endondakusuka in December, 185=
6,
between the Usutu party, commanded by Cetewayo, and the adherents of Umbela=
zi the
Handsome, his brother, who was known among the Zulus as "Indhlovu-ene-=
Sihlonti,"
or the "Elephant with the tuft of hair," from a little lock of ha=
ir
which grew low down upon his back.
My friend, Sir Melmoth Osborn, who died in or
about the year 1897, was present at this battle, although not as a combatan=
t.
Well do I remember his thrilling story, told to me over thirty years ago, of
the events of that awful day.
Early in the morning, or during the previous
night, I forget which, he swam his horse across the Tugela and hid with it =
in a
bush-clad kopje, blindfolding the animal with his coat lest it should betray
him. As it chanced, the great fight of the day, that of the regiment of
veterans, which Sir Melmoth informed me Panda had sent down at the last mom=
ent
to the assistance of Umbelazi, his favourite son, took place almost at the =
foot
of this kopje. Mr. Quatermain, in his narrative, calls this regiment the
Amawombe, but my recollection is that the name Sir Melmoth Osborn gave them=
was
"The Greys" or "Upunga."
Whatever their exact title may have been, howe=
ver,
they made a great stand. At least, he told me that when Umbelazi's impi, or
army, began to give before the Usutu onslaught, these "Greys" mov=
ed
forward above 3,000 strong, drawn up in a triple line, and were charged by =
one
of Cetewayo's regiments.
The opposing forces met, and the noise of their
clashing shields, said Sir Melmoth, was like the roll of heavy thunder. The=
n,
while he watched, the veteran "Greys" passed over the opposing
regiment "as a wave passes over a rock"--these were his exact
words--and, leaving about a third of their number dead or wounded among the
bodies of the annihilated foe, charged on to meet a second regiment sent
against them by Cetewayo. With these the struggle was repeated, but again t=
he
"Greys" conquered. Only now there were not more than five or six
hundred of them left upon their feet.
These survivors ran to a mound, round which th=
ey
formed a ring, and here for a long while withstood the attack of a third
regiment, until at length they perished almost to a man, buried beneath hea=
ps
of their slain assailants, the Usutu.
Truly they made a noble end fighting thus agai=
nst
tremendous odds!
As for the number who fell at this battle of
Endondakusuka, Mr. Fynney, in a pamphlet which he wrote, says that six of
Umbelazi's brothers died, "whilst it is estimated that upwards of 100,=
000
of the people--men, women and children--were slain"--a high and indeed=
an
impossible estimate.
That curious personage named John Dunn, an
Englishman who became a Zulu chief, and who actually fought in this battle,=
as
narrated by Mr. Quatermain, however, puts the number much lower. What the t=
rue
total was will never be known; but Sir Melmoth Osborn told me that when he =
swam
his horse back across the Tugela that night it was black with bodies; and S=
ir
Theophilus Shepstone also told me that when he visited the scene a day or t=
wo
later the banks of the river were strewn with multitudes of them, male and
female.
It was from Mr. Fynney that I heard the story =
of
the execution by Cetewayo of the man who appeared before him with the ornam=
ents
of Umbelazi, announcing that he had killed the prince with his own hand. Of
course, this tale, as Mr. Quatermain points out, bears a striking resemblan=
ce
to that recorded in the Old Testament in connection with the death of King
Saul.
It by no means follows, however, that it is
therefore apocryphal; indeed, Mr. Fynney assured me that it was quite true,
although, if he gave me his authorities, I cannot remember them after a lap=
se
of more than thirty years.
The exact circumstances of Umbelazi's death are
unknown, but the general report was that he died, not by the assegais of the
Usutu, but of a broken heart. Another story declares that he was drowned. H=
is
body was never found, and it is therefore probable that it sank in the Tuge=
la,
as is suggested in the following pages.
I have only to add that it is quite in accorda=
nce
with Zulu beliefs that a man should be haunted by the ghost of one whom he =
has
murdered or betrayed, or, to be more accurate, that the spirit
("umoya") should enter into the slayer and drive him mad. Or, in =
such
a case, that spirit might bring misfortune upon him, his family, or his tri=
be.
H. RIDER HAGGARD.
CONTENTS
We wh=
ite
people think that we know everything. For instance, we think that we unders=
tand
human nature. And so we do, as human nature appears to us, with all its tra=
ppings
and accessories seen dimly through the glass of our conventions, leaving out
those aspects of it which we have forgotten or do not think it polite to
mention. But I, Allan Quatermain, reflecting upon these matters in my ignor=
ant
and uneducated fashion, have always held that no one really understands hum=
an
nature who has not studied it in the rough. Well, that is the aspect of it =
with
which I have been best acquainted.
For most of the years of my life I have handled
the raw material, the virgin ore, not the finished ornament that is smelted=
out
of it--if, indeed, it is finished yet, which I greatly doubt. I dare say th=
at a
time may come when the perfected generations--if Civilisation, as we unders=
tand
it, really has a future and any such should be allowed to enjoy their hour =
on
the World--will look back to us as crude, half-developed creatures whose on=
ly
merit was that we handed on the flame of life.
Maybe, maybe, for everything goes by compariso=
n;
and at one end of the ladder is the ape-man, and at the other, as we hope, =
the
angel. No, not the angel; he belongs to a different sphere, but that last
expression of humanity upon which I will not speculate. While man is man--t=
hat
is, before he suffers the magical death-change into spirit, if such should =
be
his destiny--well, he will remain man. I mean that the same passions will s=
way
him; he will aim at the same ambitions; he will know the same joys and be
oppressed by the same fears, whether he lives in a Kafir hut or in a golden
palace; whether he walks upon his two feet or, as for aught I know he may do
one day, flies through the air. This is certain: that in the flesh he can n=
ever
escape from our atmosphere, and while he breathes it, in the main with some
variations prescribed by climate, local law and religion, he will do much as
his forefathers did for countless ages.
That is why I have always found the savage so
interesting, for in him, nakedly and forcibly expressed, we see those etern=
al
principles which direct our human destiny.
To descend from these generalities, that is why
also I, who hate writing, have thought it worth while, at the cost of some
labour to myself, to occupy my leisure in what to me is a strange land--for=
although
I was born in England, it is not my country--in setting down various
experiences of my life that do, in my opinion, interpret this our universal
nature. I dare say that no one will ever read them; still, perhaps they are
worthy of record, and who knows? In days to come they may fall into the han=
ds
of others and prove of value. At any rate, they are true stories of interes=
ting
peoples, who, if they should survive in the savage competition of the natio=
ns,
probably are doomed to undergo great changes. Therefore I tell of them befo=
re
they began to change.
Now, although I take it out of its strict
chronological order, the first of these histories that I wish to preserve i=
s in
the main that of an extremely beautiful woman--with the exception of a cert=
ain
Nada, called "the Lily," of whom I hope to speak some day, I think
the most beautiful that ever lived among the Zulus. Also she was, I think, =
the
most able, the most wicked, and the most ambitious. Her attractive name--fo=
r it
was very attractive as the Zulus said it, especially those of them who were=
in
love with her--was Mameena, daughter of Umbezi. Her other name was Child of
Storm (Ingane-ye-Sipepo, or, more freely and shortly, O-we-Zulu), but the w=
ord
"Ma-mee-na" had its origin in the sound of the wind that wailed a=
bout
the hut when she was born.[*]
[=
*--The
Zulu word "Meena"--or more correctly "Mina"--means "Come here," and would the=
refore
be a name not unsuitable to on=
e of
the heroine's proclivities; but Mr. Quatermain does not seem to accept this
interpretation.--EDITOR.]
Since I have been settled in England I have
read--of course in a translation--the story of Helen of Troy, as told by the
Greek poet, Homer. Well, Mameena reminds me very much of Helen, or, rather,
Helen reminds me of Mameena. At any rate, there was this in common between =
them,
although one of them was black, or, rather, copper-coloured, and the other
white--they both were lovely; moreover, they both were faithless, and broug=
ht
men by hundreds to their deaths. There, perhaps, the resemblance ends, since
Mameena had much more fire and grit than Helen could boast, who, unless Hom=
er
misrepresents her, must have been but a poor thing after all. Beauty Itself,
which those old rascals of Greek gods made use of to bait their snares set =
for
the lives and honour of men, such was Helen, no more; that is, as I underst=
and
her, who have not had the advantage of a classical education. Now, Mameena,
although she was superstitious--a common weakness of great minds--acknowled=
ging
no gods in particular, as we understand them, set her own snares, with vary=
ing success
but a very definite object, namely, that of becoming the first woman in the
world as she knew it--the stormy, bloodstained world of the Zulus.
But the reader shall judge for himself, if ever
such a person should chance to cast his eye upon this history.
It wa=
s in
the year 1854 that I first met Mameena, and my acquaintance with her contin=
ued
off and on until 1856, when it came to an end in a fashion that shall be to=
ld
after the fearful battle of the Tugela in which Umbelazi, Panda's son and
Cetewayo's brother--who, to his sorrow, had also met Mameena--lost his life=
. I
was still a youngish man in those days, although I had already buried my se=
cond
wife, as I have told elsewhere, after our brief but happy time of marriage.=
Leaving my boy in charge of some kind people in
Durban, I started into "the Zulu"--a land with which I had already
become well acquainted as a youth, there to carry on my wild life of trading
and hunting.
For the trading I never cared much, as may be
guessed from the little that ever I made out of it, the art of traffic bein=
g in
truth repugnant to me. But hunting was always the breath of my nostrils--not
that I am fond of killing creatures, for any humane man soon wearies of
slaughter. No, it is the excitement of sport, which, before breechloaders c=
ame
in, was acute enough, I can assure you; the lonely existence in wild places=
, often
with only the sun and the stars for companions; the continual adventures; t=
he
strange tribes with whom I came in contact; in short, the change, the dange=
r,
the hope always of finding something great and new, that attracted and still
attracts me, even now when I have found the great and the new. There, I must
not go on writing like this, or I shall throw down my pen and book a passage
for Africa, and incidentally to the next world, no doubt--that world of the
great and new!
It wa=
s, I
think, in the month of May in the year 1854 that I went hunting in rough
country between the White and Black Umvolosi Rivers, by permission of
Panda--whom the Boers had made king of Zululand after the defeat and death =
of
Dingaan his brother. The district was very feverish, and for this reason I =
had
entered it in the winter months. There was so much bush that, in the total
absence of roads, I thought it wise not to attempt to bring my wagons down,=
and
as no horses would live in that veld I went on foot. My principal companions
were a Kafir of mixed origin, called Sikauli, commonly abbreviated into Sco=
wl,
the Zulu chief Saduko, and a headman of the Undwandwe blood named Umbezi, at
whose kraal on the high land about thirty miles away I left my wagon and ce=
rtain
of my men in charge of the goods and some ivory that I had traded.
This Umbezi was a stout and genial-mannered ma=
n of
about sixty years of age, and, what is rare among these people, one who lov=
ed
sport for its own sake. Being aware of his tastes, also that he knew the
country and was skilled in finding game, I had promised him a gun if he wou=
ld accompany
me and bring a few hunters. It was a particularly bad gun that had seen much
service, and one which had an unpleasing habit of going off at half-cock; b=
ut
even after he had seen it, and I in my honesty had explained its weaknesses=
, he
jumped at the offer.
"O Macumazana" (that is my native na=
me,
often abbreviated into Macumazahn, which means "One who stands out,&qu=
ot;
or as many interpret it, I don't know how,
"Watcher-by-Night")--"a gun that goes off sometimes when you=
do
not expect it is much better than no gun at all, and you are a chief with a
great heart to promise it to me, for when I own the White Man's weapon I sh=
all
be looked up to and feared by everyone between the two rivers."
Now, while he was speaking he handled the gun,
that was loaded, observing which I moved behind him. Off it went in due cou=
rse,
its recoil knocking him backwards--for that gun was a devil to kick--and it=
s bullet
cutting the top off the ear of one of his wives. The lady fled screaming,
leaving a little bit of her ear upon the ground.
"What does it matter?" said Umbezi, =
as
he picked himself up, rubbing his shoulder with a rueful look. "Would =
that
the evil spirit in the gun had cut off her tongue and not her ear! It is the
Worn-out-Old-Cow's own fault; she is always peeping into everything like a
monkey. Now she will have something to chatter about and leave my things al=
one
for awhile. I thank my ancestral Spirit it was not Mameena, for then her lo=
oks
would have been spoiled."
"Who is Mameena?" I asked. "Your
last wife?"
"No, no, Macumazahn; I wish she were, for
then I should have the most beautiful wife in the land. She is my daughter,
though not that of the Worn-out-Old-Cow; her mother died when she was born,=
on
the night of the Great Storm. You should ask Saduko there who Mameena is,&q=
uot;
he added with a broad grin, lifting his head from the gun, which he was
examining gingerly, as though he thought it might go off again while unload=
ed,
and nodding towards someone who stood behind him.
I turned, and for the first time saw Saduko, w= hom I recognised at once as a person quite out of the ordinary run of natives.<= o:p>
He was a tall and magnificently formed young m=
an,
who, although his breast was scarred with assegai wounds, showing that he w=
as a
warrior, had not yet attained to the honour of the "ring" of poli=
shed
wax laid over strips of rush bound round with sinew and sewn to the hair, t=
he "isicoco"
which at a certain age or dignity, determined by the king, Zulus are allowe=
d to
assume. But his face struck me more even than his grace, strength and statu=
re.
Undoubtedly it was a very fine face, with little or nothing of the negroid =
type
about it; indeed, he might have been a rather dark-coloured Arab, to which
stock he probably threw back. The eyes, too, were large and rather melancho=
ly,
and in his reserved, dignified air there was something that showed him to b=
e no
common fellow, but one of breeding and intellect.
"Siyakubona" (that is, "we see
you," anglice "good morrow") "Saduko," I said, eye=
ing
him curiously. "Tell me, who is Mameena?"
"Inkoosi," he answered in his deep
voice, lifting his delicately shaped hand in salutation, a courtesy that
pleased me who, after all, was nothing but a white hunter, "Inkoosi, h=
as
not her father said that she is his daughter?"
"Aye," answered the jolly old Umbezi,
"but what her father has not said is that Saduko is her lover, or, rat=
her,
would like to be. Wow! Saduko," he went on, shaking his fat finger at =
him,
"are you mad, man, that you think a girl like that is for you? Give me=
a
hundred cattle, not one less, and I will begin to think of it. Why, you have
not ten, and Mameena is my eldest daughter, and must marry a rich man."=
;
"She loves me, O Umbezi," answered
Saduko, looking down, "and that is more than cattle."
"For you, perhaps, Saduko, but not for me=
who
am poor and want cows. Also," he added, glancing at him shrewdly, &quo=
t;are
you so sure that Mameena loves you though you be such a fine man? Now, I sh=
ould
have thought that whatever her eyes may say, her heart loves no one but
herself, and that in the end she will follow her heart and not her eyes.
Mameena the beautiful does not seek to be a poor man's wife and do all the
hoeing. But bring me the hundred cattle and we will see, for, speaking trut=
h from
my heart, if you were a big chief there is no one I should like better as a
son-in-law, unless it were Macumazahn here," he said, digging me in the
ribs with his elbow, "who would lift up my House on his white back.&qu=
ot;
Now, at this speech Saduko shifted his feet
uneasily; it seemed to me as though he felt there was truth in Umbezi's
estimate of his daughter's character. But he only said:
"Cattle can be acquired."
"Or stolen," suggested Umbezi.
"Or taken in war," corrected Saduko.
"When I have a hundred head I will hold you to your word, O father of
Mameena."
"And then what would you live on, fool, if
you gave all your beasts to me? There, there, cease talking wind. Before you
have a hundred head of cattle Mameena will have six children who will not c=
all
you father. Ah, don't you like that? Are you going away?"
"Yes, I am going," he answered, with=
a
flash of his quiet eyes; "only then let the man whom they do call fath=
er
beware of Saduko."
"Beware of how you talk, young man,"
said Umbezi in a grave voice. "Would you travel your father's road? I =
hope
not, for I like you well; but such words are apt to be remembered."
Saduko walked away as though he did not hear.<= o:p>
"Who is he?" I asked.
"One of high blood," answered Umbezi
shortly. "He might be a chief to-day had not his father been a plotter=
and
a wizard. Dingaan smelt him out"--and he made a sideways motion with h=
is
hand that among the Zulus means much. "Yes, they were killed, almost e=
very
one; the chief, his wives, his children and his headmen--every one except C=
hosa
his brother and his son Saduko, whom Zikali the dwarf, the Smeller-out-of-e=
vil-doers,
the Ancient, who was old before Senzangakona became a father of kings, hid =
him.
There, that is an evil tale to talk of," and he shivered. "Come,
White Man, and doctor that old Cow of mine, or she will give me no peace for
months."
So I went to see the Worn-out-Old-Cow--not bec=
ause
I had any particular interest in her, for, to tell the truth, she was a very
disagreeable and antique person, the cast-off wife of some chief whom at an
unknown date in the past the astute Umbezi had married from motives of
policy--but because I hoped to hear more of Miss Mameena, in whom I had bec=
ome interested.
Entering a large hut, I found the lady so
impolitely named "the Old Cow" in a parlous state. There she lay =
upon
the floor, an unpleasant object because of the blood that had escaped from =
her
wound, surrounded by a crowd of other women and of children. At regular
intervals she announced that she was dying, and emitted a fearful yell,
whereupon all the audience yelled also; in short, the place was a perfect
pandemonium.
Telling Umbezi to get the hut cleared, I said =
that
I would go to fetch my medicines. Meanwhile I ordered my servant, Scowl, a
humorous-looking fellow, light yellow in hue, for he had a strong dash of
Hottentot in his composition, to cleanse the wound. When I returned from the
wagon ten minutes later the screams were more terrible than before, althoug=
h the
chorus now stood without the hut. Nor was this altogether wonderful, for on
entering the place I found Scowl trimming up "the Old Cow's" ear =
with
a pair of blunt nail-scissors.
"O Macumazana," said Umbezi in a hoa=
rse
whisper, "might it not perhaps be as well to leave her alone? If she b=
led
to death, at any rate she would be quieter."
"Are you a man or a hyena?" I answer=
ed
sternly, and set about the job, Scowl holding the poor woman's head between=
his
knees.
It was over at length; a simple operation in w=
hich
I exhibited--I believe that is the medical term--a strong solution of caust=
ic
applied with a feather.
"There, Mother," I said, for now we =
were
alone in the hut, whence Scowl had fled, badly bitten in the calf, "you
won't die now."
"No, you vile White Man," she sobbed.
"I shan't die, but how about my beauty?"
"It will be greater than ever," I
answered; "no one else will have an ear with such a curve in it. But,
talking of beauty, where is Mameena?"
"I don't know where she is," she rep=
lied
with fury, "but I very well know where she would be if I had my way. T=
hat
peeled willow-wand of a girl"--here she added certain descriptive epit=
hets
I will not repeat--"has brought this misfortune upon me. We had a slig=
ht
quarrel yesterday, White Man, and, being a witch as she is, she prophesied
evil. Yes, when by accident I scratched her ear, she said that before long =
mine
should burn, and surely burn it does." (This, no doubt, was true, for =
the
caustic had begun to bite.)
"O devil of a White Man," she went o=
n,
"you have bewitched me; you have filled my head with fire."
Then she seized an earthenware pot and hurled =
it
at me, saying, "Take that for your doctor-fee. Go, crawl after Mameena
like the others and get her to doctor you."
By this time I was half through the bee-hole of
the hut, my movements being hastened by a vessel of hot water which landed =
on
me behind.
"What is the matter, Macumazahn?" as=
ked
old Umbezi, who was waiting outside.
"Nothing at all, friend," I answered
with a sweet smile, "except that your wife wants to see you at once. S=
he
is in pain, and wishes you to soothe her. Go in; do not hesitate."
After a moment's pause he went in--that is, ha=
lf
of him went in. Then came a fearful crash, and he emerged again with the ri=
m of
a pot about his neck and his countenance veiled in a coating of what I took=
to
be honey.
"Where is Mameena?" I asked him as he
sat up spluttering.
"Where I wish I was," he answered in=
a
thick voice; "at a kraal five hours' journey away."
Well, that was the first I heard of Mameena.
That night as I sat smoking my pipe under the =
flap
lean-to attached to the wagon, laughing to myself over the adventure of
"the Old Cow," falsely described as "worn out," and won=
dering
whether Umbezi had got the honey out of his hair, the canvas was lifted, an=
d a
Kafir wrapped in a kaross crept in and squatted before me.
"Who are you?" I asked, for it was t=
oo
dark to see the man's face.
"Inkoosi," answered a deep voice,
"I am Saduko."
"You are welcome," I answered, handi=
ng
him a little gourd of snuff in token of hospitality. Then I waited while he
poured some of the snuff into the palm of his hand and took it in the usual
fashion.
"Inkoosi," he said, when he had scra=
ped
away the tears produced by the snuff, "I have come to ask you a favour.
You heard Umbezi say to-day that he will not give me his daughter, Mameena,
unless I give him a hundred head of cows. Now, I have not got the cattle, a=
nd I
cannot earn them by work in many years. Therefore I must take them from a
certain tribe I know which is at war with the Zulus. But this I cannot do
unless I have a gun. If I had a good gun, Inkoosi--one that only goes off w=
hen
it is asked, and not of its own fancy, I who have some name could persuade a
number of men whom I know, who once were servants of my father, or their so=
ns,
to be my companions in this venture."
"Do I understand that you wish me to give=
you
one of my good guns with two mouths to it (i.e. double-barrelled), a gun wo=
rth
at least twelve oxen, for nothing, O Saduko?" I asked in a cold and
scandalised voice.
"Not so, O Watcher-by-Night," he
answered; "not so, O He-who-sleeps-with-one-eye-open" (another fr=
ee
and difficult rendering of my native name, Macumazahn, or more correctly,
Macumazana)--"I should never dream of offering such an insult to your
high-born intelligence." He paused and took another pinch of snuff, th=
en
went on in a meditative voice: "Where I propose to get those hundred
cattle there are many more; I am told not less than a thousand head in all.
Now, Inkoosi," he added, looking at me sideways, "suppose you gav=
e me
the gun I ask for, and suppose you accompanied me with your own gun and your
armed hunters, it would be fair that you should have half the cattle, would=
it
not?"
"That's cool," I said. "So, you=
ng
man, you want to turn me into a cow-thief and get my throat cut by Panda for
breaking the peace of his country?"
"Neither, Macumazahn, for these are my own
cattle. Listen, now, and I will tell you a story. You have heard of Matiwan=
e,
the chief of the Amangwane?"
"Yes," I answered. "His tribe l=
ived
near the head of the Umzinyati, did they not? Then they were beaten by the
Boers or the English, and Matiwane came under the Zulus. But afterwards Din=
gaan
wiped him out, with his House, and now his people are killed or
scattered."
"Yes, his people are killed and scattered,
but his House still lives. Macumazahn, I am his House, I, the only son of h=
is
chief wife, for Zikali the Wise Little One, the Ancient, who is of the
Amangwane blood, and who hated Chaka and Dingaan--yes, and Senzangakona the=
ir
father before them, but whom none of them could kill because he is so great=
and
has such mighty spirits for his servants, saved and sheltered me."
"If he is so great, why, then, did he not
save your father also, Saduko?" I asked, as though I knew nothing of t=
his
Zikali.
"I cannot say, Macumazahn. Perhaps the
spirits plant a tree for themselves, and to do so cut down many other trees=
. At
least, so it happened. It happened thus: Bangu, chief of the Amakoba, whisp=
ered
into Dingaan's ear that Matiwane, my father, was a wizard; also that he was=
very
rich. Dingaan listened because he thought a sickness that he had came from
Matiwane's witchcraft. He said: 'Go, Bangu, and take a company with you and=
pay
Matiwane a visit of honour, and in the night, O in the night! Afterwards,
Bangu, we will divide the cattle, for Matiwane is strong and clever, and you
shall not risk your life for nothing.'"
Saduko paused and looked down at the ground,
brooding heavily.
"Macumazahn, it was done," he said
presently. "They ate my father's meat, they drank his beer; they gave =
him
a present from the king, they praised him with high names; yes, Bangu took
snuff with him and called him brother. Then in the night, O in the night--!=
"My father was in the hut with my mother,=
and
I, so big only"--and he held his hand at the height of a boy of
ten--"was with them. The cry arose, the flames began to eat; my father
looked out and saw. 'Break through the fence and away, woman,' he said; 'aw=
ay
with Saduko, that he may live to avenge me. Begone while I hold the gate!
Begone to Zikali, for whose witchcrafts I pay with my blood.'
"Then he kissed me on the brow, saying but
one word, 'Remember,' and thrust us from the hut.
"My mother broke a way through the fence;
yes, she tore at it with her nails and teeth like a hyena. I looked back ou=
t of
the shadow of the hut and saw Matiwane my father fighting like a buffalo. M=
en
went down before him, one, two, three, although he had no shield: only his
spear. Then Bangu crept behind him and stabbed him in the back and he threw=
up
his arms and fell. I saw no more, for by now we were through the fence. We =
ran,
but they perceived us. They hunted us as wild dogs hunt a buck. They killed=
my
mother with a throwing assegai; it entered at her back and came out at her
heart. I went mad, I drew it from her body, I ran at them. I dived beneath =
the
shield of the first, a very tall man, and held the spear, so, in both my li=
ttle
hands. His weight came upon its point and it went through him as though he =
were
but a bowl of buttermilk. Yes, he rolled over, quite dead, and the handle of
the spear broke upon the ground. Now the others stopped astonished, for nev=
er
had they seen such a thing. That a child should kill a tall warrior, oh! th=
at
tale had not been told. Some of them would have let me go, but just then Ba=
ngu
came up and saw the dead man, who was his brother.
"'Wow!' he said when he knew how the man =
had
died. 'This lion's cub is a wizard also, for how else could he have killed a
soldier who has known war? Hold out his arms that I may finish him slowly.'=
"So two of them held out my arms, and Ban=
gu
came up with his spear."
Saduko ceased speaking, not that his tale was
done, but because his voice choked in his throat. Indeed, seldom have I see=
n a
man so moved. He breathed in great gasps, the sweat poured from him, and his
muscles worked convulsively. I gave him a pannikin of water and he drank, t=
hen he
went on:
"Already the spear had begun to prick--lo=
ok,
here is the mark of it"--and opening his kaross he pointed to a little
white line just below the breast-bone--"when a strange shadow thrown by
the fire of the burning huts came between Bangu and me, a shadow as that of=
a
toad standing on its hind legs. I looked round and saw that it was the shad=
ow of
Zikali, whom I had seen once or twice. There he stood, though whence he cam=
e I
know not, wagging his great white head that sits on the top of his body lik=
e a
pumpkin on an ant-heap, rolling his big eyes and laughing loudly.
"'A merry sight,' he cried in his deep vo=
ice
that sounded like water in a hollow cave. 'A merry sight, O Bangu, Chief of=
the
Amakoba! Blood, blood, plenty of blood! Fire, fire, plenty of fire! Wizards
dead here, there, and everywhere! Oh, a merry sight! I have seen many such;=
one
at the kraal of your grandmother, for instance--your grandmother the great =
Inkosikazi,
when myself I escaped with my life because I was so old; but never do I
remember a merrier than that which this moon shines on,' and he pointed to =
the
White Lady who just then broke through the clouds. 'But, great Chief Bangu,
lord loved by the son of Senzangakona, brother of the Black One (Chaka) who=
has
ridden hence on the assegai, what is the meaning of this play?' and he poin=
ted
to me and to the two soldiers who held out my little arms.
"'I kill the wizard's cub, Zikali, that is
all,' answered Bangu.
"'I see, I see,' laughed Zikali. 'A galla=
nt
deed! You have butchered the father and the mother, and now you would butch=
er
the child who has slain one of your grown warriors in fair fight. A very
gallant deed, well worthy of the chief of the Amakoba! Well, loose his
spirit--only--' He stopped and took a pinch of snuff from a box which he dr=
ew
from a slit in the lobe of his great ear.
"'Only what?' asked Bangu, hesitating.
"'Only I wonder, Bangu, what you will thi=
nk
of the world in which you will find yourself before to-morrow's moon arises.
Come back thence and tell me, Bangu, for there are so many worlds beyond th=
e sun,
and I would learn for certain which of them such a one as you inhabits: a m=
an
who for hatred and for gain murders the father and the mother and then butc=
hers
the child--the child that could slay a warrior who has seen war--with the s=
pear
hot from his mother's heart.'
"'Do you mean that I shall die if I kill =
this
lad?' shouted Bangu in a great voice.
"'What else?' answered Zikali, taking ano=
ther
pinch of snuff.
"'This, Wizard; that we will go together.=
'
"'Good, good!' laughed the dwarf. 'Let us=
go
together. Long have I wished to die, and what better companion could I find
than Bangu, Chief of the Amakoba, Slayer of Children, to guard me on a dark=
and
terrible road. Come, brave Bangu, come; kill me if you can,' and again he
laughed at him.
"Now, Macumazahn, the people of Bangu fell
back muttering, for they found this business horrible. Yes, even those who =
held
my arms let go of them.
"'What will happen to me, Wizard, if I sp=
are
the boy?' asked Bangu.
"Zikali stretched out his hand and touched
the scratch that the assegai had made in me here. Then he held up his finger
red with my blood, and looked at it in the light of the moon; yes, and tast=
ed
it with his tongue.
"'I think this will happen to you, Bangu,=
' he
said. 'If you spare this boy he will grow into a man who will kill you and =
many
others one day. But if you do not spare him I think that his spirit, workin=
g as
spirits can do, will kill you to-morrow. Therefore the question is, will you
live a while or will you die at once, taking me with you as your companion?=
For
you must not leave me behind, brother Bangu.'
"Now Bangu turned and walked away, steppi=
ng
over the body of my mother, and all his people walked away after him, so th=
at
presently Zikali the Wise and Little and I were left alone.
"'What! have they gone?' said Zikali, lif=
ting
up his eyes from the ground. 'Then we had better be going also, Son of
Matiwane, lest he should change his mind and come back. Live on, Son of
Matiwane, that you may avenge Matiwane.'"
"=
;A
nice tale," I said. "But what happened afterwards?"
"Zikali took me away and nurtured me at h=
is
kraal in the Black Kloof, where he lived alone save for his servants, for in
that kraal he would suffer no woman to set foot, Macumazahn. He taught me m=
uch
wisdom and many secret things, and would have made a great doctor of me had=
I
so willed. But I willed it not who find spirits ill company, and there are =
many
of them about the Black Kloof, Macumazahn. So in the end he said: 'Go where
your heart calls, and be a warrior, Saduko. But know this: You have opened a
door that can never be shut again, and across the threshold of that door
spirits will pass in and out for all your life, whether you seek them or se=
ek
them not.'
"'It was you who opened the door, Zikali,=
' I
answered angrily.
"'Mayhap,' said Zikali, laughing after his fashion, 'for I open when I must and shut when I must. Indeed, in my youth, before the Zulus were a people, they named me Opener of Doors; and now, loo= king through one of those doors, I see something about you, O Son of Matiwane.'<= o:p>
"'What do you see, my father?' I asked.
"'I see two roads, Saduko: the Road of
Medicine, that is the spirit road, and the Road of Spears, that is the blood
road. I see you travelling on the Road of Medicine, that is my own road,
Saduko, and growing wise and great, till at last, far, far away, you vanish
over the precipice to which it leads, full of years and honour and wealth,
feared yet beloved by all men, white and black. Only that road you must tra=
vel alone,
since such wisdom may have no friends, and, above all, no woman to share its
secrets. Then I look at the Road of Spears and see you, Saduko, travelling =
on
that road, and your feet are red with blood, and women wind their arms about
your neck, and one by one your enemies go down before you. You love much, a=
nd
sin much for the sake of the love, and she for whom you sin comes and goes =
and
comes again. And the road is short, Saduko, and near the end of it are many
spirits; and though you shut your eyes you see them, and though you fill yo=
ur
ears with clay you hear them, for they are the ghosts of your slain. But the
end of your journeying I see not. Now choose which road you will, Son of
Matiwane, and choose swiftly, for I speak no more of this matter.'
"Then, Macumazahn, I thought a while of t=
he
safe and lonely path of wisdom, also of the blood-red path of spears where I
should find love and war, and my youth rose up in me and--I chose the path =
of
spears and the love and the sin and the unknown death."
"A foolish choice, Saduko, supposing that
there is any truth in this tale of roads, which there is not."
"Nay, a wise one, Macumazahn, for since t=
hen
I have seen Mameena and know why I chose that path."
"Ah!" I said. "Mameena--I forgot
her. Well, after all, perhaps there is some truth in your tale of roads. Wh=
en I
have seen Mameena I will tell you what I think."
"When you have seen Mameena, Macumazahn, =
you
will say that the choice was very wise. Well, Zikali, Opener of Doors, laug=
hed
loudly when he heard it. 'The ox seeks the fat pasture, but the young bull =
the
rough mountainside where the heifers graze,' he said; 'and after all, a bul=
l is
better than an ox. Now begin to travel your own road, Son of Matiwane, and =
from
time to time return to the Black Kloof and tell me how it fares with you. I
will promise you not to die before I know the end of it.'
"Now, Macumazahn, I have told you things =
that
hitherto have lived in my own heart only. And, Macumazahn, Bangu is in ill
favour with Panda, whom he defies in his mountain, and I have a promise--ne=
ver
mind how--that he who kills him will be called to no account and may keep h=
is
cattle. Will you come with me and share those cattle, O Watcher-by-Night?&q=
uot;
"Get thee behind me, Satan," I said =
in
English, then added in Zulu: "I don't know. If your story is true I sh=
ould
have no objection to helping to kill Bangu; but I must learn lots more about
this business first. Meanwhile I am going on a shooting trip to-morrow with
Umbezi the Fat, and I like you, O Chooser of the Road of Spears and Blood. =
Will
you be my companion and earn the gun with two mouths in payment?"
"Inkoosi," he said, lifting his hand=
in
salute with a flash of his dark eyes, "you are generous, you honour me.
What is there that I should love better? Yet," he added, and his face
fell, "first I must ask Zikali the Little, Zikali my foster-father.&qu=
ot;
"Oh!" I said, "so you are still
tied to the Wizard's girdle, are you?"
"Not so, Macumazahn; but I promised him n=
ot
long ago that I would undertake no enterprise, save that you know of, until=
I
had spoken with him."
"How far off does Zikali live?" I as=
ked
Saduko.
"One day's journeying. Starting at sunris=
e I
can be there by sunset."
"Good! Then I will put off the shooting f=
or
three days and come with you if you think that this wonderful old dwarf will
receive me."
"I believe that he will, Macumazahn, for =
this
reason--he told me that I should meet you and love you, and that you would =
be
mixed up in my fortunes."
"Then he poured moonshine into your gourd
instead of beer," I answered. "Would you keep me here till midnig=
ht
listening to such foolishness when we must start at dawn? Begone now and le=
t me
sleep."
"I go," he answered with a little sm=
ile.
"But if this is so, O Macumazana, why do you also wish to drink of the
moonshine of Zikali?" and he went.
Yet I did not sleep very well that night, for
Saduko and his strange and terrible story had taken a hold of my imaginatio=
n.
Also, for reasons of my own, I greatly wished to see this Zikali, of whom I=
had
heard a great deal in past years. I wished further to find out if he was a
common humbug, like so many witch-doctors, this dwarf who announced that my=
fortunes
were mixed up with those of his foster-son, and who at least could tell me
something true or false about the history and position of Bangu, a person f=
or
whom I had conceived a strong dislike, possibly quite unjustified by the fa=
cts.
But more than all did I wish to see Mameena, whose beauty or talents produc=
ed
so much impression upon the native mind. Perhaps if I went to see Zikali she
would be back at her father's kraal before we started on our shooting trip.=
Thus it was then that fate wove me and my doin=
gs
into the web of some very strange events; terrible, tragic and complete ind=
eed
as those of a Greek play, as it has often done both before and since those
days.
On the
following morning I awoke, as a good hunter always should do, just at that =
time
when, on looking out of the wagon, nothing can be seen but a little grey gl=
int
of light which he knows is reflected from the horns of the cattle tied to t=
he
trek-tow. Presently, however, I saw another glint of light which I guessed =
came
from the spear of Saduko, who was seated by the ashes of the cooking fire
wrapped in his kaross of wildcat skins. Slipping from the voorkisse, or
driving-box, I came behind him softly and touched him on the shoulder. He l=
eapt
up with a start which revealed his nervous nature, then recognising me thro=
ugh
the soft grey gloom, said:
"You are early, Macumazahn."
"Of course," I answered; "am I = not named Watcher-by-Night? Now let us go to Umbezi and tell him that I shall be ready to start on our hunting trip on the third morning from to-day."<= o:p>
So we went, to find that Umbezi was in a hut w=
ith
his last wife and asleep. Fortunately enough, however, as under the
circumstances I did not wish to disturb him, outside the hut we found the O=
ld
Cow, whose sore ear had kept her very wide awake, who, for purposes of her =
own,
although etiquette did not allow her to enter the hut, was waiting for her
husband to emerge.
Having examined her wound and rubbed some oint=
ment
on it, with her I left my message. Next I woke up my servant Scowl, and told
him that I was going on a short journey, and that he must guard all things
until my return; and while I did so, took a nip of raw rum and made ready a=
bag
of biltong, that is sun-dried flesh, and biscuits.
Then, taking with me a single-barrelled gun, t=
hat
same little Purdey rifle with which I shot the vultures on the Hill of
Slaughter at Dingaan's Kraal,[*] we started on foot, for I would not risk my
only horse on such a journey.
[=
*--For
the story of this shooting of the vultures by Allan Quatermain, see the book called
"Marie."--EDITOR.]
A rough journey it proved to be indeed, over a
series of bush-clad hills that at their crests were covered with rugged sto=
nes
among which no horse could have travelled. Up and down these hills we went,=
and
across the valleys that divided them, following some path which I could not=
see,
for all that live-long day. I have always been held a good walker, being by
nature very light and active; but I am bound to say that my companion taxed=
my
powers to the utmost, for on he marched for hour after hour, striding ahead=
of
me at such a rate that at times I was forced to break into a run to keep up
with him. Although my pride would not suffer me to complain, since as a mat=
ter
of principle I would never admit to a Kafir that he was my master at anythi=
ng,
glad enough was I when, towards evening, Saduko sat himself down on a stone=
at
the top of a hill and said:
"Behold the Black Kloof, Macumazahn,"
which were almost the first words he had uttered since we started.
Truly the spot was well named, for there, cut =
out
by water from the heart of a mountain in some primeval age, lay one of the =
most
gloomy places that ever I had beheld. It was a vast cleft in which granite =
boulders
were piled up fantastically, perched one upon another in great columns, and
upon its sides grew dark trees set sparsely among the rocks. It faced towar=
ds
the west, but the light of the sinking sun that flowed up it served only to
accentuate its vast loneliness, for it was a big cleft, the best part of a =
mile
wide at its mouth.
Up this dreary gorge we marched, mocked at by
chattering baboons and following a little path not a foot wide that led us =
at
length to a large hut and several smaller ones set within a reed fence and
overhung by a gigantic mass of rock that looked as though it might fall at =
any
moment. At the gate of the fence two natives of I know not what tribe, men =
of fierce
and forbidding appearance, suddenly sprang out and thrust their spears towa=
rds
my breast.
"Whom bring you here, Saduko?" asked=
one
of them sternly.
"A white man that I vouch for," he
answered. "Tell Zikali that we wait on him."
"What need to tell Zikali that which he k=
nows
already?" said the sentry. "Your food and that of your companion =
is
already cooked in yonder hut. Enter, Saduko, with him for whom you vouch.&q=
uot;
So we went into the hut and ate, also I washed
myself, for it was a beautifully clean hut, and the stools, wooden bowls, e=
tc.,
were finely carved out of red ivory wood, this work, Saduko informed me, be=
ing
done by Zikali's own hand. Just as we were finishing our meal a messenger c=
ame
to tell us that Zikali waited our presence. We followed him across an open
space to a kind of door in the tall reed fence, passing which I set eyes for
the first time upon the famous old witch-doctor of whom so many tales were
told.
Certainly he was a curious sight in those stra=
nge
surroundings, for they were very strange, and I think their complete simpli=
city
added to the effect. In front of us was a kind of courtyard with a black fl=
oor
made of polished ant-heap earth and cow-dung, two-thirds of which at least =
was
practically roofed in by the huge over-hanging mass of rock whereof I have
spoken, its arch bending above at a height of not less than sixty or seventy
feet from the ground. Into this great, precipice-backed cavity poured the
fierce light of the setting sun, turning it and all within it, even the lar=
ge
straw hut in the background, to the deep hue of blood. Seeing the wonderful
effect of the sunset in that dark and forbidding place, it occurred to me at
once that the old wizard must have chosen this moment to receive us because=
of
its impressiveness.
Then I forgot these scenic accessories in the
sight of the man himself. There he sat on a stool in front of his hut, quite
unattended, and wearing only a cloak of leopard skins open in front, for he=
was
unadorned with the usual hideous trappings of a witch-doctor, such as snake=
-skins,
human bones, bladders full of unholy compounds, and so forth.
What a man he was, if indeed he could be called
quite human. His stature, though stout, was only that of a child; his head =
was
enormous, and from it plaited white hair fell down on to his shoulders. His
eyes were deep and sunken, his face was broad and very stern. Except for th=
is snow-white
hair, however, he did not look ancient, for his flesh was firm and plump, a=
nd
the skin on his cheeks and neck unwrinkled, which suggested to me that the
story of his great antiquity was false. A man who was over a hundred years =
old,
for instance, surely could not boast such a beautiful set of teeth, for eve=
n at
that distance I could see them gleaming. On the other hand, evidently middle
age was far behind him; indeed, from his appearance it was quite impossible=
to
guess even approximately the number of his years. There he sat, red in the =
red light,
perfectly still, and staring without a blink of his eyes at the furious bal=
l of
the setting sun, as an eagle is said to be able to do.
Saduko advanced, and I walked after him. My
stature is not great, and I have never considered myself an imposing person,
but somehow I do not think that I ever felt more insignificant than on this
occasion. The tall and splendid native beside, or rather behind whom I walk=
ed,
the gloomy magnificence of the place, the blood-red light in which it was b=
athed,
and the solemn, solitary, little figure with wisdom stamped upon its face
before me, all tended to induce humility in a man not naturally vain. I felt
myself growing smaller and smaller, both in a moral and a physical sense; I
wished that my curiosity had not prompted me to seek an interview with yond=
er
uncanny being.
Well, it was too late to retreat; indeed, Sadu=
ko
was already standing before the dwarf and lifting his right arm above his h=
ead
as he gave him the salute of "Makosi!"[*] whereon, feeling that
something was expected of me, I took off my shabby cloth hat and bowed, the=
n,
remembering my white man's pride, replaced it on my head.
[*--"Makosi", the plural of "Inkoosi", is the sa=
lute
given to Zulu wizards, because=
they
are not one but many, since in them
(as in the possessed demoniac in the Bible) dwell an unnumbered horde of spirits.--EDITOR=
.]
The wizard suddenly seemed to become aware of =
our
presence, for, ceasing his contemplation of the sinking sun, he scanned us =
both
with his slow, thoughtful eyes, which somehow reminded me of those of a
chameleon, although they were not prominent, but, as I have said, sunken.
"Greeting, son Saduko!" he said in a
deep, rumbling voice. "Why are you back here so soon, and why do you b=
ring
this flea of a white man with you?"
Now this was more than I could bear, so without
waiting for my companion's answer I broke in:
"You give me a poor name, O Zikali. What
would you think of me if I called you a beetle of a wizard?"
"I should think you clever," he answ=
ered
after reflection, "for after all I must look something like a beetle w=
ith
a white head. But why should you mind being compared to a flea? A flea work=
s by
night and so do you, Macumazahn; a flea is active and so are you; a flea is
very hard to catch and kill and so are you; and lastly a flea drinks its fi=
ll
of that which it desires, the blood of man and beast, and so you have done,=
do,
and will, Macumazahn," and he broke into a great laugh that rolled and
echoed about the rocky roof above.
Once, long years before, I had heard that laug=
h,
when I was a prisoner in Dingaan's kraal, after the massacre of Retief and =
his
company, and I recognised it again.
While I was searching for some answer in the s=
ame
vein, and not finding it, though I thought of plenty afterwards, ceasing of=
a
sudden from his unseemly mirth, he went on:
"Do not let us waste time in jests, for i=
t is
a precious thing, and there is but little of it left for any one of us. Your
business, son Saduko?"
"Baba!" (that is the Zulu for father=
),
said Saduko, "this white Inkoosi, for, as you know well enough, he is =
a chief
by nature, a man of a great heart and doubtless of high blood [this, I beli=
eve,
is true, for I have been told that my ancestors were more or less
distinguished, although, if this is so, their talents did not lie in the
direction of money-making], has offered to take me upon a shooting expediti=
on
and to give me a good gun with two mouths in payment of my services. But I =
told
him I could not engage in any fresh venture without your leave, and--he is =
come
to see whether you will grant it, my father."
"Indeed," answered the dwarf, nodding
his great head. "This clever white man has taken the trouble of a long
walk in the sun to come here to ask me whether he may be allowed the privil=
ege
of presenting you with a weapon of great value in return for a service that=
any
man of your years in Zululand would love to give for nothing in such compan=
y?
"Son Saduko, because my eye-holes are hol=
low,
do you think it your part to try to fill them up with dust? Nay, the white =
man
has come because he desires to see him who is named Opener-of-Roads, of who=
m he
heard a great deal when he was but a lad, and to judge whether in truth he =
has wisdom,
or is but a common cheat. And you have come to learn whether or no your
friendship with him will be fortunate; whether or no he will aid you in a
certain enterprise that you have in your mind."
"True, O Zikali," I said. "That=
is
so far as I am concerned."
But Saduko answered nothing.
"Well," went on the dwarf, "sin=
ce I
am in the mood I will try to answer both your questions, for I should be a =
poor
Nyanga" [that is doctor] "if I did not when you have travelled so=
far
to ask them. Moreover, O Macumazana, be happy, for I seek no fee who, having
made such fortune as I need long ago, before your father was born across the
Black Water, Macumazahn, no longer work for a reward--unless it be from the
hand of one of the House of Senzangakona--and therefore, as you may guess, =
work
but seldom."
Then he clapped his hands, and a servant appea=
red
from somewhere behind the hut, one of those fierce-looking men who had stop=
ped
us at the gate. He saluted the dwarf and stood before him in silence and wi=
th
bowed head.
"Make two fires," said Zikali, "=
;and
give me my medicine."
The man fetched wood, which he built into two
little piles in front of Zikali. These piles he fired with a brand brought =
from
behind the hut. Then he handed his master a catskin bag.
"Withdraw," said Zikali, "and
return no more till I summon you, for I am about to prophesy. If, however, I
should seem to die, bury me to-morrow in the place you know of and give this
white man a safe-conduct from my kraal."
The man saluted again and went without a word.=
When he had gone the dwarf drew from the bag a
bundle of twisted roots, also some pebbles, from which he selected two, one
white and the other black.
"Into this stone," he said, holding =
up
the white pebble so that the light from the fire shone on it--since, save f=
or
the lingering red glow, it was now growing dark--"into this stone I am
about to draw your spirit, O Macumazana; and into this one"--and he he=
ld
up the black pebble--"yours, O Son of Matiwane. Why do you look
frightened, O brave White Man, who keep saying in your heart, 'He is nothing
but an ugly old Kafir cheat'? If I am a cheat, why do you look frightened? =
Is
your spirit already in your throat, and does it choke you, as this little s=
tone
might do if you tried to swallow it?" and he burst into one of his gre=
at,
uncanny laughs.
I tried to protest that I was not in the least
frightened, but failed, for, in fact, I suppose my nerves were acted on by =
his
suggestion, and I did feel exactly as though that stone were in my throat, =
only
coming upwards, not going downwards. "Hysteria," thought I to mys=
elf,
"the result of being overtired," and as I could not speak, sat st=
ill
as though I treated his gibes with silent contempt.
"Now," went on the dwarf, "perh=
aps
I shall seem to die; and if so do not touch me lest you should really die. =
Wait
till I wake up again and tell you what your spirits have told me. Or if I do
not wake up--for a time must come when I shall go on sleeping--well--for as
long as I have lived--after the fires are quite out, not before, lay your h=
ands
upon my breast; and if you find me turning cold, get you gone to some other=
Nyanga
as fast as the spirits of this place will let you, O ye who would peep into=
the
future."
As he spoke he threw a big handful of the roots
that I have mentioned on to each of the fires, whereon tall flames leapt up
from them, very unholy-looking flames which were followed by columns of den=
se, white
smoke that emitted a most powerful and choking odour quite unlike anything =
that
I had ever smelt before. It seemed to penetrate all through me, and that
accursed stone in my throat grew as large as an apple and felt as though
someone were poking it upwards with a stick.
Next he threw the white pebble into the right-=
hand
fire, that which was opposite to me, saying:
"Enter, Macumazahn, and look," and t=
he
black pebble he threw into the left-hand fire saying: "Enter, Son of
Matiwane, and look. Then come back both of you and make report to me, your
master."
Now it is a fact that as he said these words I
experienced a sensation as though a stone had come out of my throat; so rea=
dily
do our nerves deceive us that I even thought it grated against my teeth as I
opened my mouth to give it passage. At any rate the choking was gone, only =
now
I felt as though I were quite empty and floating on air, as though I were n=
ot
I, in short, but a mere shell of a thing, all of which doubtless was caused=
by
the stench of those burning roots. Still I could look and take note, for I
distinctly saw Zikali thrust his huge head, first into the smoke of what I =
will
call my fire, next into that of Saduko's fire, and then lean back, blowing =
the
stuff in clouds from his mouth and nostrils. Afterwards I saw him roll over=
on
to his side and lie quite still with his arms outstretched; indeed, I notic=
ed
that one of his fingers seemed to be in the left-hand fire and reflected th=
at
it would be burnt off. In this, however, I must have been mistaken, since I
observed subsequently that it was not even scorched.
Thus Zikali lay for a long while till I began =
to
wonder whether he were not really dead. Dead enough he seemed to be, for no
corpse could have stayed more stirless. But that night I could not keep my
thoughts fixed on Zikali or anything. I merely noted these circumstances in=
a mechanical
way, as might one with whom they had nothing whatsoever to do. They did not
interest me at all, for there appeared to be nothing in me to be interested=
, as
I gathered according to Zikali, because I was not there, but in a warmer pl=
ace
than I hope ever to occupy, namely, in the stone in that unpleasant-looking,
little right-hand fire.
So matters went as they might in a dream. The =
sun
had sunk completely, not even an after-glow was left. The only light remain=
ing
was that from the smouldering fires, which just sufficed to illumine the bu=
lk
of Zikali, lying on his side, his squat shape looking like that of a dead h=
ippopotamus
calf. What was left of my consciousness grew heartily sick of the whole aff=
air;
I was tired of being so empty.
At length the dwarf stirred. He sat up, yawned,
sneezed, shook himself, and began to rake among the burning embers of my fi=
re
with his naked hand. Presently he found the white stone, which was now
red-hot--at any rate it glowed as though it were--and after examining it fo=
r a
moment finally popped it into his mouth! Then he hunted in the other fire f=
or the
black stone, which he treated in a similar fashion. The next thing I rememb=
er
was that the fires, which had died away almost to nothing, were burning very
brightly again, I suppose because someone had put fuel on them, and Zikali =
was
speaking.
"Come here, O Macumazana and O Son of
Matiwane," he said, "and I will repeat to you what your spirits h=
ave
been telling me."
We drew near into the light of the fires, which
for some reason or other was extremely vivid. Then he spat the white stone =
from
his mouth into his big hand, and I saw that now it was covered with lines a=
nd
patches like a bird's egg.
"You cannot read the signs?" he said,
holding it towards me; and when I shook my head went on: "Well, I can,=
as
you white men read a book. All your history is written here, Macumazahn; but
there is no need to tell you that, since you know it, as I do well enough,
having learned it in other days, the days of Dingaan, Macumazahn. All your
future, also, a very strange future," and he scanned the stone with
interest. "Yes, yes; a wonderful life, and a noble death far away. But=
of
these matters you have not asked me, and therefore I may not tell them even=
if
I wished, nor would you believe if I did. It is of your hunting trip that y=
ou
have asked me, and my answer is that if you seek your own comfort you will =
do well
not to go. A pool in a dry river-bed; a buffalo bull with the tip of one ho=
rn
shattered. Yourself and the bull in the pool. Saduko, yonder, also in the p=
ool,
and a little half-bred man with a gun jumping about upon the bank. Then a
litter made of boughs and you in it, and the father of Mameena walking lame=
ly
at your side. Then a hut and you in it, and the maiden called Mameena sitti=
ng
at your side.
"Macumazahn, your spirit has written on t=
his
stone that you should beware of Mameena, since she is more dangerous than a=
ny
buffalo. If you are wise you will not go out hunting with Umbezi, although =
it
is true that hunt will not cost you your life. There, away, Stone, and take=
your
writings with you!" and as he spoke he jerked his arm and I heard some=
thing
whiz past my face.
Next he spat out the black stone and examined =
it
in similar fashion.
"Your expedition will be successful, Son =
of
Matiwane," he said. "Together with Macumazahn you will win many
cattle at the cost of sundry lives. But for the rest--well, you did not ask=
me
of it, did you? Also, I have told you something of that story before to-day.
Away, Stone!" and the black pebble followed the white out into the
surrounding gloom.
We sat quite still until the dwarf broke the d=
eep
silence with one of his great laughs.
"My witchcraft is done," he said.
"A poor tale, was it not? Well, hunt for those stones to-morrow and re=
ad
the rest of it if you can. Why did you not ask me to tell you everything wh=
ile
I was about it, White Man? It would have interested you more, but now it has
all gone from me back into your spirit with the stones. Saduko, get you to
sleep. Macumazahn, you who are a Watcher-by-Night, come and sit with me awh=
ile
in my hut, and we will talk of other things. All this business of the stone=
s is
nothing more than a Kafir trick, is it, Macumazahn? When you meet the buffa=
lo
with the split horn in the pool of a dried river, remember it is but a chea=
ting
trick, and now come into my hut and drink a kamba [bowl] of beer and let us
talk of other things more interesting."
So he took me into the hut, which was a fine o=
ne,
very well lighted by a fire in its centre, and gave me Kafir beer to drink,
that I swallowed gratefully, for my throat was dry and still felt as though=
it
had been scraped.
"Who are you, Father?" I asked
point-blank when I had taken my seat upon a low stool, with my back resting
against the wall of the hut, and lit my pipe.
He lifted his big head from the pile of kaross=
es
on which he was lying and peered at me across the fire.
"My name is Zikali, which means 'Weapons,'
White Man. You know as much as that, don't you?" he answered. "My
father 'went down' so long ago that his does not matter. I am a dwarf, very
ugly, with some learning, as we of the Black House understand it, and very =
old.
Is there anything else you would like to learn?"
"Yes, Zikali; how old?"
"There, there, Macumazahn, as you know, we
poor Kafirs cannot count very well. How old? Well, when I was young I came =
down
towards the coast from the Great River, you call it the Zambesi, I think, w=
ith
Undwandwe, who lived in the north in those days. They have forgotten it now
because it is some time ago, and if I could write I would set down the hist=
ory
of that march, for we fought some great battles with the people who used to=
live
in this country. Afterwards I was the friend of the Father of the Zulus, he
whom they still call Inkoosi Umkulu--the mighty chief--you may have heard t=
ell
of him. I carved that stool on which you sit for him and he left it back to=
me
when he died."
"Inkoosi Umkulu!" I exclaimed.
"Why, they say he lived hundreds of years ago."
"Do they, Macumazahn? If so, have I not t=
old
you that we black people cannot count as well as you do? Really it was only=
the
other day. Anyhow, after his death the Zulus began to maltreat us Undwandwe=
and
the Quabies and the Tetwas with us--you may remember that they called us the
Amatefula, making a mock of us. So I quarrelled with the Zulus and especial=
ly
with Chaka, he whom they named 'Uhlanya' [the Mad One]. You see, Macumazahn=
, it
pleased him to laugh at me because I am not as other men are. He gave me a =
name
which means 'The-thing-which-should-never-have-been-born.' I will not speak
that name, it is secret to me, it may not pass my lips. Yet at times he sou=
ght
my wisdom, and I paid him back for his names, for I gave him very ill couns=
el,
and he took it, and I brought him to his death, although none ever saw my
finger in that business. But when he was dead at the hands of his brothers
Dingaan and Umhlangana and of Umbopa, Umbopa who also had a score to settle=
with
him, and his body was cast out of the kraal like that of an evil-doer, why =
I,
who because I was a dwarf was not sent with the men against Sotshangana, we=
nt
and sat on it at night and laughed thus," and he broke into one of his
hideous peals of merriment.
"I laughed thrice: once for my wives whom=
he
had taken; once for my children whom he had slain; and once for the mocking
name that he had given me. Then I became the counsellor of Dingaan, whom I
hated worse than I had hated Chaka, for he was Chaka again without his
greatness, and you know the end of Dingaan, for you had a share in that war,
and of Umhlangana, his brother and fellow-murderer, whom I counselled Dinga=
an to
slay. This I did through the lips of the old Princess Menkabayi, Jama's
daughter, Senzangakona's sister, the Oracle before whom all men bowed, caus=
ing
her to say that 'This land of the Zulus cannot be ruled by a crimson assega=
i.'
For, Macumazahn, it was Umhlangana who first struck Chaka with the spear. N=
ow
Panda reigns, the last of the sons of Senzangakona, my enemy, Panda the Foo=
l,
and I hold my hand from Panda because he tried to save the life of a child =
of
mine whom Chaka slew. But Panda has sons who are as Chaka was, and against =
them
I work as I worked against those who went before them."
"Why?" I asked.
"Why? Oh! if I were to tell you all my st=
ory
you would understand why, Macumazahn. Well, perhaps I will one day." (=
Here
I may state that as a matter of fact he did, and a very wonderful tale it i=
s,
but as it has nothing to do with this history I will not write it here.)
"I dare say," I answered. "Chaka
and Dingaan and Umhlangana and the others were not nice people. But another
question. Why do you tell me all this, O Zikali, seeing that were I but to
repeat it to a talking-bird you would be smelt out and a single moon would =
not
die before you do?"
"Oh! I should be smelt out and killed bef=
ore
one moon dies, should I? Then I wonder that this has not happened during all
the moons that are gone. Well, I tell the story to you, Macumazahn, who have
had so much to do with the tale of the Zulus since the days of Dingaan, bec=
ause
I wish that someone should know it and perhaps write it down when everythin=
g is
finished. Because, too, I have just been reading your spirit and see that i=
t is
still a white spirit, and that you will not whisper it to a 'talking-bird.'=
"
Now I leant forward and looked at him.
"What is the end at which you aim, O
Zikali?" I asked. "You are not one who beats the air with a stick=
; on
whom do you wish the stick to fall at last?"
"On whom?" he answered in a new voic=
e, a
low, hissing voice. "Why, on these proud Zulus, this little family of =
men
who call themselves the 'People of Heaven,' and swallow other tribes as the
great tree-snake swallows kids and small bucks, and when it is fat with them
cries to the world, 'See how big I am! Everything is inside of me.' I am a
Ndwande, one of those peoples whom it pleases the Zulus to call
'Amatefula'--poor hangers-on who talk with an accent, nothing but bush swin=
e.
Therefore I would see the swine tusk the hunter. Or, if that may not be, I
would see the black hunter laid low by the rhinoceros, the white rhinoceros=
of
your race, Macumazahn, yes, even if it sets its foot upon the Ndwande boar =
as
well. There, I have told you, and this is the reason that I live so long, f=
or I
will not die until these things have come to pass, as come to pass they wil=
l.
What did Chaka, Senzangakona's son, say when the little red assegai, the
assegai with which he slew his mother, aye and others, some of whom were ne=
ar
to me, was in his liver? What did he say to Mbopa and the princes? Did he n=
ot
say that he heard the feet of a great white people running, of a people who
should stamp the Zulus flat? Well, I,
'The-thing-who-should-not-have-been-born,' live on until that day comes, and
when it comes I think that you and I, Macumazahn, shall not be far apart, a=
nd
that is why I have opened out my heart to you, I who have knowledge of the
future. There, I speak no more of these things that are to be, who perchance
have already said too much of them. Yet do not forget my words. Or forget t=
hem
if you will, for I shall remind you of them, Macumazahn, when the feet of y=
our
people have avenged the Ndwandes and others whom it pleases the Zulus to tr=
eat
as dirt."
Now, this strange man, who had sat up in his
excitement, shook his long white hair which, after the fashion of wizards, =
he
wore plaited into thin ropes, till it hung like a veil about him, hiding his
broad face and deep eyes. Presently he spoke again through this veil of hai=
r, saying:
"You are wondering, Macumazahn, what Sadu=
ko
has to do with all these great events that are to be. I answer that he must
play his part in them; not a very great part, but still a part, and it is f=
or
this purpose that I saved him as a child from Bangu, Dingaan's man, and rea=
red
him up to be a warrior, although, since I cannot lie, I warned him that he
would do well to leave spears alone and follow after wisdom. Well, he will =
slay
Bangu, who now has quarrelled with Panda, and a woman will come into the st=
ory,
one Mameena, and that woman will bring about war between the sons of Panda,=
and
from this war shall spring the ruin of the Zulus, for he who wins will be an
evil king to them and bring down on them the wrath of a mightier race. And =
so 'The-thing-that-should-not-have-been-born'
and the Ndwandes and the Quabies and Twetwas, whom it has pleased the
conquering Zulus to name 'Amatefula,' shall be avenged. Yes, yes, my Spirit
tells me all these things, and they are true."
"And what of Saduko, my friend and your
fosterling?"
"Saduko, your friend and my fosterling, w=
ill
take his appointed road, Macumazahn, as I shall and you will. What more cou=
ld
he desire, seeing it is that which he has chosen? He will take his road and=
he
will play the part which the Great-Great has prepared for him. Seek not to =
know
more. Why should you, since Time will tell you the story? And now go to res=
t,
Macumazahn, as I must who am old and feeble. And when it pleases you to vis=
it
me again, we will talk further. Meanwhile, remember always that I am nothing
but an old Kafir cheat who pretends to a knowledge that belongs to no man.
Remember it especially, Macumazahn, when you meet a buffalo with a split ho=
rn
in the pool of a dried-up river, and afterwards, when a woman named Mameena
makes a certain offer to you, which you may be tempted to accept. Good nigh=
t to
you, Watcher-by-Night with the white heart and the strange destiny, good ni=
ght
to you, and try not to think too hardly of the old Kafir cheat who just now=
is
called 'Opener-of-Roads.' My servant waits without to lead you to your hut,=
and
if you wish to be back at Umbezi's kraal by nightfall to-morrow, you will do
well to start ere sunrise, since, as you found in coming, Saduko, although =
he
may be a fool, is a very good walker, and you do not like to be left behind,
Macumazahn, do you?"
So I rose to go, but as I went some impulse se=
emed
to take him and he called me back and made me sit down again.
"Macumazahn," he said, "I would=
add
a word. When you were quite a lad you came into this country with Retief, d=
id
you not?"
"Yes," I answered slowly, for this
matter of the massacre of Retief is one of which I have seldom cared to spe=
ak,
for sundry reasons, although I have made a record of it in writing.[*] Even=
my
friends Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good have heard little of the part I
played in that tragedy. "But what do you know of that business,
Zikali?"
[*--Published under the title of "Marie."--EDITOR.]
"All that there is to know, I think,
Macumazahn, seeing that I was at the bottom of it, and that Dingaan killed
those Boers on my advice--just as he killed Chaka and Umhlangana."
"You cold-blooded old murderer--" I
began, but he interrupted me at once.
"Why do you throw evil names at me,
Macumazahn, as I threw the stone of your fate at you just now? Why am I a
murderer because I brought about the death of some white men that chanced t=
o be
your friends, who had come here to cheat us black folk of our country?"=
;
"Was it for this reason that you brought
about their deaths, Zikali?" I asked, staring him in the face, for I f=
elt
that he was lying to me.
"Not altogether, Macumazahn," he
answered, letting his eyes, those strange eyes that could look at the sun
without blinking, fall before my gaze. "Have I not told you that I hate
the House of Senzangakona? And when Retief and his companions were killed, =
did
not the spilling of their blood mean war to the end between the Zulus and t=
he
White Men? Did it not mean the death of Dingaan and of thousands of his peo=
ple,
which is but a beginning of deaths? Now do you understand?"
"I understand that you are a very wicked
man," I answered with indignation.
"At least you should not say so,
Macumazahn," he replied in a new voice, one with the ring of truth in =
it.
"Why not?"
"Because I saved your life on that day. Y=
ou
escaped alone of the White Men, did you not? And you never could understand
why, could you?"
"No, I could not, Zikali. I put it down to
what you would call 'the spirits.'"
"Well, I will tell you. Those spirits of
yours wore my kaross," and he laughed. "I saw you with the Boers,=
and
saw, too, that you were of another people--the people of the English. You m=
ay
have heard at the time that I was doctoring at the Great Place, although I =
kept
out of the way and we did not meet, or at least you never knew that we met,=
for
you were--asleep. Also I pitied your youth, for, although you do not believ=
e it,
I had a little bit of heart left in those days. Also I knew that we should =
come
together again in the after years, as you see we have done to-day and shall
often do until the end. So I told Dingaan that whoever died you must be spa=
red,
or he would bring up the 'people of George' [i.e. the English] to avenge yo=
u,
and your ghost would enter into him and pour out a curse upon him. He belie=
ved
me who did not understand that already so many curses were gathered about h=
is
head that one more or less made no matter. So you see you were spared,
Macumazahn, and afterwards you helped to pour out a curse upon Dingaan with=
out
becoming a ghost, which is the reason why Panda likes you so well to-day,
Panda, the enemy of Dingaan, his brother. You remember the woman who helped=
you?
Well, I made her do so. How did it go with you afterwards, Macumazahn, with=
you
and the Boer maiden across the Buffalo River, to whom you were making love =
in
those days?"
"Never mind how it went," I replied,
springing up, for the old wizard's talk had stirred sad and bitter memories=
in
my heart. "That time is dead, Zikali."
"Is it, Macumazahn? Now, from the look up=
on
your face I should have said that it was still very much alive, as things t=
hat
happened in our youth have a way of keeping alive. But doubtless I am mista=
ken,
and it is all as dead as Dingaan, and as Retief, and as the others, your
companions. At least, although you do not believe it, I saved your life on =
that
red day, for my own purposes, of course, not because one white life was any=
thing
among so many in my count. And now go to rest, Macumazahn, go to rest, for
although your heart has been awakened by memories this evening, I promise t=
hat
you shall sleep well to-night," and throwing the long hair back off his
eyes he looked at me keenly, wagging his big head to and fro, and burst into
another of his great laughs.
So I went. But, ah! as I went I wept.
Anyone who knew all that story would understand
why. But this is not the place to tell it, that tale of my first love and of
the terrible events which befell us in the time of Dingaan. Still, as I say=
, I
have written it down, and perhaps one day it will be read.
I sle=
pt
very well that night, I suppose because I was so dog-tired I could not help=
it;
but next day, on our long walk back to Umbezi's kraal, I thought a great de=
al.
Without doubt I had seen and heard very strange
things, both of the past and the present--things that I could not in the le=
ast
understand. Moreover, they were mixed up with all sorts of questions of high
Zulu policy, and threw a new light upon events that happened to me and othe=
rs in
my youth.
Now, in the clear sunlight, was the time to
analyse these things, and this I did in the most logical fashion I could
command, although without the slightest assistance from Saduko, who, when I
asked him questions, merely shrugged his shoulders.
These questions, he said, did not interest him=
; I
had wished to see the magic of Zikali, and Zikali had been pleased to show =
me
some very good magic, quite of his best indeed. Also he had conversed alone
with me afterwards, doubtless on high matters--so high that he, Saduko, was=
not
admitted to share the conversation--which was an honour he accorded to very
few. I could form my own conclusions in the light of the White Man's wisdom,
which everyone knew was great.
I replied shortly that I could, for Saduko's t=
one irritated
me. Of course, the truth was that he felt aggrieved at being sent off to bed
like a little boy while his foster-father, the old dwarf, made confidences =
to
me. One of Saduko's faults was that he had always a very good opinion of
himself. Also he was by nature terribly jealous, even in little things, as =
the
readers of his history, if any, will learn.
We trudged on for several hours in silence, br=
oken
at length by my companion.
"Do you still mean to go on a shooting
expedition with Umbezi, Inkoosi?" he asked, "or are you afraid?&q=
uot;
"Of what should I be afraid?" I answ=
ered
tartly.
"Of the buffalo with the split horn, of w=
hich
Zikali told you. What else?"
Now, I fear I used strong language about the
buffalo with the split horn, a beast in which I declared I had no belief
whatsoever, either with or without its accessories of dried river-beds and
water-holes.
"If all this old woman's talk has made you
afraid, however," I added, "you can stop at the kraal with
Mameena."
"Why should the talk make me afraid,
Macumazahn? Zikali did not say that this evil spirit of a buffalo would hurt
me. If I fear, it is for you, seeing that if you are hurt you may not be ab=
le
to go with me to look for Bangu's cattle."
"Oh!" I replied sarcastically; "=
;it
seems that you are somewhat selfish, friend Saduko, since it is of your wel=
fare
and not of my safety that you are thinking."
"If I were as selfish as you seem to beli=
eve,
Inkoosi, should I advise you to stop with your wagons, and thereby lose the
good gun with two mouths that you have promised me? Still, it is true that I
should like well enough to stay at Umbezi's kraal with Mameena, especially =
if
Umbezi were away."
Now, as there is nothing more uninteresting th=
an
to listen to other people's love affairs, and as I saw that with the slight=
est encouragement
Saduko was ready to tell me all the history of his courtship over again, I =
did
not continue the argument. So we finished our journey in silence, and arriv=
ed
at Umbezi's kraal a little after sundown, to find, to the disappointment of
both of us, that Mameena was still away.
Upon the following morning we started on our
shooting expedition, the party consisting of myself, my servant Scowl, who,=
as
I think I said, hailed from the Cape and was half a Hottentot; Saduko; the =
merry
old Zulu, Umbezi, and a number of his men to serve as bearers and beaters. =
It
proved a very successful trip--that is, until the end of it--for in those d=
ays
the game in this part of the country was extremely plentiful. Before the en=
d of
the second week I killed four elephants, two of them with large tusks, while
Saduko, who soon developed into a very fair shot, bagged another with the
double-barrelled gun that I had promised him. Also, Umbezi--how, I have nev=
er
discovered, for the thing partook of the nature of a miracle--managed to sl=
ay
an elephant cow with fair ivories, using the old rifle that went off at
half-cock.
Never have I seen a man, black or white, so
delighted as was that vainglorious Kafir. For whole hours he danced and sang
and took snuff and saluted with his hand, telling me the story of his deed =
over
and over again, no single version of which tale agreed with the other. He t=
ook
a new title also, that meant "Eater-up-of-Elephants"; he allowed =
one
of his men to "bonga"--that is, praise--him all through the night=
, preventing
us from getting a wink of sleep, until at last the poor fellow dropped in a
kind of fit from exhaustion, and so forth. It really was very amusing until=
it
became a bore.
Besides the elephants we killed lots of other =
things,
including two lions, which I got almost with a right and left, and three wh=
ite rhinoceroses,
that now, alas! are nearly extinct. At last, towards the end of the third w=
eek,
we had as much as our men could carry in the shape of ivory, rhinoceros hor=
ns, skins
and sun-dried buckflesh, or biltong, and determined to start back for Umbez=
i's
kraal next day. Indeed, this could not be long delayed, as our powder and l=
ead
were running low; for in those days, it will be remembered, breechloaders h=
ad not
come in, and ammunition, therefore, had to be carried in bulk.
To tell the truth, I was very glad that our tr=
ip
had come to such a satisfactory conclusion, for, although I would not admit=
it
even to myself, I could not get rid of a kind of sneaking dread lest after =
all
there might be something in the old dwarf's prophecy about a disagreeable
adventure with a buffalo which was in store for me. Well, as it chanced, we=
had
not so much as seen a buffalo, and as the road which we were going to take =
back
to the kraal ran over high, bare country that these animals did not frequen=
t,
there was now little prospect of our doing so--all of which, of course, sho=
wed
what I already knew, that only weak-headed superstitious idiots would put t=
he
slightest faith in the drivelling nonsense of deceiving or self-deceived Ka=
fir medicine-men.
These things, indeed, I pointed out with much vigour to Saduko before we tu=
rned
in on the last night of the hunt.
Saduko listened in silence and said nothing at
all, except that he would not keep me up any longer, as I must be tired.
Now, whatever may be the reason for it, my
experience in life is that it is never wise to brag about anything. At any
rate, on a hunting trip, to come to a particular instance, wait until you a=
re
safe at home till you begin to do so. Of the truth of this ancient adage I =
was
now destined to experience a particularly fine and concrete example.
The place where we had camped was in scattered
bush overlooking a great extent of dry reeds, that in the wet season was
doubtless a swamp fed by a small river which ran into it on the side opposi=
te
to our camp. During the night I woke up, thinking that I heard some big bea=
sts
moving in these reeds; but as no further sounds reached my ears I went to s=
leep
again.
Shortly after dawn I was awakened by a voice
calling me, which in a hazy fashion I recognised as that of Umbezi.
"Macumazahn," said the voice in a ho=
arse
whisper, "the reeds below us are full of buffalo. Get up. Get up at
once."
"What for?" I answered. "If the
buffalo came into the reeds they will go out of them. We do not want
meat."
"No, Macumazahn; but I want their hides.
Panda, the King, has demanded fifty shields of me, and without killing oxen
that I can ill spare I have not the skins whereof to make them. Now, these =
buffalo
are in a trap. This swamp is like a dish with one mouth. They cannot get ou=
t at
the sides of the dish, and the mouth by which they came in is very narrow. =
If
we station ourselves at either side of it we can kill many of them."
By this time I was thoroughly awake and had ar=
isen
from my blankets. Throwing a kaross over my shoulders, I left the hut, made=
of
boughs, in which I was sleeping and walked a few paces to the crest of a ro=
cky ridge,
whence I could see the dry vlei below. Here the mists of dawn still clung, =
but
from it rose sounds of grunts, bellows and tramplings which I, an old hunte=
r,
could not mistake. Evidently a herd of buffalo, one or two hundred of them,=
had
established themselves in those reeds.
Just then my bastard servant, Scowl, and Saduko
joined us, both of them full of excitement.
It appeared that Scowl, who never seemed to sl=
eep
at any natural time, had seen the buffalo entering the reeds, and estimated
their number at two or three hundred. Saduko had examined the cleft through=
which
they passed, and reported it to be so narrow that we could kill any number =
of them
as they rushed out to escape.
"Quite so. I understand," I said.
"Well, my opinion is that we had better let them escape. Only four of =
us,
counting Umbezi, are armed with guns, and assegais are not of much use agai=
nst
buffalo. Let them go, I say."
Umbezi, thinking of a cheap raw material for t=
he
shields which had been requisitioned by the King, who would surely be pleas=
ed
if they were made of such a rare and tough hide as that of buffalo, protest=
ed violently,
and Saduko, either to please one whom he hoped might be his father-in-law or
from sheer love of sport, for which he always had a positive passion, backed
him up. Only Scowl--whose dash of Hottentot blood made him cunning and
cautious--took my side, pointing out that we were very short of powder and =
that
buffalo "ate up much lead." At last Saduko said:
"The lord Macumazana is our captain; we m=
ust
obey him, although it is a pity. But doubtless the prophesying of Zikali we=
ighs
upon his mind, so there is nothing to be done."
"Zikali!" exclaimed Umbezi. "Wh=
at
has the old dwarf to do with this matter?"
"Never mind what he has or has not to do =
with
it," I broke in, for although I do not think that he meant them as a
taunt, but merely as a statement of fact, Saduko's words stung me to the qu=
ick,
especially as my conscience told me that they were not altogether without
foundation.
"We will try to kill some of these
buffalo," I went on, "although, unless the herd should get bogged,
which is not likely, as the swamp is very dry, I do not think that we can h=
ope
for more than eight or ten at the most, which won't be of much use for shie=
lds.
Come, let us make a plan. We have no time to lose, for I think they will be=
gin
to move again before the sun is well up."
Half an hour later the four of us who were arm=
ed
with guns were posted behind rocks on either side of the steep, natural roa=
dway
cut by water, which led down to the vlei, and with us some of Umbezi's men.
That chief himself was at my side--a post of honour which he had insisted u=
pon taking.
To tell the truth, I did not dissuade him, for I thought that I should be s=
afer
so than if he were opposite to me, since, even if the old rifle did not go =
off
of its own accord, Umbezi, when excited, was a most uncertain shot. The her=
d of
buffalo appeared to have lain down in the reeds, so, being careful to post
ourselves first, we sent three of the native bearers to the farther side of=
the
vlei, with instructions to rouse the beasts by shouting. The remainder of t=
he
Zulus--there were ten or a dozen of them armed with stabbing spears--we kept
with us.
But what did these scoundrels do? Instead of
disturbing the herd by making a noise, as we told them, for some reason best
known to themselves--I expect it was because they were afraid to go into th=
e vlei,
where they might meet the horn of a buffalo at any moment--they fired the d=
ry
reeds in three or four places at once, and this, if you please, with a stro=
ng
wind blowing from them to us. In a minute or two the farther side of the sw=
amp
was a sheet of crackling flame that gave off clouds of dense white smoke. T=
hen
pandemonium began.
The sleeping buffalo leapt to their feet, and,
after a few moments of indecision, crashed towards us, the whole huge herd =
of
them, snorting and bellowing like mad things. Seeing what was about to happ=
en,
I nipped behind a big boulder, while Scowl shinned up a mimosa with the
swiftness of a cat and, heedless of its thorns, sat himself in an eagle's n=
est at
the top. The Zulus with the spears bolted to take cover where they could. W=
hat
became of Saduko I did not see, but old Umbezi, bewildered with excitement,
jumped into the exact middle of the roadway, shouting:
"They come! They come! Charge, buffalo fo=
lk,
if you will. The Eater-up-of-Elephants awaits you!"
"You etceterad old fool!" I shouted,=
but
got no farther, for just at this moment the first of the buffalo, which I c=
ould
see was an enormous bull, probably the leader of the herd, accepted Umbezi's
invitation and came, with its nose stuck straight out in front of it. Umbez=
i's
gun went off, and next instant he went up. Through the smoke I saw his black
bulk in the air, and then heard it alight with a thud on the top of the roc=
k behind
which I was crouching.
"Exit Umbezi," I said to myself, and=
by
way of a requiem let the bull which had hoisted him, as I thought to heaven,
have an ounce of lead in the ribs as it passed me. After that I did not fire
any more, for it occurred to me that it was as well not to further advertis=
e my
presence.
In all my hunting experience I cannot remember
ever seeing such a sight as that which followed. Out of the vlei rushed the
buffalo by dozens, every one of them making remarks in its own language as =
it
came. They jammed in the narrow roadway, they leapt on to each other's back=
s.
They squealed, they kicked, they bellowed. They charged my friendly rock ti=
ll I
felt it shake. They knocked over Scowl's mimosa thorn, and would have shot =
him
out of his eagle's nest had not its flat top fortunately caught in that of
another and less accessible tree. And with them came clouds of pungent smok=
e,
mixed with bits of burning reed and puffs of hot air.
It was over at last. With the exception of some
calves, which had been trampled to death in the rush, the herd had gone. No=
w,
like the Roman emperor--I think he was an emperor--I began to wonder what h=
ad
become of my legions.
"Umbezi," I shouted, or, rather, sne=
ezed
through the smoke, "are you dead, Umbezi?"
"Yes, yes, Macumazahn," replied a
choking and melancholy voice from the top of the rock, "I am dead, qui=
te
dead. That evil spirit of a silwana [i.e. wild beast] has killed me. Oh! why
did I think I was a hunter; why did I not stop at my kraal and count my
cattle?"
"I am sure I don't know, you old lunatic,=
"
I answered, as I scrambled up the rock to bid him good-bye.
It was a rock with a razor top like the ridge =
of a
house, and there, hanging across this ridge like a pair of nether garments =
on a
clothes-line, I found the "Eater-up-of-Elephants."
"Where did he get you, Umbezi?" I as=
ked,
for I could not see his wounds because of the smoke.
"Behind, Macumazahn, behind!" he
groaned, "for I had turned to fly, but, alas! too late."
"On the contrary," I replied, "=
for
one so heavy you flew very well; like a bird, Umbezi, like a bird."
"Look and see what the evil beast has don=
e to
me, Macumazahn. It will be easy, for my moocha has gone."
So I looked, examining Umbezi's ample proporti=
ons
with care, but could discover nothing except a large smudge of black mud, as
though he had sat down in a half-dried puddle. Then I guessed the truth. The
buffalo's horns had missed him. He had been struck only with its muddy nose=
, which,
being almost as broad as that portion of Umbezi with which it came in conta=
ct,
had inflicted nothing worse than a bruise. When I was sure he had received =
no
serious injury, my temper, already sorely tried, gave out, and I administer=
ed
to him the soundest smacking--his position being very convenient--that he h=
ad
ever received since he was a little boy.
"Get up, you idiot!" I shouted,
"and let us look for the others. This is the end of your folly in maki=
ng
me attack a herd of buffalo in reeds. Get up. Am I to stop here till I
choke?"
"Do you mean to tell me that I have no mo=
rtal
wound, Macumazahn?" he asked, with a return of cheerfulness, accepting=
the
castigation in good part, for he was not one who bore malice. "Oh, I am
glad to hear it, for now I shall live to make those cowards who fired the r=
eeds
sorry that they are not dead; also to finish off that wild beast, for I hit
him, Macumazahn, I hit him."
"I don't know whether you hit him; I know=
he
hit you," I replied, as I shoved him off the rock and ran towards the
tilted tree where I had last seen Scowl.
Here I beheld another strange sight. Scowl was
still seated in the eagle's nest that he shared with two nearly fledged you=
ng
birds, one of which, having been injured, was uttering piteous cries. Nor d=
id
it cry in vain, for its parents, which were of that great variety of kite t=
hat the
Boers call "lammefange", or lamb-lifters, had just arrived to its=
assistance,
and were giving their new nestling, Scowl, the best doing that man ever
received at the beak and claws of feathered kind. Seen through those rushing
smoke wreaths, the combat looked perfectly titanic; also it was one of the
noisiest to which I ever listened, for I don't know which shrieked the more
loudly, the infuriated eagles or their victim.
Seeing how things stood, I burst into a roar of
laughter, and just then Scowl grabbed the leg of the male bird, that was
planted in his breast while it removed tufts of his wool with its hooked be=
ak,
and leapt boldly from the nest, which had become too hot to hold him. The
eagle's outspread wings broke his fall, for they acted as a parachute; and =
so did
Umbezi, upon whom he chanced to land. Springing from the prostrate shape of=
the
chief, who now had a bruise in front to match that behind, Scowl, covered w=
ith
pecks and scratches, ran like a lamp-lighter, leaving me to collect my seco=
nd
gun, which he had dropped at the bottom of the tree, but fortunately without
injuring it. The Kafirs gave him another name after that encounter, which m=
eant
"He-who-fights-birds-and-gets-the-worst-of-it."
Well, we escaped from the line of the smoke, a
dishevelled trio--indeed, Umbezi had nothing left on him except his head
ring--and shouted for the others, if perchance they had not been trodden to
death in the rush. The first to arrive was Saduko, who looked quite calm and
untroubled, but stared at us in astonishment, and asked coolly what we had =
been
doing to get in such a state. I replied in appropriate language, and asked =
in turn
how he had managed to remain so nicely dressed.
He did not answer, but I believe the truth was
that he had crept into a large ant-bear's hole--small blame to him, to be
frank. Then the remainder of our party turned up one by one, some of them
looking very blown, as though they had run a long way. None were missing,
except those who had fired the reeds, and they thought it well to keep clea=
r for
a good many hours. I believe that afterwards they regretted not having take=
n a
longer leave of absence; but when they finally did arrive I was in no condi=
tion
to note what passed between them and their outraged chief.
Being collected, the question arose what we sh=
ould
do. Of course, I wished to return to camp and get out of this ill-omened pl=
ace
as soon as possible. But I had reckoned without the vanity of Umbezi. Umbez=
i stretched
over the edge of a sharp rock, whither he had been hoisted by the nose of a
buffalo, and imagining himself to be mortally wounded, was one thing; but
Umbezi in a borrowed moocha, although, because of his bruises, he supported=
his
person with one hand in front and with the other behind, knowing his injuri=
es
to be purely superficial, was quite another.
"I am a hunter," he said; "I am
named 'Eater-up-of-Elephants';" and he rolled his eyes, looking about =
for
someone to contradict him, which nobody did. Indeed, his "praiser,&quo=
t; a
thin, tired-looking person, whose voice was worn out with his previous
exertions, repeated in a feeble way:
"Yes, Black One, 'Eater-up-of-Elephants' =
is
your name; 'Lifted-up-by-Buffalo' is your name."
"Be silent, idiot," roared Umbezi.
"As I said, I am a hunter; I have wounded the wild beast that subseque=
ntly
dared to assault me. [As a matter of fact, it was I, Allan Quatermain, who =
had
wounded it.] I would make it bite the dust, for it cannot be far away. Let =
us
follow it."
He glared round him, whereon his obsequious
people, or one of them, echoed:
"Yes, by all means let us follow it,
'Eater-up-of-Elephants.' Macumazahn, the clever white man, will show us how,
for where is the buffalo that he fears!"
Of course, after this there was nothing else t=
o be
done, so, having summoned the scratched Scowl, who seemed to have no heart =
in
the business, we started on the spoor of the herd, which was as easy to tra=
ck
as a wagon road.
"Never mind, Baas," said Scowl,
"they are two hours' march off by now."
"I hope so," I answered; but, as it
happened, luck was against me, for before we had covered half a mile some
over-zealous fellow struck a blood spoor.
I marched on that spoor for twenty minutes or =
so,
till we came to a patch of bush that sloped downwards to a river-bed. Right=
to
this river I followed it, till I reached the edge of a big pool that was st=
ill
full of water, although the river itself had gone dry. Here I stood looking=
at
the spoor and consulting with Saduko as to whether the beast could have swum
the pool, for the tracks that went to its very verge had become confused and
uncertain. Suddenly our doubts were ended, since out of a patch of dense bu=
sh
which we had passed--for it had played the common trick of doubling back on=
its
own spoor--appeared the buffalo, a huge bull, that halted on three legs, my
bullet having broken one of its thighs. As to its identity there was no dou=
bt,
since on, or rather from, its right horn, which was cleft apart at the top,
hung the remains of Umbezi's moocha.
"Oh, beware, Inkoosi," cried Saduko =
in a
frightened voice. "It is the buffalo with the cleft horn!"
I heard him; I saw. All the scene in the hut of
Zikali rose before me--the old dwarf, his words, everything. I lifted my ri=
fle
and fired at the charging beast, but knew that the bullet glanced from its
skull. I threw down the gun--for the buffalo was right on me--and tried to =
jump
aside.
Almost I did so, but that cleft horn, to which
hung the remains of Umbezi's moocha, scooped me up and hurled me off the ri=
ver
bank backwards and sideways into the deep pool below. As I departed thither=
I saw
Saduko spring forward and heard a shot fired that caused the bull to collap=
se
for a moment. Then with a slow, sliding motion it followed me into the pool=
.
Now we were together, and there was no room for
both, so after a certain amount of dodging I went under, as the lighter dog
always does in a fight. That buffalo seemed to do everything to me which a
buffalo could do under the circumstances. It tried to horn me, and partiall=
y succeeded,
although I ducked at each swoop. Then it struck me with its nose and drove =
me
to the bottom of the pool, although I got hold of its lip and twisted it. T=
hen
it calmly knelt on me and sank me deeper and deeper into the mud. I remember
kicking it in the stomach. After this I remember no more, except a kind of =
wild
dream in which I rehearsed all the scene in the dwarf's hut, and his request
that when I met the buffalo with the cleft horn in the pool of a dried rive=
r, I
should remember that he was nothing but a "poor old Kafir cheat."=
After this I saw my mother bending over a litt=
le
child in my bed in the old house in Oxfordshire where I was born, and
then--blackness!
I cam=
e to
myself again and saw, instead of my mother, the stately figure of Saduko
bending over me upon one side, and on the other that of Scowl, the half-bred
Hottentot, who was weeping, for his hot tears fell upon my face.
"He is gone," said poor Scowl;
"that bewitched beast with the split horn has killed him. He is gone w=
ho
was the best white man in all South Africa, whom I loved better than my fat=
her
and all my relatives."
"That you might easily do, Bastard,"
answered Saduko, "seeing that you do not know who they are. But he is =
not
gone, for the 'Opener-of-Roads' said that he would live; also I got my spear
into the heart of that buffalo before he had kneaded the life out of him, as
fortunately the mud was soft. Yet I fear that his ribs are broken"; an=
d he
poked me with his finger on the breast.
"Take your clumsy hand off me," I
gasped.
"There!" said Saduko, "I have m=
ade
him feel. Did I not tell you that he would live?"
After=
this
I remember little more, except some confused dreams, till I found myself ly=
ing
in a great hut, which I discovered subsequently was Umbezi's own, the same,
indeed, wherein I had doctored the ear of that wife of his who was called
"Worn-out-old-Cow."
For a=
while
I contemplated the roof and sides of the hut by the light which entered it
through the smoke-vent and the door-hole, wondering whose it might be and h=
ow I
came there.
Then I tried to sit up, and instantly was seiz=
ed
with agony in the region of the ribs, which I found were bound about with b=
road
strips of soft tanned hide. Clearly they, or some of them, were broken.
What had broken them? I asked myself, and in a
flash everything came back to me. So I had escaped with my life, as the old
dwarf, "Opener-of-Roads," had told me that I should. Certainly he=
was
an excellent prophet; and if he spoke truth in this matter, why not in othe=
rs?
What was I to make of it all? How could a black savage, however ancient,
foresee the future?
By induction from the past, I supposed; and yet
what amount of induction would suffice to show him the details of a forthco=
ming
accident that was to happen to me through the agency of a wild beast with a
peculiarly shaped horn? I gave it up, as before and since that day I have f=
ound
it necessary to do in the case of many other events in life. Indeed, the
question is one that I often have had cause to ask where Kafir "witch-=
doctors"
or prophets are concerned, notably in the instance of a certain Mavovo, of =
whom
I hope to tell one day, whose predictions saved my life and those of my
companions.
Just then I heard the sound of someone creeping
through the bee-hole of the hut, and half-closed my eyes, as I did not feel
inclined for conversation. The person came and stood over me, and somehow--=
by instinct,
I suppose--I became aware that my visitor was a woman. Very slowly I lifted=
my
eyelids, just enough to enable me to see her.
There, standing in a beam of golden light that,
passing through the smoke-hole, pierced the soft gloom of the hut, stood the
most beautiful creature that I had ever seen--that is, if it be admitted th=
at a
person who is black, or rather copper-coloured, can be beautiful.
She was a little above the medium height, not
more, with a figure that, so far as I am a judge of such matters, was
absolutely perfect--that of a Greek statue indeed. On this point I had an
opportunity of forming an opinion, since, except for her little bead apron =
and
a single string of large blue beads about her throat, her costume was--well,
that of a Greek statue. Her features showed no trace of the negro type; on =
the contrary,
they were singularly well cut, the nose being straight and fine and the pou=
ting
mouth that just showed the ivory teeth between, very small. Then the eyes,
large, dark and liquid, like those of a buck, set beneath a smooth, broad
forehead on which the curling, but not woolly, hair grew low. This hair, by=
the
way, was not dressed up in any of the eccentric native fashions, but simply
parted in the middle and tied in a big knot over the nape of the neck, the
little ears peeping out through its tresses. The hands, like the feet, were
very small and delicate, and the curves of the bust soft and full without b=
eing
coarse, or even showing the promise of coarseness.
A lovely woman, truly; and yet there was somet=
hing
not quite pleasing about that beautiful face; something, notwithstanding its
childlike outline, which reminded me of a flower breaking into bloom, that =
one does
not associate with youth and innocence. I tried to analyse what this might =
be,
and came to the conclusion that without being hard, it was too clever and, =
in a
sense, too reflective. I felt even then that the brain within the shapely h=
ead
was keen and bright as polished steel; that this woman was one made to rule,
not to be man's toy, or even his loving companion, but to use him for her e=
nds.
She dropped her chin till it hid the little,
dimple-like depression below her throat, which was one of her charms, and b=
egan
not to look at, but to study me, seeing which I shut my eyes tight and wait=
ed.
Evidently she thought that I was still in my swoon, for now she spoke to
herself in a low voice that was soft and sweet as honey.
"A small man," she said; "Saduko
would make two of him, and the other"--who was he, I
wondered--"three. His hair, too, is ugly; he cuts it short and it stic=
ks
up like that on a cat's back. Iya!" (i.e. Piff!), and she moved her ha=
nd
contemptuously, "a feather of a man. But white--white, one of those who
rule. Why, they all of them know that he is their master. They call him
'He-who-never-Sleeps.' They say that he has the courage of a lioness with
young--he who got away when Dingaan killed Piti [Retief] and the Boers; they
say that he is quick and cunning as a snake, and that Panda and his great
indunas think more of him than of any white man they know. He is unmarried
also, though they say, too, that twice he had a wife, who died, and now he =
does
not turn to look at women, which is strange in any man, and shows that he w=
ill escape
trouble and succeed. Still, it must be remembered that they are all ugly do=
wn
here in Zululand, cows, or heifers who will be cows. Piff! no more."
She paused for a little while, then went on in=
her
dreamy, reflective voice:
"Now, if he met a woman who is not merely=
a
cow or a heifer, a woman cleverer than himself, even if she were not white,=
I
wonder--"
At this point I thought it well to wake up.
Turning my head I yawned, opened my eyes and looked at her vaguely, seeing
which her expression changed in a flash from that of brooding power to one =
of
moved and anxious girlhood; in short, it became most sweetly feminine.
"You are Mameena?" I said; "is =
it
not so?"
"Oh, yes, Inkoosi," she answered,
"that is my poor name. But how did you hear it, and how do you know
me?"
"I heard it from one Saduko"--here s=
he
frowned a little--"and others, and I knew you because you are so
beautiful"--an incautious speech at which she broke into a dazzling sm=
ile
and tossed her deer-like head.
"Am I?" she asked. "I never knew
it, who am only a common Zulu girl to whom it pleases the great white chief=
to
say kind things, for which I thank him"; and she made a graceful little
reverence, just bending one knee. "But," she went on quickly,
"whatever else I be, I am of no knowledge, not fit to tend you who are
hurt. Shall I go and send my oldest mother?"
"Do you mean her whom your father calls t=
he
'Worn-out-old-Cow,' and whose ear he shot off?"
"Yes, it must be she from the
description," she answered with a little shake of laughter, "thou=
gh I
never heard him give her that name."
"Or if you did, you have forgotten it,&qu=
ot;
I said dryly. "Well, I think not, thank you. Why trouble her, when you
will do quite as well? If there is milk in that gourd, perhaps you will giv=
e me
a drink of it."
She flew to the bowl like a swallow, and next
moment was kneeling at my side and holding it to my lips with one hand, whi=
le
with the other she supported my head.
"I am honoured," she said. "I o=
nly
came to the hut the moment before you woke, and seeing you still lost in sw=
oon,
I wept--look, my eyes are still wet [they were, though how she made them so=
I
do not know]--for I feared lest that sleep should be but the beginning of t=
he
last."
"Quite so," I said; "it is very
good of you. And now, since your fears are groundless--thanks be to the
heavens--sit down, if you will, and tell me the story of how I came here.&q=
uot;
She sat down, not, I noted, as a Kafir woman
ordinarily does, in a kind of kneeling position, but on a stool.
"You were carried into the kraal,
Inkoosi," she said, "on a litter of boughs. My heart stood still =
when
I saw that litter coming; it was no more heart; it was cold iron, because I
thought the dead or injured man was--" And she paused.
"Saduko?" I suggested.
"Not at all, Inkoosi--my father."
"Well, it wasn't either of them," I
said, "so you must have felt happy."
"Happy! Inkoosi, when the guest of our ho=
use
had been wounded, perhaps to death--the guest of whom I have heard so much,
although by misfortune I was absent when he arrived."
"A difference of opinion with your eldest
mother?" I suggested.
"Yes, Inkoosi; my own is dead, and I am n=
ot
too well treated here. She called me a witch."
"Did she?" I answered. "Well, I=
do
not altogether wonder at it; but please continue your story."
"There is none, Inkoosi. They brought you
here, they told me how the evil brute of a buffalo had nearly killed you in=
the
pool; that is all."
"Yes, yes, Mameena; but how did I get out=
of
the pool?"
"Oh, it seems that your servant, Sikauli,=
the
bastard, leapt into the water and engaged the attention of the buffalo which
was kneading you into the mud, while Saduko got on to its back and drove his
assegai down between its shoulders to the heart, so that it died. Then they
pulled you out of the mud, crushed and almost drowned with water, and broug=
ht you
to life again. But afterwards you became senseless, and so lay wandering in
your speech until this hour."
"Ah, he is a brave man, is Saduko."<= o:p>
"Like others, neither more nor less,"
she replied with a shrug of her rounded shoulders. "Would you have had=
him
let you die? I think the brave man was he who got in front of the bull and
twisted its nose, not he who sat on its back and poked at it with a
spear."
At this period in our conversation I became
suddenly faint and lost count of things, even of the interesting Mameena. W=
hen
I awoke again she was gone, and in her place was old Umbezi, who, I noticed,
took down a mat from the side of the hut and folded it up to serve as a cus=
hion
before he sat himself upon the stool.
"Greeting, Macumazahn," he said when=
he
saw that I was awake; "how are you?"
"As well as can be hoped," I answere=
d;
"and how are you, Umbezi?"
"Oh, bad, Macumazahn; even now I can scar=
cely
sit down, for that bull had a very hard nose; also I am swollen up in front
where Sikauli struck me when he tumbled out of the tree. Also my heart is c=
ut
in two because of our losses."
"What losses, Umbezi?"
"Wow! Macumazahn, the fire that those low
fellows of mine lit got to our camp and burned up nearly everything--the me=
at,
the skins, and even the ivory, which it cracked so that it is useless. That=
was
an unlucky hunt, for although it began so well, we have come out of it quite
naked; yes, with nothing at all except the head of the bull with the cleft
horn, that I thought you might like to keep."
"Well, Umbezi, let us be thankful that we
have come out with our lives--that is, if I am going to live," I added=
.
"Oh, Macumazahn, you will live without do=
ubt,
and be none the worse. Two of our doctors--very clever men--have looked at =
you
and said so. One of them tied you up in all those skins, and I promised him=
a
heifer for the business, if he cured you, and gave him a goat on account. B=
ut
you must lie here for a month or more, so he says. Meanwhile Panda has sent=
for
the hides which he demanded of me to be made into shields, and I have been
obliged to kill twenty-five of my beasts to provide them--that is, of my own
and of those of my headmen."
"Then I wish you and your headmen had kil=
led
them before we met those buffalo, Umbezi," I groaned, for my ribs were
paining me very much. "Send Saduko and Sikauli here; I would thank them
for saving my life."
So they came, next morning, I think, and I tha=
nked
them warmly enough.
"There, there, Baas," said Scowl, who
was literally weeping tears of joy at my return from delirium and coma to t=
he
light of life and reason; not tears of Mameena's sort, but real ones, for I=
saw
them running down his snub nose, that still bore marks of the eagle's claws.
"There, there, say no more, I beseech you. If you were going to die, I
wished to die, too, who, if you had left it, should only have wandered thro=
ugh
the world without a heart. That is why I jumped into the pool, not because =
I am
brave."
When I heard this my own eyes grew moist. Oh, =
it
is the fashion to abuse natives, but from whom do we meet with more fidelity
and love than from these poor wild Kafirs that so many of us talk of as bla=
ck
dirt which chances to be fashioned to the shape of man?
"As for myself, Inkoosi," added Sadu=
ko,
"I only did my duty. How could I have held up my head again if the bull
had killed you while I walked away alive? Why, the very girls would have mo=
cked
at me. But, oh, his skin was tough. I thought that assegai would never get
through it."
Observe the difference between these two men's
characters. The one, although no hero in daily life, imperils himself from
sheer, dog-like fidelity to a master who had given him many hard words and
sometimes a flogging in punishment for drunkenness, and the other to gratify
his pride, also perhaps because my death would have interfered with his pla=
ns
and ambitions in which I had a part to play. No, that is a hard saying; sti=
ll,
there is no doubt that Saduko always first took his own interests into
consideration, and how what he did would reflect upon his prospects and rep=
ute,
or influence the attainment of his desires. I think this was so even when
Mameena was concerned--at any rate, in the beginning--although certainly he
always loved her with a single-hearted passion that is very rare among Zulu=
s.
Presently Scowl left the hut to prepare me some
broth, whereon Saduko at once turned the talk to this subject of Mameena.
He understood that I had seen her. Did I not t=
hink
her very beautiful?
"Yes, very beautiful," I answered;
"indeed, the most beautiful Zulu woman I have ever seen."
And very clever--almost as clever as a white?<= o:p>
"Yes, and very clever--much cleverer than
most whites."
And--anything else?
"Yes; very dangerous, and one who could t=
urn
like the wind and blow hot and blow cold."
"Ah!" he said, thought a while, then
added: "Well, what do I care how she blows to others, so long as she b=
lows
hot to me."
"Well, Saduko, and does she blow hot for
you?"
"Not altogether, Macumazahn." Another
pause. "I think she blows rather like the wind before a great storm.&q=
uot;
"That is a biting wind, Saduko, and when =
we
feel it we know that the storm will follow."
"I dare say that the storm will follow,
Inkoosi, for she was born in a storm and storm goes with her; but what of t=
hat,
if she and I stand it out together? I love her, and I had rather die with h=
er
than live with any other woman."
"The question is, Saduko, whether she wou=
ld
rather die with you than live with any other man. Does she say so?"
"Inkoosi, Mameena's thought works in the
dark; it is like a white ant in its tunnel of mud. You see the tunnel which
shows that she is thinking, but you do not see the thought within. Still,
sometimes, when she believes that no one beholds or hears her"--here I
bethought me of the young lady's soliloquy over my apparently senseless
self--"or when she is surprised, the true thought peeps out of its tun=
nel.
It did so the other day, when I pleaded with her after she had heard that I
killed the buffalo with the cleft horn.
"'Do I love you?' she said. 'I know not f=
or
sure. How can I tell? It is not our custom that a maiden should love before=
she
is married, for if she did so most marriages would be things of the heart a=
nd
not of cattle, and then half the fathers of Zululand would grow poor and re=
fuse
to rear girl-children who would bring them nothing. You are brave, you are
handsome, you are well-born; I would sooner live with you than with any oth=
er
man I know--that is, if you were rich and, better still, powerful. Become r=
ich
and powerful, Saduko, and I think that I shall love you.'
"'I will, Mameena,' I answered; 'but you =
must
wait. The Zulu nation was not fashioned from nothing in a day. First Chaka =
had
to come.'
"'Ah!' she said, and, my father, her eyes
flashed. 'Ah! Chaka! There was a man! Be another Chaka, Saduko, and I will =
love
you more--more than you can dream of--thus and thus,' and she flung her arms
about me and kissed me as I was never kissed before, which, as you know, am=
ong
us is a strange thing for a girl to do. Then she thrust me from her with a =
laugh,
and added: 'As for the waiting, you must ask my father of that. Am I not his
heifer, to be sold, and can I disobey my father?' And she was gone, leaving=
me
empty, for it seemed as though she took my vitals with her. Nor will she ta=
lk
thus any more, the white ant who has gone back into its tunnel."
"And did you speak to her father?"
"Yes, I spoke to him, but in an evil mome=
nt,
for he had but just killed the cattle to furnish Panda's shields. He answer=
ed
me very roughly. He said: 'You see these dead beasts which I and my people =
must
slay for the king, or fall under his displeasure? Well, bring me five times
their number, and we will talk of your marriage with my daughter, who is a =
maid
in some request.'
"I answered that I understood and would t=
ry
my best, whereon he became more gentle, for Umbezi has a kindly heart.
"'My son,' he said, 'I like you well, and
since I saw you save Macumazahn, my friend, from that mad wild beast of a
buffalo I like you better than before. Yet you know my case. I have an old =
name
and am called the chief of a tribe, and many live on me. But I am poor, and=
this
daughter of mine is worth much. Such a woman few men have bred. Well, I must
make the best of her. My son-in-law must be one who will prop up my old age,
one to whom, in my need or trouble, I could always go as to a dry log,[*] to
break off some of its bark to make a fire to comfort me, not one who treads=
me
into the mire as the buffalo did to Macumazahn. Now I have spoken, and I do=
not
love such talk. Come back with the cattle, and I will listen to you, but
meanwhile understand that I am not bound to you or to anyone; I shall take =
what
my spirit sends me, which, if I may judge the future by the past, will not =
be
much. One word more: Do not linger about this kraal too long, lest it shoul=
d be
said that you are the accepted suitor of Mameena. Go hence and do a man's w=
ork,
and return with a man's reward, or not at all.'"
[=
*--In
Zululand a son-in-law is known as "isigodo so mkwenyana", the "son-in-law
log," for the reason stated in the text.--EDITOR.]
"Well, Saduko, that spear has an edge on =
it,
has it not?" I answered. "And now, what is your plan?"
"My plan is, Macumazahn," he said,
rising from his seat, "to go hence and gather those who are friendly t=
o me
because I am my father's son and still the chief of the Amangwane, or those=
who
are left of them, although I have no kraal and no hoof of kine. Then, withi=
n a
moon, I hope, I shall return here to find you strong again and once more a =
man,
and we will start out against Bangu, as I have whispered to you, with the l=
eave
of a High One, who has said that, if I can take any cattle, I may keep them=
for
my pains."
"I don't know about that, Saduko. I never
promised you that I would make war upon Bangu--with or without the king's
leave."
"No, you never promised, but Zikali the
Dwarf, the Wise Little One, said that you would--and does Zikali lie? Ask
yourself, who will remember a certain saying of his about a buffalo with a
cleft horn, a pool and a dry river-bed. Farewell, O my father Macumazahn; I
walk with the dawn, and I leave Mameena in your keeping."
"You mean that you leave me in Mameena's
keeping," I began, but already he was crawling through the hole in the
hut.
Well, Mameena kept me very comfortably. She was
always in evidence, yet not too much so.
Heedless of her malice and abuse, she headed o=
ff
the "Worn-out-old-Cow," whom she knew I detested, from my presenc=
e.
She saw personally to my bandages, as well as to the cooking of my food, ov=
er
which matter she had several quarrels with the bastard, Scowl, who did not =
like
her, for on him she never wasted any of her sweet looks. Also, as I grew st=
ronger,
she sat with me a good deal, talking, since, by common consent, Mameena the
fair was exempted from all the field, and even the ordinary household labou=
rs
that fall to the lot of Kafir women. Her place was to be the ornament and, I
may add, the advertisement of her father's kraal. Others might do the work,=
and
she saw that they did it.
We discussed all sorts of things, from the
Christian and other religions and European policy down, for her thirst for
knowledge seemed to be insatiable. But what really interested her was the s=
tate
of affairs in Zululand, with which she knew I was well acquainted, as a per=
son
who had played a part in its history and who was received and trusted at th=
e Great
House, and as a white man who understood the designs and plans of the Boers=
and
of the Governor of Natal.
Now, if the old king, Panda, should chance to =
die,
she would ask me, which of his sons did I think would succeed him--Umbelazi=
or
Cetewayo, or another? Or, if he did not chance to die, which of them would =
he
name his heir?
I replied that I was not a prophet, and that s=
he
had better ask Zikali the Wise.
"That is a very good idea," she said,
"only I have no one to take me to him, since my father would not allow=
me
to go with Saduko, his ward." Then she clapped her hands and added:
"Oh, Macumazahn, will you take me? My father would trust me with
you."
"Yes, I dare say," I answered; "=
;but
the question is, could I trust myself with you?"
"What do you mean?" she asked. "=
;Oh,
I understand. Then, after all, I am more to you than a black stone to play
with?"
I think it was that unlucky joke of mine which
first set Mameena thinking, "like a white ant in its tunnel," as
Saduko said. At least, after it her manner towards me changed; she became v=
ery
deferential; she listened to my words as though they were all wisdom; I cau=
ght her
looking at me with her soft eyes as though I were quite an admirable object.
She began to talk to me of her difficulties, her troubles and her ambitions.
She asked me for my advice as to Saduko. On this point I replied to her tha=
t,
if she loved him, and her father would allow it, presumably she had better
marry him.
"I like him well enough, Macumazahn, alth=
ough
he wearies me at times; but love-- Oh, tell me, what is love?" Then she
clasped her slim hands and gazed at me like a fawn.
"Upon my word, young woman," I repli=
ed,
"that is a matter upon which I should have thought you more competent =
to
instruct me."
"Oh, Macumazahn," she said almost in=
a
whisper, and letting her head droop like a fading lily, "you have never
given me the chance, have you?" And she laughed a little, looking
extremely attractive.
"Good gracious!"--or, rather, its Zu=
lu
equivalent--I answered, for I began to feel nervous. "What do you mean,
Mameena? How could I--" There I stopped.
"I do not know what I mean, Macumazahn,&q=
uot;
she exclaimed wildly, "but I know well enough what you mean--that you =
are
white as snow and I am black as soot, and that snow and soot don't mix well
together."
"No," I answered gravely, "snow=
is
good to look at, and so is soot, but mingled they make an ugly colour. Not =
that
you are like soot," I added hastily, fearing to hurt her feelings.
"That is your hue"--and I touched a copper bangle she was
wearing--"a very lovely hue, Mameena, like everything else about
you."
"Lovely," she said, beginning to wee=
p a
little, which upset me very much, for if there is one thing I hate, it is to
see a woman cry. "How can a poor Zulu girl be lovely? Oh, Macumazahn, =
the
spirits have dealt hardly with me, who have given me the colour of my people
and the heart of yours. If I were white, now, what you are pleased to call =
this
loveliness of mine would be of some use to me, for then-- then-- Oh, cannot=
you
guess, Macumazahn?"
I shook my head and said that I could not, and
next moment was sorry, for she proceeded to explain.
Sinking to her knees--for we were quite alone =
in
the big hut and there was no one else about, all the other women being enga=
ged
on rural or domestic tasks, for which Mameena declared she had no time, as =
her business
was to look after me--she rested her shapely head upon my knees and began to
talk in a low, sweet voice that sometimes broke into a sob.
"Then I will tell you--I will tell you; y=
es,
even if you hate me afterwards. I could teach you what love is very well,
Macumazahn; you are quite right--because I love you." (Sob.) "No,=
you
shall not stir till you have heard me out." Here she flung her arms ab=
out
my legs and held them tight, so that without using great violence it was
absolutely impossible for me to move. "When I saw you first, all shatt=
ered
and senseless, snow seemed to fall upon my heart, and it stopped for a litt=
le
while and has never been the same since. I think that something is growing =
in
it, Macumazahn, that makes it big." (Sob.) "I used to like Saduko
before that, but afterwards I did not like him at all--no, nor Masapo
either--you know, he is the big chief who lives over the mountain, a very r=
ich
and powerful man, who, I believe, would like to marry me. Well, as I went on
nursing you my heart grew bigger and bigger, and now you see it has
burst." (Sob.) "Nay, stay still and do not try to speak. You shall
hear me out. It is the least you can do, seeing that you have caused me all
this pain. If you did not want me to love you, why did you not curse at me =
and
strike me, as I am told white men do to Kafir girls?" She rose and went
on:
"Now, hearken. Although I am the colour of
copper, I am comely. I am well-bred also; there is no higher blood than our=
s in
Zululand, both on my father's and my mother's side, and, Macumazahn, I have=
a
fire in me that shows me things. I can be great, and I long for greatness. =
Take
me to wife, Macumazahn, and I swear to you that in ten years I will make you
king of the Zulus. Forget your pale white women and wed yourself to that fi=
re
which burns in me, and it shall eat up all that stands between you and the
Crown, as flame eats up dry grass. More, I will make you happy. If you choo=
se
to take other wives, I will not be jealous, because I know that I should ho=
ld
your spirit, and that, compared to me, they would be nothing in your
thought--"
"But, Mameena," I broke in, "I
don't want to be king of the Zulus."
"Oh, yes, yes, you do, for every man wants
power, and it is better to rule over a brave, black people--thousands and
thousands of them--than to be no one among the whites. Think, think! There =
is
wealth in the land. By your skill and knowledge the amabuto [regiments] cou=
ld
be improved; with the wealth you would arm them with guns--yes, and 'by-and=
-byes'
also with the throat of thunder" (that is, or was, the Kafir name for =
cannon).[*]
"They would be invincible. Chaka's kingdom would be nothing to ours, f=
or a
hundred thousand warriors would sleep on their spears, waiting for your wor=
d.
If you wished it even you could sweep out Natal and make the whites there y=
our
subjects, too. Or perhaps it would be safer to let them be, lest others sho=
uld
come across the green water to help them, and to strike northwards, where I=
am
told there are great lands as rich and fair, in which none would dispute ou=
r sovereignty--"
[*--Cannon were called "by-and-byes" by the natives, becau=
se when field-pieces first arrived in N=
atal
inquisitive Kafirs pestered the
soldiers to show them how they were fired. The answer given was always
"By-and-bye!" Hence the
name.-- EDITOR]
"But, Mameena," I gasped, for this
girl's titanic ambition literally overwhelmed me, "surely you are mad!=
How
would you do all these things?"
"I am not mad," she answered; "=
I am
only what is called great, and you know well enough that I can do them, not=
by
myself, who am but a woman and tied with the ropes that bind women, but with
you to cut those ropes and help me. I have a plan which will not fail. But,
Macumazahn," she added in a changed voice, "until I know that you
will be my partner in it I will not tell it even to you, for perhaps you mi=
ght
talk--in your sleep, and then the fire in my breast would soon go out--for
ever."
"I might talk now, for the matter of that,
Mameena."
"No; for men like you do not tell tales of
foolish girls who chance to love them. But if that plan began to work, and =
you
heard say that kings or princes died, it might be otherwise. You might say,=
'I
think I know where the witch lives who causes these evils'--in your sleep, =
Macumazahn."
"Mameena," I said, "tell me no
more. Setting your dreams on one side, can I be false to my friend, Saduko,=
who
talks to me day and night of you?"
"Saduko! Piff!" she exclaimed, with =
that
expressive gesture of her hand.
"And can I be false," I continued,
seeing that Saduko was no good card to play, "to my friend, Umbezi, yo=
ur
father?"
"My father!" she laughed. "Why,
would it not please him to grow great in your shadow? Only yesterday he tol=
d me
to marry you, if I could, for then he would find a stick indeed to lean on,=
and
be rid of Saduko's troubling."
Evidently Umbezi was a worse card even than
Saduko, so I played another.
"And can I help you, Mameena, to tread a =
road
that at the best must be red with blood?"
"Why not," she asked, "since wi=
th
or without you I am destined to tread that road, the only difference being =
that
with you it will lead to glory and without you perhaps to the jackals and t=
he
vultures? Blood! Piff! What is blood in Zululand?"
This card also having failed, I tabled my last=
.
"Glory or no glory, I do not wish to share
it, Mameena. I will not make war among a people who have entertained me
hospitably, or plot the downfall of their Great Ones. As you told me just n=
ow,
I am nobody--just one grain of sand upon a white shore--but I had rather be
that than a haunted rock which draws the heavens' lightnings and is drenched
with sacrifice. I seek no throne over white or black, Mameena, who walk my =
own
path to a quiet grave that shall perhaps not be without honour of its own,
though other than you seek. I will keep your counsel, Mameena, but, because=
you
are so beautiful and so wise, and because you say you are fond of me--for w=
hich
I thank you--I pray you put away these fearful dreams of yours that in the =
end,
whether they succeed or fail, will send you shivering from the world to give
account of them to the Watcher-on-high."
"Not so, O Macumazana," she said, wi=
th a
proud little laugh. "When your Watcher sowed my seed--if thus he did--=
he
sowed the dreams that are a part of me also, and I shall only bring him back
his own, with the flower and the fruit by way of interest. But that is
finished. You refuse the greatness. Now, tell me, if I sink those dreams in=
a
great water, tying about them the stone of forgetfulness and saying: 'Sleep=
there,
O dreams; it is not your hour'--if I do this, and stand before you just a w=
oman
who loves and who swears by the spirits of her fathers never to think or do
that which has not your blessing--will you love me a little, Macumazahn?&qu=
ot;
Now I was silent, for she had driven me to the
last ditch, and I knew not what to say. Moreover, I will confess my weaknes=
s--I
was strangely moved. This beautiful girl with the "fire in her
heart," this woman who was different from all other women that I had e=
ver
known, seemed to have twisted her slender fingers into my heart-strings and=
to
be drawing me towards her. It was a great temptation, and I bethought me of=
old
Zikali's saying in the Black Kloof, and seemed to hear his giant laugh.
She glided up to me, she threw her arms about =
me
and kissed me on the lips, and I think I kissed her back, but really I am n=
ot
sure what I did or said, for my head swam. When it cleared again she was
standing in front of me, looking at me reflectively.
"Now, Macumazahn," she said, with a
little smile that both mocked and dazzled, "the poor black girl has yo=
u,
the wise, experienced white man, in her net, and I will show you that she c=
an
be generous. Do you think that I do not read your heart, that I do not know
that you believe I am dragging you down to shame and ruin? Well, I spare yo=
u,
Macumazahn, since you have kissed me and spoken words which already you may
have forgotten, but which I do not forget. Go your road, Macumazahn, and I =
go
mine, since the proud white man shall not be stained with my black touch. Go
your road; but one thing I forbid you--to believe that you have been listen=
ing
to lies, and that I have merely played off a woman's arts upon you for my o=
wn
ends. I love you, Macumazahn, as you will never be loved till you die, and I
shall never love any other man, however many I may marry. Moreover, you sha=
ll
promise me one thing--that once in my life, and once only, if I wish it, you
shall kiss me again before all men. And now, lest you should be moved to fo=
lly
and forget your white man's pride, I bid you farewell, O Macumazana. When we
meet again it will be as friends only."
Then she went, leaving me feeling smaller than
ever I felt in my life, before or since--even smaller than when I walked in=
to
the presence of old Zikali the Wise. Why, I wondered, had she first made a =
fool
of me, and then thrown away the fruits of my folly? To this hour I cannot q=
uite
answer the question, though I believe the explanation to be that she did re=
ally
care for me, and was anxious not to involve me in trouble and her plottings;
also she may have been wise enough to see that our natures were as oil and
water and would never blend.
It ma=
y be
thought that, as a sequel to this somewhat remarkable scene in which I was
absolutely bowled over--perhaps bowled out would be a better term--by a Kaf=
ir
girl who, after bending me to her will, had the genius to drop me before I
repented, as she knew I would do so soon as her back was turned, thereby ma=
king
me look the worst of fools, that my relations with that young lady would ha=
ve
been strained. But not a bit of it. When next we met, which was on the
following morning, she was just her easy, natural self, attending to my hur=
ts,
which by now were almost well, joking about this and that, inquiring as to =
the
contents of certain letters which I had received from Natal, and of some
newspapers that came with them--for on all such matters she was very
curious--and so forth.
Impossible, the clever critic will say--imposs=
ible
that a savage could act with such finish. Well, friend critic, that is just
where you are wrong. When you come to add it up there's very little differe=
nce
in all main and essential matters between the savage and yourself.
To begin with, by what exact right do we call
people like the Zulus savages? Setting aside the habit of polygamy, which,
after all, is common among very highly civilised peoples in the East, they =
have
a social system not unlike our own. They have, or had, their king, their no=
bles,
and their commons. They have an ancient and elaborate law, and a system of
morality in some ways as high as our own, and certainly more generally obey=
ed.
They have their priests and their doctors; they are strictly upright, and
observe the rites of hospitality.
Where they differ from us mainly is that they =
do
not get drunk until the white man teaches them so to do, they wear less
clothing, the climate being more genial, their towns at night are not disgr=
aced
by the sights that distinguish ours, they cherish and are never cruel to th=
eir children,
although they may occasionally put a deformed infant or a twin out of the w=
ay,
and when they go to war, which is often, they carry out the business with a
terrible thoroughness, almost as terrible as that which prevailed in every
nation in Europe a few generations ago.
Of course, there remain their witchcraft and t=
he
cruelties which result from their almost universal belief in the power and
efficiency of magic. Well, since I lived in England I have been reading up =
this
subject, and I find that quite recently similar cruelties were practised
throughout Europe--that is in a part of the world which for over a thousand
years has enjoyed the advantages of the knowledge and profession of the Chr=
istian
faith.
Now, let him who is highly cultured take up a
stone to throw at the poor, untaught Zulu, which I notice the most dissolute
and drunken wretch of a white man is often ready to do, generally because he
covets his land, his labour, or whatever else may be his.
But I wander from my point, which is that a cl=
ever
man or woman among the people whom we call savages is in all essentials very
much the same as a clever man or woman anywhere else.
Here in England every child is educated at the
expense of the Country, but I have not observed that the system results in =
the
production of more really able individuals. Ability is the gift of Nature, =
and
that universal mother sheds her favours impartially over all who breathe. N=
o,
not quite impartially, perhaps, for the old Greeks and others were examples=
to
the contrary. Still, the general rule obtains.
To return. Mameena was a very able person, as =
she
chanced to be a very lovely one, a person who, had she been favoured by
opportunity, would doubtless have played the part of a Cleopatra with equal=
or
greater success, since she shared the beauty and the unscrupulousness of th=
at famous
lady and was, I believe, capable of her passion.
I scarcely like to mention the matter since it
affects myself, and the natural vanity of man makes him prone to conclude t=
hat
he is the particular object of sole and undying devotion. Could he know all=
the
facts of the case, or cases, probably he would be much undeceived, and feel
about as small as I did when Mameena walked, or rather crawled, out of the =
hut
(she could even crawl gracefully). Still, to be honest--and why should I no=
t,
since all this business "went beyond" so long ago?--I do believe =
that
there was a certain amount of truth in what she said--that, for Heaven knows
what reason, she did take a fancy to me, which fancy continued during her s=
hort
and stormy life. But the reader of her story may judge for himself.
Within a fortnight of the day of my discomfitu=
re
in the hut I was quite well and strong again, my ribs, or whatever part of =
me
it was that the buffalo had injured with his iron knees, having mended up.
Also, I was anxious to be going, having business to attend to in Natal, and=
, as
no more had been seen or heard of Saduko, I determined to trek homewards, l=
eaving
a message that he knew where to find me if he wanted me. The truth is that I
was by no means keen on being involved in his private war with Bangu. Indee=
d, I
wished to wash my hands of the whole matter, including the fair Mameena and=
her
mocking eyes.
So one morning, having already got up my oxen,=
I
told Scowl to inspan them--an order which he received with joy, for he and =
the
other boys wished to be off to civilisation and its delights. Just as the
operation was beginning, however, a message came to me from old Umbezi, who
begged me to delay my departure till after noon, as a friend of his, a big =
chief,
had come to visit him who wished much to have the honour of making my
acquaintance. Now, I wished the big chief farther off, but, as it seemed ru=
de
to refuse the request of one who had been so kind to me, I ordered the oxen=
to
be unyoked but kept at hand, and in an irritable frame of mind walked up to=
the
kraal. This was about half a mile from my place of outspan, for as soon as I
was sufficiently recovered I had begun to sleep in my wagon, leaving the big
hut to the "Worn-out-Old-Cow."
There was no particular reason why I should be
irritated, since time in those days was of no great account in Zululand, an=
d it
did not much matter to me whether I trekked in the morning or the afternoon.
But the fact was that I could not get over the prophecy of Zikali, "th=
e Little
and Wise," that I was destined to share Saduko's expedition against Ba=
ngu,
and, although he had been right about the buffalo and Mameena, I was determ=
ined
to prove him wrong in this particular.
If I had left the country, obviously I could n=
ot
go against Bangu, at any rate at present. But while I remained in it Saduko
might return at any moment, and then, doubtless, I should find it hard to
escape from the kind of half-promise that I had given to him.
Well, as soon as I reached the kraal I saw tha=
t some
kind of festivity was in progress, for an ox had been killed and was being
cooked, some of it in pots and some by roasting; also there were several
strange Zulus present. Within the fence of the kraal, seated in its shadow,=
I
found Umbezi and some of his headmen, and with them a great, brawny
"ringed" native, who wore a tiger-skin moocha as a mark of rank, =
and
some of his headmen. Also Mameena was standing near the gate, dressed in he=
r best
beads and holding a gourd of Kafir beer which, evidently, she had just been
handing to the guests.
"Would you have run away without saying
good-bye to me, Macumazahn?" she whispered to me as I came abreast of =
her.
"That is unkind of you, and I should have wept much. However, it was n=
ot
so fated."
"I was going to ride up and bid farewell =
when
the oxen were inspanned," I answered. "But who is that man?"=
"You will find out presently, Macumazahn.
Look, my father is beckoning to us."
So I went on to the circle, and as I advanced
Umbezi rose and, taking me by the hand, led me to the big man, saying:
"This is Masapo, chief of the Amansomi, of
the Quabe race, who desires to know you, Macumazahn."
"Very kind of him, I am sure," I rep=
lied
coolly, as I threw my eye over Masapo. He was, as I have said, a big man, a=
nd
of about fifty years of age, for his hair was tinged with grey. To be frank=
, I
took a great dislike to him at once, for there was something in his strong,
coarse face, and his air of insolent pride, which repelled me. Then I was s=
ilent,
since among the Zulus, when two strangers of more or less equal rank meet, =
he
who speaks first acknowledges inferiority to the other. Therefore I stood a=
nd
contemplated this new suitor of Mameena, waiting on events.
Masapo also contemplated me, then made some re=
mark
to one of his attendants, that I did not catch, which caused the fellow to
laugh.
"He has heard that you are an ipisi"=
(a
great hunter), broke in Umbezi, who evidently felt that the situation was
growing strained, and that it was necessary to say something.
"Has he?" I answered. "Then he =
is
more fortunate than I am, for I have never heard of him or what he is."
This, I am sorry to say, was a fib, for it will be remembered that Mameena =
had
mentioned him in the hut as one of her suitors, but among natives one must =
keep
up one's dignity somehow. "Friend Umbezi," I went on, "I have
come to bid you farewell, as I am about to trek for Durban."
At this juncture Masapo stretched out his great
hand to me, but without rising, and said:
"Siyakubona [that is, good-day], White Ma=
n."
"Siyakubona, Black Man," I answered,
just touching his fingers, while Mameena, who had come up again with her be=
er,
and was facing me, made a little grimace and tittered.
Now I turned on my heel to go, whereon Masapo =
said
in a coarse, growling voice:
"O Macumazana, before you leave us I wish=
to
speak with you on a certain matter. Will it please you to sit aside with me=
for
a while?"
"Certainly, O Masapo." And I walked =
away
a few yards out of hearing, whither he followed me.
"Macumazahn," he said (I give the gi=
st
of his remarks, for he did not come to the point at once), "I need gun=
s,
and I am told that you can provide them, being a trader."
"Yes, Masapo, I dare say that I can, at a
price, though it is a risky business smuggling guns into Zululand. But migh=
t I
ask what you need them for? is it to shoot elephants?"
"Yes, to shoot elephants," he replie=
d,
rolling his big eyes round him. "Macumazahn, I am told that you are
discreet, that you do not shout from the top of a hut what you hear within =
it.
Now, hearken to me. Our country is disturbed; we do not all of us love the =
seed
of Senzangakona, of whom the present king, Panda, is one. For instance, you=
may
know that we Quabies--for my tribe, the Amansomi, are of that race--suffere=
d at
the spear of Chaka. Well, we think that a time may come when we who live on
shrubs like goats may again browse on tree-tops like giraffes, for Panda is=
no
strong king, and he has sons who hate each other, one of whom may need our
spears. Do you understand?"
"I understand that you want guns, O
Masapo," I answered dryly. "Now, as to the price and place of
delivery."
Then we bargained for a while, but the details=
of
that business transaction of long ago will interest no one. Indeed, I only
mention the matter to show that Masapo was plotting to bring trouble on the
ruling house, whereof Panda was the representative at that time.
When we had concluded our rather nefarious
negotiations, which were to the effect that I was to receive so many cattle=
in
return for so many guns, if I could deliver them at a certain spot, namely,
Umbezi's kraal, I returned to the circle where Umbezi, his followers and gu=
ests
were sitting, purposing to bid him farewell. By now, however, meat had been=
served,
and as I was hungry, having had little breakfast that morning, I stayed to =
eat.
When I had finished my meal, and washed it down with a draught of tshwala (=
that
is, Kafir beer), I rose to go, but just at that moment who should walk thro=
ugh
the gate but Saduko?
"Piff!" said Mameena, who was standi=
ng near
me, speaking in a voice that none but I could hear. "When two bucks me=
et,
what happens, Macumazahn?"
"Sometimes they fight and sometimes one r=
uns
away. It depends very much on the doe," I answered in the same low voi=
ce,
looking at her.
She shrugged her shoulders, folded her arms
beneath her breast, nodded to Saduko as he passed, then leaned gracefully
against the fence and awaited events.
"Greeting, Umbezi," said Saduko in h=
is
proud manner. "I see that you feast. Am I welcome here?"
"Of course you are always welcome,
Saduko," replied Umbezi uneasily, "although, as it happens, I am
entertaining a great man." And he looked towards Masapo.
"I see," said Saduko, eyeing the
strangers. "But which of these may be the great man? I ask that I may
salute him."
"You know well enough, umfokazana" (=
that
is, low fellow), exclaimed Masapo angrily.
"I know that if you were outside this fen=
ce,
Masapo, I would cram that word down your throat at the point of my
assegai," replied Saduko in a fierce voice. "Oh, I can guess your
business here, Masapo, and you can guess mine," and he glanced towards
Mameena. "Tell me, Umbezi, is this little chief of the Amansomi your
daughter's accepted suitor?"
"Nay, nay, Saduko," said Umbezi;
"no one is her accepted suitor. Will you not sit down and take food wi=
th
us? Tell us where you have been, and why you return here thus suddenly,
and--uninvited?"
"I return here, O Umbezi, to speak with t=
he
white chief, Macumazahn. As to where I have been, that is my affair, and not
yours or Masapo's."
"Now, if I were chief of this kraal,"
said Masapo, "I would hunt out of it this hyena with a mangy coat and
without a hole who comes to devour your meat and, perhaps," he added w=
ith
meaning, "to steal away your child."
"Did I not tell you, Macumazahn, that when
two bucks met they would fight?" whispered Mameena suavely into my ear=
.
"Yes, Mameena, you did--or rather I told =
you.
But you did not tell me what the doe would do."
"The doe, Macumazahn, will crouch in her =
form
and see what happens--as is the fashion of does," and again she laughed
softly.
"Why not do your own hunting, Masapo?&quo=
t;
asked Saduko. "Come, now, I will promise you good sport. Outside this
kraal there are other hyenas waiting who call me chief--a hundred or two of
them--assembled for a certain purpose by the royal leave of King Panda, who=
se
House, as we all know, you hate. Come, leave that beef and beer and begin y=
our
hunting of hyenas, O Masapo."
Now Masapo sat silent, for he saw that he who
thought to snare a baboon had caught a tiger.
"You do not speak, O Chief of the little
Amansomi," went on Saduko, who was beside himself with rage and jealou=
sy.
"You will not leave your beef and beer to hunt the hyenas who are
captained by an umfokazana! Well, then, the umfokazana will speak," an=
d,
stepping up to Masapo, with the spear he carried poised in his right hand,
Saduko grasped his rival's short beard with his left.
"Listen, Chief," he said. "You =
and
I are enemies. You seek the woman I seek, and, mayhap, being rich, you will=
buy
her. But if so, I tell you that I will kill you and all your House, you
sneaking, half-bred dog!"
With these fierce words he spat in his face and
tumbled him backwards. Then, before anyone could stop him, for Umbezi, and =
even
Masapo's headmen, seemed paralysed with surprise, he stalked through the kr=
aal gate,
saying as he passed me:
"Inkoosi, I have words for you when you a=
re
at liberty."
"You shall pay for this," roared Umb=
ezi
after him, turning almost green with rage, for Masapo still lay upon his br=
oad
back, speechless, "you who dare to insult my guest in my own house.&qu=
ot;
"Somebody must pay," cried back Sadu=
ko
from the gate, "but who it is only the unborn moons will see."
"Mameena," I said as I followed him,
"you have set fire to the grass, and men will be burned in it."
"I meant to, Macumazahn," she answer=
ed
calmly. "Did I not tell you that there was a flame in me, and it will
break out sometimes? But, Macumazahn, it is you who have set fire to the gr=
ass,
not I. Remember that when half Zululand is in ashes. Farewell, O Macumazana,
till we meet again, and," she added softly, "whoever else must bu=
rn,
may the spirits have you in their keeping."
At the gate, remembering my manners, I turned =
to
bid that company a polite farewell. By now Masapo had gained his feet, and =
was
roaring out like a bull:
"Kill him! Kill the hyena! Umbezi, will y=
ou
sit still and see me, your guest--me, Masapo--struck and insulted under the
shadow of your own hut? Go forth and kill him, I say!"
"Why not kill him yourself, Masapo,"
asked the agitated Umbezi, "or bid your headmen kill him? Who am I tha=
t I
should take precedence of so great a chief in a matter of the spear?" =
Then
he turned towards me, saying: "Oh, Macumazahn the crafty, if I have de=
alt
well by you, come here and give me your counsel."
"I come, Eater-up-of-Elephants," I
answered, and I did.
"What shall I do--what shall I do?" =
went
on Umbezi, brushing the perspiration off his brow with one hand, while he w=
rung
the other in his agitation. "There stands a friend of mine"--he p=
ointed
to the infuriated Masapo--"who wishes me to kill another friend of
mine," and he jerked his thumb towards the kraal gate. "If I refu=
se I
offend one friend, and if I consent I bring blood upon my hands which will =
call
for blood, since, although Saduko is poor, without doubt he has those who l=
ove him."
"Yes," I answered, "and perhaps=
you
will bring blood upon other parts of yourself besides your hands, since Sad=
uko
is not one to sit still like a sheep while his throat is cut. Also did he n=
ot
say that he is not quite alone? Umbezi, if you will take my advice, you will
leave Masapo to do his own killing."
"It is good; it is wise!" exclaimed
Umbezi. "Masapo," he called to that warrior, "if you wish to
fight, pray do not think of me. I see nothing, I hear nothing, and I promise
proper burial to any who fall. Only you had best be swift, for Saduko is
walking away all this time. Come, you and your people have spears, and the =
gate
stands open."
"Am I to go without my meat in order to k=
nock
that hyena on the head?" asked Masapo in a brave voice. "No, he c=
an
wait my leisure. Sit still, my people. I tell you, sit still. Tell him, you
Macumazahn, that I am coming for him presently, and be warned to keep yours=
elf
away from him, lest you should tumble into his hole."
"I will tell him," I answered,
"though I know not who made me your messenger. But listen to me, you
Speaker of big words and Doer of small deeds, if you dare to lift a finger
against me I will teach you something about holes, for there shall be one o=
r more
through that great carcass of yours."
Then, walking up to him, I looked him in the f=
ace,
and at the same time tapped the handle of the big double-barrelled pistol I
carried.
He shrank back muttering something.
"Oh, don't apologise," I said,
"only be more careful in future. And now I wish you a good dinner, Chi=
ef
Masapo, and peace upon your kraal, friend Umbezi."
After this speech I marched off, followed by t=
he
clamour of Masapo's furious attendants and the sound of Mameena's light and
mocking laughter.
"I wonder which of them she will marry?&q=
uot;
I thought to myself, as I set out for the wagons.
As I approached my camp I saw that the oxen we=
re
being inspanned, as I supposed by the order of Scowl, who must have heard t=
hat
there was a row up at the kraal, and thought it well to be ready to bolt. In
this I was mistaken, however, for just then Saduko strolled out of a patch =
of
bush and said:
"I ordered your boys to yoke up the oxen,
Inkoosi."
"Have you? That's cool!" I answered.
"Perhaps you will tell me why."
"Because we must make a good trek to the
northward before night, Inkoosi."
"Indeed! I thought that I was heading
south-east."
"Bangu does not live in the south or the
east," he replied slowly.
"Oh, I had almost forgotten about
Bangu," I said, with a rather feeble attempt at evasion.
"Is it so?" he answered in his haugh=
ty
voice. "I never knew before that Macumazahn was a man who broke a prom=
ise
to his friend."
"Would you be so kind as to explain your
meaning, Saduko?"
"Is it needful?" he answered, shrugg=
ing
his shoulders. "Unless my ears played me tricks, you agreed to go up w=
ith
me against Bangu. Well, I have gathered the necessary men--with the king's
leave--they await us yonder," and he pointed with his spear towards a
dense patch of bush that lay some miles beneath us. "But," he add=
ed,
"if you desire to change your mind I will go alone. Only then, I think=
, we
had better bid each other good-bye, since I love not friends who change the=
ir
minds when the assegais begin to shake."
Now, whether Saduko spoke thus by design I do =
not
know. Certainly, however, he could have found no better way to ensure my
companionship for what it was worth, since, although I had made no actual
promise in this case, I have always prided myself on keeping even a half-ba=
rgain
with a native.
"I will go with you," I said quietly,
"and I hope that, when it comes to the pinch, your spear will be as sh=
arp
as your tongue, Saduko. Only do not speak to me again like that, lest we sh=
ould
quarrel."
As I said this I saw a look of relief appear on
his face, of very great relief.
"I pray your pardon, my lord
Macumazahn," he said, seizing my hand, "but, oh! there is a hole =
in
my heart. I think that Mameena means to play me false, and now that has
happened with yonder dog, Masapo, which will make her father hate me."=
"If you will take my advice, Saduko,"=
; I
replied earnestly, "you will let this Mameena fall out of the hole in =
your
heart; you will forget her name; you will have done with her. Ask me not
why."
"Perhaps there is no need, O Macumazana.
Perhaps she has been making love to you, and you have turned her away, as,
being what you are, and my friend, of course you would do." (It is rat=
her
inconvenient to be set upon such a pedestal at times, but I did not attempt=
to
assent or to deny anything, much less to enter into explanations.)
"Perhaps all this has happened," he
continued, "or perhaps it is she who has sent for Masapo the Hog. I do=
not
ask, because if you know you will not tell me. Moreover, it matters nothing.
While I have a heart, Mameena will never drop out of it; while I can rememb=
er
names, hers will never be forgotten by me. Moreover, I mean that she shall =
be
my wife. Now, I am minded to take a few men and spear this hog, Masapo, bef=
ore
we go up against Bangu, for then he, at any rate, will be out of my road.&q=
uot;
"If you do anything of the sort, Saduko, =
you
will go up against Bangu alone, for I trek east at once, who will not be mi=
xed
up with murder."
"Then let it be, Inkoosi; unless he attac=
ks
me, as my Snake send that he may, the Hog can wait. After all, he will only=
be
growing a little fatter. Now, if it pleases you order the wagons to trek. I
will show the road, for we must camp in that bush to-night where my people =
wait
me, and there I will tell you my plans; also you will find one with a messa=
ge
for you."
We had
reached the bush after six hours' downhill trek over a pretty bad track mad=
e by
cattle--of course, there were no roads in Zululand at this date. I remember=
the
place well. It was a kind of spreading woodland on a flat bottom, where tre=
es
of no great size grew sparsely. Some were mimosa thorns, others had deep gr=
een
leaves and bore a kind of plum with an acid taste and a huge stone, and oth=
ers
silver-coloured leaves in their season. A river, too, low at this time of t=
he
year, wound through it, and in the scrub upon its banks were many guinea-fo=
wl
and other birds. It was a pleasing, lonely place, with lots of game in it, =
that
came here in the winter to eat the grass, which was lacking on the higher v=
eld.
Also it gave the idea of vastness, since wherever one looked there was noth=
ing
to be seen except a sea of trees.
Well, we outspanned by the river, of which I
forget the name, at a spot that Saduko showed us, and set to work to cook o=
ur food,
that consisted of venison from a blue wildebeest, one of a herd of these
wild-looking animals which I had been fortunate enough to shoot as they whi=
sked
past us, gambolling in and out between the trees.
While we were eating I observed that armed Zul=
us
arrived continually in parties of from six to a score of men, and as they
arrived lifted their spears, though whether in salutation to Saduko or to
myself I did not know, and sat themselves down on an open space between us =
and
the river-bank. Although it was difficult to say whence they came, for they
appeared like ghosts out of the bush, I thought it well to take no notice of
them, since I guessed that their coming was prearranged.
"Who are they?" I whispered to Scowl=
, as
he brought me my tot of "squareface."
"Saduko's wild men," he answered in = the same low voice, "outlaws of his tribe who live among the rocks."<= o:p>
Now I scanned them sideways, while pretending =
to
light my pipe and so forth, and certainly they seemed a remarkably savage s=
et
of people. Great, gaunt fellows with tangled hair, who wore tattered skins =
upon
their shoulders and seemed to have no possessions save some snuff, a few sl=
eeping-mats,
and an ample supply of large fighting shields, hardwood kerries or knob-sti=
cks,
and broad ixwas, or stabbing assegais. Such was the look of them as they sat
round us in silent semicircles, like aas-võgels--as the Dutch call
vultures--sit round a dying ox.
Still I smoked on and took no notice.
At length, as I expected, Saduko grew weary of=
my
silence and spoke. "These are men of the Amangwane tribe, Macumazahn;
three hundred of them, all that Bangu left alive, for when their fathers we=
re
killed, the women escaped with some of the children, especially those of th=
e outlying
kraals. I have gathered them to be revenged upon Bangu, I who am their chie=
f by
right of blood."
"Quite so," I answered. "I see =
that
you have gathered them; but do they wish to be revenged on Bangu at the ris=
k of
their own lives?"
"We do, white Inkoosi," came the
deep-throated answer from the three hundred.
"And do they acknowledge you, Saduko, to =
be
their chief?"
"We do," again came the answer. Then=
a
spokesman stepped forward, one of the few grey-haired men among them, for m=
ost
of these Amangwane were of the age of Saduko, or even younger.
"O Watcher-by-Night," he said, "=
;I
am Tshoza, the brother of Matiwane, Saduko's father, the only one of his
brothers that escaped the slaughter on the night of the Great Killing. Is it
not so?"
"It is so," exclaimed the serried ra=
nks
behind him.
"I acknowledge Saduko as my chief, and so=
do
we all," went on Tshoza.
"So do we all," echoed the ranks.
"Since Matiwane died we have lived as we
could, O Macumazana; like baboons among the rocks, without cattle, often
without a hut to shelter us; here one, there one. Still, we have lived,
awaiting the hour of vengeance upon Bangu, that hour which Zikali the Wise,=
who
is of our blood, has promised to us. Now we believe that it has come, and o=
ne
and all, from here, from there, from everywhere, we have gathered at the su=
mmons
of Saduko to be led against Bangu and to conquer him or to die. Is it not s=
o,
Amangwane?"
"It is, it is so!" came the deep,
unanimous answer, that caused the stirless leaves to shake in the still air=
.
"I understand, O Tshoza, brother of Matiw=
ane
and uncle of Saduko the chief," I replied. "But Bangu is a strong
man, living, I am told, in a strong place. Still, let that go; for have you=
not
said that you come out to conquer or to die, you who have nothing to lose; =
and
if you conquer, you conquer; and if you die, you die and the tale is told. =
But supposing
that you conquer. What will Panda, King of the Zulus, say to you, and to me
also, who stir up war in his country?"
Now the Amangwane looked behind them, and Sadu=
ko
cried out:
"Appear, messenger from Panda the King!&q=
uot;
Before his words had ceased to echo I saw a
little, withered man threading his way between the tall, gaunt forms of the
Amangwane. He came and stood before me, saying:
"Hail, Macumazahn. Do you remember me?&qu=
ot;
"Aye," I answered, "I remember =
you
as Maputa, one of Panda's indunas."
"Quite so, Macumazahn; I am Maputa, one of
his indunas, a member of his Council, a captain of his impis [that is, armi=
es],
as I was to his brothers who are gone, whose names it is not lawful that I =
should
name. Well, Panda the King has sent me to you, at the request of Saduko the=
re, with
a message."
"How do I know that you are a true
messenger?" I asked. "Have you brought me any token?"
"Aye," he answered, and, fumbling un=
der
his cloak, he produced something wrapped in dried leaves, which he undid and
handed to me, saying:
"This is the token that Panda sends to yo=
u,
Macumazahn, bidding me to tell you that you will certainly know it again; a=
lso
that you are welcome to it, since the two little bullets which he swallowed=
as
you directed made him very ill, and he needs no more of them."
I took the token, and, examining it in the
moonlight, recognised it at once.
It was a cardboard box of strong calomel pills=
, on
the top of which was written: "Allan Quatermain, Esq.: One only to be
taken as directed." Without entering into explanations, I may state th=
at I
had taken "one as directed," and subsequently presented the rest =
of
the box to King Panda, who was very anxious to "taste the white man's
medicine."
"Do you recognise the token,
Macumazahn?" asked the induna.
"Yes," I replied gravely; "and =
let
the King return thanks to the spirits of his ancestors that he did not swal=
low
three of the balls, for if he had done so, by now there would have been ano=
ther
Head in Zululand. Well, speak on, Messenger."
But to myself I reflected, not for the first t=
ime,
how strangely these natives could mix up the sublime with the ridiculous. H=
ere
was a matter that must involve the death of many men, and the token sent to=
me
by the autocrat who stood at the back of it all, to prove the good faith of=
his
messenger, was a box of calomel pills! However, it served the purpose as we=
ll
as anything else.
Maputa and I drew aside, for I saw that he wis=
hed
to speak with me alone.
"O Macumazana," he said, when we were
out of hearing of the others, "these are the words of Panda to you: 'I
understand that you, Macumazahn, have promised to accompany Saduko, son of
Matiwane, on an expedition of his against Bangu, chief of the Amakoba. Now,
were anyone else concerned, I should forbid this expedition, and especially
should I forbid you, a white man in my country, to share therein. But this =
dog
of a Bangu is an evil-doer. Many years ago he worked on the Black One who w=
ent
before me to send him to destroy Matiwane, my friend, filling the Black One=
's
ears with false accusations; and thereafter he did treacherously destroy him
and all his tribe save Saduko, his son, and some of the people and children=
who
escaped. Moreover, of late he has been working against me, the King, strivi=
ng
to stir up rebellion against me, because he knows that I hate him for his
crimes. Now I, Panda, unlike those who went before me, am a man of peace wh=
o do
not wish to light the fire of civil war in the land, for who knows where su=
ch
fires will stop, or whose kraals they will consume? Yet I do wish to see Ba=
ngu punished
for his wickedness, and his pride abated. Therefore I give Saduko leave, and
those people of the Amangwane who remain to him, to avenge their private wr=
ongs
upon Bangu if they can; and I give you leave, Macumazahn, to be of his part=
y.
Moreover, if any cattle are taken, I shall ask no account of them; you and
Saduko may divide them as you wish. But understand, O Macumazana, that if y=
ou
or your people are killed or wounded, or robbed of your goods, I know nothi=
ng
of the matter, and am not responsible to you or to the white House of Natal=
; it
is your own matter. These are my words. I have spoken.'"
"I see," I answered. "I am to p=
ull
Panda's hot iron out of the fire and to extinguish the fire. If I succeed I=
may
keep a piece of the iron when it gets cool, and if I burn my fingers it is =
my
own fault, and I or my House must not come crying to Panda."
"O Watcher-by-Night, you have speared the
bull in the heart," replied Maputa, the messenger, nodding his shrewd =
old
head. "Well, will you go up with Saduko?"
"Say to the King, O Messenger, that I wil=
l go
up with Saduko because I promised him that I would, being moved by the tale=
of
his wrongs, and not for the sake of the cattle, although it is true that if=
I
hear any of them lowing in my camp I may keep them. Say to Panda also that =
if aught
of ill befalls me he shall hear nothing of it, nor will I bring his high na=
me
into this business; but that he, on his part, must not blame me for anything
that may happen afterwards. Have you the message?"
"I have it word for word; and may your Sp=
irit
be with you, Macumazahn, when you attack the strong mountain of Bangu, whic=
h,
were I you," Maputa added reflectively, "I think I should do just=
at
the dawn, since the Amakoba drink much beer and are heavy sleepers."
Then we took a pinch of snuff together, and he
departed at once for Nodwengu, Panda's Great Place.
Fourt=
een
days had gone by, and Saduko and I, with our ragged band of Amangwane, sat =
one
morning, after a long night march, in the hilly country looking across a br=
oad
vale, which was sprinkled with trees like an English park, at that mountain=
on
the side of which Bangu, chief of the Amakoba, had his kraal.
It was a very formidable mountain, and, as we =
had
already observed, the paths leading up to the kraal were amply protected wi=
th
stone walls in which the openings were quite narrow, only just big enough to
allow one ox to pass through them at a time. Moreover, all these walls had =
been
strengthened recently, perhaps because Bangu was aware that Panda looked up=
on
him, a northern chief dwelling on the confines of his dominions, with suspi=
cion
and even active enmity, as he was also no doubt aware Panda had good cause =
to
do.
Here in a dense patch of bush that grew in a k=
loof
of the hills we held a council of war.
So far as we knew our advance had been unobser= ved, for I had left my wagons in the low veld thirty miles away, giving it out a= mong the local natives that I was hunting game there, and bringing on with me on= ly Scowl and four of my best hunters, all well-armed natives who could shoot. The th= ree hundred Amangwane also had advanced in small parties, separated from each other, pretending to be Kafirs marching towards Delagoa Bay. Now, however, = we had all met in this bush. Among our number were three Amangwane who, on the slaughter of their tribe, had fled with their mothers to this district and = been brought up among the people of Bangu, but who at his summons had come back = to Saduko. It was on these men that we relied at this juncture, for they alone knew the country. Long and anxiously did we consult with them. First they explained, and, so far as the moonlight would allow, for as yet the dawn had not broken, pointed out to us the various paths that led to Bangu's kraal.<= o:p>
"How many men are there in the town?"=
; I
asked.
"About seven hundred who carry spears,&qu=
ot;
they answered, "together with others in outlying kraals. Moreover,
watchmen are always set at the gateways in the walls."
"And where are the cattle?" I asked
again.
"Here, in the valley beneath,
Macumazahn," answered the spokesman. "If you listen you will hear
them lowing. Fifty men, not less, watch them at night--two thousand head of
them, or more."
"Then it would not be difficult to get ro=
und
these cattle and drive them off, leaving Bangu to breed up a new herd?"=
;
"It might not be difficult," interru=
pted
Saduko, "but I came here to kill Bangu, as well as to seize his cattle,
since with him I have a blood feud."
"Very good," I answered; "but t=
hat
mountain cannot be stormed with three hundred men, fortified as it is with
walls and schanzes. Our band would be destroyed before ever we came to the
kraal, since, owing to the sentries who are set everywhere, it would be
impossible to surprise the place. Also you have forgotten the dogs, Saduko.
Moreover, even if it were possible, I will have nothing to do with the mass=
acre
of women and children, which must happen in an assault. Now, listen to me, O
Saduko. I say let us leave the kraal of Bangu alone, and this coming night =
send
fifty of our men, under the leadership of the guides, down to yonder bush,
where they will lie hid. Then, after moonrise, when all are asleep, these f=
ifty
must rush the cattle kraal, killing any who may oppose them, should they be
seen, and driving the herd out through yonder great pass by which we have
entered the land. Bangu and his people, thinking that those who have taken =
the
cattle are but common thieves of some wild tribe, will gather and follow the
beasts to recapture them. But we, with the rest of the Amangwane, can set a=
n ambush
in the narrowest part of the pass among the rocks, where the grass is high =
and
the euphorbia trees grow thick, and there, when they have passed the Nek, w=
hich
I and my hunters will hold with our guns, we will give them battle. What say
you?"
Now, Saduko answered that he would rather atta=
ck
the kraal, which he wished to burn. But the old Amangwane, Tshoza, brother =
of
the dead Matiwane, said:
"No, Macumazahn, Watcher-by-Night, is wis=
e.
Why should we waste our strength on stone walls, of which none know the num=
ber
or can find the gates in the darkness, and thereby leave our skulls to be s=
et
up as ornaments on the fences of the accursed Amakoba? Let us draw the Amak=
oba out
into the pass of the mountains, where they have no walls to protect them, a=
nd
there fall on them when they are bewildered and settle the matter with them=
man
to man. As for the women and children, with Macumazahn I say let them go;
afterwards, perhaps, they will become our women and children."
"Aye," answered the Amangwane, "=
;the
plan of the white Inkoosi is good; he is clever as a weasel; we will have h=
is
plan and no other."
So Saduko was overruled and my counsel adopted=
.
All that day we rested, lighting no fires and
remaining still as the dead in the dense bush. It was a very anxious day, f=
or
although the place was so wild and lonely, there was always the fear lest we
should be discovered. It was true that we had travelled mostly by night in =
small
parties, to avoid leaving a spoor, and avoided all kraals; still, some rumo=
ur
of our approach might have reached the Amakoba, or a party of hunters might
stumble on us, or those who sought for lost cattle.
Indeed, something of this sort did happen, for
about midday we heard a footfall, and perceived the figure of a man, whom by
his head-dress we knew for an Amakoba, threading his way through the bush.
Before he saw us he was in our midst. For a moment he hesitated ere he turn=
ed
to fly, and that moment was his last, for three of the Amangwane leapt on h=
im silently
as leopards leap upon a buck, and where he stood there he died. Poor fellow!
Evidently he had been on a visit to some witch-doctor, for in his blanket we
found medicine and love charms. This doctor cannot have been one of the sta=
mp
of Zikali the Dwarf, I thought to myself; at least, he had not warned him t=
hat
he would never live to dose his beloved with that foolish medicine.
Meanwhile a few of us who had the quickest eyes
climbed trees, and thence watched the town of Bangu and the valley that lay
between us and it. Soon we saw that so far, at any rate, Fortune was playing
into our hands, since herd after herd of kine were driven into the valley
during the afternoon and enclosed in the stock-kraals. Doubtless Bangu inte=
nded
on the morrow to make his half-yearly inspection of all the cattle of the
tribe, many of which were herded at a distance from his town.
At length the long day drew to its close and t=
he
shadows of the evening thickened. Then we made ready for our dreadful game,=
of
which the stake was the lives of all of us, since, should we fail, we could
expect no mercy. The fifty picked men were gathered and ate food in silence=
. These
men were placed under the command of Tshoza, for he was the most experience=
d of
the Amangwane, and led by the three guides who had dwelt among the Amakoba,=
and
who "knew every ant-heap in the land," or so they swore. Their du=
ty,
it will be remembered, was to cross the valley, separate themselves into sm=
all
parties, unbar the various cattle kraals, kill or hunt off the herdsmen, and
drive the beasts back across the valley into the pass. A second fifty men,
under the command of Saduko, were to be left just at the end of this pass w=
here
it opened out into the valley, in order to help and reinforce the
cattle-lifters, or, if need be, to check the following Amakoba while the gr=
eat
herds of beasts were got away, and then fall back on the rest of us in our
ambush nearly two miles distant. The management of this ambush was to be my
charge--a heavy one indeed.
Now, the moon would not be up till midnight. B=
ut
two hours before that time we began our moves, since the cattle must be dri=
ven
out of the kraals as soon as she appeared and gave the needful light. Other=
wise
the fight in the pass would in all probability be delayed till after sunris=
e,
when the Amakoba would see how small was the number of their foes. Terror,
doubt, darkness--these must be our allies if our desperate venture was to
succeed.
All was arranged at last and the time had come=
. We,
the three captains of our divided force, bade each other farewell, and pass=
ed
the word down the ranks that, should we be separated by the accidents of wa=
r,
my wagons were the meeting-place of any who survived.
Tshoza and his fifty glided away into the shad=
ow
silently as ghosts and were gone. Presently the fierce-faced Saduko departed
also with his fifty. He carried the double-barrelled gun I had given him, a=
nd was
accompanied by one of my best hunters, a Natal native, who was also armed w=
ith
a heavy smooth-bore loaded with slugs. Our hope was that the sound of these
guns might terrify the foe, should there be occasion to use them before our
forces joined up again, and make them think they had to do with a body of
raiding Dutch white men, of whose roers--as the heavy elephant guns of that=
day
were called--all natives were much afraid.
So Saduko went with his fifty, leaving me
wondering whether I should ever see his face again. Then I, my bearer Scowl,
the two remaining hunters, and the ten score Amangwane who were left turned=
and
soon were following the road by which we had come down the rugged pass. I c=
all it
a road, but, in fact, it was nothing but a water-washed gully strewn with
boulders, through which we must pick our way as best we could in the darkne=
ss,
having first removed the percussion cap from the nipple of every gun, for f=
ear
lest the accidental discharge of one of them should warn the Amakoba, confu=
se
our other parties, and bring all our deep-laid plans to nothing.
Well, we accomplished that march somehow, walk=
ing
in three long lines, so that each man might keep touch with him in front, a=
nd
just as the moon began to rise reached the spot that I had chosen for the
ambush.
Certainly it was well suited to that purpose. =
Here
the track or gully bed narrowed to a width of not more than a hundred feet,
while the steep slopes of the kloof on either side were clothed with scatte=
red
bushes and finger-like euphorbias which grew among stones. Behind these sto=
nes and
bushes we hid ourselves, a hundred men on one side and a hundred on the oth=
er,
whilst I and my three hunters, who were armed with guns, took up a position
under shelter of a great boulder nearly five feet thick that lay but a litt=
le
to the right of the gully itself, up which we expected the cattle would com=
e.
This place I chose for two reasons: first, that I might keep touch with both
wings of my force, and, secondly, that we might be able to fire straight do=
wn
the path on the pursuing Amakoba.
These were the orders that I gave to the
Amangwane, warning them that he who disobeyed would be punished with death.
They were not to stir until I, or, if I should be killed, one of my hunters,
fired a shot; for my fear was lest, growing excited, they might leap out be=
fore
the time and kill some of our own people, who very likely would be mixed up
with the first of the pursuing Amakoba. Secondly, when the cattle had passed
and the signal had been given, they were to rush on the Amakoba, throwing t=
hemselves
across the gully, so that the enemy would have to fight upwards on a steep
slope.
That was all I told them, since it is not wise=
to
confuse natives by giving too many orders. One thing I added, however--that
they must conquer or they must die. There was no mercy for them; it was a c=
ase of
death or victory. Their spokesman--for these people always find a
spokesman--answered that they thanked me for my advice; that they understoo=
d,
and that they would do their best. Then they lifted their spears to me in
salute. A wild lot of men they looked in the moonlight as they departed to =
take
shelter behind the rocks and trees and wait.
That waiting was long, and I confess that befo=
re
the end it got upon my nerves. I began to think of all sorts of things, suc=
h as
whether I should live to see the sun rise again; also I reflected upon the =
legitimacy
of this remarkable enterprise. What right had I to involve myself in a quar=
rel
between these savages?
Why had I come here? To gain cattle as a trade=
r?
No, for I was not at all sure that I would take them if gained. Because Sad=
uko
had twitted me with faithlessness to my words? Yes, to a certain extent; but
that was by no means the whole reason. I had been moved by the recital of t=
he cruel
wrongs inflicted upon Saduko and his tribe by this Bangu, and therefore had=
not
been loath to associate myself with his attempted vengeance upon a wicked
murderer. Well, that was sound enough so far as it went; but now a new
consideration suggested itself to me. Those wrongs had been worked many yea=
rs
ago; probably most of the men who had aided and abetted them by now were de=
ad
or very aged, and it was their sons upon whom the vengeance would be wreake=
d.
What right had I to assist in visiting the sin=
s of
the fathers upon the sons? Frankly I could not say. The thing seemed to me =
to
be a part of the problem of life, neither less nor more. So I shrugged my
shoulders sadly and consoled myself by reflecting that very likely the issue
would go against me, and that my own existence would pay the price of the v=
enture
and expound its moral. This consideration soothed my conscience somewhat, f=
or
when a man backs his actions with the risk of his life, right or wrong, at =
any
rate he plays no coward's part.
The time went by very slowly and nothing happe=
ned.
The waning moon shone brightly in a clear sky, and as there was no wind the
silence seemed peculiarly intense. Save for the laugh of an occasional hyena
and now and again for a sound which I took for the coughing of a distant li=
on, there
was no stir between sleeping earth and moonlit heaven in which little clouds
floated beneath the pale stars.
At length I thought that I heard a noise, a ki=
nd
of murmur far away. It grew, it developed.
It sounded like a thousand sticks tapping upon
something hard, very faintly. It continued to grow, and I knew the sound for
that of the beating hoofs of animals galloping. Then there were isolated
noises, very faint and thin; they might be shouts; then something that I co=
uld not
mistake--shots fired at a distance. So the business was afoot; the cattle w=
ere
moving, Saduko and my hunter were firing. There was nothing for it but to w=
ait.
The excitement was very fierce; it seemed to
consume me, to eat into my brain. The sound of the tapping upon the rocks g=
rew
louder until it merged into a kind of rumble, mixed with an echo as of that=
of
very distant thunder, which presently I knew to be not thunder, but the bel=
lowing
of a thousand frightened beasts.
Nearer and nearer came the galloping hoofs and=
the
rumble of bellowings; nearer and nearer the shouts of men, affronting the
stillness of the solemn night. At length a single animal appeared, a koodoo
buck that somehow had got mixed up with the cattle. It went past us like a
flash, and was followed a minute or so later by a bull that, being young an=
d light,
had outrun its companions. That, too, went by, foam on its lips and its ton=
gue
hanging from its jaws.
Then the herd appeared--a countless herd it se=
emed
to me--plunging up the incline--cows, heifers, calves, bulls, and oxen, all
mixed together in one inextricable mass, and every one of them snorting,
bellowing, or making some other kind of sound. The din was fearful, the sig=
ht bewildering,
for the beasts were of all colours, and their long horns flashed like ivory=
in
the moonlight. Indeed, the only thing in the least like it which I have ever
seen was the rush of the buffaloes from the reed camp on that day when I go=
t my
injury.
They were streaming past us now, a mighty and
moving mass so closely packed that a man might have walked upon their backs=
. In
fact, some of the calves which had been thrust up by the pressure were being
carried along in this fashion. Glad was I that none of us were in their pat=
h, for
their advance seemed irresistible. No fence or wall could have saved us, and
even stout trees that grew in the gully were snapped or thrust over.
At length the long line began to thin, for now=
it
was composed of stragglers and weak or injured beasts, of which there were
many. Other sounds, too, began to dominate the bellowings of the animals, t=
hose
of the excited cries of men. The first of our companions, the cattle-lifter=
s,
appeared, weary and gasping, but waving their spears in triumph. Among them=
was
old Tshoza. I stepped upon my rock, calling to him by name. He heard me, and
presently was lying at my side panting.
"We have got them all!" he gasped.
"Not a hoof is left save those that are trodden down. Saduko is not far
behind with the rest of our brothers, except some that have been killed. All
the Amakoba tribe are after us. He holds them back to give the cattle time =
to
get away."
"Well done!" I answered. "It is
very good. Now make your men hide among the others that they may find their
breath before the fight."
So he stopped them as they came. Scarcely had =
the
last of them vanished into the bushes when the gathering volume of shouts,
amongst which I heard a gun go off, told us that Saduko and his band and the
pursuing Amakoba were not far away. Presently they, too, appeared--that is =
the handful
of Amangwane did--not fighting now, but running as hard as they could, for =
they
knew they were approaching the ambush and wished to pass it so as not to be
mixed up with the Amakoba. We let them go through us. Among the last of them
came Saduko, who was wounded, for the blood ran down his side, supporting my
hunter, who was also wounded, more severely as I feared.
I called to him.
"Saduko," I said, "halt at the
crest of the path and rest there so that you may be able to help us
presently."
He waved the gun in answer, for he was too
breathless to speak, and went on with those who were left of his
following--perhaps thirty men in all--in the track of the cattle. Before he=
was
out of sight the Amakoba arrived, a mob of five or six hundred men mixed up
together and advancing without order or discipline, for they seemed to have
lost their heads as well as their cattle. Some of them had shields and some=
had
none, some broad and some throwing assegais, while many were quite naked, n=
ot
having stayed to put on their moochas and much less their war finery. Evide=
ntly
they were mad with rage, for the sounds that issued from them seemed to
concentrate into one mighty curse.
The moment had come, though to tell the truth I
heartily wished that it had not. I wasn't exactly afraid, although I never =
set
up for great courage, but I did not quite like the business. After all we w=
ere stealing
these people's cattle, and now were going to kill as many of them as we cou=
ld.
I had to recall Saduko's dreadful story of the massacre of his tribe before=
I
could make up my mind to give the signal. That hardened me, and so did the
reflection that after all they outnumbered us enormously and very likely wo=
uld
prove victors in the end. Anyhow it was too late to repent. What a tricky a=
nd
uncomfortable thing is conscience, that nearly always begins to trouble us =
at
the moment of, or after, the event, not before, when it might be of some us=
e.
I raised myself upon the rock and fired both
barrels of my gun into the advancing horde, though whether I killed anyone =
or
no I cannot say. I have always hoped that I did not; but as the mark was la=
rge
and I am a fair shot, I fear that is scarcely possible. Next moment, with a
howl that sounded like that of wild beasts, from either side of the gorge t=
he fierce
Amangwane free-spears--for that is what they were--leapt out of their hidin=
g-places
and hurled themselves upon their hereditary foes. They were fighting for mo=
re
than cattle; they were fighting for hate and for revenge since these Amakoba
had slaughtered their fathers and their mothers, their sisters and their
brothers, and they alone remained to pay them back blood for blood.
Great heaven! how they did fight, more like de=
vils
than human beings. After that first howl which shaped itself to the word
"Saduko," they were silent as bulldogs. Though they were so few, =
at
first their terrible rush drove back the Amakoba. Then, as these recovered =
from
their surprise, the weight of numbers began to tell, for they, too, were br=
ave
men who did not give way to panic. Scores of them went down at once, but the
remainder pushed the Amangwane before them up the hill. I took little share=
in
the fight, but was thrust backward with the others, only firing when I was
obliged to save my own life. Foot by foot we were pushed back till at lengt=
h we
drew near to the crest of the pass.
Then, while the issue hung in the balance, the=
re
was another shout of "Saduko!" and that chief himself, followed by
his thirty, rushed upon the Amakoba.
This charge decided the battle, for not knowing
how many more were coming, those who were left of the Amakoba turned and fl=
ed,
nor did we pursue them far.
We mustered on the hill-top, not more than two
hundred of us now, the rest were fallen or desperately wounded, my poor hun=
ter,
whom I had lent to Saduko, being among the dead. Although wounded, he died
fighting to the last, then fell down, shouting to me:
"Chief, have I done well?" and expir=
ed.
I was breathless and spent, but as in a dream I
saw some Amangwane drag up a gaunt old savage, crying:
"Here is Bangu, Bangu the Butcher, whom we
have caught alive."
Saduko stepped up to him.
"Ah! Bangu," he said, "now say,=
why
should I not kill you as you would have killed the little lad Saduko long a=
go,
had not Zikali saved him? See, here is the mark of your spear."
"Kill," said Bangu. "Your Spiri=
t is
stronger than mine. Did not Zikali foretell it? Kill, Saduko."
"Nay," answered Saduko. "If you=
are
weary I am weary, too, and wounded as well. Take a spear, Bangu, and we will
fight."
So they fought there in the moonlight, man to =
man;
fought fiercely while all watched, till presently I saw Bangu throw his arms
wide and fall backwards.
Saduk=
o was
avenged. I have always been glad that he slew his enemy thus, and not as it
might have been expected that he would do.
We re=
ached
my wagons in the early morning of the following day, bringing with us the
cattle and our wounded. Thus encumbered it was a most toilsome march, and an
anxious one also, for it was always possible that the remnant of the Amakoba
might attempt pursuit. This, however, they did not do, for very many of them
were dead or wounded, and those who remained had no heart left in them. They
went back to their mountain home and lived there in shame and wretchedness,=
for
I do not believe there were fifty head of cattle left among the tribe, and
Kafirs without cattle are nothing. Still, they did not starve, since there =
were
plenty of women to work the fields, and we had not touched their corn. The =
end
of them was that Panda gave them to their conqueror, Saduko, and he incorpo=
rated
them with the Amangwane. But that did not happen until some time afterwards=
.
When we had rested a while at the wagons the
captured beasts were mustered, and on being counted were found to number a
little over twelve hundred head, not reckoning animals that had been badly =
hurt
in the flight, which we killed for beef. It was a noble prize, truly, and, =
notwithstanding
the wound in his thigh, which hurt him a good deal now that it had stiffene=
d,
Saduko stood up and surveyed them with glistening eyes. No wonder, for he w=
ho
had been so poor was now rich, and would remain so even after he had paid o=
ver
whatever number of cows Umbezi chose to demand as the price of Mameena's ha=
nd.
Moreover, he was sure, and I shared his confidence, that in these changed
circumstances both that young woman and her father would look upon his suit
with very favourable eyes. He had, so to speak, succeeded to the title and =
the family
estates by means of a lawsuit brought in the "Court of the Assegai,&qu=
ot;
and therefore there was hardly a father in Zululand who would shut his kraal
gate upon him. We forgot, both of us, the proverb that points out how numer=
ous
are the slips between the cup and the lip, which, by the way, is one that h=
as
its Zulu equivalents. One of them, if I remember right at the moment, is:
"However loud the hen cackles, the housewife does not always get the
egg."
As it chanced, although Saduko's hen was cackl=
ing
very loudly just at this time, he was not destined to find the coveted egg.=
But
of that matter I will speak in its place.
I, too, looked at those cattle, wondering whet=
her
Saduko would remember our bargain, under which some six hundred head of them
belonged to me. Six hundred head! Why, putting them at £5 apiece all round-=
-and
as oxen were very scarce just at that time, they were worth quite as much, =
if not
more--that meant £3,000, a larger sum of money than I had ever owned at one
time in all my life. Truly the paths of violence were profitable! But would=
he
remember? On the whole I thought probably not, since Kafirs are not fond of
parting with cattle.
Well, I did him an injustice, for presently he
turned and said, with something of an effort:
"Macumazahn, half of all these belong to =
you,
and truly you have earned them, for it was your cunning and good counsel th=
at
gained us the victory. Now we will choose them beast by beast."
So I chose a fine ox, then Saduko chose one; a=
nd
so it went on till I had eight of my number driven out. As the eighth was t=
aken
I turned to Saduko and said:
"There, that will do. These oxen I must h=
ave
to replace those in my teams which died on the trek, but I want no more.&qu=
ot;
"Wow!" said Saduko, and all those who
stood with him, while one of them added--I think it was old Tshoza:
"He refuses six hundred cattle which are
fairly his! He must be mad!"
"No friends," I answered, "I am= not mad, but neither am I bad. I accompanied Saduko on this raid because he is = dear to me and stood by me once in the hour of danger. But I do not love killing= men with whom I have no quarrel, and I will not take the price of blood."<= o:p>
"Wow!" said old Tshoza again, for Sa=
duko
seemed too astonished to speak, "he is a spirit, not a man. He is
holy!"
"Not a bit of it," I answered. "=
;If
you think that, ask Mameena"--a dark saying which they did not underst=
and.
"Now, listen. I will not take those cattle because I do not think as y=
ou
Kafirs think. But as they are mine, according to your law, I am going to
dispose of them. I give ten head to each of my hunters, and fifteen head to=
the
relations of him who was killed. The rest I give to Tshoza and to the other=
men
of the Amangwane who fought with us, to be divided among them in such propo=
rtions
as they may agree, I being the judge in the event of any quarrel arising.&q=
uot;
Now these men raised a great cry of
"Inkoosi!" and, running up, old Tshoza seized my hand and kissed =
it.
"Your heart is big," he cried; "=
;you
drop fatness! Although you are so small, the spirit of a king lives in you,=
and
the wisdom of the heavens."
Thus he praised me, while all the others joined
in, till the din was awful. Saduko thanked me also in his magnificent manne=
r.
Yet I do not think that he was altogether pleased, although my great gift
relieved him from the necessity of sharing up the spoil with his companions=
. The
truth was, or so I believe, that he understood that henceforth the Amangwane
would love me better than they loved him. This, indeed, proved to be the ca=
se,
for I am sure that there was no man among all those wild fellows who would =
not
have served me to the death, and to this day my name is a power among them =
and
their descendants. Also it has grown into something of a proverb among all
those Kafirs who know the story. They talk of any great act of liberality i=
n an
idiom as "a gift of Macumazana," and in the same way of one who m=
akes
any remarkable renunciation, as "a wearer of Macumazana's blanket,&quo=
t;
or as "he who has stolen Macumazana's shadow."
Thus did I earn a great reputation very cheapl=
y,
for really I could not have taken those cattle; also I am sure that had I d=
one
so they would have brought me bad luck. Indeed, one of the regrets of my li=
fe
is that I had anything whatsoever to do with the business.
Our j=
ourney
back to Umbezi's kraal--for thither we were heading--was very slow, hampere=
d as
we were with wounded and by a vast herd of cattle. Of the latter, indeed, we
got rid after a while, for, except those which I had given to my men, and a
hundred or so of the best beasts that Saduko took with him for a certain
purpose, they were sent away to a place which he had chosen, in charge of a=
bout
half of his people, under the command of his uncle, Tshoza, there to await =
his coming.
Over a month had gone by since the night of the
ambush when at last we outspanned quite close to Umbezi's, in that bush whe=
re
first I had met the Amangwane free-spears. A very different set of men they
looked on this triumphant day to those fierce fellows who had slipped out of
the trees at the call of their chief. As we went through the country Saduko=
had
bought fine moochas and blankets for them; also head-dresses had been made =
with
the long black feathers of the sakabuli finch, and shields and leglets of t=
he
hides and tails of oxen. Moreover, having fed plentifully and travelled eas=
ily,
they were fat and well-favoured, as, given good food, natives soon become a=
fter
a period of abstinence.
The plan of Saduko was to lie quiet in the bush
that night, and on the following morning to advance in all his grandeur,
accompanied by his spears, present the hundred head of cattle that had been
demanded, and formally ask his daughter's hand from Umbezi. As the reader m=
ay
have gathered already, there was a certain histrionic vein in Saduko; also =
when
he was in feather he liked to show off his plumage.
Well, this plan was carried out to the letter.=
On
the following morning, after the sun was well up, Saduko, as a great chief
does, sent forward two bedizened heralds to announce his approach to Umbezi,
after whom followed two other men to sing his deeds and praises. (By the wa=
y, I
observed that they had clearly been instructed to avoid any mention of a pe=
rson
called Macumazahn.) Then we advanced in force. First went Saduko, splendidly
apparelled as a chief, carrying a small assegai and adorned with plumes,
leglets and a leopard-skin kilt. He was attended by about half a dozen of t=
he
best-looking of his followers, who posed as "indunas" or councill=
ors.
Behind these I walked, a dusty, insignificant little fellow, attended by the
ugly, snub-nosed Scowl in a very greasy pair of trousers, worn-out European
boots through which his toes peeped, and nothing else, and by my three
surviving hunters, whose appearance was even more disreputable. After us
marched about four score of the transformed Amangwane, and after them came =
the
hundred picked cattle driven by a few herdsmen.
In due course we arrived at the gate of the kr=
aal,
where we found the heralds and the praisers prancing and shouting.
"Have you seen Umbezi?" asked Saduko=
of
them.
"No," they answered; "he was as=
leep
when we got here, but his people say that he is coming out presently."=
"Then tell his people that he had better =
be
quick about it, or I shall turn him out," replied the proud Saduko.
Just at this moment the kraal gate opened and
through it appeared Umbezi, looking extremely fat and foolish; also, it str=
uck
me, frightened, although this he tried to conceal.
"Who visits me here," he said,
"with so much--um--ceremony?" and with the carved dancing-stick he
carried he pointed doubtfully at the lines of armed men. "Oh, it is yo=
u,
is it, Saduko?" and he looked him up and down, adding: "How grand=
you
are to be sure. Have you been robbing anybody? And you, too, Macumazahn. We=
ll,
you do not look grand. You look like an old cow that has been suckling two
calves on the winter veld. But tell me, what are all these warriors for? I =
ask because
I have not food for so many, especially as we have just had a feast here.&q=
uot;
"Fear nothing, Umbezi," answered Sad=
uko
in his grandest manner. "I have brought food for my own men. As for my
business, it is simple. You asked a hundred head of cattle as the lobola [t=
hat
is, the marriage gift] of your daughter, Mameena. They are there. Go send y=
our
servants to the kraal and count them."
"Oh, with pleasure," Umbezi replied
nervously, and he gave some orders to certain men behind him. "I am gl=
ad
to see that you have become rich in this sudden fashion, Saduko, though how=
you
have done so I cannot understand."
"Never mind how I have become rich,"
answered Saduko. "I am rich; that is enough for the present. Be please=
d to
send for Mameena, for I would talk with her."
"Yes, yes, Saduko, I understand that you
would talk with Mameena; but"--and he looked round him
desperately--"I fear that she is still asleep. As you know, Mameena was
always a late riser, and, what is more, she hates to be disturbed. Don't yo=
u think
that you could come back, say, to-morrow morning? She will be sure to be up=
by
then; or, better still, the day after?"
"In which hut is Mameena?" asked Sad=
uko
sternly, while I, smelling a rat, began to chuckle to myself.
"I really do not know, Saduko," repl=
ied
Umbezi. "Sometimes she sleeps in one, sometimes in another, and someti=
mes
she goes several hours' journey away to her aunt's kraal for a change. I sh=
ould
not be in the least surprised if she had done so last night. I have no cont=
rol
over Mameena."
Before Saduko could answer, a shrill, rasping
voice broke upon our ears, which after some search I saw proceeded from an =
ugly
and ancient female seated in the shadow, in whom I recognised the lady who =
was
known by the pleasing name of "Worn-out-Old-Cow."
"He lies!" screeched the voice. &quo=
t;He
lies. Thanks be to the spirit of my ancestors that wild cat Mameena has left
this kraal for good. She slept last night, not with her aunt, but with her
husband, Masapo, to whom Umbezi gave her in marriage two days ago, receivin=
g in
payment a hundred and twenty head of cattle, which was twenty more than you
bid, Saduko."
Now when Saduko heard these words I thought th=
at
he would really go mad with rage. He turned quite grey under his dark skin =
and
for a while trembled like a leaf, looking as though he were about to fall to
the ground. Then he leapt as a lion leaps, and seizing Umbezi by the throat=
, hurled
him backwards, standing over him with raised spear.
"You dog!" he cried in a terrible vo=
ice.
"Tell me the truth or I will rip you up. What have you done with
Mameena?"
"Oh! Saduko," answered Umbezi in cho=
king
tones, "Mameena has chosen to get married. It was no fault of mine; she
would have her way."
He got no farther, and had I not intervened by
throwing my arms about Saduko and dragging him back, that moment would have
been Umbezi's last, for Saduko was about to pin him to the earth with his
spear. As it proved, I was just in time, and Saduko, being weak with emotio=
n,
for I felt his heart going like a sledge-hammer, could not break from my gr=
asp before
his reason returned to him.
At length he recovered himself a little and th=
rew
down his spear as though to put himself out of temptation. Then he spoke,
always in the same terrible voice, asking:
"Have you more to say about this business,
Umbezi? I would hear all before I answer you."
"Only this, Saduko," replied Umbezi,=
who
had risen to his feet and was shaking like a reed. "I did no more than=
any
other father would have done. Masapo is a very powerful chief, one who will=
be
a good stick for me to lean on in my old age. Mameena declared that she wis=
hed
to marry him--"
"He lies!" screeched the "Old
Cow." "What Mameena said was that she had no will towards marriage
with any Zulu in the land, so I suppose she is looking after a white man,&q=
uot;
and she leered in my direction. "She said, however, that if her father
wished to marry her to Masapo, she must be a dutiful daughter and obey him,=
but
that if blood and trouble came of that marriage, let it be on his head and =
not
on hers."
"Would you also stick your claws into me,
cat?" shouted Umbezi, catching the old woman a savage cut across the b=
ack
with the light dancing-stick which he still held in his hand, whereon she f=
led
away screeching and cursing him.
"Oh, Saduko," he went on, "let = not your ears be poisoned by these falsehoods. Mameena never said anything of t= he sort, or if she did it was not to me. Well, the moment that my daughter had consented to take Masapo as her husband his people drove a hundred and twen= ty of the most beautiful cattle over the hill, and would you have had me refuse them, Saduko? I am sure that when you have seen them you will say that I was quite right to accept such a splendid lobola in return for one sharp-tongued girl. Remember, Saduko, that although you had promised a hundred head, that= is less by twenty, at the time you did not own one, and where you were to get = them from I could not guess. Moreover," he added with a last, desperate, imaginative effort, for I think he saw that his arguments were making no impression, "some strangers who called here told me that both you and Macumazahn had been killed by certain evil-doers in the mountains. There, I have spoken, and, Saduko, if you now have cattle, why, on my part, I have another daughter, not quite so good-looking perhaps, but a much better work= er in the field. Come and drink a sup of beer, and I will send for her."<= o:p>
"Stop talking about your other daughter a=
nd
your beer and listen to me," replied Saduko, looking at the assegai wh=
ich
he had thrown to the ground so ominously that I set my foot on it. "I =
am
now a greater chief than the boar Masapo. Has Masapo such a bodyguard as th=
ese Eaters-up-of-Enemies?"
and he jerked his thumb backwards towards the serried lines of fierce-faced
Amangwane who stood listening behind us. "Has Masapo as many cattle as=
I
have, whereof those which you see are but a tithe brought as a lobola gift =
to
the father of her who had been promised to me as wife? Is Masapo Panda's
friend? I think that I have heard otherwise. Has Masapo just conquered a
countless tribe by his courage and his wit? Is Masapo young and of high blo=
od,
or is he but an old, low-born boar of the mountains?
"You do not answer, Umbezi, and perhaps y=
ou
do well to be silent. Now listen again. Were it not for Macumazahn here, wh=
om I
do not desire to mix up with my quarrels, I would bid my men take you and b=
eat
you to death with the handles of their spears, and then go on and serve the=
Boar
in the same fashion in his mountain sty. As it is, these things must wait a
little while, especially as I have other matters to attend to first. Yet the
day is not far off when I will attend to them also. Therefore my counsel to
you, Cheat, is to make haste to die or to find courage to fall upon a spear,
unless you would learn how it feels to be brayed with sticks like a green h=
ide
until none can know that you were once a man. Send now and tell my words to
Masapo the Boar. And to Mameena say that soon I will come to take her with
spears and not with cattle. Do you understand? Oh! I see that you do, since
already you weep with fear like a woman. Then farewell to you till that day
when I return with the sticks, O Umbezi the cheat and the liar, Umbezi, 'Ea=
ter-up-of-Elephants,'"
and turning, Saduko stalked away.
I was about to follow in a great hurry, having=
had
enough of this very unpleasant scene, when poor old Umbezi sprang at me and
clasped me by the arm.
"O Macumazana," he exclaimed, weepin=
g in
his terror, "O Macumazana, if ever I have been a friend to you, help me
out of this deep pit into which I have fallen through the tricks of that mo=
nkey
of a daughter of mine, who I think is a witch born to bring trouble upon me=
n.
Macumazahn, if she had been your daughter and a powerful chief had appeared
with a hundred and twenty head of such beautiful cattle, you would have giv=
en her
to him, would you not, although he is of mixed blood and not very young,
especially as she did not mind who only cares for place and wealth?"
"I think not," I answered; "but
then it is not our custom to sell women in that fashion."
"No, no, I forgot; in this as in other
matters you white men are mad and, Macumazahn, to tell you the truth, I bel=
ieve
it is you she really cares for; she said as much to me once or twice. Well,=
why
did you not take her away when I was not looking? We could have settled mat=
ters
afterwards, and I should have been free of her witcheries and not up to my =
neck
in this hole as I am now."
"Because some people don't do that kind of
thing, Umbezi."
"No, no, I forgot. Oh! why can I not reme=
mber
that you are quite mad and therefore that it must not be expected of you to=
act
as though you were sane. Well, at least you are that tiger Saduko's friend,
which again shows that you must be very mad, for most people would sooner t=
ry to
milk a cow buffalo than walk hand in hand with him. Don't you see, Macumaza=
hn,
that he means to kill me, Macumazahn, to bray me like a green hide? Ugh! to
beat me to death with sticks. Ugh! And what is more, that unless you prevent
him, he will certainly do it, perhaps to-morrow or the next day. Ugh! Ugh!
Ugh!"
"Yes, I see, Umbezi, and I think that he =
will
do it. But what I do not see is how I am to prevent him. Remember that you =
let
Mameena grow into his heart and behaved badly to him, Umbezi."
"I never promised her to him, Macumazahn.= I only said that if he brought a hundred cattle, then I might promise."<= o:p>
"Well, he has wiped out the Amakoba, the
enemies of his House, and there are the hundred cattle whereof he has many
more, and now it is too late for you to keep your share of the bargain. So I
think you must make yourself as comfortable as you can in the hole that your
hands dug, Umbezi, which I would not share for all the cattle in
Zululand."
"Truly you are not one from whom to seek
comfort in the hour of distress," groaned poor Umbezi, then added,
brightening up: "But perhaps Panda will kill him because he has wiped =
out
Bangu in a time of peace. Oh Macumazahn, can you not persuade Panda to kill
him? If so, I now have more cattle than I really want--"
"Impossible," I answered. "Pand=
a is
his friend, and between ourselves I may tell you that he ate up the Amakoba=
by
his especial wish. When the King hears of it he will call to Saduko to sit =
in
his shadow and make him great, one of his councillors, probably with power =
of
life and death over little people like you and Masapo."
"Then it is finished," said Umbezi
faintly, "and I will try to die like a man. But to be brayed like a hi=
de!
And with thin sticks! Oh!" he added, grinding his teeth, "if only=
I
can get hold of Mameena I will not leave much of that pretty hair of hers u=
pon
her head. I will tie her hands and shut her up with the 'Old Cow,' who loves
her as a meer-cat loves a mouse. No; I will kill her. There--do you hear,
Macumazahn, unless you do something to help me, I will kill Mameena, and you
won't like that, for I am sure she is dear to you, although you were not ma=
n enough
to run away with her as she wished."
"If you touch Mameena," I said, &quo=
t;be
certain, my friend, that Saduko's sticks and your skin will not be far apar=
t,
for I will report you to Panda myself as an unnatural evil-doer. Now hearke=
n to
me, you old fool. Saduko is so fond of your daughter, on this point being m=
ad,
as you say I am, that if only he could get her I think he might overlook the
fact of her having been married before. What you have to do is to try to buy
her back from Masapo. Mind you, I say buy her back--not get her by
bloodshed--which you might do by persuading Masapo to put her away. Then, i=
f he
knew that you were trying to do this, I think that Saduko might leave his
sticks uncut for a while."
"I will try. I will indeed, Macumazahn. I
will try very hard. It is true Masapo is an obstinate pig; still, if he kno=
ws
that his own life is at stake, he might give way. Moreover, when she learns
that Saduko has grown rich and great, Mameena might help me. Oh, I thank yo=
u, Macumazahn;
you are indeed the prop of my hut, and it and all in it are yours. Farewell,
farewell, Macumazahn, if you must go. But why--why did you not run away with
Mameena, and save me all this fear and trouble?"
So I =
and
that old humbug, Umbezi, "Eater-up-of-Elephants," parted for a wh=
ile,
and never did I know him in a more chastened frame of mind, except once, as=
I
shall tell.
When =
I got
back to my wagons after this semi-tragical interview with that bombastic and
self-seeking old windbag, Umbezi, it was to find that Saduko and his warrio=
rs
had already marched for the King's kraal, Nodwengu. A message awaited me,
however, to the effect that it was hoped that I would follow, in order to m=
ake
report of the affair of the destruction of the Amakoba. This, after reflect=
ion,
I determined to do, really, I think, because of the intense human interest =
of
the whole business. I wanted to see how it would work out.
Also, in a way, I read Saduko's mind and
understood that at the moment he did not wish to discuss the matter of his
hideous disappointment. Whatever else may have been false in this man's nat=
ure,
one thing rang true, namely, his love or his infatuation for the girl Mamee=
na. Throughout
his life she was his guiding star--about as evil a star as could have arisen
upon any man's horizon; the fatal star that was to light him down to doom. =
Let
me thank Providence, as I do, that I was so fortunate as to escape its bane=
ful
influences, although I admit that they attracted me not a little.
So, seduced thither by my curiosity, which has=
so
often led me into trouble, I trekked to Nodwengu, full of many doubts not
unmingled with amusement, for I could not rid my mind of recollections of t=
he
utter terror of the "Eater-up-of-Elephants" when he was brought f=
ace
to face with the dreadful and concentrated rage of the robbed Saduko and th=
e promise
of his vengeance. Ultimately I arrived at the Great Place without experienc=
ing
any adventure that is worthy of record, and camped in a spot that was appoi=
nted
to me by some induna whose name I forget, but who evidently knew of my
approach, for I found him awaiting me at some distance from the town. Here I
sat for quite a long while, two or three days, if I remember right, amusing
myself with killing or missing turtle-doves with a shotgun, and similar
pastimes, until something should happen, or I grew tired and started for Na=
tal.
In the end, just as I was about to trek seawar=
ds,
an old friend, Maputa, turned up at my wagons--that same man who had brough=
t me
the message from Panda before we started to attack Bangu.
"Greeting, Macumazahn," he said.
"What of the Amakoba? I see they did not kill you."
"No," I answered, handing him some
snuff, "they did not quite kill me, for here I am. What is your pleasu=
re
with me?"
"O Macumazana, only that the King wishes =
to
know whether you have any of those little balls left in the box which I bro=
ught
back to you, since, if so, he thinks he would like to swallow one of them in
this hot weather."
I proffered him the whole box, but he would not
take it, saying that the King would like me to give it to him myself. Now I
understood that this was a summons to an audience, and asked when it would
please Panda to receive me and
"the-little-black-stones-that-work-wonders." He answered--at once=
.
So we started, and within an hour I stood, or
rather sat, before Panda.
Like all his family, the King was an enormous =
man,
but, unlike Chaka and those of his brothers whom I had known, one of a kind=
ly
countenance. I saluted him by lifting my cap, and took my place upon a wood=
en
stool that had been provided for me outside the great hut, in the shadow of=
which
he sat within his isi-gohlo, or private enclosure.
"Greeting, O Macumazana," he said.
"I am glad to see you safe and well, for I understand that you have be=
en
engaged upon a perilous adventure since last we met."
"Yes, King," I answered; "but to
which adventure do you refer--that of the buffalo, when Saduko helped me, or
that of the Amakoba, when I helped Saduko?"
"The latter, Macumazahn, of which I desir=
e to
hear all the story."
So I told it to him, he and I being alone, for=
he
commanded his councillors and servants to retire out of hearing.
"Wow!" he said, when I had finished,
"you are clever as a baboon, Macumazahn. That was a fine trick to set a
trap for Bangu and his Amakoba dogs and bait it with his own cattle. But th=
ey
tell me that you refused your share of those cattle. Now, why was that,
Macumazahn?"
By way of answer I repeated to Panda my reason=
s,
which I have set out already.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, when I had finis=
hed.
"Every one seeks greatness in his own way, and perhaps yours is better
than ours. Well, the White man walks one road--or some of them do--and the
Black man another. They both end at the same place, and none will know whic=
h is
the right road till the journey is done. Meanwhile, what you lose Saduko and
his people gain. He is a wise man, Saduko, who knows how to choose his frie=
nds,
and his wisdom has brought him victory and gifts. But to you, Macumazahn, i=
t has
brought nothing but honour, on which, if a man feeds only, he will grow
thin."
"I like to be thin, O Panda," I answ=
ered
slowly.
"Yes, yes, I understand," replied the
King, who, in common with most natives, was quick enough to seize a point,
"and I, too, like people who keep thin on such food as yours, people,
also, whose hands are always clean. We Zulus trust you, Macumazahn, as we t=
rust
few white men, for we have known for years that your lips say what your hea=
rt
thinks, and that your heart always thinks the thing which is good. You may =
be
named Watcher-by-Night, but you love light, not darkness."
Now, at these somewhat unusual compliments I
bowed, and felt myself colouring a little as I did so, even through my sunb=
urn,
but I made no answer to them, since to do so would have involved a discussi=
on
of the past and its tragical events, into which I had no wish to enter. Pan=
da, too,
remained silent for a while. Then he called to a messenger to summon the
princes, Cetewayo and Umbelazi, and to bid Saduko, the son of Matiwane, to =
wait
without, in case he should wish to speak with him.
A few minutes later the two princes arrived. I
watched their coming with interest, for they were the most important men in
Zululand, and already the nation debated fiercely which of them would succe=
ed
to the throne. I will try to describe them a little.
They were both of much the same age--it is alw=
ays
difficult to arrive at a Zulu's exact years--and both fine young men. Cetew=
ayo,
however, had the stronger countenance. It was said that he resembled that
fierce and able monster, Chaka the Wild Beast, his uncle, and certainly I
perceived in him a likeness to his other uncle, Dingaan, Umpanda's predeces=
sor,
whom I had known but too well when I was a lad. He had the same surly eyes =
and
haughty bearing; also, when he was angry his mouth shut itself in the same =
iron
fashion.
Of Umbelazi it is difficult for me to speak
without enthusiasm. As Mameena was the most beautiful woman I ever saw in
Zululand--although it is true that old war-dog, Umslopogaas, a friend of mi=
ne
who does not come into this story, used to tell me that Nada the Lily, whom=
I
have mentioned, was even lovelier--so Umbelazi was by far the most splendid=
man.
Indeed, the Zulus named him "Umbelazi the Handsome," and no wonde=
r. To
begin with, he stood at least three inches above the tallest of them; from a
quarter of a mile away I have recognised him by his great height, even thro=
ugh
the dust of a desperate battle, and his breadth was proportionate to his
stature. Then he was perfectly made, his great, shapely limbs ending, like
Saduko's, in small hands and feet. His face, too, was well-cut and open, his
colour lighter than Cetewayo's, and his eyes, which always seemed to smile,
were large and dark.
Even before they passed the small gate of the
inner fence it was easy for me to see that this royal pair were not upon the
best of terms, for each of them tried to get through it first, to show his
right of precedence. The result was somewhat ludicrous, for they jammed in =
the gateway.
Here, however, Umbelazi's greater weight told, for, putting out his strengt=
h,
he squeezed his brother into the reeds of the fence, and won through a foot=
or
so in front of him.
"You grow too fat, my brother," I he=
ard
Cetewayo say, and saw him scowl as he spoke. "If I had held an assegai=
in
my hand you would have been cut."
"I know it, my brother," answered
Umbelazi, with a good-humoured laugh, "but I knew also that none may
appear before the King armed. Had it been otherwise, I would rather have
followed after you."
Now, at this hint of Umbelazi's, that he would=
not
trust his brother behind his back with a spear, although it seemed to be
conveyed in jest, I saw Panda shift uneasily on his seat, while Cetewayo
scowled even more ominously than before. However, no further words passed
between them, and, walking up to the King side by side, they saluted him wi=
th
raised hands, calling out "Baba!"--that is, Father.
"Greeting, my children," said Panda,
adding hastily, for he foresaw a quarrel as to which of them should take the
seat of honour on his right: "Sit there in front of me, both of you, a=
nd,
Macumazahn, do you come hither," and he pointed to the coveted place.
"I am a little deaf in my left ear this morning."
So these brothers sat themselves down in front=
of
the King; nor were they, I think, grieved to find this way out of their
rivalry; but first they shook hands with me, for I knew them both, though n=
ot
well, and even in this small matter the old trouble arose, since there was =
some
difficulty as to which of them should first offer me his hand. Ultimately, I
remember, Cetewayo won this trick.
When these preliminaries were finished, Panda
addressed the princes, saying:
"My sons, I have sent for you to ask your
counsel upon a certain matter--not a large matter, but one that may grow.&q=
uot;
And he paused to take snuff, whereon both of them ejaculated:
"We hear you, Father."
"Well, my sons, the matter is that of Sad=
uko,
the son of Matiwane, chief of the Amangwane, whom Bangu, chief of the Amako=
ba,
ate up years ago by leave of Him who went before me. Now, this Bangu, as you
know, has for some time been a thorn in my foot--a thorn that caused it to
fester--and yet I did not wish to make war on him. So I spoke a word in the=
ear
of Saduko, saying, 'He is yours, if you can kill him; and his cattle are yo=
urs.'
Well, Saduko is not dull. With the help of this white man, Macumazahn, our
friend from of old, he has killed Bangu and taken his cattle, and already my
foot is beginning to heal."
"We have heard it," said Cetewayo.
"It was a great deed," added Umbelaz=
i, a
more generous critic.
"Yes," continued Panda, "I, too,
think it was a great deed, seeing that Saduko had but a small regiment of
wanderers to back him--"
"Nay," interrupted Cetewayo, "it
was not those eaters of rats who won him the day, it was the wisdom of this
Macumazahn."
"Macumazahn's wisdom would have been of
little use without the courage of Saduko and his rats," commented
Umbelazi, and from this moment I saw that the two brothers were taking sides
for and against Saduko, as they did upon every other matter, not because th=
ey
cared for the right of whatever was in question, but because they wished to
oppose each other.
"Quite so," went on the King; "I
agree with both of you, my sons. But the point is this: I think Saduko a ma=
n of
promise, and one who should be advanced that he may learn to love us all,
especially as his House has suffered wrong from our House, since He-who-is-=
gone
listened to the evil counsel of Bangu, and allowed him to kill out Matiwane=
's
tribe without just cause. Therefore, in order to wipe away this stain and b=
ind
Saduko to us, I think it well to re-establish Saduko in the chieftainship of
the Amangwane, with the lands that his father held, and to give him also the
chieftainship of the Amakoba, of whom it seems that the women and children,
with some of the men, remain, although he already holds their cattle which =
he
has captured in war."
"As the King pleases," said Umbelazi,
with a yawn, for he was growing weary of listening to the case of Saduko.
But Cetewayo said nothing, for he appeared to =
be
thinking of something else.
"I think also," went on Panda in a
rather uncertain voice, "in order to bind him so close that the bonds =
may
never be broken, it would be wise to give him a woman of our family in
marriage."
"Why should this little Amangwane be allo=
wed
to marry into the royal House?" asked Cetewayo, looking up. "If h=
e is
dangerous, why not kill him, and have done?"
"For this reason, my son. There is trouble
ahead in Zululand, and I do not wish to kill those who may help us in that
hour, nor do I wish them to become our enemies. I wish that they may be our
friends; and therefore it seems to me wise, when we find a seed of greatnes=
s,
to water it, and not to dig it up or plant it in a neighbour's garden. From=
his
deeds I believe that this Saduko is such a seed."
"Our father has spoken," said Umbela=
zi;
"and I like Saduko, who is a man of mettle and good blood. Which of our
sisters does our father propose to give to him?"
"She who is named after the mother of our
race, O Umbelazi; she whom your own mother bore--your sister Nandie" (=
in
English, "The Sweet").
"A great gift, O my Father, since Nandie =
is
both fair and wise. Also, what does she think of this matter?"
"She thinks well of it, Umbelazi, for she=
has
seen Saduko and taken a liking to him. She told me herself that she wishes =
no
other husband."
"Is it so?" replied Umbelazi
indifferently. "Then if the King commands, and the King's daughter
desires, what more is there to be said?"
"Much, I think," broke in Cetewayo.
"I hold that it is out of place that this little man, who has but
conquered a little tribe by borrowing the wit of Macumazahn here, should be
rewarded not only with a chieftainship, but with the hand of the wisest and
most beautiful of the King's daughters, even though Umbelazi," he adde=
d,
with a sneer, "should be willing to throw him his own sister like a bo=
ne
to a passing dog."
"Who threw the bone, Cetewayo?" asked Umbelazi, awaking out of his indifference. "Was it the King, or was it= I, who never heard of the matter till this moment? And who are we that we shou= ld question the King's decrees? Is it our business to judge or to obey?"<= o:p>
"Has Saduko perchance made you a present =
of
some of those cattle which he stole from the Amakoba, Umbelazi?" asked
Cetewayo. "As our father asks no lobola, perhaps you have taken the gi=
ft
instead."
"The only gift that I have taken from
Saduko," said Umbelazi, who, I could see, was hard pressed to keep his
temper, "is that of his service. He is my friend, which is why you hate
him, as you hate all my friends."
"Must I then love every stray cur that li=
cks
your hand, Umbelazi? Oh, no need to tell me he is your friend, for I know it
was you who put it into our father's heart to allow him to kill Bangu and s=
teal
his cattle, which I hold to be an ill deed, for now the Great House is that=
ched
with his reeds and Bangu's blood is on its doorposts. Moreover, he who wrou=
ght
the wrong is to come and dwell therein, and for aught I know to be called a
prince, like you and me. Why should he not, since the Princess Nandie is to=
be
given to him in marriage? Certainly, Umbelazi, you would do well to take the
cattle which this white trader has refused, for all men know that you have
earned them."
Now Umbelazi sprang up, straightening himself =
to
the full of his great height, and spoke in a voice that was thick with pass=
ion.
"I pray your leave to withdraw, O King,&q=
uot;
he said, "since if I stay here longer I shall grow sorry that I have no
spear in my hand. Yet before I go I will tell the truth. Cetewayo hates Sad=
uko,
because, knowing him to be a chief of wit and courage, who will grow great,=
he
sought him for his man, saying, 'Sit you in my shadow,' after he had promis=
ed
to sit in mine. Therefore it is that he heaps these taunts upon me. Let him
deny it if he can."
"That I shall not trouble to do,
Umbelazi," answered Cetewayo, with a scowl. "Who are you that spy
upon my doings, and with a mouth full of lies call me to account before the
King? I will hear no more of it. Do you bide here and pay Saduko his price =
with
the person of our sister. For, as the King has promised her, his word canno=
t be
changed. Only let your dog know that I keep a stick for him, if he should s=
narl
at me. Farewell, my Father. I go upon a journey to my own lordship, the lan=
d of
Gikazi, and there you will find me when you want me, which I pray may not be
till after this marriage is finished, for on that I will not trust my eyes =
to
look."
Then, with a salute, he turned and departed,
bidding no good-bye to his brother.
My hand, however, he shook in farewell, for
Cetewayo was always friendly to me, perhaps because he thought I might be
useful to him. Also, as I learned afterwards, he was very pleased with me f=
or
the reason that I had refused my share of the Amakoba cattle, and that he k=
new
I had no part in this proposed marriage between Saduko and Nandie, of which=
, indeed,
I now heard for the first time.
"My Father," said Umbelazi, when
Cetewayo had gone, "is this to be borne? Am I to blame in the matter? =
You
have heard and seen--answer me, my Father."
"No, you are not to blame this time,
Umbelazi," replied the King, with a heavy sigh. "But oh! my sons,=
my
sons, where will your quarrelling end? I think that only a river of blood c=
an
quench so fierce a fire, and then which of you will live to reach its
bank?"
For a while he looked at Umbelazi, and I saw l=
ove
and fear in his eye, for towards him Panda always had more affection than f=
or
any of his other children.
"Cetewayo has behaved ill," he said =
at
length; "and before a white man, who will report the matter, which mak=
es
it worse. He has no right to dictate to me to whom I shall or shall not giv=
e my
daughters in marriage. Moreover, I have spoken; nor do I change my word bec=
ause
he threatens me. It is known throughout the land that I never change my wor=
d;
and the white men know it also, do they not, O Macumazana?"
I answered yes, they did. Also, this was true,
for, like most weak men, Panda was very obstinate, and honest, too, in his =
own
fashion.
He waved his hand, to show that the subject was
ended, then bade Umbelazi go to the gate and send a messenger to bring in
"the son of Matiwane."
Presently Saduko arrived, looking very stately=
and
composed as he lifted his right hand and gave Panda the "Bayéte"-=
-the
royal salute.
"Be seated," said the King. "I =
have
words for your ear."
Thereon, with the most perfect grace, without
hurrying and without undue delay, Saduko crouched himself down upon his kne=
es,
with one of his elbows resting on the ground, as only a native knows how to=
do
without looking absurd, and waited.
"Son of Matiwane," said the King,
"I have heard all the story of how, with a small company, you destroyed
Bangu and most of the men of the Amakoba, and ate up their cattle every
one."
"Your pardon, Black One," interrupted
Saduko. "I am but a boy, I did nothing. It was Macumazahn,
Watcher-by-Night, who sits yonder. His wisdom taught me how to snare the
Amakoba, after they were decoyed from their mountain, and it was Tshoza, my
uncle, who loosed the cattle from the kraals. I say that I did nothing, exc=
ept
to strike a blow or two with a spear when I must, just as a baboon throws
stones at those who would steal its young."
"I am glad to see that you are no boaster, Saduko," said Panda. "Would that more of the Zulus were like you = in that matter, for then I must not listen to so many loud songs about little things. At least, Bangu was killed and his proud tribe humbled, and, for reasons of state, I am glad that this happened without my moving a regiment= or being mixed up with the business, for I tell you that there are some of my family who loved Bangu. But I--I loved your father, Matiwane, whom Bangu bu= tchered, for we were brought up together as boys--yes, and served together in the sa= me regiment, the Amawombe, when the Wild One, my brother, ruled" (he meant Chaka, for among the Zulus the names of dead kings are hlonipa--that is, th= ey must not be spoken if it can be avoided). "Therefore," went on Pa= nda, "for this reason, and for others, I am glad that Bangu has been punish= ed, and that, although vengeance has crawled after him like a footsore bull, at length he has been tossed with its horns and crushed with its knees."<= o:p>
"Yebo, Ngonyama!" (Yes, O Lion!) said
Saduko.
"Now, Saduko," went on Panda,
"because you are your father's son, and because you have shown yoursel=
f a
man, although you are still little in the land, I am minded to advance you.
Therefore I give to you the chieftainship over those who remain of the Amak=
oba
and over all of the Amangwane blood whom you can gather."
"Bayéte! As the King pleases," said
Saduko.
"And I give you leave to become a kehla--a
wearer of the head-ring--although, as you have said, you are still but a bo=
y,
and with it a place upon my Council."
"Bayéte! As the King pleases," said
Saduko, still apparently unmoved by the honours that were being heaped upon
him.
"And, Son of Matiwane," went on Pand=
a,
"you are still unmarried, are you not?"
Now, for the first time, Saduko's face changed.
"Yes, Black One," he said hurriedly, "but--"
Here he caught my eye, and, reading some warni=
ng
in it, was silent.
"But," repeated Panda after him,
"doubtless you would like to be? Well, it is natural in a young man who
wishes to found a House, and therefore I give you leave to marry."
"Yebo, Silo!" (Yes, O Wild Beast!)
"I thank the King, but--"
Here I sneezed loudly, and he ceased.
"But," repeated Panda, "of cour=
se,
you do not know where to find a wife between the time the hawk stoops and t=
he
rat squeaks in its claws. How should you who have never thought of the matt=
er?
Also," he continued, with a smile, "it is well that you have not
thought of it, since she whom I shall give to you could not live in the sec=
ond
hut in your kraal and call another 'Inkosikazi' [that is, head lady or
chieftainess]. Umbelazi, my son, go fetch her of whom we have thought as a
bride for this boy."
Now Umbelazi rose, and went with a broad smile
upon his face, while Panda, somewhat fatigued with all his speech-making--f=
or
he was very fat and the day was very hot--leaned his head back against the =
hut
and closed his eyes.
"O Black One! O thou who consumeth with r=
age!
[Dhlangamandhla]" broke out Saduko, who, I could see, was much disturb=
ed.
"I have something to say to you."
"No doubt, no doubt," answered Panda
drowsily, "but save up your thanks till you have seen, or you will have
none left afterwards," and he snored slightly.
Now I, perceiving that Saduko was about to ruin
himself, thought it well to interfere, though what business of mine it was =
to
do so I cannot say. At any rate, if only I had held my tongue at this momen=
t,
and allowed Saduko to make a fool of himself, as he wished to do--for where
Mameena was concerned he never could be wise--I verily believe that all the=
history
of Zululand would have run a different course, and that many thousands of m=
en,
white and black, who are now dead would be alive to-day. But Fate ordered it
otherwise. Yes, it was not I who spoke, but Fate. The Angel of Doom used my
throat as his trumpet.
Seeing that Panda dozed, I slipped behind Sadu=
ko
and gripped him by the arm.
"Are you mad?" I whispered into his =
ear.
"Will you throw away your fortune, and your life also?"
"But Mameena," he whispered back.
"I would marry none save Mameena."
"Fool!" I answered. "Mameena has
betrayed and spat upon you. Take what the Heavens send you and give thanks.
Would you wear Masapo's soiled blanket?"
"Macumazahn," he said in a hollow vo=
ice,
"I will follow your head, and not my own heart. Yet you sow a strange
seed, Macumazahn, or so you may think when you see its fruit." And he =
gave
me a wild look--a look that frightened me.
There was something in this look which caused =
me
to reflect that I might do well to go away and leave Saduko, Mameena, Nandi=
e,
and the rest of them to "dree their weirds," as the Scotch say, f=
or,
after all, what was my finger doing in that very hot stew? Getting burnt, I
thought, and not collecting any stew.
Yet, looking back on these events, how could I
foresee what would be the end of the madness of Saduko, of the fearful
machinations of Mameena, and of the weakness of Umbelazi when she snared hi=
m in
the net of her beauty, thus bringing about his ruin, through the hate of Sa=
duko
and the ambition of Cetewayo? How could I know that, at the back of all the=
se events,
stood the old dwarf, Zikali the Wise, working night and day to slake the en=
mity
and fulfil the vengeance which long ago he had conceived and planned against
the royal House of Senzangakona and the Zulu people over whom it ruled?
Yes, he stood there like a man behind a great
stone upon the brow of a mountain, slowly, remorselessly, with infinite ski=
ll,
labour, and patience, pushing that stone to the edge of the cliff, whence at
length, in the appointed hour, it would thunder down upon those who dwelt b=
eneath,
to leave them crushed and no more a people. How could I guess that we, the
actors in this play, were all the while helping him to push that stone, and
that he cared nothing how many of us were carried with it into the abyss, if
only we brought about the triumph of his secret, unutterable rage and hate?=
Now I see and understand all these things, as =
it
is easy to do, but then I was blind; nor did the Voices reach my dull ears =
to
warn me, as, how or why I cannot tell, they did, I believe, reach those of
Zikali.
Oh, what was the sum of it? Just this, I think,
and nothing more--that, as Saduko and the others were Mameena's tools, and =
as
all of them and their passions were Zikali's tools, so he himself was the t=
ool
of some unseen Power that used him and us to accomplish its design. Which, =
I suppose,
is fatalism, or, in other words, all these things happened because they must
happen. A poor conclusion to reach after so much thought and striving, and =
not
complimentary to man and his boasted powers of free will; still, one to whi=
ch
many of us are often driven, especially if we have lived among savages, whe=
re
such dramas work themselves out openly and swiftly, unhidden from our eyes =
by
the veils and subterfuges of civilisation. At least, there is this comfort =
about
it--that, if we are but feathers blown by the wind, how can the individual
feather be blamed because it did not travel against, turn or keep back the
wind?
Well, let me return from these speculations to=
the
history of the facts that caused them.
Just as--a little too late--I had made up my m=
ind
that I would go after my own business, and leave Saduko to manage his, thro=
ugh
the fence gateway appeared the great, tall Umbelazi leading by the hand a
woman. As I saw in a moment, it did not need certain bangles of copper, orn=
aments
of ivory and of very rare pink beads, called infibinga, which only those of=
the
royal House were permitted to wear, to proclaim her a person of rank, for
dignity and high blood were apparent in her face, her carriage, her gesture=
s,
and all that had to do with her.
Nandie the Sweet was not a great beauty, as was
Mameena, although her figure was fine, and her stature like that of all the
race of Senzangakona--considerably above the average. To begin with, she wa=
s darker
in hue, and her lips were rather thick, as was her nose; nor were her eyes
large and liquid like those of an antelope. Further, she lacked the informi=
ng
mystery of Mameena's face, that at times was broken and lit up by flashes of
alluring light and quick, sympathetic perception, as a heavy evening sky, t=
hat
seems to join the dim earth to the dimmer heavens, is illuminated by pulsin=
gs
of fire, soft and many-hued, suggesting, but not revealing, the strength and
splendour that it veils. Nandie had none of these attractions, which, after
all, anywhere upon the earth belong only to a few women in each generation.=
She
was a simple, honest-natured, kindly, affectionate young woman of high birt=
h, no
more; that is, as these qualities are understood and expressed among her
people.
Umbelazi led her forward into the presence of =
the
King, to whom she bowed gracefully enough. Then, after casting a swift,
sidelong glance at Saduko, which I found it difficult to interpret, and ano=
ther
of inquiry at me, she folded her hands upon her breast and stood silent, wi=
th
bent head, waiting to be addressed.
The address was brief enough, for Panda was st=
ill
sleepy.
"My daughter," he said, with a yawn,
"there stands your husband," and he jerked his thumb towards Sadu=
ko.
"He is a young man and a brave, and unmarried; also one who should grow
great in the shadow of our House, especially as he is a friend of your brot=
her,
Umbelazi. I understand also that you have seen him and like him. Unless you
have anything to say against it, for as, not being a common father, the King
receives no cattle--at least in this case--I am not prejudiced, but will li=
sten
to your words," and he chuckled in a drowsy fashion. "I propose t=
hat the
marriage should take place to-morrow. Now, my daughter, have you anything to
say? For if so, please say it at once, as I am tired. The eternal wranglings
between your brethren, Cetewayo and Umbelazi, have worn me out."
Now Nandie looked about her in her open, honest
fashion, her gaze resting first on Saduko, then on Umbelazi, and lastly upon
me.
"My Father," she said at length, in =
her
soft, steady voice, "tell me, I beseech you, who proposes this marriag=
e?
Is it the Chief Saduko, is it the Prince Umbelazi, or is it the white lord
whose true name I do not know, but who is called Macumazahn,
Watcher-by-Night?"
"I can't remember which of them proposed
it," yawned Panda. "Who can keep on talking about things from nig=
ht
till morning? At any rate, I propose it, and I will make your husband a big=
man
among our people. Have you anything to say against it?"
"I have nothing to say, my Father. I have=
met
Saduko, and like him well--for the rest, you are the judge. But," she
added slowly, "does Saduko like me? When he speaks my name, does he fe=
el
it here?" and she pointed to her throat.
"I am sure I do not know what he feels in=
his
throat," Panda replied testily, "but I feel that mine is dry. Wel=
l,
as no one says anything, the matter is settled. To-morrow Saduko shall give=
the
umqoliso [the Ox of the Girl], that makes marriage--if he has not got one h=
ere
I will lend it to him, and you can take the new, big hut that I have built =
in the
outer kraal to dwell in for the present. There will be a dance, if you wish=
it;
if not, I do not care, for I have no wish for ceremony just now, who am too
troubled with great matters. Now I am going to sleep."
Then sinking from his stool on to his knees, P=
anda
crawled through the doorway of his great hut, which was close to him, and v=
anished.
Umbelazi and I departed also through the gatew=
ay
of the fence, leaving Saduko and the Princess Nandie alone together, for th=
ere
were no attendants present. What happened between them I am sure I do not k=
now,
but I gather that, in one way or another, Saduko made himself sufficiently
agreeable to the princess to persuade her to take him to husband. Perhaps,
being already enamoured of him, she was not difficult to persuade. At any r=
ate,
on the morrow, without any great feasting or fuss, except the customary dan=
ce,
the umqoliso, the "Ox of the Girl," was slaughtered, and Saduko
became the husband of a royal maiden of the House of Senzangakona.
Certainly, as I remember reflecting, it was a
remarkable rise in life for one who, but a few months before, had been with=
out
possessions or a home.
I may add that, after our brief talk in the Ki=
ng's
kraal, while Panda was dozing, I had no further words with Saduko on this
matter of his marriage, for between its proposal and the event he avoided m=
e,
nor did I seek him out. On the day of the marriage also, I trekked for Nata=
l, and
for a whole year heard no more of Saduko, Nandie, and Mameena; although, to=
be
frank, I must admit I thought of the last of these persons more often, perh=
aps,
than I should have done.
The truth is that Mameena was one of those wom=
en
who sticks in a man's mind even more closely than a "Wait-a-bit"
thorn does in his coat.
A who=
le
year had gone by, in which I did, or tried to do, various things that have =
no
connection with this story, when once more I found myself in Zululand--at
Umbezi's kraal indeed. Hither I had trekked in fulfilment of a certain barg=
ain,
already alluded to, that was concerned with ivory and guns, which I had made
with the old fellow, or, rather, with Masapo, his son-in-law, whom he
represented in this matter. Into the exact circumstances of that bargain I =
do
not enter, since at the moment I cannot recall whether I ever obtained the
necessary permit to import those guns into Zululand, although now that I am
older I earnestly hope that I did so, since it is wrong to sell weapons to =
natives
that may be put to all sorts of unforeseen uses.
At any rate, there I was, sitting alone with t=
he
Headman in his hut discussing a dram of "squareface" that I had g=
iven
to him, for the "trade" was finished to our mutual satisfaction, =
and
Scowl, my body servant, with the hunters, had just carried off the ivory--a
fine lot of tusks--to my wagons.
"Well, Umbezi," I said, "and how
has it fared with you since we parted a year ago? Have you seen anything of
Saduko, who, you may remember, left you in some wrath?"
"Thanks be to my Spirit, I have seen noth=
ing
of that wild man, Macumazahn," answered Umbezi, shaking his fat old he=
ad
in a fashion which showed great anxiety. "Yet I have heard of him, for=
he
sent me a message the other day to tell me that he had not forgotten what he
owed me."
"Did he mean the sticks with which he
promised to bray you like a green hide?" I inquired innocently.
"I think so, Macumazahn--I think so, for
certainly he owes me nothing else. And the worst of it is that, there at
Panda's kraal, he has grown like a pumpkin on a dung heap--great, great!&qu=
ot;
"And therefore is now one who can pay any
debt that he owes, Umbezi," I said, taking a pull at the
"squareface" and looking at him over the top of the pannikin.
"Doubtless he can, Macumazahn, and, betwe=
en
you and me, that is the real reason why I--or rather Masapo--was so anxious=
to
get those guns. They were not for hunting, as he told you by the messenger,=
or
for war, but to protect us against Saduko, in case he should attack. Well, =
now
I hope we shall be able to hold our own."
"You and Masapo must teach your people to=
use
them first, Umbezi. But I expect Saduko has forgotten all about both of you=
now
that he is the husband of a princess of the royal blood. Tell me, how goes =
it
with Mameena?"
"Oh, well, well, Macumazahn. For is she n=
ot
the head lady of the Amasomi? There is nothing wrong with her--nothing at a=
ll,
except that as yet she has no child; also that--," and he paused.
"That what?" I asked.
"That she hates the very sight of her
husband, Masapo, and says that she would rather be married to a baboon--yes=
, to
a baboon--than to him, which gives him offence, after he has paid so many
cattle for her. But what of this, Macumazahn? There is always a grain missi=
ng
upon the finest head of corn. Nothing is quite perfect in the world, Macuma=
zahn,
and if Mameena does not chance to love her husband--" and he shrugged =
his
shoulders and drank some "squareface."
"Of course it does not matter in the leas=
t,
Umbezi, except to Mameena and her husband, who no doubt will settle down in
time, now that Saduko is married to a princess of the Zulu House."
"I hope so, Macumazahn, but, to tell the truth, I wish you had brought more guns, for I live amongst a terrible lot = of people. Masapo, who is furious with Mameena because she will have none of h= im, and therefore with me, as though I could control Mameena; Mameena, who is m= ad with Masapo, and therefore with me, because I gave her in marriage to him; = Saduko, who foams at the mouth at the name of Masapo, because he has married Mameen= a, whom, it is said, he still loves, and therefore at me, because I am her fat= her and did my best to settle her in the world. Oh, give me some more of that fire-water, Macumazahn, for it makes me forget all these things, and especi= ally that my guardian spirit made me the father of Mameena, with whom you would = not run away when you might have done so. Oh, Macumazahn, why did you not run a= way with Mameena, and turn her into a quiet white woman who ties herself up in sacks, sings songs to the 'Great-Great' in the sky--[that is, hymns to the Power above us]--and never thinks of any man who is not her husband?"<= o:p>
"Because if I had done so, Umbezi, I shou=
ld
have ceased to be a quiet white man. Yes, yes, my friend, I should have bee=
n in
some such place as yours to-day, and that is the last thing that I wish. And
now, Umbezi, you have had quite enough 'squareface,' so I will take the bot=
tle
away with me. Good-night."
On the
following morning I trekked very early from Umbezi's kraal--before he was up
indeed, for the "squareface" made him sleep sound. My destination=
was
Nodwengu, Panda's Great Place, where I hoped to do some trading, but, as I =
was
in no particular hurry, my plan was to go round by Masapo's, and see for my=
self
how it fared between him and Mameena. Indeed, I reached the borders of the
Amasomi territory, whereof Masapo was chief, by evening, and camped there. =
But
with the night came reflection, and reflection told me that I should do wel=
l to
keep clear of Mameena and her domestic complications, if she had any. So I
changed my mind, and next morning trekked on to Nodwengu by the only route =
that
my guides reported to be practicable, one which took me a long way round.
That day, owing to the roughness of the road--=
if
road it could be called--and an accident to one of the wagons, we only cove=
red
about fifteen miles, and as night fell were obliged to outspan at the first=
spot
where we could find water. When the oxen had been unyoked I looked about me,
and saw that we were in a place that, although I had approached it from a
somewhat different direction, I recognised at once as the mouth of the Black
Kloof, in which, over a year before, I had interviewed Zikali the Little and
Wise. There was no mistaking the spot; that blasted valley, with the piled-=
up
columns of boulders and the overhanging cliff at the end of it, have, so fa=
r as
I am aware, no exact counterparts in Africa.
I sat upon the box of the first wagon, eating =
my
food, which consisted of some biltong and biscuit, for I had not bothered to
shoot any game that day, which was very hot, and wondering whether Zikali w=
ere
still alive, also whether I should take the trouble to walk up the kloof an=
d find
out. On the whole I thought that I would not, as the place repelled me, and=
I
did not particularly wish to hear any more of his prophecies and fierce,
ill-omened talk. So I just sat there studying the wonderful effect of the r=
ed
evening light pouring up between those walls of fantastic rocks.
Presently I perceived, far away, a single human
figure--whether it were man or woman I could not tell--walking towards me a=
long
the path which ran at the bottom of the cleft. In those gigantic surroundin=
gs
it looked extraordinarily small and lonely, although perhaps because of the=
intense
red light in which it was bathed, or perhaps just because it was human, a
living thing in the midst of all that still, inanimate grandeur, it caught =
and
focused my attention. I grew greatly interested in it; I wondered if it were
that of man or woman, and what it was doing here in this haunted valley.
The figure drew nearer, and now I saw it was
slender and tall, like that of a lad or of a well-grown woman, but to which=
sex
it belonged I could not see, because it was draped in a cloak of beautiful =
grey
fur. Just then Scowl came to the other side of the wagon to speak to me abo=
ut something,
which took off my attention for the next two minutes. When I looked round a=
gain
it was to see the figure standing within three yards of me, its face hidden=
by
a kind of hood which was attached to the fur cloak.
"Who are you, and what is your
business?" I asked, whereon a gentle voice answered:
"Do you not know me, O Macumazana?"<= o:p>
"How can I know one who is tied up like a
gourd in a mat? Yet is it not--is it not--"
"Yes, it is Mameena, and I am very pleased
that you should remember my voice, Macumazahn, after we have been separated=
for
such a long, long time," and, with a sudden movement, she threw back t=
he
kaross, hood and all, revealing herself in all her strange beauty.
I jumped down off the wagon-box and took her h=
and.
"O Macumazana," she said, while I st=
ill
held it--or, to be accurate, while she still held mine--"indeed my hea=
rt
is glad to see a friend again," and she looked at me with her appealing
eyes, which, in the red light, I could see appeared to float in tears.
"A friend, Mameena!" I exclaimed.
"Why, now you are so rich, and the wife of a big chief, you must have
plenty of friends."
"Alas! Macumazahn, I am rich in nothing
except trouble, for my husband saves, like the ants for winter. Why, he even
grudged me this poor kaross; and as for friends, he is so jealous that he w=
ill
not allow me any."
"He cannot be jealous of women,
Mameena!"
"Oh, women! Piff! I do not care for women;
they are very unkind to me, because--because--well, perhaps you can guess w=
hy,
Macumazahn," she answered, glancing at her own reflection in a little
travelling looking-glass that hung from the woodwork of the wagon, for I had
been using it to brush my hair, and smiled very sweetly.
"At least you have your husband, Mameena,=
and
I thought that perhaps by this time--"
She held up her hand.
"My husband! Oh, I would that I had him n=
ot,
for I hate him, Macumazahn; and as for the rest--never! The truth is that I
never cared for any man except one whose name you may chance to remember,
Macumazahn."
"I suppose you mean Saduko--" I bega=
n.
"Tell me, Macumazahn," she inquired
innocently, "are white people very stupid? I ask because you do not se=
em
as clever as you used to be. Or have you perhaps a bad memory?"
Now I felt myself turning red as the sky behind
me, and broke in hurriedly:
"If you did not like your husband, Mameen=
a,
you should not have married him. You know you need not unless you wished.&q=
uot;
"When one has only two thorn bushes to sit
on, Macumazahn, one chooses that which seems to have the fewest prickles, to
discover sometimes that they are still there in hundreds, although one did =
not
see them. You know that at length everyone gets tired of standing."
"Is that why you have taken to walking,
Mameena? I mean, what are you doing here alone?"
"I? Oh, I heard that you were passing this
way, and came to have a talk with you. No, from you I cannot hide even the
least bit of the truth. I came to talk with you, but also I came to see Zik=
ali
and ask him what a wife should do who hates her husband."
"Indeed! And what did he answer you?"=
;
"He answered that he thought she had bett=
er
run away with another man, if there were one whom she did not hate--out of
Zululand, of course," she replied, looking first at me and then at my
wagon and the two horses that were tied to it.
"Is that all he said, Mameena?"
"No. Have I not told you that I cannot hi=
de
one grain of the truth from you? He added that the only other thing to be d=
one
was to sit still and drink my sour milk, pretending that it is sweet, until=
my
Spirit gives me a new cow. He seemed to think that my Spirit would be bount=
iful
in the matter of new cows--one day."
"Anything more?" I inquired.
"One little thing. Have I not told you th=
at
you shall have all--all the truth? Zikali seemed to think also that at last
every one of my herd of cows, old and new, would come to a bad end. He did =
not
tell me to what end."
She turned her head aside, and when she looked=
up
again I saw that she was weeping, really weeping this time, not just making=
her
eyes swim, as she did before.
"Of course they will come to a bad end,
Macumazahn," she went on in a soft, thick voice, "for I and all w=
ith
whom I have to do were 'torn out of the reeds' [i.e. created] that way. And
that's why I won't tempt you to run away with me any more, as I meant to do
when I saw you, because it is true, Macumazahn you are the only man I ever
liked or ever shall like; and you know I could make you run away with me if=
I
chose, although I am black and you are white--oh, yes, before to-morrow mor=
ning.
But I won't do it; for why should I catch you in my unlucky web and bring y=
ou
into all sorts of trouble among my people and your own? Go you your road,
Macumazahn, and I will go mine as the wind blows me. And now give me a cup =
of
water and let me be away--a cup of water, no more. Oh, do not be afraid for=
me,
or melt too much, lest I should melt also. I have an escort waiting over yo=
nder
hill. There, thank you for your water, Macumazahn, and good night. Doubtles=
s we
shall meet again ere long, and-- I forgot; the Little Wise One said he would
like to have a talk with you. Good night, Macumazahn, good night. I trust t=
hat
you did a profitable trade with Umbezi my father and Masapo my husband. I
wonder why such men as these should have been chosen to be my father and my=
husband.
Think it over, Macumazahn, and tell me when next we meet. Give me that pret=
ty
mirror, Macumazahn; when I look in it I shall see you as well as myself, and
that will please me--you don't know how much. I thank you. Good night."=
;
In another minute I was watching her solitary
little figure, now wrapped again in the hooded kaross, as it vanished over =
the
brow of the rise behind us, and really, as she went, I felt a lump rising i=
n my
throat. Notwithstanding all her wickedness--and I suppose she was wicked--t=
here
was something horribly attractive about Mameena.
When she had gone, taking my only looking-glass
with her, and the lump in my throat had gone also, I began to wonder how mu=
ch
fact there was in her story. She had protested so earnestly that she told me
all the truth that I felt sure there must be something left behind. Also I
remembered she had said Zikali wanted to see me. Well, the end of it was I =
took
a moonlight walk up that dreadful gorge, into which not even Scowl would ac=
company
me, because he declared that the place was well known to be haunted by imik=
ovu,
or spectres who have been raised from the dead by wizards.
It was a long and disagreeable walk, and someh= ow I felt very depressed and insignificant as I trudged on between those gigantic cliffs, passing now through patches of bright moonlight and now through deep pools of shadow, threading my way among clumps of bush or round the bases of tall pillars of piled-up stones, till at length I came to the overhanging c= liffs at the end, which frowned down on me like the brows of some titanic demon.<= o:p>
Well, I got to the end at last, and at the gat=
e of
the kraal fence was met by one of those fierce and huge men who served the
dwarf as guards. Suddenly he emerged from behind a stone, and having scanne=
d me
for a moment in silence, beckoned to me to follow him, as though I were exp=
ected.
A minute later I found myself face to face with Zikali, who was seated in t=
he
clear moonlight just outside the shadow of his hut, and engaged, apparently=
, in
his favourite occupation of carving wood with a rough native knife of curio=
us
shape.
For a while he took no notice of me; then sudd=
enly
looked up, shaking back his braided grey locks, and broke into one of his g=
reat
laughs.
"So it is you, Macumazahn," he said.
"Well, I knew you were passing my way and that Mameena would send you
here. But why do you come to see the 'Thing-that-should-not-have-been-born'=
? To
tell me how you fared with the buffalo with the split horn, eh?"
"No, Zikali, for why should I tell you wh=
at
you know already? Mameena said you wished to talk with me, that was all.&qu=
ot;
"Then Mameena lied," he answered,
"as is her nature, in whose throat live four false words for every one=
of
truth. Still, sit down, Macumazahn. There is beer made ready for you by that
stool; and give me the knife and a pinch of the white man's snuff that you =
have
brought for me as a present."
I produced these articles, though how he knew =
that
I had them with me I cannot tell, nor did I think it worth while to inquire.
The snuff, I remember, pleased him very much, but of the knife he said that=
it
was a pretty toy, but he would not know how to use it. Then we fell to talk=
ing.
"What was Mameena doing here?" I ask=
ed
boldly.
"What was she doing at your wagons?"= he asked. "Oh, do not stop to tell me; I know, I know. That is a very good Snake of yours, Macumazahn, which always just lets you slip through her fingers, when, if she chose to close her hand-- Well, well, I do not betray= the secrets of my clients; but I say this to you--go on to the kraal of the son= of Senzangakona, and you will see things happen that will make you laugh, for Mameena will be there, and the mongrel Masapo, her husband. Truly she hates him well, and, after all, I would rather be loved than hated by Mameena, though both are dangerous. Poor Mongrel! Soon the jackals will be chewing his bones."<= o:p>
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"Only because Mameena tells me that he is=
a
great wizard, and the jackals eat many wizards in Zululand. Also he is an e=
nemy
of Panda's House, is he not?"
"You have been giving her some bad counse=
l,
Zikali," I said, blurting out the thought in my mind.
"Perhaps, perhaps, Macumazahn; only I may
call it good counsel. I have my own road to walk, and if I can find some to
clear away the thorns that would prick my feet, what of it? Also she will g=
et
her pay, who finds life dull up there among the Amasomi, with one she hates=
for
a hut-fellow. Go you and watch, and afterwards, when you have an hour to sp=
are,
come and tell me what happens--that is, if I do not chance to be there to s=
ee
for myself."
"Is Saduko well?" I asked to change =
the
subject, for I did not wish to become privy to the plots that filled the ai=
r.
"I am told that his tree grows great, tha=
t it
overshadows all the royal kraal. I think that Mameena wishes to sleep in the
shade of it. And now you are weary, and so am I. Go back to your wagons,
Macumazahn, for I have nothing more to say to you to-night. But be sure to
return and tell me what chances at Panda's kraal. Or, as I have said, perha=
ps I
shall meet you there. Who knows, who knows?"
Now, it will be observed that there was nothing
very remarkable in this conversation between Zikali and myself. He did not =
tell
me any deep secrets or make any great prophecy. It may be wondered, indeed,
when there is so much to record, why I set it down at all.
My answer is, because of the extraordinary
impression that it produced upon me. Although so little was said, I felt all
the while that those few words were a veil hiding terrible events to be. I =
was
sure that some dreadful scheme had been hatched between the old dwarf and
Mameena whereof the issue would soon become apparent, and that he had sent =
me away
in a hurry after he learned that she had told me nothing, because he feared
lest I should stumble on its cue and perhaps cause it to fail.
At any rate, as I walked back to my wagons by =
moonlight
down that dreadful gorge, the hot, thick air seemed to me to have a physical
taste and smell of blood, and the dank foliage of the tropical trees that g=
rew there,
when now and again a puff of wind stirred them, moaned like the fabled imik=
ovu,
or as men might do in their last faint agony. The effect upon my nerves was
quite strange, for when at last I reached my wagons I was shaking like a re=
ed,
and a cold perspiration, unnatural enough upon that hot night, poured from =
my
face and body.
Well, I took a couple of stiff tots of
"squareface" to pull myself together, and at length went to sleep=
, to
awake before dawn with a headache. Looking out of the wagon, to my surprise=
I
saw Scowl and the hunters, who should have been snoring, standing in a group
and talking to each other in frightened whispers. I called Scowl to me and
asked what was the matter.
"Nothing, Baas," he said with a
shamefaced air; "only there are so many spooks about this place. They =
have
been passing in and out of it all night."
"Spooks, you idiot!" I answered.
"Probably they were people going to visit the Nyanga, Zikali."
"Perhaps, Baas; only then we do not know =
why
they should all look like dead people--princes, some of them, by their
dress--and walk upon the air a man's height from the ground."
"Pooh!" I replied. "Do you not =
know
the difference between owls in the mist and dead kings? Make ready, for we =
trek
at once; the air here is full of fever."
"Certainly, Baas," he said, springing
off to obey; and I do not think I ever remember two wagons being got under =
way
quicker than they were that morning.
I merely mention this nonsense to show that the
Black Kloof could affect other people's nerves as well as my own.
In due
course I reached Nodwengu without accident, having sent forward one of my
hunters to report my approach to Panda. When my wagons arrived outside the
Great Place they were met by none other than my old friend, Maputa, he who =
had
brought me back the pills before our attack upon Bangu.
"Greeting, Macumazahn," he said. &qu=
ot;I
am sent by the King to say that you are welcome and to point you out a good
place to outspan; also to give you permission to trade as much as you will =
in
this town, since he knows that your dealings are always fair."
I returned my thanks in the usual fashion, add=
ing
that I had brought a little present for the King which I would deliver when=
it
pleased him to receive me. Then I invited Maputa, to whom I also offered so=
me
trifle which delighted him very much, to ride with me on the wagon-box till=
we came
to the selected outspan.
This, by the way, proved, to be a very good pl=
ace
indeed, a little valley full of grass for the cattle--for by the King's ord=
er
it had not been grazed--with a stream of beautiful water running down it.
Moreover it overlooked a great open space immediately in front of the main =
gate
of the town, so that I could see everything that went on and all who arrive=
d or
departed.
"You will be comfortable here,
Macumazahn," said Maputa, "during your stay, which we hope will be
long, since, although there will soon be a mighty crowd at Nodwengu, the Ki=
ng
has given orders that none except your own servants are to enter this
valley."
"I thank the King; but why will there be a
crowd, Maputa?"
"Oh!" he answered with a shrug of the
shoulders, "because of a new thing. All the tribes of the Zulus are to
come up to be reviewed. Some say that Cetewayo has brought this about, and =
some
say that it is Umbelazi. But I am sure that it is the work of neither of th=
ese,
but of Saduko, your old friend, though what his object is I cannot tell you=
. I
only trust," he added uneasily, "that it will not end in bloodshe=
d between
the Great Brothers."
"So Saduko has grown tall, Maputa?"<= o:p>
"Tall as a tree, Macumazahn. His whisper =
in
the King's ear is louder than the shouts of others. Moreover, he has become=
a
'self-eater' [that is a Zulu term which means one who is very haughty]. You
will have to wait on him, Macumazahn; he will not wait on you."
"Is it so?" I answered. "Well, =
tall
trees are blown down sometimes."
He nodded his wise old head. "Yes,
Macumazahn; I have seen plenty grow and fall in my time, for at last the
swimmer goes with the stream. Anyhow, you will be able to do a good trade a=
mong
so many, and, whatever happens, none will harm you whom all love. And now f=
arewell;
I bear your messages to the King, who sends an ox for you to kill lest you
should grow hungry in his house."
That same evening I saw Saduko and the others,=
as
I shall tell. I had been up to visit the King and give him my present, a ca=
se
of English table-knives with bone handles, which pleased him greatly, altho=
ugh he
did not in the least know how to use them. Indeed, without their accompanyi=
ng
forks these are somewhat futile articles. I found the old fellow very tired=
and
anxious, but as he was surrounded by indunas, I had no private talk with hi=
m.
Seeing that he was busy, I took my leave as soon as I could, and when I wal=
ked
away whom should I meet but Saduko.
I saw him while he was a good way off, advanci=
ng
towards the inner gate with a train of attendants like a royal personage, a=
nd
knew very well that he saw me. Making up my mind what to do at once, I walk=
ed
straight on to him, forcing him to give me the path, which he did not wish =
to do
before so many people, and brushed past him as though he were a stranger. A=
s I
expected, this treatment had the desired effect, for after we had passed ea=
ch
other he turned and said:
"Do you not know me, Macumazahn?"
"Who calls?" I asked. "Why, fri=
end,
your face is familiar to me. How are you named?"
"Have you forgotten Saduko?" he said=
in
a pained voice.
"No, no, of course not," I answered.
"I know you now, although you seem somewhat changed since we went out
hunting and fighting together--I suppose because you are fatter. I trust th=
at
you are well, Saduko? Good-bye. I must be going back to my wagons. If you w=
ish
to see me you will find me there."
These remarks, I may add, seemed to take Saduko
very much aback. At any rate, he found no reply to them, even when old Mapu=
ta,
with whom I was walking, and some others sniggered aloud. There is nothing =
that
Zulus enjoy so much as seeing one whom they consider an upstart set in his =
place.
Well, a couple of hours afterwards, just as the
sun was sinking, who should walk up to my wagons but Saduko himself,
accompanied by a woman whom I recognised at once as his wife, the Princess
Nandie, who carried a fine baby boy in her arms. Rising, I saluted Nandie a=
nd
offered her my camp-stool, which she looked at suspiciously and declined,
preferring to seat herself on the ground after the native fashion. So I too=
k it
back again, and after I had sat down on it, not before, stretched out my ha=
nd to
Saduko, who by this time was quite humble and polite.
Well, we talked away, and by degrees, without
seeming too much interested in them, I was furnished with a list of all the
advancements which it had pleased Panda to heap upon Saduko during the past
year. In their way they were remarkable enough, for it was much as though s=
ome penniless
country gentleman in England had been promoted in that short space of time =
to
be one of the premier peers of the kingdom and endowed with great offices a=
nd
estates. When he had finished the count of them he paused, evidently waiting
for me to congratulate him. But all I said was:
"By the Heavens above I am sorry for you,
Saduko! How many enemies you must have made! What a long way there will be =
for
you to fall one night!"--a remark at which the quiet Nandie broke into=
a
low laugh that I think pleased her husband even less than my sarcasm.
"Well," I went on, "I see that you have got a baby, which is
much better than all these titles. May I look at it, Inkosazana?"
Of course she was delighted, and we proceeded =
to
inspect the baby, which evidently she loved more than anything on earth. Wh=
ilst
we were examining the child and chatting about it, Saduko sitting by meanwh=
ile in
the sulks, who on earth should appear but Mameena and her fat and sullen-lo=
oking
husband, the chief Masapo.
"Oh, Macumazahn," she said, appearin=
g to
notice no one else, "how pleased I am to see you after a whole long
year!"
I stared at her and my jaw dropped. Then I
recovered myself, thinking she must have made a mistake and meant to say
"week."
"Twelve moons," she went on, "a=
nd,
Macumazahn, not one of them has gone by but I have thought of you several t=
imes
and wondered if we should ever meet again. Where have you been all this
while?"
"In many places," I answered;
"amongst others at the Black Kloof, where I called upon the dwarf, Zik=
ali,
and lost my looking-glass."
"The Nyanga, Zikali! Oh, how often have I
wished to see him. But, of course, I cannot, for I am told he will not rece=
ive
any women."
"I don't know, I am sure," I replied,
"but you might try; perhaps he would make an exception in your
favour."
"I think I will, Macumazahn," she
murmured, whereon I collapsed into silence, feeling that things were getting
beyond me.
When I recovered myself a little it was to hear
Mameena greeting Saduko with much effusion, and complimenting him on his ri=
se
in life, which she said she had always foreseen. This remark seemed to bowl=
out
Saduko also, for he made no answer to it, although I noticed that he could =
not
take his eyes off Mameena's beautiful face. Presently, however, he seemed to
become aware of Masapo, and instantly his whole demeanour changed, for it g=
rew
proud and even terrible. Masapo tendered him some greeting; whereon Saduko
turned upon him and said:
"What, chief of the Amasomi, do you give =
the
good-day to an umfokazana and a mangy hyena? Why do you do this? Is it beca=
use
the low umfokazana has become a noble and the mangy hyena has put on a tige=
r's
coat?" And he glared at him like a veritable tiger.
Masapo made no answer that I could catch.
Muttering some inaudible words, he turned to depart, and in doing so--quite
innocently, I think--struck Nandie, knocking her over on to her back and
causing the child to fall out of her arms in such fashion that its tender h=
ead struck
against a pebble with sufficient force to cause it to bleed.
Saduko leapt at him, smiting him across the
shoulders with the little stick that he carried. For a moment Masapo paused,
and I thought that he was going to show fight. If he had any such intention,
however, he changed his mind, for without a word, or showing any resentment=
at
the insult which he had received, he broke into a heavy run and vanished am=
ong
the evening shadows. Mameena, who had observed all, broke into something el=
se,
namely, a laugh.
"Piff! My husband is big yet not brave,&q=
uot;
she said, "but I do not think he meant to hurt you, woman."
"Do you speak to me, wife of Masapo?"
asked Nandie with gentle dignity, as she gained her feet and picked up the
stunned child. "If so, my name and titles are the Inkosazana Nandie,
daughter of the Black One and wife of the lord Saduko."
"Your pardon," replied Mameena humbl=
y,
for she was cowed at once. "I did not know who you were, Inkosazana.&q=
uot;
"It is granted, wife of Masapo. Macumazah=
n,
give me water, I pray you, that I may bathe the head of my child."
The water was brought, and presently, when the
little one seemed all right again, for it had only received a scratch, Nand=
ie
thanked me and departed to her own huts, saying with a smile to her husband=
as
she passed that there was no need for him to accompany her, as she had serv=
ants
waiting at the kraal gate. So Saduko stayed behind, and Mameena stayed also=
. He
talked with me for quite a long while, for he had much to tell me, although=
all
the time I felt that his heart was not in his talk. His heart was with Mame=
ena,
who sat there and smiled continually in her mysterious way, only putting in=
a
word now and again, as though to excuse her presence.
At length she rose and said with a sigh that s=
he
must be going back to where the Amasomi were in camp, as Masapo would need =
her
to see to his food. By now it was quite dark, although I remember that from
time to time the sky was lit up by sheet lightning, for a storm was brewing=
. As
I expected, Saduko rose also, saying that he would see me on the morrow, and
went away with Mameena, walking like one who dreams.
A few minutes later I had occasion to leave the
wagons in order to inspect one of the oxen which was tied up by itself at a
distance, because it had shown signs of some sickness that might or might n=
ot
be catching. Moving quietly, as I always do from a hunter's habit, I walked=
alone
to the place where the beast was tethered behind some mimosa thorns. Just a=
s I
reached these thorns the broad lightning shone out vividly, and showed me
Saduko holding the unresisting shape of Mameena in his arms and kissing her
passionately.
Then I turned and went back to the wagons even
more quietly than I had come.
I should add that on the morrow I found out th=
at,
after all, there was nothing serious the matter with my ox.
After=
these
events matters went on quietly for some time. I visited Saduko's huts--very
fine huts--about the doors of which sat quite a number of his tribesmen, who
seemed glad to see me again. Here I learned from the Lady Nandie that her b=
abe,
whom she loved dearly, was none the worse for its little accident. Also I
learned from Saduko himself, who came in before I left, attended like a pri=
nce
by several notable men, that he had made up his quarrel with Masapo, and,
indeed, apologised to him, as he found that he had not really meant to insu=
lt
the princess, his wife, having only thrust her over by accident. Saduko add=
ed
indeed that now they were good friends, which was well for Masapo, a man wh=
om the
King had no cause to like. I said that I was glad to hear it, and went on to
call upon Masapo, who received me with enthusiasm, as also did Mameena.
Here I noted with pleasure that this pair seem=
ed
to be on much better terms than I understood had been the case in the past,=
for
Mameena even addressed her husband on two separate occasions in very
affectionate language, and fetched something that he wanted without waiting=
to
be asked. Masapo, too, was in excellent spirits, because, as he told me, the
old quarrel between him and Saduko was thoroughly made up, their reconcilia=
tion
having been sealed by an interchange of gifts. He added that he was very gl=
ad
that this was the case, since Saduko was now one of the most powerful men in
the country, who could harm him much if he chose, especially as some secret
enemy had put it about of late that he, Masapo, was an enemy of the King's
House, and an evil-doer who practised witchcraft. In proof of his new
friendship, however, Saduko had promised that these slanders should be look=
ed
into and their originator punished, if he or she could be found.
Well, I congratulated him and took my departur=
e,
"thinking furiously," as the Frenchman says. That there was a tra=
gedy
pending I was sure; this weather was too calm to last; the water ran so sti=
ll
because it was preparing to leap down some hidden precipice.
Yet what could I do? Tell Masapo I had seen his
wife being embraced by another man? Surely that was not my business; it was
Masapo's business to attend to her conduct. Also they would both deny it, a=
nd I
had no witness. Tell him that Saduko's reconciliation with him was not sinc=
ere,
and that he had better look to himself? How did I know it was not sincere? =
It
might suit Saduko's book to make friends with Masapo, and if I interfered I
should only make enemies and be called a liar who was working for some secr=
et end.
Go to Panda and confide my suspicions to him? =
He
was far too anxious and busy about great matters to listen to me, and if he
did, would only laugh at this tale of a petty flirtation. No, there was not=
hing
to be done except sit still and wait. Very possibly I was mistaken, after a=
ll, and
things would smooth themselves out, as they generally do.
Meanwhile the "reviewing," or whatev=
er
it may have been, was in progress, and I was busy with my own affairs, maki=
ng
hay while the sun shone. So great were the crowds of people who came up to
Nodwengu that in a week I had sold everything I had to sell in the two wago=
ns,
that were mostly laden with cloth, beads, knives and so forth. Moreover, th=
e prices
I got were splendid, since the buyers bid against each other, and before I =
was
cleared out I had collected quite a herd of cattle, also a quantity of ivor=
y.
These I sent on to Natal with one of the wagons, remaining behind myself wi=
th
the other, partly because Panda asked me to do so--for now and again he wou=
ld
seek my advice on sundry questions--and partly from curiosity.
There was plenty to be curious about up at
Nodwengu just then, since no one was sure that civil war would not break out
between the princes Cetewayo and Umbelazi, whose factions were present in f=
orce.
It was averted for the time, however, by Umbel=
azi
keeping away from the great gathering under pretext of being sick, and leav=
ing
Saduko and some others to watch his interests. Also the rival regiments were
not allowed to approach the town at the same time. So that public cloud pas=
sed
over, to the enormous relief of everyone, especially of Panda the King. As =
to the
private cloud whereof this history tells, it was otherwise.
As the tribes came up to the Great Place they =
were
reviewed and sent away, since it was impossible to feed so vast a multitude=
as
would have collected had they all remained. Thus the Amasomi, a small people
who were amongst the first to arrive, soon left. Only, for some reason whic=
h I
never quite understood, Masapo, Mameena and a few of Masapo's children and
headmen were detained there; though perhaps, if she had chosen, Mameena cou=
ld
have given an explanation.
Well, things began to happen. Sundry personages
were taken ill, and some of them died suddenly; and soon it was noted that =
all
these people either lived near to where Masapo's family was lodged or had at
some time or other been on bad terms with him. Thus Saduko himself was take=
n ill,
or said he was; at any rate, he vanished from public gaze for three days, a=
nd
reappeared looking very sorry for himself, though I could not observe that =
he
had lost strength or weight. These catastrophes I pass over, however, in or=
der
to come to the greatest of them, which is one of the turning points of this
chronicle.
After recovering from his alleged sickness Sad=
uko
gave a kind of thanksgiving feast, at which several oxen were killed. I was
present at this feast, or rather at the last part of it, for I only put in =
what
may be called a complimentary appearance, having no taste for such native g=
orgings.
As it drew near its close Saduko sent for Nandie, who at first refused to c=
ome
as there were no women present--I think because he wished to show his frien=
ds
that he had a princess of the royal blood for his wife, who had borne him a=
son
that one day would be great in the land. For Saduko, as I have said, had be=
come
a "self-eater," and this day his pride was inflamed by the adulat=
ion
of the company and by the beer that he had drunk.
At length Nandie did come, carrying her babe, =
from
which she never would be parted. In her dignified, ladylike fashion (althou=
gh
it seems an odd term to apply to a savage, I know none that describes her
better) she greeted first me and then sundry of the other guests, saying a =
few
words to each of them. At length she came opposite to Masapo, who had dined=
not
wisely but too well, and to him, out of her natural courtesy, spoke rather
longer than to the others, inquiring after his wife, Mameena, and others. At
the moment it occurred to me that she did this in order to assure him that =
she
bore no malice because of the accident of a while before, and was a party to
her husband's reconciliation with him.
Masapo, in a hazy way, tried to reciprocate th=
ese
kind intentions. Rising to his feet, his fat, coarse body swaying to and fro
because of the beer that he had drunk, he expressed satisfaction at the fea=
st
that had been prepared in her house. Then, his eyes falling on the child, h=
e began
to declaim about its size and beauty, until he was stopped by the murmured
protests of others, since among natives it is held to be not fortunate to
praise a young child. Indeed, the person who does so is apt to be called an
"umtakati", or bewitcher, who will bring evil upon its head, a wo=
rd
that I heard murmured by several near to me. Not satisfied with this serious
breach of etiquette, the intoxicated Masapo snatched the infant from its
mother's arms under pretext of looking for the hurt that had been caused to=
its
brow when it fell to the ground at my camp, and finding none, proceeded to =
kiss
it with his thick lips.
Nandie dragged it from him, saying:
"Would you bring death upon my son, O Chi=
ef
of the Amasomi?"
Then, turning, she walked away from the feaste=
rs,
upon whom there fell a certain hush.
Fearing lest something unpleasant should ensue,
for I saw Saduko biting his lips with rage not unmixed with fear, and
remembering Masapo's reputation as a wizard, I took advantage of this pause=
to
bid a general good night to the company and retire to my camp.
What happened immediately after I left I do not
know, but just before dawn on the following morning I was awakened from sle=
ep
in my wagon by my servant Scowl, who said that a messenger had come from the
huts of Saduko, begging that I would proceed there at once and bring the wh=
ite man's
medicines, as his child was very ill. Of course I got up and went, taking w=
ith
me some ipecacuanha and a few other remedies that I thought might be suitab=
le
for infantile ailments.
Outside the huts, which I reached just as the =
sun
began to rise, I was met by Saduko himself, who was coming to seek me, as I=
saw
at once, in a state of terrible grief.
"What is the matter?" I asked.
"O Macumazana," he answered, "t=
hat
dog Masapo has bewitched my boy, and unless you can save him he dies."=
"Nonsense," I said, "why do you
utter wind? If the babe is sick, it is from some natural cause."
"Wait till you see it," he replied.<= o:p>
Well, I went into the big hut, and there found Nandie and some other women, also a native doctor or two. Nandie was seated= on the floor looking like a stone image of grief, for she made no sound, only pointed with her finger to the infant that lay upon a mat in front of her.<= o:p>
A single glance showed me that it was dying of
some disease of which I had no knowledge, for its dusky little body was cov=
ered
with red blotches and its tiny face twisted all awry. I told the women to h=
eat water,
thinking that possibly this might be a case of convulsions, which a hot bath
would mitigate; but before it was ready the poor babe uttered a thin wail a=
nd
died.
Then, when she saw that her child was gone, Na=
ndie
spoke for the first time.
"The wizard has done his work well,"=
she
said, and flung herself face downwards on the floor of the hut.
As I did not know what to answer, I went out,
followed by Saduko.
"What has killed my son, Macumazahn?"=
; he
asked in a hollow voice, the tears running down his handsome face, for he h=
ad
loved his firstborn.
"I cannot tell," I replied; "but
had he been older I should have thought he had eaten something poisonous, w=
hich
seems impossible."
"Yes, Macumazahn, and the poison that he =
has
eaten came from the breath of a wizard whom you may chance to have seen kiss
him last night. Well, his life shall be avenged."
"Saduko," I exclaimed, "do not =
be
unjust. There are many sicknesses that may have killed your son of which I =
have
no knowledge, who am not a trained doctor."
"I will not be unjust, Macumazahn. The ba=
be
has died by witchcraft, like others in this town of late, but the evil-doer=
may
not be he whom I suspect. That is for the smellers-out to decide," and
without more words he turned and left me.
Next day Masapo was put upon his trial before a
Court of Councillors, over which the King himself presided, a very unusual
thing for him to do, and one which showed the great interest he took in the
case.
At this court I was summoned to give evidence,
and, of course, confined myself to answering such questions as were put to =
me.
Practically these were but two. What had passed at my wagons when Masapo had
knocked over Nandie and her child, and Saduko had struck him, and what had I
seen at Saduko's feast when Masapo had kissed the infant? I told them in as=
few
words as I could, and after some slight cross-examination by Masapo, made w=
ith
a view to prove that the upsetting of Nandie was an accident and that he was
drunk at Saduko's feast, to both of which suggestions I assented, I rose to=
go.
Panda, however, stopped me and bade me describe the aspect of the child whe=
n I
was called in to give it medicine.
I did so as accurately as possible, and could =
see
that my account made a deep impression on the mind of the court. Then Panda
asked me if I had ever seen any similar case, to which I was obliged to rep=
ly:
"No, I have not."
After this the Councillors consulted privately,
and when we were called back the King gave his judgment, which was very bri=
ef.
It was evident, he said, that there had been events which might have caused
enmity to arise in the mind of Masapo against Saduko, by whom Masapo had be=
en struck
with a stick. Therefore, although a reconciliation had taken place, there
seemed to be a possible motive for revenge. But if Masapo killed the child,
there was no evidence to show how he had done so. Moreover, that infant, his
own grandson, had not died of any known disease. He had, however, died of a
similar disease to that which had carried off certain others with whom Masa=
po
had been mixed up, whereas more, including Saduko himself, had been sick and
recovered, all of which seemed to make a strong case against Masapo.
Still, he and his Councillors wished not to
condemn without full proof. That being so, they had determined to call in t=
he
services of some great witch-doctor, one who lived at a distance and knew
nothing of the circumstances. Who that doctor should be was not yet settled.
When it was and he had arrived, the case would be re-opened, and meanwhile =
Masapo
would be kept a close prisoner. Finally, he prayed that the white man,
Macumazahn, would remain at his town until the matter was settled.
So Masapo was led off, looking very dejected, =
and,
having saluted the King, we all went away.
I should add that, except for the remission of=
the
case to the court of the witch-doctor, which, of course, was an instance of
pure Kafir superstition, this judgment of the King's seemed to me well reas=
oned
and just, very different indeed from what would have been given by Dingaan =
or
Chaka, who were wont, on less evidence, to make a clean sweep not only of t=
he
accused, but of all his family and dependents.
About eight days later, during which time I had
heard nothing of the matter and seen no one connected with it, for the whole
thing seemed to have become Zila--that is, not to be talked about--I receiv=
ed a
summons to attend the "smelling-out," and went, wondering what
witch-doctor had been chosen for that bloody and barbarous ceremony. Indeed=
, I
had not far to go, since the place selected for the occasion was outside th=
e fence
of the town of Nodwengu, on that great open stretch of ground which lay at =
the
mouth of the valley where I was camped. Here, as I approached, I saw a vast
multitude of people crowded together, fifty deep or more, round a little ov=
al
space not much larger than the pit of a theatre. On the inmost edge of this
ring were seated many notable people, male and female, and as I was conduct=
ed
to the side of it which was nearest to the gate of the town, I observed amo=
ng
them Saduko, Masapo, Mameena and others, and mixed up with them a number of
soldiers, who were evidently on duty.
Scarcely had I seated myself on a camp-stool,
carried by my servant Scowl, when through the gate of the kraal issued Panda
and certain of his Council, whose appearance the multitude greeted with the
royal salute of "Bayéte", that came from them in a deep and
simultaneous roar of sound. When its echoes died away, in the midst of a de=
ep
silence Panda spoke, saying:
"Bring forth the Nyanga [doctor]. Let the
umhlahlo [that is, the witch-trial] begin!"
There was a long pause, and then in the open
gateway appeared a solitary figure that at first sight seemed to be scarcely
human, the figure of a dwarf with a gigantic head, from which hung long, wh=
ite
hair, plaited into locks. It was Zikali, no other!
Quite unattended, and naked save for his mooch=
a,
for he had on him none of the ordinary paraphernalia of the witch-doctor, h=
e waddled
forward with a curious toad-like gait till he had passed through the
Councillors and stood in the open space of the ring. Halting there, he look=
ed
about him slowly with his deep-set eyes, turning as he looked, till at leng=
th his
glance fell upon the King.
"What would you have of me, Son of
Senzangakona?" he asked. "Many years have passed since last we me=
t.
Why do you drag me from my hut, I who have visited the kraal of the King of=
the
Zulus but twice since the 'Black One' [Chaka] sat upon the throne--once when
the Boers were killed by him who went before you, and once when I was broug=
ht
forth to see all who were left of my race, shoots of the royal Dwandwe stoc=
k,
slain before my eyes. Do you bear me hither that I may follow them into the=
darkness,
O Child of Senzangakona? If so I am ready; only then I have words to say th=
at
it may not please you to hear."
His deep, rumbling voice echoed into silence,
while the great audience waited for the King's answer. I could see that they
were all afraid of this man, yes, even Panda was afraid, for he shifted
uneasily upon his stool. At length he spoke, saying:
"Not so, O Zikali. Who would wish to do h=
urt
to the wisest and most ancient man in all the land, to him who touches the =
far
past with one hand and the present with the other, to him who was old before
our grandfathers began to be? Nay, you are safe, you on whom not even the '=
Black
One' dared to lay a finger, although you were his enemy and he hated you. As
for the reason why you have been brought here, tell it to us, O Zikali. Who=
are
we that we should instruct you in the ways of wisdom?"
When the dwarf heard this he broke into one of=
his
great laughs.
"So at last the House of Senzangakona
acknowledges that I have wisdom. Then before all is done they will think me
wise indeed."
He laughed again in his ill-omened fashion and
went on hurriedly, as though he feared that he should be called upon to exp=
lain
his words:
"Where is the fee? Where is the fee? Is t=
he
King so poor that he expects an old Dwandwe doctor to divine for nothing, j=
ust
as though he were working for a private friend?"
Panda made a motion with his hand, and ten fine
heifers were driven into the circle from some place where they had been kep=
t in
waiting.
"Sorry beasts!" said Zikali contempt=
uously,
"compared to those we used to breed before the time of
Senzangakona"--a remark which caused a loud "Wow!" of
astonishment to be uttered by the multitude that heard it. "Still, suc=
h as
they are, let them be taken to my kraal, with a bull, for I have none."=
;
The cattle were driven away, and the ancient d=
warf
squatted himself down and stared at the ground, looking like a great black
toad. For a long while--quite ten minutes, I should think--he stared thus, =
till
I, for one, watching him intently, began to feel as though I were mesmerise=
d.
At length he looked up, tossing back his grey
locks, and said:
"I see many things in the dust. Oh, yes, =
it
is alive, it is alive, and tells me many things. Show that you are alive, O
Dust. Look!"
As he spoke, throwing his hands upwards, there
arose at his very feet one of those tiny and incomprehensible whirlwinds wi=
th
which all who know South Africa will be familiar. It drove the dust togethe=
r;
it lifted it in a tall, spiral column that rose and rose to a height of fif=
ty
feet or more. Then it died away as suddenly as it had come, so that the dust
fell down again over Zikali, over the King, and over three of his sons who =
sat
behind him. Those three sons, I remember, were named Tshonkweni, Dabulesiny=
e,
and Mantantashiya. As it chanced, by a strange coincidence all of these were
killed at the great battle of the Tugela of which I have to tell.
Now again an exclamation of fear and wonder ro=
se
from the audience, who set down this lifting of the dust at Zikali's very f=
eet
not to natural causes, but to the power of his magic. Moreover, those on wh=
om
it had fallen, including the King, rose hurriedly and shook and brushed it =
from
their persons with a zeal that was not, I think, inspired by a mere desire =
for
cleanliness. But Zikali only laughed again in his terrible fashion and let =
it
lie on his fresh-oiled body, which it turned to the dull, dead hue of a grey
adder.
He rose and, stepping here and there, examined=
the
new-fallen dust. Then he put his hand into a pouch he wore and produced fro=
m it
a dried human finger, whereof the nail was so pink that I think it must have
been coloured--a sight at which the circle shuddered.
"Be clever," he said, "O Finger=
of
her I loved best; be clever and write in the dust as yonder Macumazana can
write, and as some of the Dwandwe used to write before we became slaves and
bowed ourselves down before the Great Heavens." (By this he meant the
Zulus, whose name means the Heavens.) "Be clever, dear Finger which
caressed me once, me, the 'Thing-that-should-not-have-been-born,' as more w=
ill
think before I die, and write those matters that it pleases the House of
Senzangakona to know this day."
Then he bent down, and with the dead finger at
three separate spots made certain markings in the fallen dust, which to me
seemed to consist of circles and dots; and a strange and horrid sight it wa=
s to
see him do it.
"I thank you, dear Finger. Now sleep, sle=
ep,
your work is done," and slowly he wrapped the relic up in some soft
material and restored it to his pouch.
Then he studied the first of the markings and
asked: "What am I here for? What am I here for? Does he who sits upon =
the
Throne desire to know how long he has to reign?"
Now, those of the inner circle of the spectato=
rs,
who at these "smellings-out" act as a kind of chorus, looked at t=
he
King, and, seeing that he shook his head vigorously, stretched out their ri=
ght
hands, holding the thumb downwards, and said simultaneously in a cold, low =
voice:
"Izwa!" (That is, "We hear
you.")
Zikali stamped upon this set of markings.
"It is well," he said. "He who =
sits
upon the Throne does not desire to know how long he has to reign, and there=
fore
the dust has forgotten and shows it not to me."
Then he walked to the next markings and studied
them.
"Does the Child of Senzangakona desire to
know which of his sons shall live and which shall die; aye, and which of th=
em
shall sleep in his hut when he is gone?"
Now a great roar of "Izwa!" accompan=
ied
by the clapping of hands, rose from all the outer multitude who heard, for
there was no information that the Zulu people desired so earnestly as this =
at
the time of which I write.
But again Panda, who, I saw, was thoroughly
alarmed at the turn things were taking, shook his head vigorously, whereon =
the
obedient chorus negatived the question in the same fashion as before.
Zikali stamped upon the second set of markings,
saying:
"The people desire to know, but the Great
Ones are afraid to learn, and therefore the dust has forgotten who in the d=
ays
to come shall sleep in the hut of the King and who shall sleep in the belli=
es
of the jackals and the crops of the vultures after they have 'gone beyond' =
by
the bridge of spears."
Now, at this awful speech (which, both because=
of
all that it implied of bloodshed and civil war and of the wild, wailing voi=
ce
in which it was spoken, that seemed quite different from Zikali's, caused
everyone who heard it, including myself, I am afraid, to gasp and shiver) t=
he
King sprang from his stool as though to put a stop to such doctoring. Then,=
after
his fashion, he changed his mind and sat down again. But Zikali, taking no
heed, went to the third set of marks and studied them.
"It would seem," he said, "that=
I
am awakened from sleep in my Black House yonder to tell of a very little
matter, that might well have been dealt with by any common Nyanga born but
yesterday. Well, I have taken my fee, and I will earn it, although I thought
that I was brought here to speak of great matters, such as the death of pri=
nces
and the fortunes of peoples. Is it desired that my Spirit should speak of
wizardries in this town of Nodwengu?"
"Izwa!" said the chorus in a loud vo=
ice.
Zikali nodded his great head and seemed to talk
with the dust, waiting now and again for an answer.
"Good," he said; "they are many,
and the dust has told them all to me. Oh, they are very many"--and he
glared around him--"so many that if I spoke them all the hyenas of the
hills would be full to-night--"
Here the audience began to show signs of great
apprehension.
"But," looking down at the dust and
turning his head sideways, "what do you say, what do you say? Speak mo=
re
plainly, Little Voices, for you know I grow deaf. Oh! now I understand. The
matter is even smaller than I thought. Just of one wizard--"
"Izwa!" (loudly).
"--just of a few deaths and some
sicknesses."
"Izwa!"
"Just of one death, one principal
death."
"Izwa!" (very loudly).
"Ah! So we have it--one death. Now, was i=
t a
man?"
"Izwa!" (very coldly).
"A woman?"
"Izwa!" (still more coldly).
"Then a child? It must be a child, unless
indeed it is the death of a spirit. But what do you people know of spirits?=
A
child! A child! Ah! you hear me--a child. A male child, I think. Do you not=
say
so, O Dust?"
"Izwa!" (emphatically).
"A common child? A bastard? The son of
nobody?"
"Izwa!" (very low).
"A well-born child? One who would have be=
en
great? O Dust, I hear, I hear; a royal child, a child in whom ran the blood=
of
the Father of the Zulus, he who was my friend? The blood of Senzangakona, t=
he
blood of the 'Black One,' the blood of Panda."
He stopped, while both from the chorus and from
the thousands of the circle gathered around went up one roar of
"Izwa!" emphasised by a mighty movement of outstretched arms and
down-pointing thumbs.
Then silence, during which Zikali stamped upon=
all
the remaining markings, saying:
"I thank you, O Dust, though I am sorry to
have troubled you for so small a matter. So, so," he went on presently,
"a royal boy-child is dead, and you think by witchcraft. Let us find o=
ut
if he died by witchcraft or as others die, by command of the Heavens that n=
eed
them. What! Here is one mark which I have left. Look! It grows red, it is f=
ull of
spots! The child died with a twisted face."
"Izwa! Izwa! Izwa!" (crescendo).
"This death was not natural. Now, was it =
witchcraft
or was it poison? Both, I think, both. And whose was the child? Not that of=
a
son of the King, I think. Oh, yes, you hear me, People, you hear me; but be
silent; I do not need your help. No, not of a son; of a daughter, then.&quo=
t;
He turned and, looked about him till his eye fell upon a group of women, am=
ongst
whom sat Nandie, dressed like a common person. "Of a daughter, a
daughter--" He walked to the group of women. "Why, none of these =
are royal;
they are the children of low people. And yet--and yet I seem to smell the b=
lood
of Senzangakona."
He sniffed at the air as a dog does, and as he
sniffed drew ever nearer to Nandie, till at last he laughed and pointed to =
her.
"Your child, Princess, whose name I do not know. Your firstborn child, whom you loved more than your own heart."<= o:p>
She rose.
"Yes, yes, Nyanga," she cried. "=
;I
am the Princess Nandie, and he was my child, whom I loved more than my own
heart."
"Haha!" said Zikali. "Dust, you=
did
not lie to me. My Spirit, you did not lie to me. But now, tell me, Dust--and
tell me, my Spirit--who killed this child?"
He began to waddle round the circle, an
extraordinary sight, covered as he was with grey grime, varied with streaks=
of
black skin where the perspiration had washed the dust away.
Presently he came opposite to me, and, to my
dismay, paused, sniffing at me as he had at Nandie.
"Ah! ah! O Macumazana," he said,
"you have something to do with this matter," a saying at which all
that audience pricked their ears.
Then I rose up in wrath and fear, knowing my
position to be one of some danger.
"Wizard, or Smeller-out of Wizards, which=
ever
you name yourself," I called in a loud voice, "if you mean that I
killed Nandie's child, you lie!"
"No, no, Macumazahn," he answered,
"but you tried to save it, and therefore you had something to do with =
the
matter, had you not? Moreover, I think that you, who are wise like me, know=
who
did kill it.
Won't you tell me, Macumazahn? No? Then I must
find out for myself. Be at peace. Does not all the land know that your hands
are white as your heart?"
Then, to my great relief, he passed on, amidst=
a
murmur of approbation, for, as I have said, the Zulus liked me. Round and r=
ound
he wandered, to my surprise passing both Mameena and Masapo without taking =
any particular
note of them, although he scanned them both, and I thought that I saw a swi=
ft
glance of recognition pass between him and Mameena. It was curious to watch=
his
progress, for as he went those in front of him swayed in their terror like =
corn
before a puff of wind, and when he had passed they straightened themselves =
as
the corn does when the wind has gone by.
At length he had finished his journey and retu=
rned
to his starting-point, to all appearance completely puzzled.
"You keep so many wizards at your kraal,
King," he said, addressing Panda, "that it is hard to say which of
them wrought this deed. It would have been easier to tell you of greater
matters. Yet I have taken your fee, and I must earn it--I must earn it. Dus=
t,
you are dumb. Now, my Idhlozi, my Spirit, do you speak?" and, holding =
his
head sideways, he turned his left ear up towards the sky, then said present=
ly,
in a curious, matter-of-fact voice:
"Ah! I thank you, Spirit. Well, King, your
grandchild was killed by the House of Masapo, your enemy, chief of the
Amasomi."
Now a roar of approbation went up from the
audience, among whom Masapo's guilt was a foregone conclusion.
When this had died down Panda spoke, saying:
"The House of Masapo is a large house; I
believe that he has several wives and many children. It is not enough to sm=
ell
out the House, since I am not as those who went before me were, nor will I =
slay
the innocent with the guilty. Tell us, O Opener-of-Roads, who among the Hou=
se
of Masapo has wrought this deed?"
"That's just the question," grumbled
Zikali in a deep voice. "All that I know is that it was done by poison=
ing,
and I smell the poison. It is here."
Then he walked to where Mameena sat and cried =
out:
"Seize that woman and search her hair.&qu=
ot;
Executioners who were in waiting sprang forwar=
d,
but Mameena waved them away.
"Friends," she said, with a little
laugh, "there is no need to touch me," and, rising, she stepped
forward to the centre of the ring. Here, with a few swift motions of her ha=
nds,
she flung off first the cloak she wore, then the moocha about her middle, a=
nd
lastly the fillet that bound her long hair, and stood before that audience =
in
all her naked beauty--a wondrous and a lovely sight.
"Now," she said, "let women come
and search me and my garments, and see if there is any poison hid there.&qu=
ot;
Two old crones stepped forward--though I do not
know who sent them--and carried out a very thorough examination, finally
reporting that they had found nothing. Thereon Mameena, with a shrug of her
shoulders, resumed such clothes as she wore, and returned to her place.
Zikali appeared to grow angry. He stamped upon=
the
ground with his big feet; he shook his braided grey locks and cried out:
"Is my wisdom to be defeated in such a li=
ttle
matter? One of you tie a bandage over my eyes."
Now a man--it was Maputa, the messenger--came =
out
and did so, and I noted that he tied it well and tight. Zikali whirled round
upon his heels, first one way and then another, and, crying aloud: "Gu=
ide
me, my Spirit!" marched forward in a zigzag fashion, as a blindfolded =
man
does, with his arms stretched out in front of him. First he went to the rig=
ht, then
to the left, and then straight forward, till at length, to my astonishment,=
he
came exactly opposite the spot where Masapo sat and, stretching out his gre=
at,
groping hands, seized the kaross with which he was covered and, with a jerk,
tore it from him.
"Search this!" he cried, throwing it=
on
the ground, and a woman searched.
Presently she uttered an exclamation, and from
among the fur of one of the tails of the kaross produced a tiny bag that
appeared to be made out of the bladder of a fish. This she handed to Zikali,
whose eyes had now been unbandaged.
He looked at it, then gave it to Maputa, sayin=
g:
"There is the poison--there is the poison,
but who gave it I do not say. I am weary. Let me go."
Then, none hindering him, he walked away throu=
gh
the gate of the kraal.
Soldiers seized upon Masapo, while the multitu=
de
roared: "Kill the wizard!"
Masapo sprang up, and, running to where the Ki=
ng
sat, flung himself upon his knees, protesting his innocence and praying for
mercy. I also, who had doubts as to all this business, ventured to rise and
speak.
"O King," I said, "as one who h=
as
known this man in the past, I plead with you. How that powder came into his
kaross I know not, but perchance it is not poison, only harmless dust."=
;
"Yes, it is but wood dust which I use for=
the
cleaning of my nails," cried Masapo, for he was so terrified I think he
knew not what he said.
"So you own to knowledge of the medicine?=
"
exclaimed Panda. "Therefore none hid it in your kaross through
malice."
Masapo began to explain, but what he said was =
lost
in a mighty roar of "Kill the wizard!"
Panda held up his hand and there was silence.<= o:p>
"Bring milk in a dish," commanded the
King, and it, was brought, and, at a further word from him, dusted with the
powder.
"Now, O Macumazana," said Panda to m=
e,
"if you still think that yonder man is innocent, will you drink this
milk?"
"I do not like milk, O King," I
answered, shaking my head, whereon all who heard me laughed.
"Will Mameena, his wife, drink it,
then?" asked Panda.
She also shook her head, saying:
"O King, I drink no milk that is mixed wi=
th
dust."
Just then a lean, white dog, one of those
homeless, mangy beasts that stray about kraals and live upon carrion, wande=
red
into the ring. Panda made a sign, and a servant, going to where the poor be=
ast
stood staring about it hungrily, set down the wooden dish of milk in front =
of
it. Instantly the dog lapped it up, for it was starving, and as it finished=
the
last drop the man slipped a leathern thong about its neck and held it fast.=
Now all eyes were fixed upon the dog, mine amo=
ng
them. Presently the beast uttered a long and melancholy howl which thrilled=
me
through, for I knew it to be Masapo's death warrant, then began to scratch =
the
ground and foam at the mouth. Guessing what would follow, I rose, bowed to =
the King,
and walked away to my camp, which, it will be remembered, was set up in a
little kloof commanding this place, at a distance only of a few hundred yar=
ds.
So intent was all the multitude upon watching the dog that I doubt whether
anyone saw me go. As for that poor beast, Scowl, who stayed behind, told me
that it did not die for about ten minutes, since before its end a red rash
appeared upon it similar to that which I had seen upon Saduko's child, and =
it
was seized with convulsions.
Well, I reached my tent unmolested, and, having
lit my pipe, engaged myself in making business entries in my note-book, in
order to divert my mind as much as I could, when suddenly I heard a most
devilish clamour. Looking up, I saw Masapo running towards me with a speed =
that
I should have thought impossible in so fat a man, while after him raced the=
fierce-faced
executioners, and behind came the mob.
"Kill the evil-doer!" they shouted.<= o:p>
Masapo reached me. He flung himself on his kne=
es
before me, gasping:
"Save me, Macumazahn! I am innocent. Mame=
ena,
the witch! Mameena--"
He got no farther, for the slayers had leapt on
him like hounds upon a buck and dragged him from me.
Then I turned and covered up my eyes.
Next
morning I left Nodwengu without saying good-bye to anyone, for what had
happened there made me desire a change. My servant, Scowl, and one of my
hunters remained, however, to collect some cattle that were still due to me=
.
A month or more later, when they joined me in
Natal, bringing the cattle, they told me that Mameena, the widow of Masapo,=
had
entered the house of Saduko as his second wife. In answer to a question whi=
ch I
put to them, they added that it was said that the Princess Nandie did not
approve of this choice of Saduko, which she thought would not be fortunate =
for
him or bring him happiness. As her husband seemed to be much enamoured of
Mameena, however, she had waived her objections, and when Panda asked if she
gave her consent had told him that, although she would prefer that Saduko
should choose some other woman who had not been mixed up with the wizard who
killed her child, she was prepared to take Mameena as her sister, and would
know how to keep her in her place.
About
eighteen months had gone by, and once again, in the autumn of the year 1856=
, I
found myself at old Umbezi's kraal, where there seemed to be an extraordina=
ry
market for any kind of gas-pipe that could be called a gun. Well, as a trad=
er
who could not afford to neglect profitable markets, which are hard things to
find, there I was.
Now, in eighteen months many things become a
little obscured in one's memory, especially if they have to do with savages=
, in
whom, after all, one takes only a philosophical and a business interest.
Therefore I may perhaps be excused if I had more or less forgotten a good m=
any
of the details of what I may call the Mameena affair. These, however, came =
back
to me very vividly when the first person that I met--at some distance from =
the
kraal, where I suppose she had been taking a country walk--was the beautiful
Mameena herself. There she was, looking quite unchanged and as lovely as ev=
er,
sitting under the shade of a wild fig-tree and fanning herself with a handf=
ul
of its leaves.
Of course I jumped off my wagon-box and greeted
her.
"Siyakubona [that is, good morrow],
Macumazahn," she said. "My heart is glad to see you."
"Siyakubona, Mameena," I answered,
leaving out all reference to my heart. Then I added, looking at her: "=
Is
it true that you have a new husband?"
"Yes, Macumazahn, an old lover of mine has
become a new husband. You know whom I mean--Saduko. After the death of that
evil-doer, Masapo, he grew very urgent, and the King, also the Inkosazana
Nandie, pressed it on me, and so I yielded. Also, to be honest, Saduko was a
good match, or seemed to be so."
By now we were walking side by side, for the t=
rain
of wagons had gone ahead to the old outspan. So I stopped and looked her in=
the
face.
"'Seemed to be,'" I repeated. "=
What
do you mean by 'seemed to be'? Are you not happy this time?"
"Not altogether, Macumazahn," she
answered, with a shrug of her shoulders. "Saduko is very fond of
me--fonder than I like indeed, since it causes him to neglect Nandie, who, =
by
the way, has another son, and, although she says little, that makes Nandie
cross. In short," she added, with a burst of truth, "I am the
plaything, Nandie is the great lady, and that place suits me ill."
"If you love Saduko, you should not mind,
Mameena."
"Love," she said bitterly. "Pif=
f!
What is love? But I have asked you that question once before."
"Why are you here, Mameena?" I inqui=
red,
leaving it unanswered.
"Because Saduko is here, and, of course,
Nandie, for she never leaves him, and he will not leave me; because the Pri=
nce
Umbelazi is coming; because there are plots afoot and the great war draws
near--that war in which so many must die."
"Between Cetewayo and Umbelazi,
Mameena?"
"Aye, between Cetewayo and Umbelazi. Why =
do
you suppose those wagons of yours are loaded with guns for which so many ca=
ttle
must be paid? Not to shoot game with, I think. Well, this little kraal of my
father's is just now the headquarters of the Umbelazi faction, the Isigqosa=
, as
the princedom of Gikazi is that of Cetewayo. My poor father!" she adde=
d, with
her characteristic shrug, "he thinks himself very great to-day, as he =
did
after he had shot the elephant--before I nursed you, Macumazahn--but often I
wonder what will be the end of it--for him and for all of us, Macumazahn,
including yourself."
"I!" I answered. "What have I t=
o do
with your Zulu quarrels?"
"That you will know when you have done wi=
th
them, Macumazahn. But here is the kraal, and before we enter it I wish to t=
hank
you for trying to protect that unlucky husband of mine, Masapo."
"I only did so, Mameena, because I thought
him innocent."
"I know, Macumazahn; and so did I, althou=
gh,
as I always told you, I hated him, the man with whom my father forced me to
marry. But I am afraid, from what I have learned since, that he was not
altogether innocent. You see, Saduko had struck him, which he could not for=
get.
Also, he was jealous of Saduko, who had been my suitor, and wished to injure
him. But what I do not understand," she added, with a burst of confide=
nce,
"is why he did not kill Saduko instead of his child."
"Well, Mameena, you may remember it was s=
aid
he tried to do so."
"Yes, Macumazahn; I had forgotten that. I
suppose that he did try, and failed. Oh, now I see things with both eyes. L=
ook,
yonder is my father. I will go away. But come and talk to me sometimes,
Macumazahn, for otherwise Nandie will be careful that I should hear nothing=
--I
who am the plaything, the beautiful woman of the House, who must sit and sm=
ile,
but must not think."
So she departed, and I went on to meet old Umb=
ezi,
who came gambolling towards me like an obese goat, reflecting that, whatever
might be the truth or otherwise of her story, her advancement in the world =
did
not seem to have brought Mameena greater happiness and contentment.
Umbezi, who greeted me warmly, was in high spi=
rits
and full of importance. He informed me that the marriage of Mameena to Sadu=
ko,
after the death of the wizard, her husband, whose tribe and cattle had been=
given
to Saduko in compensation for the loss of his son, was a most fortunate thi=
ng
for him.
I asked why.
"Because as Saduko grows great so I, his
father-in-law, grow great with him, Macumazahn, especially as he has been
liberal to me in the matter of cattle, passing on to me a share of the herd=
s of
Masapo, so that I, who have been poor so long, am getting rich at last.
Moreover, my kraal is to be honoured with a visit from Umbelazi and some of=
his
brothers to-morrow, and Saduko has promised to lift me up high when the Pri=
nce
is declared heir to the throne."
"Which prince?" I asked.
"Umbelazi, Macumazahn. Who else? Umbelazi,
who without doubt will conquer Cetewayo."
"Why without doubt, Umbezi? Cetewayo has a
great following, and if he should conquer I think that you will only be lif=
ted
up in the crops of the vultures."
At this rough suggestion Umbezi's fat face fel=
l.
"O Macumazana," he said, "if I
thought that, I would go over to Cetewayo, although Saduko is my son-in-law.
But it is not possible, since the King loves Umbelazi's mother most of all =
his
wives, and, as I chance to know, has sworn to her that he favours Umbelazi's
cause, since he is the dearest to him of all his sons, and will do everythi=
ng
that he can to help him, even to the sending of his own regiment to his ass=
istance,
if there should be need. Also, it is said that Zikali, Opener-of-Roads, who=
has
all wisdom, has prophesied that Umbelazi will win more than he ever hoped
for."
"The King!" I said, "a straw bl=
own
hither and thither between two great winds, waiting to be wafted to rest by
that which is strongest! The prophecy of Zikali! It seems to me that it can=
be
read two ways, if, indeed, he ever made one. Well, Umbezi, I hope that you =
are
right, for, although it is no affair of mine, who am but a white trader in =
your
country, I like Umbelazi better than Cetewayo, and think that he has a kind=
er
heart. Also, as you have chosen his side, I advise you to stick to it, since
traitors to a cause seldom come to any good, whether it wins or loses. And =
now,
will you take count of the guns and powder which I have brought with me?&qu=
ot;
Ah! better would it have been for Umbezi if he=
had
listened to my advice and remained faithful to the leader he had chosen, for
then, even if he had lost his life, at least he would have kept his good na=
me.
But of him presently, as they say in pedigrees.
Next day I went to pay my respects to Nandie, =
whom
I found engaged in nursing her new baby and as quiet and stately in her
demeanour as ever. Still, I think that she was very glad to see me, because=
I
had tried to save the life of her first child, whom she could not forget, if
for no other reason. Whilst I was talking to her of that sad matter, also o=
f the
political state of the country, as to which I think she wished to say somet=
hing
to me, Mameena entered the hut, without waiting to be asked, and sat down,
whereon Nandie became suddenly silent.
This, however, did not trouble Mameena, who ta=
lked
away about anything and everything, completely ignoring the head-wife. For a
while Nandie bore it with patience, but at length she took advantage of a p=
ause
in the conversation to say in her firm, low voice:
"This is my hut, daughter of Umbezi, a th=
ing
which you remember well enough when it is a question whether Saduko, our
husband, shall visit you or me. Can you not remember it now when I would sp=
eak
with the white chief, Watcher-by-Night, who has been so good as to take the
trouble to come to see me?"
On hearing these words Mameena leapt up in a r=
age,
and I must say I never saw her look more lovely.
"You insult me, daughter of Panda, as you
always try to do, because you are jealous of me."
"Your pardon, sister," replied Nandi=
e.
"Why should I, who am Saduko's Inkosikazi, and, as you say, daughter of
Panda, the King, be jealous of the widow of the wizard, Masapo, and the
daughter of the headman, Umbezi, whom it has pleased our husband to take in=
to
his house to be the companion of his leisure?"
"Why? Because you know that Saduko loves =
my
little finger more than he does your whole body, although you are of the Ki=
ng's
blood and have borne him brats," she answered, looking at the infant w=
ith
no kindly eye.
"It may be so, daughter of Umbezi, for men
have their fancies, and without doubt you are fair. Yet I would ask you one
thing--if Saduko loves you so much, how comes it he trusts you so little th=
at
you must learn any matter of weight by listening at my door, as I found you
doing the other day?"
"Because you teach him not to do so, O
Nandie. Because you are ever telling him not to consult with me, since she =
who
has betrayed one husband may betray another. Because you make him believe my
place is that of his toy, not that of his companion, and this although I am=
cleverer
than you and all your House tied into one bundle, as you may find out some
day."
"Yes," answered Nandie, quite
undisturbed, "I do teach him these things, and I am glad that in this
matter Saduko has a thinking head and listens to me. Also I agree that it is
likely I shall learn many more ill things through and of you one day, daugh=
ter
of Umbezi. And now, as it is not good that we should wrangle before this wh=
ite
lord, again I say to you that this is my hut, in which I wish to speak alone
with my guest."
"I go, I go!" gasped Mameena; "=
but
I tell you that Saduko shall hear of this."
"Certainly he will hear of it, for I shall
tell him when he comes to-night."
Another instant and Mameena was gone, having s=
hot
out of the hut like a rabbit from its burrow.
"I ask your pardon, Macumazahn, for what =
has
happened," said Nandie, "but it had become necessary that I should
teach my sister, Mameena, upon which stool she ought to sit. I do not trust
her, Macumazahn. I think that she knows more of the death of my child than =
she
chooses to say, she who wished to be rid of Masapo for a reason you can gue=
ss.
I think also she will bring shame and trouble upon Saduko, whom she has
bewitched with her beauty, as she bewitches all men--perhaps even yourself a
little, Macumazahn. And now let us talk of other matters."
To this proposition I agreed cordially, since,=
to
tell the truth, if I could have managed to do so with any decent grace, I
should have been out of that hut long before Mameena. So we fell to convers=
ing
on the condition of Zululand and the dangers that lay ahead for all who wer=
e connected
with the royal House--a state of affairs which troubled Nandie much, for she
was a clear-headed woman, and one who feared the future.
"Ah! Macumazahn," she said to me as =
we
parted, "I would that I were the wife of some man who did not desire to
grow great, and that no royal blood ran in my veins."
On the next day the Prince Umbelazi arrived, a=
nd
with him Saduko and a few other notable men. They came quite quietly and
without any ostensible escort, although Scowl, my servant, told me he heard
that the bush at a little distance was swarming with soldiers of the Isigqo=
sa party.
If I remember rightly, the excuse for the visit was that Umbezi had some of=
a
certain rare breed of white cattle whereof the prince wished to secure young
bulls and heifers to improve his herd.
Once inside the kraal, however, Umbelazi, who =
was
a very open-natured man, threw off all pretence, and, after greeting me
heartily enough, told me with plainness that he was there because this was a
convenient spot on which to arrange the consolidation of his party.
Almost every hour during the next two weeks
messengers--many of whom were chiefs disguised--came and went. I should have
liked to follow their example--that is, so far as their departure was
concerned--for I felt that I was being drawn into a very dangerous vortex. =
But,
as a matter of fact, I could not escape, since I was obliged to wait to rec=
eive
payment for my stuff, which, as usual, was made in cattle.
Umbelazi talked with me a good deal at that ti=
me,
impressing upon me how friendly he was towards the English white men of Nat=
al,
as distinguished from the Boers, and what good treatment he was prepared to
promise to them, should he ever attain to authority in Zululand. It was dur=
ing
one of the earliest of these conversations, which, of course, I saw had an =
ultimate
object, that he met Mameena, I think, for the first time.
We were walking together in a little natural g=
lade
of the bush that bordered one side of the kraal, when, at the end of it,
looking like some wood nymph of classic fable in the light of the setting s=
un, appeared
the lovely Mameena, clothed only in her girdle of fur, her necklace of blue
beads and some copper ornaments, and carrying upon her head a gourd.
Umbelazi noted her at once, and, ceasing his
political talk, of which he was obviously tired, asked me who that beautiful
intombi (that is, girl) might be.
"She is not an intombi, Prince," I
answered. "She is a widow who is again a wife, the second wife of your
friend and councillor, Saduko, and the daughter of your host, Umbezi."=
"Is it so, Macumazahn? Oh, then I have he=
ard
of her, though, as it chances, I have never met her before. No wonder that =
my
sister Nandie is jealous, for she is beautiful indeed."
"Yes," I answered, "she looks p=
retty
against the red sky, does she not?"
By now we were drawing near to Mameena, and I
greeted her, asking if she wanted anything.
"Nothing, Macumazahn," she answered =
in
her delicate, modest way, for never did I know anyone who could seem quite =
so
modest as Mameena, and with a swift glance of her shy eyes at the tall and
splendid Umbelazi, "nothing. Only," she added, "I was passing
with the milk of one of the few cows my father gave me, and saw you, and I
thought that perhaps, as the day has been so hot, you might like a drink of
it."
Then, lifting the gourd from her head, she hel=
d it
out to me.
I thanked her, drank some--who could do less?-= -and returned it to her, whereon she made as though she would hasten to depart.<= o:p>
"May I not drink also, daughter of Umbezi=
?"
asked Umbelazi, who could scarcely take his eyes off her.
"Certainly, sir, if you are a friend of
Macumazahn," she replied, handing him the gourd.
"I am that, Lady, and more than that, sin=
ce I
am a friend of your husband, Saduko, also, as you will know when I tell you
that my name is Umbelazi."
"I thought it must be so," she repli=
ed,
"because of your--of your stature. Let the Prince accept the offering =
of
his servant, who one day hopes to be his subject," and, dropping upon =
her
knee, she held out the gourd to him. Over it I saw their eyes meet. He dran=
k,
and as he handed back the vessel she said:
"O Prince, may I be granted a word with y=
ou?
I have that to tell which you would perhaps do well to hear, since news
sometimes reaches the ears of humble women that escapes those of the men, o=
ur
masters."
He bowed his head in assent, whereon, taking a
hint which Mameena gave me with her eyes, I muttered something about busine=
ss
and made myself scarce. I may add that Mameena must have had a great deal to
tell Umbelazi. Fully an hour and a half had gone by before, by the light of=
the
moon, from a point of vantage on my wagon-box, whence, according to my cust=
om,
I was keeping a lookout on things in general, I saw her slip back to the kr=
aal
silently as a snake, followed at a little distance by the towering form of
Umbelazi.
Apparently Mameena continued to be the recipie=
nt
of information which she found it necessary to communicate in private to the
prince. At any rate, on sundry subsequent evenings the dullness of my vigil=
on
the wagon-box was relieved by the sight of her graceful figure gliding home=
from
the kloof that Umbelazi seemed to find a very suitable spot for reflection
after sunset. On one of the last of these occasions I remember that Nandie
chanced to be with me, having come to my wagon for some medicine for her ba=
by.
"What does it mean, Macumazahn?" she
asked, when the pair had gone by, as they thought unobserved, since we were
standing where they could not see us.
"I don't know, and I don't want to
know," I answered sharply.
"Neither do I, Macumazahn; but without do=
ubt
we shall learn in time. If the crocodile is patient and silent the buck alw=
ays
drops into its jaws at last."
On the day after Nandie made this wise remark
Saduko started on a mission, as I understood, to win over several doubtful
chiefs to the cause of Indhlovu-ene-sihlonti (the
Elephant-with-the-tuft-of-hair), as the Prince Umbelazi was called among the
Zulus, though not to his face. This mission lasted ten days, and before it =
was
concluded an important event happened at Umbezi's kraal.
One evening Mameena came to me in a great rage,
and said that she could bear her present life no longer. Presuming on her r=
ank
and position as head-wife, Nandie treated her like a servant--nay, like a
little dog, to be beaten with a stick. She wished that Nandie would die.
"It will be very unlucky for you if she
does," I answered, "for then, perhaps, Zikali will be summoned to
look into the matter, as he was before."
What was she to do, she went on, ignoring my
remark.
"Eat the porridge that you have made in y=
our
own pot, or break the pot" (i.e. go away), I suggested. "There wa=
s no
need for you to marry Saduko, any more than there was for you to marry
Masapo."
"How can you talk to me like that, Macuma=
zahn,"
she answered, stamping her foot, "when you know well it is your fault =
if I
married anyone? Piff! I hate them all, and, since my father would only beat=
me
if I took my troubles to him, I will run off, and live in the wilderness al=
one
and become a witch-doctoress."
"I am afraid you will find it very dull,
Mameena," I began in a bantering tone, for, to tell the truth, I did n=
ot
think it wise to show her too much sympathy while she was so excited.
Mameena never waited for the end of the senten=
ce,
but, sobbing out that I was false and cruel, she turned and departed swiftl=
y.
Oh! little did I foresee how and where we should meet again.
Next morning I was awakened shortly after sunr=
ise
by Scowl, whom I had sent out with another man the night before to look for=
a
lost ox.
"Well, have you found the ox?" I ask=
ed.
"Yes, Baas; but I did not waken you to te=
ll
you that. I have a message for you, Baas, from Mameena, wife of Saduko, who=
m I
met about four hours ago upon the plain yonder."
I bade him set it out.
"These were the words of Mameena, Baas: '=
Say
to Macumazahn, your master, that Indhlovu-ene-sihlonti, taking pity on my
wrongs and loving me with his heart, has offered to take me into his House =
and
that I have accepted his offer, since I think it better to become the
Inkosazana of the Zulus, as I shall one day, than to remain a servant in the
house of Nandie. Say to Macumazahn that when Saduko returns he is to tell h=
im that
this is all his fault, since if he had kept Nandie in her place I would hav=
e died
rather than leave him. Let him say to Saduko also that, although from
henceforth we can be no more than friends, my heart is still tender towards
him, and that by day and by night I will strive to water his greatness, so =
that
it may grow into a tree that shall shade the land. Let Macumazahn bid him n=
ot
to be angry with me, since what I do I do for his good, as he would have fo=
und
no happiness while Nandie and I dwelt in one house. Above all, also let him=
not
be angry with the Prince, who loves him more than any man, and does but tra=
vel
whither the wind that I breathe blows him. Bid Macumazahn think of me kindl=
y,
as I shall of him while my eyes are open.'"
I listened to this amazing message in silence,
then asked if Mameena was alone.
"No, Baas; Umbelazi and some soldiers were
with her, but they did not hear her words, for she stepped aside to speak w=
ith
me. Then she returned to them, and they walked away swiftly, and were swall=
owed
up in the night."
"Very good, Sikauli," I said. "=
Make
me some coffee, and make it strong."
I dressed and drank several cups of the coffee,
all the while "thinking with my head," as the Zulus say. Then I
walked up to the kraal to see Umbezi, whom I found just coming out of his h=
ut,
yawning.
"Why do you look so black upon this beaut=
iful
morning, Macumazahn?" asked the genial old scamp. "Have you lost =
your
best cow, or what?"
"No, my friend," I answered; "b=
ut
you and another have lost your best cow." And word for word I repeated=
to
him Mameena's message. When I had finished really I thought that Umbezi was
about to faint.
"Curses be on the head of this Mameena!&q=
uot;
he exclaimed. "Surely some evil spirit must have been her father, not =
I,
and well was she called Child of Storm.[*] What shall I do now, Macumazahn?
Thanks be to my Spirit," he added, with an air of relief, "she is=
too
far gone for me to try to catch her; also, if I did, Umbelazi and his soldi=
ers
would kill me."
[*--That, if I have not said so already, was the meaning which the Zulus gave to the word
"Mameena", although as I know the language I cannot get any s=
uch
interpretation out of the name=
, I
believe that it was given to her, however, because she was born just before a
terrible tempest, when the wind
wailing round the hut made a sound like the word "Ma-mee-na". --A. Q.]
"And what will Saduko do if you don't?&qu=
ot;
I asked.
"Oh, of course he will be angry, for no d=
oubt
he is fond of her. But, after all, I am used to that. You remember how he w=
ent
mad when she married Masapo. At least, he cannot say that I made her run aw=
ay
with Umbelazi. After all, it is a matter which they must settle between the=
m."
"I think it may mean great trouble,"=
I
said, "at a time when trouble is not needed."
"Oh, why so, Macumazahn? My daughter did =
not
get on with the Princess Nandie--we could all see that--for they would scar=
cely
speak to each other. And if Saduko is fond of her--well, after all, there a=
re
other beautiful women in Zululand. I know one or two of them myself whom I =
will
mention to Saduko--or rather to Nandie. Really, as things were, I am not su=
re
but that he is well rid of her."
"But what do you think of the matter as h=
er
father?" I asked, for I wanted to see to what length his accommodating
morality would stretch.
"As her father--well, of course, Macumaza=
hn,
as her father I am sorry, because it will mean talk, will it not, as the Ma=
sapo
business did? Still, there is this to be said for Mameena," he added, =
with
a brightening face, "she always runs away up the tree, not down. When =
she got
rid of Masapo--I mean when Masapo was killed for his witchcraft--she married
Saduko, who was a bigger man--Saduko, whom she would not marry when Masapo =
was
the bigger man. And now, when she has got rid of Saduko, she enters the hut=
of
Umbelazi, who will one day be King of the Zulus, the biggest man in all the
world, which means that she will be the biggest woman, for remember,
Macumazahn, she will walk round and round that great Umbelazi till whatever=
way
he looks he will see her and no one else. Oh, she will grow great, and carr=
y up
her poor old father in the blanket on her back. Oh, the sun still shines be=
hind
the cloud, Macumazahn, so let us make the best of the cloud, since we know =
that
it will break out presently."
"Yes, Umbezi; but other things besides th=
e sun
break out from clouds sometimes--lightning, for instance; lightning which
kills."
"You speak ill-omened words, Macumazahn;
words that take away my appetite, which is generally excellent at this hour.
Well, if Mameena is bad it is not my fault, for I brought her up to be good.
After all," he added with an outburst of petulance, "why do you s=
cold
me when it is your fault? If you had run away with the girl when you might =
have
done so, there would have been none of this trouble."
"Perhaps not," I answered; "only
then I am sure I should have been dead to-day, as I think that all who have=
to
do with her will be ere long. And now, Umbezi, I wish you a good
breakfast."
On the following morning, Saduko returned and =
was
told the news by Nandie, whom I had carefully avoided. On this occasion,
however, I was forced to be present, as the person to whom the sinful Mamee=
na
had sent her farewell message. It was a very painful experience, of which I=
do not
remember all the details. For a while after he learned the truth Saduko sat
still as a stone, staring in front of him, with a face that seemed to have
become suddenly old. Then he turned upon Umbezi, and in a few terrible words
accused him of having arranged the matter in order to advance his own fortu=
nes
at the price of his daughter's dishonour. Next, without listening to his
ex-father-in-law's voluble explanations, he rose and said that he was going
away to kill Umbelazi, the evil-doer who had robbed him of the wife he love=
d,
with the connivance of all three of us, and by a sweep of his hand he indic=
ated
Umbezi, the Princess Nandie and myself.
This was more than I could stand, so I, too, r=
ose
and asked him what he meant, adding in the irritation of the moment that if=
I
had wished to rob him of his beautiful Mameena, I thought I could have done=
so
long ago--a remark that staggered him a little.
Then Nandie rose also, and spoke in her quiet
voice.
"Saduko, my husband," she said, &quo=
t;I,
a Princess of the Zulu House, married you who are not of royal blood becaus=
e I
loved you, and although Panda the King and Umbelazi the Prince wished it, f=
or
no other reason whatsoever. Well, I have been faithful to you through some
trials, even when you set the widow of a wizard--if, indeed, as I have reas=
on
to suspect, she was not herself the wizard--before me, and although that wi=
zard
had killed our son, lived in her hut rather than in mine. Now this woman of
whom you thought so much has deserted you for your friend and my brother, t=
he
Prince Umbelazi--Umbelazi who is called the Handsome, and who, if the fortu=
ne
of war goes with him, as it may or may not, will succeed to Panda, my fathe=
r.
This she has done because she alleges that I, your Inkosikazi and the King's
daughter, treated her as a servant, which is a lie. I kept her in her place=
, no
more, who, if she could have had her will, would have ousted me from mine,
perhaps by death, for the wives of wizards learn their arts. On this pretext
she has left you; but that is not her real reason. She has left you because=
the
Prince, my brother, whom she has befooled with her tricks and beauty, as she
has befooled others, or tried to"--and she glanced at me--"is a
bigger man than you are. You, Saduko, may become great, as my heart prays t=
hat
you will, but my brother may become a king. She does not love him any more =
than
she loved you, but she does love the place that may be his, and therefore
hers--she who would be the first doe of the herd. My husband, I think that =
you
are well rid of Mameena, for I think also that if she had stayed with us th=
ere
would have been more deaths in our House; perhaps mine, which would not mat=
ter,
and perhaps yours, which would matter much. All this I say to you, not from
jealousy of one who is fairer than I, but because it is the truth. Therefor=
e my
counsel to you is to let this business pass over and keep silent. Above all,
seek not to avenge yourself upon Umbelazi, since I am sure that he has taken
vengeance to dwell with him in his own hut. I have spoken."
That this moderate and reasoned speech of Nand=
ie's
produced a great effect upon Saduko I could see, but at the time the only
answer he made to it was:
"Let the name of Mameena be spoken no more
within hearing of my ears. Mameena is dead."
So her name was heard no more in the Houses of
Saduko and of Umbezi, and when it was necessary for any reason to refer to =
her,
she was given a new name, a composite Zulu word, "O-we-Zulu", I t=
hink
it was, which is "Storm-child" shortly translated, for
"Zulu" means a storm as well as the sky.
I do not think that Saduko spoke of her to me
again until towards the climax of this history, and certainly I did not men=
tion
her to him. But from that day forward I noted that he was a changed man. His
pride and open pleasure in his great success, which had caused the Zulus to
name him the "Self-eater," were no longer marked. He became cold =
and
silent, like a man who is thinking deeply, but who shutters his thoughts le=
st some
should read them through the windows of his eyes. Moreover, he paid a visit=
to
Zikali the Little and Wise, as I found out by accident; but what advice that
cunning old dwarf gave to him I did not find out--then.
The only other event which happened in connect=
ion
with this elopement was that a message came from Umbelazi to Saduko, brough=
t by
one of the princes, a brother of Umbelazi, who was of his party. As I know,=
for
I heard it delivered, it was a very humble message when the relative positi=
ons
of the two men are considered--that of one who knew that he had done wrong,
and, if not repentant, was heartily ashamed of himself.
"Saduko," it said, "I have stol=
en a
cow of yours, and I hope you will forgive me, since that cow did not love t=
he
pasture in your kraal, but in mine she grows fat and is content. Moreover, =
in
return I will give you many other cows. Everything that I have to give, I w=
ill
give to you who are my friend and trusted councillor. Send me word, O Saduk=
o,
that this wall which I have built between us is broken down, since ere long=
you
and I must stand together in war."
To this message Saduko's answer was:
"O Prince, you are troubled about a very
little thing. That cow which you have taken was of no worth to me, for who
wishes to keep a beast that is ever tearing and lowing at the gates of the
kraal, disturbing those who would sleep inside with her noise? Had you asked
her of me, I would have given her to you freely. I thank you for your offer,
but I need no more cows, especially if, like this one, they have no calves.=
As
for a wall between us, there is none, for how can two men who, if the battl=
e is
to be won, must stand shoulder to shoulder, fight if divided by a wall? O S=
on
of the King, I am dreaming by day and night of the battle and the victory, =
and
I have forgotten all about the barren cow that ran away after you, the great
bull of the herd. Only do not be surprised if one day you find that this cow
has a sharp horn."
About=
six
weeks later, in the month of November, 1856, I chanced to be at Nodwengu wh=
en
the quarrel between the princes came to a head. Although none of the regime=
nts
was actually allowed to enter the town--that is, as a regiment--the place w=
as
full of people, all of them in a state of great excitement, who came in dur=
ing
the daytime and went to sleep in the neighbouring military kraals at night.=
One
evening, as some of these soldiers--about a thousand of them, if I remember=
right--were
returning to the Ukubaza kraal, a fight occurred between them, which led to=
the
final outbreak.
As it happened, at that time there were two
separate regiments stationed at this kraal. I think that they were the
Imkulutshana and the Hlaba, one of which favoured Cetewayo and the other
Umbelazi. As certain companies of each of these regiments marched along
together in parallel lines, two of their captains got into dispute on the
eternal subject of the succession to the throne. From words they came to bl=
ows,
and the end of it was that he who favoured Umbelazi killed him who favoured
Cetewayo with his kerry. Thereon the comrades of the slain man, raising a s=
hout
of "Usutu," which became the war-cry of Cetewayo's party, fell up=
on
the others, and a dreadful combat ensued. Fortunately the soldiers were onl=
y armed
with sticks, or the slaughter would have been very great; but as it was, af=
ter
an indecisive engagement, about fifty men were killed and many more injured=
.
Now, with my usual bad luck, I, who had gone o=
ut
to shoot a few birds for the pot--pauw, or bustard, I think they were--was
returning across this very plain to my old encampment in the kloof where Ma=
sapo
had been executed, and so ran into the fight just as it was beginning. I saw
the captain killed and the subsequent engagement. Indeed, as it happened, I=
did
more. Not knowing where to go or what to do, for I was quite alone, I pulle=
d up
my horse behind a tree and waited till I could escape the horrors about me;=
for
I can assure anyone who may ever read these words that it is a very horrible
sight to see a thousand men engaged in fierce and deadly combat. In truth, =
the
fact that they had no spears, and could only batter each other to death with
their heavy kerries, made it worse, since the duels were more desperate and
prolonged.
Everywhere men were rolling on the ground, hit=
ting
at each other's heads, until at last some blow went home and one of them th=
rew
out his arms and lay still, either dead or senseless. Well, there I sat
watching all this shocking business from the saddle of my trained shooting
pony, which stood like a stone, till presently I became aware of two great =
fellows
rushing at me with their eyes starting out of their heads and shouting as t=
hey
came:
"Kill Umbelazi's white man! Kill! Kill!&q=
uot;
Then, seeing that the matter was urgent and th=
at
it was a question of my life or theirs, I came into action.
In my hand I held a double-barrelled shotgun
loaded with what we used to call "loopers," or B.B. shot, of which
but a few went to each charge, for I had hoped to meet with a small buck on=
my
way to camp. So, as these soldiers came, I lifted the gun and fired, the ri=
ght
barrel at one of them and the left barrel at the other, aiming in each case=
at
the centre of the small dancing shields, which from force of habit they hel=
d stretched
out to protect their throats and breasts. At that distance, of course, the
loopers sank through the soft hide of the shields and deep into the bodies =
of
those who carried them, so that both of them dropped dead, the left-hand man
being so close that he fell against my pony, his uplifted kerry striking me
upon the thigh and bruising me.
When I saw what I had done, and that my danger=
was
over for the moment, without waiting to reload I dug the spurs into my hors=
e's
sides and galloped off to Nodwengu, passing between the groups of struggling
men. On arriving unharmed at the town, I went instantly to the royal huts a=
nd demanded
to see the King, who sent word that I was to be admitted. On coming before =
him
I told him exactly what had happened--that I had killed two of Cetewayo's m=
en
in order to save my own life, and on that account submitted myself to his
justice.
"O Macumazana," said Panda in great
distress, "I know well that you are not to blame, and already I have s=
ent
out a regiment to stop this fighting, with command that those who caused it
should be brought before me to-morrow for judgment. I am glad indeed,
Macumazahn, that you have escaped without harm, but I must tell you that I =
fear
henceforth your life will be in danger, since all the Usutu party will hold=
it
forfeit if they can catch you. While you are in my town I can protect you, =
for
I will set a strong guard about your camp; but here you will have to stay u=
ntil
these troubles are done with, since if you leave you may be murdered on the
road."
"I thank you for your kindness, King,&quo=
t; I
answered; "but all this is very awkward for me, who hoped to trek for
Natal to-morrow."
"Well, there it is, Macumazahn, you will =
have
to stay here unless you wish to be killed. He who walks into a storm must p=
ut
up with the hailstones."
So it came about that once again Fate dragged =
me
into the Zulu maelstrom.
On the morrow I was summoned to the trial, hal=
f as
a witness and half as one of the offenders. Going to the head of the Nodwen=
gu
kraal, where Panda was sitting in state with his Council, I found the whole
great space in front of him crowded with a dense concourse of fierce-faced =
partisans,
those who favoured Cetewayo--the Usutu--sitting on the right, and those who
favoured Umbelazi--the Isigqosa--sitting on the left. At the head of the
right-hand section sat Cetewayo, his brethren and chief men. At the head of=
the
left-hand section sat Umbelazi, his brethren and his chief men, amongst who=
m I
saw Saduko take a place immediately behind the Prince, so that he could whi=
sper
into his ear.
To myself and my little band of eight hunters,=
who
by Panda's express permission, came armed with their guns, as I did also, f=
or I
was determined that if the necessity arose we would sell our lives as dearl=
y as
we could, was appointed a place almost in front of the King and between the=
two
factions. When everyone was seated the trial began, Panda demanding to know=
who
had caused the tumult of the previous night.
I cannot set out what followed in all its deta=
ils,
for it would be too long; also I have forgotten many of them. I remember,
however, that Cetewayo's people said that Umbelazi's men were the aggressor=
s,
and that Umbelazi's people said that Cetewayo's men were the aggressors, and
that each of their parties backed up these statements, which were given at =
great
length, with loud shouts.
"How am I to know the truth?" exclai=
med
Panda at last. "Macumazahn, you were there; step forward and tell it to
me."
So I stood out and told the King what I had se=
en,
namely that the captain who favoured Cetewayo had begun the quarrel by stri=
king
the captain who favoured Umbelazi, but that in the end Umbelazi's man had k=
illed
Cetewayo's man, after which the fighting commenced.
"Then it would seem that the Usutu are to
blame," said Panda.
"Upon what grounds do you say so, my
father?" asked Cetewayo, springing up. "Upon the testimony of this
white man, who is well known to be the friend of Umbelazi and of his henchm=
an
Saduko, and who himself killed two of those who called me chief in the cour=
se
of the fight?"
"Yes, Cetewayo," I broke in,
"because I thought it better that I should kill them than that they sh=
ould
kill me, whom they attacked quite unprovoked."
"At any rate, you killed them, little Whi=
te
Man," shouted Cetewayo, "for which cause your blood is forfeit. S=
ay,
did Umbelazi give you leave to appear before the King accompanied by men ar=
med
with guns, when we who are his sons must come with sticks only? If so, let =
him
protect you!"
"That I will do if there is need!"
exclaimed Umbelazi.
"Thank you, Prince," I said; "b=
ut
if there is need I will protect myself as I did yesterday," and, cocki=
ng
my double-barrelled rifle, I looked full at Cetewayo.
"When you leave here, then at least I will
come even with you, Macumazahn!" threatened Cetewayo, spitting through=
his
teeth, as was his way when mad with passion.
For he was beside himself, and wished to vent =
his
temper on someone, although in truth he and I were always good friends.
"If so I shall stop where I am," I
answered coolly, "in the shadow of the King, your father. Moreover, are
you so lost in folly, Cetewayo, that you should wish to bring the English a=
bout
your ears? Know that if I am killed you will be asked to give account of my
blood."
"Aye," interrupted Panda, "and =
know
that if anyone lays a finger on Macumazana, who is my guest, he shall die,
whether he be a common man or a prince and my son. Also, Cetewayo, I fine y=
ou
twenty head of cattle, to be paid to Macumazana because of the unprovoked
attack which your men made upon him when he rightly slew them."
"The fine shall be paid, my father,"
said Cetewayo more quietly, for he saw that in threatening me he had pushed
matters too far.
Then, after some more talk, Panda gave judgmen=
t in
the cause, which judgment really amounted to nothing. As it was impossible =
to
decide which party was most to blame, he fined both an equal number of catt=
le, accompanying
the fine with a lecture on their ill-behaviour, which was listened to
indifferently.
After this matter was disposed of the real
business of the meeting began.
Rising to his feet, Cetewayo addressed Panda.<= o:p>
"My father," he said, "the land
wanders and wanders in darkness, and you alone can give light for its feet.=
I
and my brother, Umbelazi, are at variance, and the quarrel is a great one,
namely, as to which of us is to sit in your place when you are 'gone down,'
when we call and you do not answer. Some of the nation favour one of us and=
some
favour the other, but you, O King, and you alone, have the voice of judgmen=
t. Still,
before you speak, I and those who stand with me would bring this to your mi=
nd.
My mother, Umqumbazi, is your Inkosikazi, your head-wife, and therefore,
according to our law, I, her eldest son, should be your heir. Moreover, when
you fled to the Boers before the fall of him who sat in your place before y=
ou
[Dingaan], did not they, the white Amabunu, ask you which amongst your sons=
was
your heir, and did you not point me out to the white men? And thereon did n=
ot
the Amabunu clothe me in a dress of honour because I was the King to be? But
now of late the mother of Umbelazi has been whispering in your ear, as have
others"--and he looked at Saduko and some of Umbelazi's brethren--&quo=
t;and
your face has grown cold towards me, so cold that many say that you will po=
int
out Umbelazi to be King after you and stamp on my name. If this is so, my f=
ather,
tell me at once, that I may know what to do."
Having finished this speech, which certainly d=
id
not lack force and dignity, Cetewayo sat down again, awaiting the answer in
sullen silence. But, making none, Panda looked at Umbelazi, who, on rising,=
was
greeted with a great cheer, for although Cetewayo had the larger following =
in the
land, especially among the distant chiefs, the Zulus individually loved
Umbelazi more, perhaps because of his stature, beauty and kindly dispositio=
n--physical
and moral qualities that naturally appeal to a savage nation.
"My father," he said, "like my
brother, Cetewayo, I await your word. Whatever you may have said to the Ama=
bunu
in haste or fear, I do not admit that Cetewayo was ever proclaimed your hei=
r in
the hearing of the Zulu people. I say that my right to the succession is as
good as his, and that it lies with you, and you alone, to declare which of =
us
shall put on the royal kaross in days that my heart prays may be distant. S=
till,
to save bloodshed, I am willing to divide the land with Cetewayo" (here
both Panda and Cetewayo shook their heads and the audience roared "Nay=
"),
"or, if that does not please him, I am willing to meet Cetewayo man to=
man
and spear to spear and fight till one of us be slain."
"A safe offer!" sneered Cetewayo,
"for is not my brother named 'Elephant,' and the strongest warrior amo=
ng
the Zulus? No, I will not set the fortunes of those who cling to me on the
chance of a single stab, or on the might of a man's muscles. Decide, O fath=
er;
say which of the two of us is to sit at the head of your kraal after you ha=
ve
gone over to the Spirits and are but an ancestor to be worshipped."
Now, Panda looked much disturbed, as was not
wonderful, since, rushing out from the fence behind which they had been
listening, Umqumbazi, Cetewayo's mother, whispered into one of his ears, wh=
ile
Umbelazi's mother whispered into the other. What advice each of them gave I=
do
not know, although obviously it was not the same advice, since the poor man=
rolled
his eyes first at one and then at the other, and finally put his hands over=
his
ears that he might hear no more.
"Choose, choose, O King!" shouted the
audience. "Who is to succeed you, Cetewayo or Umbelazi?"
Watching Panda, I saw that he fell into a kind=
of
agony; his fat sides heaved, and, although the day was cold, sweat ran from=
his
brow.
"What would the white men do in such a
case?" he said to me in a hoarse, low voice, whereon I answered, looki=
ng
at the ground and speaking so that few could hear me:
"I think, O King, that a white man would =
do
nothing. He would say that others might settle the matter after he was
dead."
"Would that I could say so, too,"
muttered Panda; "but it is not possible."
Then followed a long pause, during which all w=
ere
silent, for every man there felt that the hour was big with doom. At length
Panda rose with difficulty, because of his unwieldy weight, and uttered the=
se
fateful words, that were none the less ominous because of the homely idiom =
in which
they were couched:
"When two young bulls quarrel they must f=
ight
it out."
Instantly in one tremendous roar volleyed forth
the royal salute of "Bayéte", a signal of the acceptance of the
King's word--the word that meant civil war and the death of many thousands.=
Then Panda turned and, so feebly that I though=
t he
would fall, walked through the gateway behind him, followed by the rival
queens. Each of these ladies struggled to be first after him in the gate,
thinking that it would be an omen of success for her son. Finally, however,=
to
the disappointment of the multitude, they only succeeded in passing it side=
by
side.
When they had gone the great audience began to
break up, the men of each party marching away together as though by common
consent, without offering any insult or molestation to their adversaries. I
think that this peaceable attitude arose, however, from the knowledge that
matters had now passed from the stage of private quarrel into that of publi=
c war.
It was felt that their dispute awaited decision, not with sticks outside the
Nodwengu kraal, but with spears upon some great battlefield, for which they
went to prepare.
Within two days, except for those regiments wh=
ich
Panda kept to guard his person, scarcely a soldier was to be seen in the
neighbourhood of Nodwengu. The princes also departed to muster their adhere=
nts,
Cetewayo establishing himself among the Mandhlakazi that he commanded, and =
Umbelazi
returning to the kraal of Umbezi, which happened to stand almost in the cen=
tre
of that part of the nation which adhered to him.
Whether he took Mameena with him there I am not
certain. I believe, however, that, fearing lest her welcome at her birthpla=
ce
should be warmer than she wished, she settled herself at some retired and
outlying kraal in the neighbourhood, and there awaited the crisis of her
fortune. At any rate, I saw nothing of her, for she was careful to keep out=
of my
way.
With Umbelazi and Saduko, however, I did have =
an
interview. Before they left Nodwengu they called on me together, apparently=
on
the best of terms, and said in effect that they hoped for my support in the
coming war.
I answered that, however well I might like them
personally, a Zulu civil war was no affair of mine, and that, indeed, for e=
very
reason, including the supreme one of my own safety, I had better get out of=
the
way at once.
They argued with me for a long while, making g=
reat
offers and promises of reward, till at length, when he saw that my
determination could not be shaken, Umbelazi said:
"Come, Saduko, let us humble ourselves no
more before this white man. After all, he is right; the business is none of
his, and why should we ask him to risk his life in our quarrel, knowing as =
we
do that white men are not like us; they think a great deal of their lives.
Farewell, Macumazahn. If I conquer and grow great you will always be welcom=
e in
Zululand, whereas if I fail perhaps you will be best over the Tugela river.=
"
Now, I felt the hidden taunt in this speech ve=
ry
keenly. Still, being determined that for once I would be wise and not allow=
my
natural curiosity and love of adventure to drag me into more risks and trou=
ble,
I replied:
"The Prince says that I am not brave and =
love
my life, and what he says is true. I fear fighting, who by nature am a trad=
er
with the heart of a trader, not a warrior with the heart of a warrior, like=
the
great Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti"--words at which I saw the grave Saduko sm=
ile faintly.
"So farewell to you, Prince, and may good fortune attend you."
Of course, to call the Prince to his face by t=
his
nickname, which referred to a defect in his person, was something of an ins=
ult;
but I had been insulted, and meant to give him "a Roland for his
Oliver." However, he took it in good part.
"What is good fortune, Macumazahn?"
Umbelazi replied as he grasped my hand. "Sometimes I think that to live
and prosper is good fortune, and sometimes I think that to die and sleep is
good fortune, for in sleep there is neither hunger nor thirst of body or of
spirit. In sleep there come no cares; in sleep ambitions are at rest; nor do
those who look no more upon the sun smart beneath the treacheries of false
women or false friends. Should the battle turn against me, Macumazahn, at l=
east
that good fortune will be mine, for never will I live to be crushed beneath=
Cetewayo's
heel."
Then he went. Saduko accompanied him for a lit=
tle
way, but, making some excuse to the Prince, came back and said to me:
"Macumazahn, my friend, I dare say that we
part for the last time, and therefore I make a request to you. It is as to =
one
who is dead to me. Macumazahn, I believe that Umbelazi the thief"--the=
se
words broke from his lips with a hiss--"has given her many cattle and
hidden her away either in the kloof of Zikali the Wise, or near to it, under
his care. Now, if the war should go against Umbelazi and I should be killed=
in it,
I think evil will fall upon that woman's head, I who have grown sure that it
was she who was the wizard and not Masapo the Boar. Also, as one connected =
with
Umbelazi, who has helped him in his plots, she will be killed if she is cau=
ght.
Macumazahn, hearken to me. I will tell you the truth. My heart is still on =
fire
for that woman. She has bewitched me; her eyes haunt my sleep and I hear her
voice in the wind. She is more to me than all the earth and all the sky, and
although she has wronged me I do not wish that harm should come to her.
Macumazahn, I pray you if I die, do your best to befriend her, even though =
it
be only as a servant in your house, for I think that she cares more for you
than for anyone, who only ran away with him"--and he pointed in the
direction that Umbelazi had taken--"because he is a prince, who, in her
folly, she believes will be a king. At least take her to Natal, Macumazahn,
where, if you wish to be free of her, she can marry whom she will and will =
live
safe until night comes. Panda loves you much, and, whoever conquers in the =
war,
will give you her life if you ask it of him."
Then this strange man drew the back of his hand
across his eyes, from which I saw the tears were running, and, muttering,
"If you would have good fortune remember my prayer," turned and l=
eft
me before I could answer a single word.
As for me, I sat down upon an ant-heap and
whistled a whole hymn tune that my mother had taught me before I could thin=
k at
all. To be left the guardian of Mameena! Talk of a "damnosa
hereditas," a terrible and mischievous inheritance--why, this was the
worst that ever I heard of. A servant in my house indeed, knowing what I did
about her! Why, I had sooner share the "good fortune" which Umbel=
azi
anticipated beneath the sod. However, that was not in the question, and wit=
hout
it the alternative of acting as her guardian was bad enough, though I comfo=
rted
myself with the reflection that the circumstances in which this would become
necessary might never arise. For, alas! I was sure that if they did arise I
should have to live up to them. True, I had made no promise to Saduko with =
my
lips, but I felt, as I knew he felt, that this promise had passed from my h=
eart
to his.
"That thief Umbelazi!" Strange words=
to
be uttered by a great vassal of his lord, and both of them about to enter u=
pon
a desperate enterprise. "A prince whom in her folly she believes will =
be a
king." Stranger words still. Then Saduko did not believe that he would=
be
a king! And yet he was about to share the fortunes of his fight for the thr=
one,
he who said that his heart was still on fire for the woman whom "Umbel=
azi
the thief" had stolen. Well, if I were Umbelazi, thought I to myself, I
would rather that Saduko were not my chief councillor and general. But, tha=
nk Heaven!
I was not Umbelazi, or Saduko, or any of them! And, thank Heaven still more=
, I
was going to begin my trek from Zululand on the morrow!
Man proposes but God disposes. I did not trek =
from
Zululand for many a long day. When I got back to my wagons it was to find t=
hat
my oxen had mysteriously disappeared from the veld on which they were accus=
tomed
to graze. They were lost; or perhaps they had felt the urgent need of trekk=
ing
from Zululand back to a more peaceful country. I sent all the hunters I had
with me to look for them, only Scowl and I remaining at the wagons, which in
those disturbed times I did not like to leave unguarded.
Four days went by, a week went by, and no sign=
of
either hunters or oxen. Then at last a message, which reached me in some
roundabout fashion, to the effect that the hunters had found the oxen a long
way off, but on trying to return to Nodwengu had been driven by some of the
Usutu--that is, by Cetewayo's party--across the Tugela into Natal, whence t=
hey
dared not attempt to return.
For once in my life I went into a rage and cur=
sed
that nondescript kind of messenger, sent by I know not whom, in language th=
at I
think he will not forget. Then, realising the futility of swearing at a mere
tool, I went up to the Great House and demanded an audience with Panda hims=
elf.
Presently the inceku, or household servant, to whom I gave my message, retu=
rned,
saying that I was to be admitted at once, and on entering the enclosure I f=
ound
the King sitting at the head of the kraal quite alone, except for a man who=
was
holding a large shield over him in order to keep off the sun.
He greeted me warmly, and I told him my trouble
about the oxen, whereon he sent away the shield-holder, leaving us two
together.
"Watcher-by-Night," he said, "w=
hy
do you blame me for these events, when you know that I am nobody in my own
House? I say that I am a dead man, whose sons fight for his inheritance. I
cannot tell you for certain who it was that drove away your oxen. Still, I =
am
glad that they are gone, since I believe that if you had attempted to trek =
to
Natal just now you would have been killed on the road by the Usutu, who bel=
ieve
you to be a councillor of Umbelazi."
"I understand, O King," I answered,
"and I dare say that the accident of the loss of my oxen is fortunate =
for
me. But tell me now, what am I to do? I wish to follow the example of John =
Dunn
[another white man in the country who was much mixed up with Zulu politics]=
and
leave the land. Will you give me more oxen to draw my wagons?"
"I have none that are broken in, Macumaza=
hn,
for, as you know, we Zulus possess few wagons; and if I had I would not lend
them to you, who do not desire that your blood should be upon my head."=
;
"You are hiding something from me, O
King," I said bluntly. "What is it that you want me to do? Stay h=
ere
at Nodwengu?"
"No, Macumazahn. When the trouble begins I
want you to go with a regiment of my own that I shall send to the assistanc=
e of
my son, Umbelazi, so that he may have the benefit of your wisdom. O Macumaz=
ana,
I will tell you the truth. My heart loves Umbelazi, and I fear me that he is
overmatched by Cetewayo. If I could I would save his life, but I know not h=
ow
to do so, since I must not seem to take sides too openly. But I can send do=
wn a
regiment as your escort, if you choose to go to view the battle as my agent=
and
make report to me. Say, will you not go?"
"Why should I go?" I answered,
"seeing that whoever wins I may be killed, and that if Cetewayo wins I
shall certainly be killed, and all for no reward."
"Nay, Macumazahn; I will give orders that
whoever conquers, the man that dares to lift a spear against you shall die.=
In
this matter, at least, I shall not be disobeyed. Oh! I pray you, do not des=
ert
me in my trouble. Go down with the regiment that I shall send and breathe y=
our
wisdom into the ear of my son, Umbelazi. As for your reward, I swear to you=
by
the head of the Black One [Chaka] that it shall be great. I will see to it =
that
you do not leave Zululand empty-handed, Macumazahn."
Still I hesitated, for I mistrusted me of this
business.
"O Watcher-by-Night," exclaimed Pand=
a,
"you will not desert me, will you? I am afraid for the son of my heart,
Umbelazi, whom I love above all my children; I am much afraid for
Umbelazi," and he burst into tears before me.
It was foolish, no doubt, but the sight of the=
old
King weeping for his best-beloved child, whom he believed to be doomed, mov=
ed
me so much that I forgot my caution.
"If you wish it, O Panda," I said,
"I will go down to the battle with your regiment and stand there by the
side of the Prince Umbelazi."
So I =
stayed
on at Nodwengu, who, indeed, had no choice in the matter, and was very wret=
ched
and ill at ease. The place was almost deserted, except for a couple of
regiments which were quartered there, the Sangqu and the Amawombe. This lat=
ter
was the royal regiment, a kind of Household Guards, to which the Kings Chak=
a,
Dingaan and Panda all belonged in turn. Most of the headmen had taken one s=
ide
or the other, and were away raising forces to fight for Cetewayo or Umbelaz=
i,
and even the greater part of the women and children had gone to hide themse=
lves
in the bush or among the mountains, since none knew what would happen, or if
the conquering army would not fall upon and destroy them.
A few councillors, however, remained with Pand=
a,
among whom was old Maputa, the general, who had once brought me the
"message of the pills." Several times he visited me at night and =
told
me the rumours that were flying about. From these I gathered that some
skirmishes had taken place and the battle could not be long delayed; also t=
hat
Umbelazi had chosen his fighting ground, a plain near the banks of the Tuge=
la.
"Why has he done this," I asked,
"seeing that then he will have a broad river behind him, and if he is
defeated water can kill as well as spears?"
"I know not for certain," answered
Maputa; "but it is said because of a dream that Saduko, his general, h=
as
dreamed thrice, which dream declares that there and there alone Umbelazi wi=
ll
find honour. At any rate, he has chosen this place; and I am told that all =
the
women and children of his army, by thousands, are hidden in the bush along =
the
banks of the river, so that they may fly into Natal if there is need."=
"Have they wings," I asked,
"wherewith to fly over the Tugela 'in wrath,' as it well may be after =
the
rains? Oh, surely his Spirit has turned from Umbelazi!"
"Aye, Macumazahn," he answered, &quo=
t;I,
too, think that ufulatewe idhlozi [that is, his own Spirit] has turned its =
back
on him. Also I think that Saduko is no good councillor. Indeed, were I the
prince," added the old fellow shrewdly, "I would not keep him who=
se
wife I had stolen as the whisperer in my ear."
"Nor I, Maputa," I answered as I bade
him good-bye.
Two days later, early in the morning, Maputa c=
ame
to me again and said that Panda wished to see me. I went to the head of the
kraal, where I found the King seated and before him the captains of the roy=
al
Amawombe regiment.
"Watcher-by-Night," he said, "I
have news that the great battle between my sons will take place within a few
days. Therefore I am sending down this, my own royal regiment, under the
command of Maputa the skilled in war to spy out the battle, and I pray that=
you
will go with it, that you may give to the General Maputa and to the captains
the help of your wisdom. Now these are my orders to you, Maputa, and to you=
, O captains--that
you take no part in the fight unless you should see that the Elephant, my s=
on
Umbelazi, is fallen into a pit, and that then you shall drag him out if you=
can
and save him alive. Now repeat my words to me."
So they repeated the words, speaking with one
voice.
"Your answer, O Macumazana," he said
when they had spoken.
"O King, I have told you that I will go--though I do not like war--and I will keep my promise," I replied.<= o:p>
"Then make ready, Macumazahn, and be back
here within an hour, for the regiment marches ere noon."
So I went up to my wagons and handed them over=
to
the care of some men whom Panda had sent to take charge of them. Also Scowl=
and
I saddled our horses, for this faithful fellow insisted upon accompanying m=
e,
although I advised him to stay behind, and got out our rifles and as much a=
mmunition
as we could possibly need, and with them a few other necessaries. These thi=
ngs
done, we rode back to the gathering-place, taking farewell of the wagons wi=
th a
sad heart, since I, for one, never expected to see them again.
As we went I saw that the regiment of the
Amawombe, picked men every one of them, all fifty years of age or over, nea=
rly
four thousand strong, was marshalled on the dancing-ground, where they stood
company by company. A magnificent sight they were, with their white fightin=
g-shields,
their gleaming spears, their otter-skin caps, their kilts and armlets of wh=
ite
bulls' tails, and the snowy egret plumes which they wore upon their brows. =
We
rode to the head of them, where I saw Maputa, and as I came they greeted me
with a cheer of welcome, for in those days a white man was a power in the l=
and.
Moreover, as I have said, the Zulus knew and liked me well. Also the fact t=
hat
I was to watch, or perchance to fight with them, put a good heart into the =
Amawombe.
There we stood until the lads, several hundred=
s of
them, who bore the mats and cooking vessels and drove the cattle that were =
to
be our commissariat, had wended away in a long line. Then suddenly Panda ap=
peared
out of his hut, accompanied by a few servants, and seemed to utter some kin=
d of
prayer, as he did so throwing dust or powdered medicine towards us, though =
what
this ceremony meant I did not understand.
When he had finished Maputa raised a spear,
whereon the whole regiment, in perfect time, shouted out the royal salute,
"Bayéte", with a sound like that of thunder. Thrice they repeated
this tremendous and impressive salute, and then were silent. Again Maputa
raised his spear, and all the four thousand voices broke out into the Ingom=
a,
or national chant, to which deep, awe-inspiring music we began our march. A=
s I
do not think it has ever been written down, I will quote the words. They ran
thus:
"Ba ya m'zonda, Ba=
ya
m'loyisa, Izizwe zonke, Ba zond', Inkoosi."[*]
[*--Literally translated, this famous chant, now, I think, published for the first time, which,=
I
suppose, will never again pass=
the
lips of a Zulu impi, means:
"They [i.e. the enemy] bear him [i.e. the King] hatred, They
call down curses on his head, =
All of
them throughout this land Abho=
r our
King."
T=
he
Ingoma when sung by twenty or thirty thousand men rushing down to battle must, indeed,=
have
been a song to hear.--EDITOR.]=
The spirit of this fierce Ingoma, conveyed by
sound, gesture and inflection of voice, not the exact words, remember, which
are very rude and simple, leaving much to the imagination, may perhaps be
rendered somewhat as follows. An exact translation into English verse is al=
most
impossible--at any rate, to me:
"Loud on their lips is lying, Rebels their King defying. There shall be dead and dying,
R=
ed are
their eyes with hate; Lo! wher=
e our
impis wait Vengeance
insatiate!"
It was early on the morning of the 2nd of
December, a cold, miserable morning that came with wind and driving mist, t=
hat
I found myself with the Amawombe at the place known as Endondakusuka, a pla=
in
with some kopjes in it that lies within six miles of the Natal border, from
which it is separated by the Tugela river.
As the orders of the Amawombe were to keep out=
of
the fray if that were possible, we had taken up a position about a mile to =
the
right of what proved to be the actual battlefield, choosing as our camping
ground a rising knoll that looked like a huge tumulus, and was fronted at a=
distance
of about five hundred yards by another smaller knoll. Behind us stretched
bushland, or rather broken land, where mimosa thorns grew in scattered grou=
ps,
sloping down to the banks of the Tugela about four miles away.
Shortly after dawn I was roused from the place
where I slept, wrapped up in some blankets, under a mimosa tree--for, of
course, we had no tents--by a messenger, who said that the Prince Umbelazi =
and
the white man, John Dunn, wished to see me. I rose and tidied myself as bes=
t I could,
since, if I can avoid it, I never like to appear before natives in a
dishevelled condition. I remember that I had just finished brushing my hair
when Umbelazi arrived.
I can see him now, looking a veritable giant in
that morning mist. Indeed, there was something quite unearthly about his
appearance as he arose out of those rolling vapours, such light as there was
being concentrated upon the blade of his big spear, which was well known as=
the
broadest carried by any warrior in Zululand, and a copper torque he wore ab=
out
his throat.
There he stood, rolling his eyes and hugging h=
is
kaross around him because of the cold, and something in his anxious,
indeterminate expression told me at once that he knew himself to be a man in
terrible danger. Just behind him, dark and brooding, his arms folded on his
breast, his eyes fixed upon the ground, looking, to my moved imagination, l=
ike
an evil genius, stood the stately and graceful Saduko. On his left was a yo=
ung
and sturdy white man carrying a rifle and smoking a pipe, whom I guessed to=
be
John Dunn, a gentleman whom, as it chanced, I had never met, while behind w=
ere
a force of Natal Government Zulus, clad in some kind of uniform and armed w=
ith
guns, and with them a number of natives, also from Natal--"kraal
Kafirs," who carried stabbing assegais. One of these led John Dunn's
horse.
Of those Government men there may have been th=
irty
or forty, and of the "kraal Kafirs" anything between two and three
hundred.
I shook Umbelazi's hand and gave him good-day.=
"That is an ill day upon which no sun shi=
nes,
O Macumazana," he answered--words that struck me as ominous. Then he
introduced me to John Dunn, who seemed glad to meet another white man. Next,
not knowing what to say, I asked the exact object of their visit, whereon D=
unn
began to talk. He said that he had been sent over on the previous afternoon=
by Captain
Walmsley, who was an officer of the Natal Government stationed across the
border, to try to make peace between the Zulu factions, but that when he sp=
oke
of peace one of Umbelazi's brothers--I think it was Mantantashiya--had mock=
ed
at him, saying that they were quite strong enough to cope with the Usutu--t=
hat
was Cetewayo's party. Also, he added, that when he suggested that the thous=
ands
of women and children and the cattle should be got across the Tugela drift
during the previous night into safety in Natal, Mantantashiya would not lis=
ten,
and Umbelazi being absent, seeking the aid of the Natal Government, he coul=
d do
nothing.
"Quem Deus vult perdere prius dementat&qu=
ot;
[whom God wishes to destroy, He first makes mad], quoted I to myself beneat=
h my
breath. This was one of the Latin tags that my old father, who was a schola=
r,
had taught me, and at that moment it came back to my mind. But as I suspect=
ed
that John Dunn knew no Latin, I only said aloud:
"What an infernal fool!" (We were
talking in English.) "Can't you get Umbelazi to do it now?" (I me=
ant,
to send the women and children across the river.)
"I fear it is too late, Mr. Quatermain,&q=
uot;
he answered. "The Usutu are in sight. Look for yourself." And he
handed me a telescope which he had with him.
I climbed on to some rocks and scanned the pla=
in
in front of us, from which just then a puff of wind rolled away the mist. It
was black with advancing men! As yet they were a considerable distance
away--quite two miles, I should think--and coming on very slowly in a great
half-moon with thin horns and a deep breast; but a ray from the sun glitter=
ed
upon their countless spears. It seemed to me that there must be quite twent=
y or
thirty thousand of them in this breast, which was in three divisions, comma=
nded,
as I learned afterwards, by Cetewayo, Uzimela, and by a young Boer named
Groening.
"There they are, right enough," I sa=
id,
climbing down from my rocks. "What are you going to do, Mr. Dunn?"=
;
"Obey orders and try to make peace, if I =
can
find anyone to make peace with; and if I can't--well, fight, I suppose. And
you, Mr. Quatermain?"
"Oh, obey orders and stop here, I suppose.
Unless," I added doubtfully, "these Amawombe take the bit between
their teeth and run away with me."
"They'll do that before nightfall, Mr.
Quatermain, if I know anything of the Zulus. Look here, why don't you get on
your horse and come off with me? This is a queer place for you."
"Because I promised not to," I answe=
red
with a groan, for really, as I looked at those savages round me, who were
already fingering their spears in a disagreeable fashion, and those other
thousands of savages advancing towards us, I felt such little courage as I
possessed sinking into my boots.
"Very well, Mr. Quatermain, you know your=
own
business best; but I hope you will come out of it safely, that is all."=
;
"Same to you," I replied.
Then John Dunn turned, and in my hearing asked
Umbelazi what he knew of the movements of the Usutu and of their plan of
battle.
The Prince replied, with a shrug of his should=
ers:
"Nothing at present, Son of Mr. Dunn, but
doubtless before the sun is high I shall know much."
As he spoke a sudden gust of wind struck us, a=
nd
tore the nodding ostrich plume from its fastening on Umbelazi's head-ring.
Whilst a murmur of dismay rose from all who saw what they considered this v=
ery ill-omened
accident, away it floated into the air, to fall gently to the ground at the
feet of Saduko. He stooped, picked it up, and reset it in its place, saying=
as
he did so, with that ready wit for which some Kafirs are remarkable:
"So may I live, O Prince, to set the crown
upon the head of Panda's favoured son!"
This apt speech served to dispel the general g=
loom
caused by the incident, for those who heard it cheered, while Umbelazi than=
ked
his captain with a nod and a smile. Only I noted that Saduko did not mentio=
n the
name of "Panda's favoured son" upon whose head he hoped to live t=
o set
the crown. Now, Panda had many sons, and that day would show which of them =
was
favoured.
A minute or two later John Dunn and his follow=
ing
departed, as he said, to try to make peace with the advancing Usutu. Umbela=
zi,
Saduko and their escort departed also towards the main body of the host of =
the Isigqosa,
which was massed to our left, "sitting on their spears," as the
natives say, and awaiting the attack. As for me, I remained alone with the
Amawombe, drinking some coffee that Scowl had brewed for me, and forcing my=
self
to swallow food.
I can say honestly that I do not ever remember
partaking of a more unhappy meal. Not only did I believe that I was looking=
on
the last sun I should ever see--though by the way, there was uncommonly lit=
tle
of that orb visible--but what made the matter worse was that, if so, I shou=
ld
be called upon to die alone among savages, with not a single white face nea=
r to
comfort me. Oh, how I wished I had never allowed myself to be dragged into =
this
dreadful business. Yes, and I was even mean enough to wish that I had broke=
n my
word to Panda and gone off with John Dunn when he invited me, although now I
thank goodness that I did not yield to that temptation and thereby sacrific=
e my
self-respect.
Soon, however, things grew so exciting that I
forgot these and other melancholy reflections in watching the development of
events from the summit of our tumulus-like knoll, whence I had a magnificent
view of the whole battle. Here, after seeing that his regiment made a full
meal, as a good general should, old Maputa joined me, whom I asked whether =
he thought
there would be any fighting for him that day.
"I think so, I think so," he answered
cheerfully. "It seems to me that the Usutu greatly outnumber Umbelazi =
and
the Isigqosa, and, of course, as you know, Panda's orders are that if he is=
in
danger we must help him. Oh, keep a good heart, Macumazahn, for I believe I=
can
promise you that you will see our spears grow red to-day. You will not go
hungry from this battle to tell the white people that the Amawombe are cowa=
rds whom
you could not flog into the fight. No, no, Macumazahn, my Spirit looks towa=
rds
me this morning, and I who am old and who thought that I should die at leng=
th
like a cow, shall see one more great fight--my twentieth, Macumazahn; for I
fought with this same Amawombe in all the Black One's big battles, and for
Panda against Dingaan also."
"Perhaps it will be your last," I
suggested.
"I dare say, Macumazahn; but what does th=
at
matter if only I and the royal regiment can make an end that shall be spoken
of? Oh, cheer up, cheer up, Macumazahn; your Spirit, too, looks towards you=
, as
I promise that we all will do when the shields meet; for know, Macumazahn, =
that
we poor black soldiers expect that you will show us how to fight this day, =
and,
if need be, how to fall hidden in a heap of the foe."
"Oh!" I replied, "so this is wh=
at
you Zulus mean by the 'giving of counsel,' is it?--you infernal, bloodthirs=
ty
old scoundrel," I added in English.
But I think Maputa never heard me. At any rate=
, he
only seized my arm and pointed in front, a little to the left, where the ho=
rn
of the great Usutu army was coming up fast, a long, thin line alive with
twinkling spears; their moving arms and legs causing them to look like spid=
ers,
of which the bodies were formed by the great war shields.
"See their plan?" he said. "They
would close on Umbelazi and gore him with their horns and then charge with
their head. The horn will pass between us and the right flank of the Isigqo=
sa.
Oh! awake, awake, Elephant! Are you asleep with Mameena in a hut? Unloose y=
our
spears, Child of the King, and at them as they mount the slope. Behold!&quo=
t;
he went on, "it is the Son of Dunn that begins the battle! Did I not t=
ell
you that we must look to the white men to show us the way? Peep through you=
r tube,
Macumazahn, and tell me what passes."
So I "peeped," and, the telescope wh=
ich
John Dunn had kindly left with me being good though small, saw everything
clearly enough. He rode up almost to the point of the left horn of the Usut=
u,
waving a white handkerchief and followed by his small force of police and N=
atal
Kafirs. Then from somewhere among the Usutu rose a puff of smoke. Dunn had =
been
fired at.
He dropped the handkerchief and leapt to the
ground. Now he and his police were firing rapidly in reply, and men fell fa=
st
among the Usutu. They raised their war shout and came on, though slowly, for
they feared the bullets. Step by step John Dunn and his people were thrust
back, fighting gallantly against overwhelming odds. They were level with us=
, not
a quarter of a mile to our left. They were pushed past us. They vanished am=
ong
the bush behind us, and a long while passed before ever I heard what became=
of
them, for we met no more that day.
Now, the horns having done their work and wrap=
ped
themselves round Umbelazi's army as the nippers of a wasp close about a fly
(why did not Umbelazi cut off those horns, I wondered), the Usutu bull bega=
n his
charge. Twenty or thirty thousand strong, regiment after regiment, Cetewayo=
's
men rushed up the slope, and there, near the crest of it, were met by
Umbelazi's regiments springing forward to repel the onslaught and shouting
their battle-cry of "Laba! Laba! Laba! Laba!"
The noise of their meeting shields came to our
ears like that of the roll of thunder, and the sheen of their stabbing-spea=
rs
shone as shines the broad summer lightning. They hung and wavered on the sl=
ope;
then from the Amawombe ranks rose a roar of
"Umbelazi wins!"
Watching intently, we saw the Usutu giving bac=
k.
Down the slope they went, leaving the ground in front of them covered with
black spots which we knew to be dead or wounded men.
"Why does not the Elephant charge home?&q=
uot;
said Maputa in a perplexed voice. "The Usutu bull is on his back! Why =
does
he not trample him?"
"Because he is afraid, I suppose," I
answered, and went on watching.
There was plenty to see, as it happened. Findi=
ng
that they were not pursued, Cetewayo's impi reformed swiftly at the bottom =
of
the slope, in preparation for another charge. Among that of Umbelazi, above
them, rapid movements took place of which I could not guess the meaning, wh=
ich
movements were accompanied by much noise of angry shouting. Then suddenly, =
from
the midst of the Isigqosa army, emerged a great body of men, thousands stro=
ng,
which ran swiftly, but in open order, down the slope towards the Usutu, hol=
ding
their spears reversed. At first I thought that they were charging
independently, till I saw the Usutu ranks open to receive them with a shout=
of
welcome.
"Treachery!" I said. "Who is
it?"
"Saduko, with the Amakoba and Amangwane
soldiers and others. I know them by their head-dresses," answered Mapu=
ta
in a cold voice.
"Do you mean that Saduko has gone over to
Cetewayo with all his following?" I asked excitedly.
"What else, Macumazahn? Saduko is a trait=
or:
Umbelazi is finished," and he passed his hand swiftly across his mouth=
--a
gesture that has only one meaning among the Zulus.
As for me, I sat down upon a stone and groaned,
for now I understood everything.
Presently the Usutu raised fierce, triumphant
shouts, and once again their impi, swelled with Saduko's power, began to
advance up the slope. Umbelazi, and those of the Isigqosa party who clung to
him--now, I should judge, not more than eight thousand men--never stayed to
wait the onslaught. They broke! They fled in a hideous rout, crashing throu=
gh the
thin, left horn of the Usutu by mere weight of numbers, and passing behind =
us
obliquely on their road to the banks of the Tugela. A messenger rushed up to
us, panting.
"These are the words of Umbelazi," he
gasped. "O Watcher-by-Night and O Maputa, Indhlovu-ene-sihlonti prays =
that
you will hold back the Usutu, as the King bade you do in case of need, and =
so
give to him and those who cling to him time to escape with the women and
children into Natal. His general, Saduko, has betrayed him, and gone over w=
ith
three regiments to Cetewayo, and therefore we can no longer stand against t=
he thousands
of the Usutu."
"Go tell the prince that Macumazahn, Mapu=
ta,
and the Amawombe regiment will do their best," answered Maputa calmly.
"Still, this is our advice to him, that he should cross the Tugela swi=
ftly
with the women and the children, seeing that we are few and Cetewayo is
many."
The messenger leapt away, but, as I heard
afterwards, he never found Umbelazi, since the poor man was killed within f=
ive
hundred yards of where we stood.
Then Maputa gave an order, and the Amawombe fo=
rmed
themselves into a triple line, thirteen hundred men in the first line, thir=
teen
hundred men in the second line, and about a thousand in the third, behind w=
hom were
the carrier boys, three or four hundred of them. The place assigned to me w=
as
in the exact centre of the second line, where, being mounted on a horse, it=
was
thought, as I gathered, that I should serve as a convenient rallying-point.=
In this formation we advanced a few hundred ya=
rds
to our left, evidently with the object of interposing ourselves between the
routed impi and the pursuing Usutu, or, if the latter should elect to go ro=
und
us, with that of threatening their flank. Cetewayo's generals did not leave=
us
long in doubt as to what they would do. The main body of their army bore aw=
ay to
the right in pursuit of the flying foe, but three regiments, each of about =
two
thousand five hundred spears, halted. Five minutes passed perhaps while they
marshalled, with a distance of some six hundred yards between them. Each
regiment was in a triple line like our own.
To me that seemed a very long five minutes, bu=
t,
reflecting that it was probably my last on earth, I tried to make the best =
of
it in a fashion that can be guessed. Strange to say, however, I found it
impossible to keep my mind fixed upon those matters with which it ought to =
have
been filled. My eyes and thoughts would roam. I looked at the ranks of the =
veteran
Amawombe, and noted that they were still and solemn as men about to die sho=
uld
be, although they showed no sign of fear. Indeed, I saw some of those near =
me
passing their snuffboxes to each other. Two grey-haired men also, who evide=
ntly
were old friends, shook hands as people do who are parting before a journey,
while two others discussed in a low voice the possibility of our wiping out
most of the Usutu before we were wiped out ourselves.
"It depends," said one of them,
"whether they attack us regiment by regiment or all together, as they =
will
do if they are wise."
Then an officer bade them be silent, and
conversation ceased. Maputa passed through the ranks giving orders to the
captains. From a distance his withered old body, with a fighting shield hel=
d in
front of it, looked like that of a huge black ant carrying something in its
mouth. He came to where Scowl and I sat upon our horses.
"Ah! I see that you are ready,
Macumazahn," he said in a cheerful voice. "I told you that you sh=
ould
not go away hungry, did I not?"
"Maputa," I said in remonstrance,
"what is the use of this? Umbelazi is defeated, you are not of his imp=
i,
why send all these"--and I waved my hand--"down into the darkness?
Why not go to the river and try to save the women and children?"
"Because we shall take many of those down
into the darkness with us, Macumazahn," and he pointed to the dense ma=
sses
of the Usutu. "Yet," he added, with a touch of compunction,
"this is not your quarrel. You and your servant have horses. Slip out,=
if
you will, and gallop hard to the lower drift. You may get away with your
lives."
Then my white man's pride came to my aid.
"Nay," I answered, "I will not =
run
while others stay to fight."
"I never thought you would, Macumazahn, w=
ho,
I am sure, do not wish to earn a new and ugly name. Well, neither will the
Amawombe run to become a mock among their people. The King's orders were th=
at
we should try to help Umbelazi, if the battle went against him. We obey the
King's orders by dying where we stand. Macumazahn, do you think that you co=
uld
hit that big fellow who is shouting insults at us there? If so, I should be=
obliged
to you, as I dislike him very much," and he showed me a captain who was
swaggering about in front of the lines of the first of the Usutu regiments,
about six hundred yards away.
"I will try," I answered, "but =
it's
a long shot." Dismounting, I climbed a pile of stones and, resting my
rifle on the topmost of them, took a very full sight, aimed, held my breath,
and pressed the trigger. A second afterwards the shouter of insults threw h=
is
arms wide, letting fall his spear, and pitched forward on to his face.
A roar of delight rose from the watching Amawo= mbe, while old Maputa clapped his thin brown hands and grinned from ear to ear.<= o:p>
"Thank you, Macumazahn. A very good omen!=
Now
I am sure that, whatever those Isigqosa dogs of Umbelazi's may do, we King's
men shall make an excellent end, which is all that we can hope. Oh, what a
beautiful shot! It will be something to think of when I am an idhlozi, a
spirit-snake, crawling about my own kraal. Farewell, Macumazahn," and =
he
took my hand and pressed it. "The time has come. I go to lead the char=
ge.
The Amawombe have orders to defend you to the last, for I wish you to see t=
he
finish of this fight. Farewell."
Then off he hurried, followed by his orderlies=
and
staff-officers.
I never saw him again alive, though I think th=
at
once in after years I did meet his idhlozi in his kraal under strange
circumstances. But that has nothing to do with this history.
As for me, having reloaded, I mounted my horse
again, being afraid lest, if I went on shooting, I should miss and spoil my
reputation. Besides, what was the use of killing more men unless I was obli=
ged?
There were plenty ready to do that.
Another minute, and the regiment in front of us
began to move, while the other two behind it ostentatiously sat themselves =
down
in their ranks, to show that they did not mean to spoil sport. The fight wa=
s to
begin with a duel between about six thousand men.
"Good!" muttered the warrior who was
nearest me. "They are in our bag."
"Aye," answered another, "those
little boys" (used as a term of contempt) "are going to learn the=
ir
last lesson."
For a few seconds there was silence, while the
long ranks leant forward between the hedges of lean and cruel spears. A whi=
sper
went down the line; it sounded like the noise of wind among trees, and was =
the
signal to prepare. Next a far-off voice shouted some word, which was repeat=
ed again
and again by other voices before and behind me. I became aware that we were
moving, quite slowly at first, then more quickly. Being lifted above the ra=
nks
upon my horse I could see the whole advance, and the general aspect of it w=
as
that of a triple black wave, each wave crowned with foam--the white plumes =
and
shields of the Amawombe were the foam--and alive with sparkles of light--th=
eir
broad spears were the light.
We were charging now--and oh! the awful and
glorious excitement of that charge! Oh, the rush of the bending plumes and =
the
dull thudding of eight thousand feet! The Usutu came up the slope to meet u=
s.
In silence we went, and in silence they came. We drew near to each other. N=
ow
we could see their faces peering over the tops of their mottled shields, and
now we could see their fierce and rolling eyes.
Then a roar--a rolling roar such as at that ti=
me I
had never heard: the thunder of the roar of the meeting shields--and a flas=
h--a
swift, simultaneous flash, the flash of the lightning of the stabbing spear=
s. Up
went the cry of:
"Kill, Amawombe, kill!" answered by
another cry of:
"Toss, Usutu, toss!"
After that, what happened? Heaven knows alone-=
-or
at least I do not. But in later years Mr. Osborn, afterwards the resident
magistrate at Newcastle, in Natal, who, being young and foolish in those da=
ys,
had swum his horse over the Tugela and hidden in a little kopje quite near =
to
us in order to see the battle, told me that it looked as though some huge
breaker--that breaker being the splendid Amawombe--rolling in towards the s=
hore
with the weight of the ocean behind it, had suddenly struck a ridge of rock
and, rearing itself up, submerged and hidden it.
At least, within three minutes that Usutu regi=
ment
was no more. We had killed them every one, and from all along our lines ros=
e a
fierce hissing sound of "S'gee, S'gee" ("Zhi" in the Zu=
lu)
uttered as the spears went home in the bodies of the conquered.
That regiment had gone, taking nearly a third = of our number with it, for in such a battle as this the wounded were as good as dead. Practically our first line had vanished in a fray that did not last m= ore than a few minutes. Before it was well over the second Usutu regiment spran= g up and charged. With a yell of victory we rushed down the slope towards them. = Again there was the roar of the meeting shields, but this time the fight was more prolonged, and, being in the front rank now, I had my share of it. I rememb= er shooting two Usutu who stabbed at me, after which my gun was wrenched from = my hand. I remember the mêlée swinging backwards and forwards, the groans of t= he wounded, the shouts of victory and despair, and then Scowl's voice saying:<= o:p>
"We have beat them, Baas, but here come t=
he
others."
The t=
hird
regiment was on our shattered lines. We closed up, we fought like devils, e=
ven
the bearer boys rushed into the fray. From all sides they poured down upon =
us,
for we had made a ring; every minute men died by hundreds, and, though their
numbers grew few, not one of the Amawombe yielded. I was fighting with a sp=
ear
now, though how it came into my hand I cannot remember for certain. I think,
however, I wrenched it from a man who rushed at me and was stabbed before he
could strike. I killed a captain with this spear, for as he fell I recognis=
ed
his face. It was that of one of Cetewayo's companions to whom I had sold so=
me
cloth at Nodwengu. The fallen were piled up quite thick around me--we were
using them as a breastwork, friend and foe together. I saw Scowl's horse re=
ar into
the air and fall. He slipped over its tail, and next instant was fighting a=
t my
side, also with a spear, muttering Dutch and English oaths as he struck.
"Beetje varm! [a little hot] Beetje varm,
Baas!" I heard him say. Then my horse screamed aloud and something hit=
me
hard upon the head--I suppose it was a thrown kerry--after which I remember
nothing for a while, except a sensation of passing through the air.
I came to myself again, and found that I was s= till on the horse, which was ambling forward across the veld at a rate of about eight miles an hour, and that Scowl was clinging to my stirrup leather and running at my side. He was covered with blood, so was the horse, and so was= I. It may have been our own blood, for all three were more or less wounded, or= it may have been that of others; I am sure I do not know, but we were a terrib= le sight. I pulled upon the reins, and the horse stopped among some thorns. Sc= owl felt in the saddlebags and found a large flask of Hollands gin and water--h= alf gin and half water--which he had placed there before the battle. He uncorked and gave it to me. I took a long pull at the stuff, that tasted like verita= ble nectar, then handed it to him, who did likewise. New life seemed to flow in= to my veins. Whatever teetotallers may say, alcohol is good at such a moment.<= o:p>
"Where are the Amawombe?" I asked.
"All dead by now, I think, Baas, as we sh=
ould
be had not your horse bolted. Wow! but they made a great fight--one that wi=
ll
be told of! They have carried those three regiments away upon their
spears."
"That's good," I said. "But whe=
re
are we going?"
"To Natal, I hope, Baas. I have had enoug=
h of
the Zulus for the present. The Tugela is not far away, and we will swim it.
Come on, before our hurts grow stiff."
So we went on, till presently we reached the c=
rest
of a rise of ground overlooking the river, and there saw and heard dreadful
things, for beneath us those devilish Usutu were massacring the fugitives a=
nd
the camp-followers. These were being driven by the hundred to the edge of t=
he
water, there to perish on the banks or in the stream, which was black with
drowned or drowning forms.
And oh! the sounds! Well, these I will not att=
empt
to describe.
"Keep up stream," I said shortly, an=
d we
struggled across a kind of donga, where only a few wounded men were hidden,
into a somewhat denser patch of bush that had scarcely been entered by the
flying Isigqosa, perhaps because here the banks of the river were very steep
and difficult; also, between them its waters ran swiftly, for this was abov=
e the
drift.
For a while we went on in safety, then suddenl=
y I
heard a noise. A great man plunged past me, breaking through the bush like a
buffalo, and came to a halt upon a rock which overhung the Tugela, for the
floods had eaten away the soil beneath.
"Umbelazi!" said Scowl, and as he sp=
oke
we saw another man following as a wild dog follows a buck.
"Saduko!" said Scowl.
I rode on. I could not help riding on, althoug=
h I
knew it would be safer to keep away. I reached the edge of that big rock.
Saduko and Umbelazi were fighting there.
In ordinary circumstances, strong and active a=
s he
was, Saduko would have had no chance against the most powerful Zulu living.=
But
the prince was utterly exhausted; his sides were going like a blacksmith's
bellows, or those of a fat eland bull that has been galloped to a standstil=
l. Moreover,
he seemed to me to be distraught with grief, and, lastly, he had no shield
left, nothing but an assegai.
A stab from Saduko's spear, which he partially
parried, wounded him slightly on the head, and cut loose the fillet of his
ostrich plume, that same plume which I had seen blown off in the morning, so
that it fell to the ground. Another stab pierced his right arm, making it
helpless. He snatched the assegai with his left hand, striving to continue =
the
fight, and just at that moment we came up.
"What are you doing, Saduko?" I crie=
d.
"Does a dog bite his own master?"
He turned and stared at me; both of them stare=
d at
me.
"Aye, Macumazahn," he answered in an=
icy
voice, "sometimes when it is starving and that full-fed master has
snatched away its bone. Nay, stand aside, Macumazahn" (for, although I=
was
quite unarmed, I had stepped between them), "lest you should share the
fate of this woman-thief."
"Not I, Saduko," I cried, for this s=
ight
made me mad, "unless you murder me."
Then Umbelazi spoke in a hollow voice, sobbing=
out
his words:
"I thank you, White Man, yet do as this s=
nake
bids you--this snake that has lived in my kraal and fed out of my cup. Let =
him
have his fill of vengeance because of the woman who bewitched me--yes, beca=
use
of the sorceress who has brought me and thousands to the dust. Have you hea=
rd, Macumazahn,
of the great deed of this son of Matiwane? Have you heard that all the whil=
e he
was a traitor in the pay of Cetewayo, and that he went over, with the regim=
ents
of his command, to the Usutu just when the battle hung upon the turn? Come,
Traitor, here is my heart--the heart that loved and trusted you. Strike--st=
rike
hard!"
"Out of the way, Macumazahn!" hissed
Saduko. But I would not stir.
He sprang at me, and, though I put up the best
fight that I could in my injured state, got his hands about my throat and b=
egan
to choke me. Scowl ran to help me, but his wound--for he was hurt--or his u=
tter
exhaustion took effect on him. Or perhaps it was excitement. At any rate, he
fell down in a fit. I thought that all was over, when again I heard Umbelaz=
i's
voice, and felt Saduko's grip loosen at my throat, and sat up.
"Dog," said the Prince, "where =
is
your assegai?" And as he spoke he threw it from him into the river
beneath, for he had picked it up while we struggled, but, as I noted, retai=
ned
his own. "Now, dog, why do I not kill you, as would have been easy but
now? I will tell you. Because I will not mix the blood of a traitor with my
own. See!" He set the haft of his broad spear upon the rock and bent
forward over the blade. "You and your witch-wife have brought me to
nothing, O Saduko. My blood, and the blood of all who clung to me, is on yo=
ur
head. Your name shall stink for ever in the nostrils of all true men, and I
whom you have betrayed--I, the Prince Umbelazi--will haunt you while you li=
ve;
yes, my spirit shall enter into you, and when you die--ah! then we'll meet =
again.
Tell this tale to the white men, Macumazahn, my friend, on whom be honour a=
nd
blessings."
He paused, and I saw the tears gush from his
eyes--tears mingled with blood from the wound in his head. Then suddenly he
uttered the battle-cry of "Laba! Laba!" and let his weight fall u=
pon
the point of the spear.
It pierced him through and through. He fell on=
to
his hands and knees. He looked up at us--oh, the piteousness of that look!-=
-and
then rolled sideways from the edge of the rock.
A heavy splash, and that was the end of Umbela=
zi
the Fallen--Umbelazi, about whom Mameena had cast her net.
A sad=
story
in truth. Although it happened so many years ago I weep as I write it--I we=
ep
as Umbelazi wept.
After=
this
I think that some of the Usutu came up, for it seemed to me that I heard Sa=
duko
say:
"Touch not Macumazahn or his servant. They
are my prisoners. He who harms them dies, with all his House."
So they put me, fainting, on my horse, and Sco=
wl
they carried away upon a shield.
When I came to I found myself in a little cave=
, or
rather beneath some overhanging rocks, at the side of a kopje, and with me
Scowl, who had recovered from his fit, but seemed in a very bewildered
condition. Indeed, neither then nor afterwards did he remember anything of =
the death
of Umbelazi, nor did I ever tell him that tale. Like many others, he thought
that the Prince had been drowned in trying to swim the Tugela.
"Are they going to kill us?" I asked=
of
him, since, from the triumphant shouting without, I knew that we must be in=
the
midst of the victorious Usutu.
"I don't know, Baas," he answered.
"I hope not; after we have gone through so much it would be a pity. Be=
tter
to have died at the beginning of the battle."
I nodded my head in assent, and just at that
moment a Zulu, who had very evidently been fighting, entered the place carr=
ying
a dish of toasted lumps of beef and a gourd of water.
"Cetewayo sends you these, Macumazahn,&qu=
ot;
he said, "and is sorry that there is no milk or beer. When you have ea=
ten
a guard waits without to escort you to him." And he went.
"Well," I said to Scowl, "if th=
ey
were going to kill us, they would scarcely take the trouble to feed us firs=
t.
So let us keep up our hearts and eat."
"Who knows?" answered poor Scowl, as=
he
crammed a lump of beef into his big mouth. "Still, it is better to die=
on
a full than on an empty stomach."
So we ate and drank, and, as we were suffering
more from exhaustion than from our hurts, which were not really serious, our
strength came back to us. As we finished the last lump of meat, which, alth=
ough
it had been only half cooked upon the point of an assegai, tasted very good,
the Zulu put his head into the mouth of the shelter and asked if we were re=
ady.
I nodded, and, supporting each other, Scowl and I limped from the place.
Outside were about fifty soldiers, who greeted us with a shout that, althou=
gh
it was mixed with laughter at our pitiable appearance, struck me as not
altogether unfriendly. Amongst these men was my horse, which stood with its
head hanging down, looking very depressed. I was helped on to its back, and,
Scowl clinging to the stirrup leather, we were led a distance of about a
quarter of a mile to Cetewayo.
We found him seated, in the full blaze of the
evening sun, on the eastern slope of one of the land-waves of the veld, with
the open plain in front of him. It was a strange and savage scene. There sat
the victorious prince, surrounded by his captains and indunas, while before=
him
rushed the triumphant regiments, shouting his titles in the most extravagant
language. Izimbongi also--that is, professional praisers--were running up a=
nd
down before him dressed in all sorts of finery, telling his deeds, calling =
him
"Eater-up-of-the-Earth," and yelling out the names of those great
ones who had been killed in the battle.
Meanwhile parties of bearers were coming up
continually, carrying dead men of distinction upon shields and laying them =
out
in rows, as game is laid out at the end of a day's shooting in England. It
seems that Cetewayo had taken a fancy to see them, and, being too tired to =
walk
over the field of battle, ordered that this should be done. Among these, by=
the
way, I saw the body of my old friend, Maputa, the general of the Amawombe, =
and
noted that it was literally riddled with spear thrusts, every one of them in
front; also that his quaint face still wore a smile.
At the head of these lines of corpses were laid
six dead, all men of large size, in whom I recognised the brothers of Umbel=
azi,
who had fought on his side, and the half-brothers of Cetewayo. Among them w=
ere those
three princes upon whom the dust had fallen when Zikali, the prophet, smelt=
out
Masapo, the husband of Mameena.
Dismounting from my horse, with the help of Sc=
owl,
I limped through and over the corpses of these fallen royalties, cut in the
Zulu fashion to free their spirits, which otherwise, as they believed, would
haunt the slayers, and stood in front of Cetewayo.
"Siyakubona, Macumazahn," he said,
stretching out his hand to me, which I took, though I could not find it in =
my
heart to wish him "good day."
"I hear that you were leading the Amawomb=
e,
whom my father, the King, sent down to help Umbelazi, and I am very glad th=
at
you have escaped alive. Also my heart is proud of the fight that they made,=
for
you know, Macumazahn, once, next to the King, I was general of that regimen=
t, though
afterwards we quarrelled. Still, I am pleased that they did so well, and I =
have
given orders that every one of them who remains alive is to be spared, that
they may be officers of a new Amawombe which I shall raise. Do you know,
Macumazahn, that you have nearly wiped out three whole regiments of the Usu=
tu,
killing many more people than did all my brother's army, the Isigqosa? Oh, =
you
are a great man. Had it not been for the loyalty"--this word was spoken
with just a tinge of sarcasm--"of Saduko yonder, you would have won the
day for Umbelazi. Well, now that this quarrel is finished, if you will stay
with me I will make you general of a whole division of the King's army, sin=
ce henceforth
I shall have a voice in affairs."
"You are mistaken, O Son of Panda," I
answered; "the splendour of the Amawombe's great stand against a multi=
tude
is on the name of Maputa, the King's councillor and the induna of the Black=
One
[Chaka], who is gone. He lies yonder in his glory," and I pointed to
Maputa's pierced body. "I did but fight as a soldier in his ranks.&quo=
t;
"Oh, yes, we know that, we know all that,
Macumazahn; and Maputa was a clever monkey in his way, but we know also that
you taught him how to jump. Well, he is dead, and nearly all the Amawombe a=
re
dead, and of my three regiments but a handful is left; the vultures have the
rest of them. That is all finished and forgotten, Macumazahn, though by goo=
d fortune
the spears went wide of you, who doubtless are a magician, since otherwise =
you
and your servant and your horse would not have escaped with a few scratches
when everyone else was killed. But you did escape, as you have done before =
in
Zululand; and now you see here lie certain men who were born of my father. =
Yet
one is missing--he against whom I fought, aye, and he whom, although we fou=
ght,
I loved the best of all of them. Now, it has been whispered in my ear that =
you
alone know what became of him, and, Macumazahn, I would learn whether he li=
ves
or is dead; also, if he is dead, by whose hand he died, who would reward th=
at hand."
Now, I looked round me, wondering whether I sh=
ould
tell the truth or hold my tongue, and as I looked my eyes met those of Sadu=
ko,
who, cold and unconcerned, was seated among the captains, but at a little
distance from any of them--a man apart; and I remembered that he and I alone
knew the truth of the end of Umbelazi.
Why, I do not know, but it came into my mind t=
hat
I would keep the secret. Why should I tell the triumphant Cetewayo that
Umbelazi had been driven to die by his own hand; why should I lay bare Sadu=
ko's
victory and shame? All these matters had passed into the court of a differe=
nt tribunal.
Who was I that I should reveal them or judge the actors of this terrible dr=
ama?
"O Cetewayo," I said, "as it
chanced I saw the end of Umbelazi. No enemy killed him. He died of a broken
heart upon a rock above the river; and for the rest of the story go ask the
Tugela into which he fell."
For a moment Cetewayo hid his eyes with his ha=
nd.
"Is it so?" he said presently.
"Wow! I say again that had it not been for Saduko, the son of Matiwane,
yonder, who had some quarrel with Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti about a woman and t=
ook
his chance of vengeance, it might have been I who died of a broken heart up=
on a
rock above the river. Oh, Saduko, I owe you a great debt and will pay you w=
ell;
but you shall be no friend of mine, lest we also should chance to quarrel a=
bout
a woman, and I should find myself dying of a broken heart on a rock above a
river. O my brother Umbelazi, I mourn for you, my brother, for, after all, =
we
played together when we were little and loved each other once, who in the e=
nd
fought for a toy that is called a throne, since, as our father said, two bu=
lls
cannot live in the same yard, my brother. Well, you are gone and I remain, =
yet
who knows but that at the last your lot may be happier than mine. You died =
of a
broken heart, Umbelazi, but of what shall I die, I wonder?"[*]
[*--That history of Cetewayo's fall and tragic death and of Zikali's vengeance I hope to write o=
ne
day, for in these events also =
I was
destined to play a part.--A. Q.]
I have given this interview in detail, since it
was because of it that the saying went abroad that Umbelazi died of a broken
heart.
So in truth he did, for before his spear pierc=
ed
it his heart was broken.
Now, seeing that Cetewayo was in one of his so=
ft
moods, and that he seemed to look upon me kindly, though I had fought again=
st
him, I reflected that this would be a good opportunity to ask his leave to =
depart.
To tell the truth, my nerves were quite shattered with all I had gone throu=
gh,
and I longed to be away from the sights and sounds of that terrible
battlefield, on and about which so many thousand people had perished this
fateful day, as I had seldom longed for anything before. But while I was ma=
king
up my mind as to the best way to approach him, something happened which cau=
sed
me to lose my chance.
Hearing a noise behind me, I looked round, to =
see
a stout man arrayed in a very fine war dress, and waving in one hand a gory
spear and in the other a head-plume of ostrich feathers, who was shouting o=
ut:
"Give me audience of the son of the King!=
I
have a song to sing to the Prince. I have a tale to tell to the conqueror,
Cetewayo."
I stared. I rubbed my eyes. It could not be--y=
es,
it was--Umbezi, "Eater-up-of-Elephants," the father of Mameena. I=
n a
few seconds, without waiting for leave to approach, he had bounded through =
the
line of dead princes, stopping to kick one of them on the head and address =
his
poor clay in some words of shameful insult, and was prancing about before
Cetewayo, shouting his praises.
"Who is this umfokazana?" [that is, =
low
fellow] growled the Prince. "Bid him cease his noise and speak, lest he
should be silent for ever."
"O Calf of the Black Cow, I am Umbezi,
'Eater-up-of-Elephants,' chief captain of Saduko the Cunning, he who won you
the battle, father of Mameena the Beautiful, whom Saduko wed and whom the d=
ead
dog, Umbelazi, stole away from him."
"Ah!" said Cetewayo, screwing up his
eyes in a fashion he had when he meant mischief, which among the Zulus caus=
ed
him to be named the "Bull-who-shuts-his-eyes-to-toss," "and =
what
have you to tell me, 'Eater-up-of-Elephants' and father of Mameena, whom the
dead dog, Umbelazi, took away from your master, Saduko the Cunning?"
"This, O Mighty One; this, O Shaker of the
Earth, that well am I named 'Eater-up-of-Elephants,' who have eaten up
Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti--the Elephant himself."
Now Saduko seemed to awake from his brooding a=
nd
started from his place; but Cetewayo sharply bade him be silent, whereon Um=
bezi,
the fool, noting nothing, continued his tale.
"O Prince, I met Umbelazi in the battle, =
and
when he saw me he fled from me; yes, his heart grew soft as water at the si=
ght
of me, the warrior whom he had wronged, whose daughter he had stolen."=
"I hear you," said Cetewayo.
"Umbelazi's heart turned to water at the sight of you because he had
wronged you--you who until this morning, when you deserted him with Saduko,
were one of his jackals. Well, and what happened then?"
"He fled, O Lion with the Black Mane; he =
fled
like the wind, and I, I flew after him like--a stronger wind. Far into the =
bush
he fled, till at length he came to a rock above the river and was obliged to
stand. Then there we fought. He thrust at me, but I leapt over his spear
thus," and he gambolled into the air. "He thrust at me again, but=
I
bent myself thus," and he ducked his great head. "Then he grew ti=
red
and my time came. He turned and ran round the rock, and I, I ran after him,
stabbing him through the back, thus, and thus, and thus, till he fell, cryi=
ng
for mercy, and rolled off the rock into the river; and as he rolled I snatc=
hed
away his plume. See, is it not the plume of the dead dog Umbelazi?"
Cetewayo took the ornament and examined it,
showing it to one or two of the captains near him, who nodded their heads
gravely.
"Yes," he said, "this is the war
plume of Umbelazi, beloved of the King, strong and shining pillar of the Gr=
eat
House; we know it well, that war plume at the sight of which many a knee has
loosened. And so you killed him, 'Eater-up-of-Elephants,' father of Mameena,
you who this morning were one of the meanest of his jackals. Now, what rewa=
rd
shall I give you for this mighty deed, O Umbezi?"
"A great reward, O Terrible One," be=
gan
Umbezi, but in an awful voice Cetewayo bade him be silent.
"Yes," he said, "a great reward.
Hearken, Jackal and Traitor. Your own words bear witness against you. You, =
you
have dared to lift your hand against the blood-royal, and with your foul to=
ngue
to heap lies and insults upon the name of the mighty dead."
Now, understanding at last, Umbezi began to ba=
bble
excuses, yes, and to declare that all his tale was false. His fat cheeks fe=
ll
in, he sank to his knees.
But Cetewayo only spat towards the man, after =
his
fashion when enraged, and looked round him till his eye fell upon Saduko.
"Saduko," he said, "take away t=
his
slayer of the Prince, who boasts that he is red with my own blood, and when=
he
is dead cast him into the river from that rock on which he says he stabbed
Panda's son."
Saduko looked round him wildly and hesitated.<= o:p>
"Take him away," thundered Cetewayo,
"and return ere dark to make report to me."
Then, at a sign from the Prince, soldiers flung
themselves upon the miserable Umbezi and dragged him thence, Saduko going w=
ith
them; nor was the poor liar ever seen again. As he passed by me he called to
me, for Mameena's sake, to save him; but I could only shake my head and bet=
hink
me of the warning I had once given to him as to the fate of traitors.
It may be said that this story comes straight =
from
the history of Saul and David, but I can only answer that it happened.
Circumstances that were not unlike ended in a similar tragedy, that is all.
What David's exact motives were, naturally I cannot tell; but it is easy to
guess those of Cetewayo, who, although he could make war upon his brother t=
o secure
the throne, did not think it wise to let it go abroad that the royal blood
might be lightly spilt. Also, knowing that I was a witness of the Prince's
death, he was well aware that Umbezi was but a boastful liar who hoped thus=
to
ingratiate himself with an all-powerful conqueror.
Well, this tragic incident had its sequel. It
seems--to his honour, be it said--that Saduko refused to be the executioner=
of
his father-in-law, Umbezi; so those with him performed this office and brou=
ght
him back a prisoner to Cetewayo.
When the Prince learned that his direct order,
spoken in the accustomed and fearful formula of "Take him away," =
had
been disobeyed, his rage was, or seemed to be, great. My own conviction is =
that
he was only seeking a cause of quarrel against Saduko, who, he thought, was=
a
very powerful man, who would probably treat him, should opportunity arise, =
as he
had treated Umbelazi, and perhaps now that the most of Panda's sons were de=
ad,
except himself and the lads M'tonga, Sikota and M'kungo, who had fled into
Natal, might even in future days aspire to the throne as the husband of the
King's daughter. Still, he was afraid or did not think it politic at once to
put out of his path this master of many legions, who had played so importan=
t a
part in the battle. Therefore he ordered him to be kept under guard and tak=
en
back to Nodwengu, that the whole matter might be investigated by Panda the
King, who still ruled the land, though henceforth only in name. Also he ref=
used
to allow me to depart into Natal, saying that I, too, must come to Nodwengu=
, as
there my testimony might be needed.
So, having no choice, I went, it being fated t=
hat
I should see the end of the drama.
When I
reached Nodwengu I was taken ill and laid up in my wagon for about a fortni=
ght.
What my exact sickness was I do not know, for I had no doctor at hand to te=
ll
me, as even the missionaries had fled the country. Fever resulting from fat=
igue,
exposure and excitement, and complicated with fearful headache--caused, I
presume, by the blow which I received in the battle--were its principal
symptoms.
When I began to get better, Scowl and some Zulu
friends who came to see me informed me that the whole land was in a fearful
state of disorder, and that Umbelazi's adherents, the Isigqosa, were still
being hunted out and killed. It seems that it was even suggested by some of=
the
Usutu that I should share their fate, but on this point Panda was firm. Ind=
eed,
he appears to have said publicly that whoever lifted a spear against me, his
friend and guest, lifted it against him, and would be the cause of a new wa=
r.
So the Usutu left me alone, perhaps because they were satisfied with fighti=
ng
for a while, and thought it wisest to be content with what they had won.
Indeed, they had won everything, for Cetewayo =
was
now supreme--by right of the assegai--and his father but a cipher. Although=
he
remained the "Head" of the nation, Cetewayo was publicly declared=
to
be its "Feet," and strength was in these active "Feet,"=
not
in the bowed and sleeping "Head." In fact, so little power was le=
ft
to Panda that he could not protect his own household. Thus one day I heard a
great tumult and shouting proceeding apparently from the Isigodhlo, or royal
enclosure, and on inquiring what it was afterwards, was told that Cetewayo =
had
come from the Amangwe kraal and denounced Nomantshali, the King's wife, as
"umtakati", or a witch. More, in spite of his father's prayers an=
d tears,
he had caused her to be put to death before his eyes--a dreadful and a sava=
ge
deed. At this distance of time I cannot remember whether Nomantshali was the
mother of Umbelazi or of one of the other fallen princes.[*]
[=
*--On
re-reading this history it comes back to me that she was the mother of M'tonga, who was m=
uch
younger than Umbelazi. --A. Q.=
]
A few days later, when I was up and about agai=
n,
although I had not ventured into the kraal, Panda sent a messenger to me wi=
th a
present of an ox. On his behalf this man congratulated me on my recovery, a=
nd
told me that, whatever might have happened to others, I was to have no fear=
for
my own safety. He added that Cetewayo had sworn to the King that not a hair=
of
my head should be harmed, in these words:
"Had I wished to kill Watcher-by-Night
because he fought against me, I could have done so down at Endondakusuka; b=
ut
then I ought to kill you also, my father, since you sent him thither against
his will with your own regiment. But I like him well, who is brave and who
brought me good tidings that the Prince, my enemy, was dead of a broken hea=
rt.
Moreover, I wish to have no quarrel with the White House [the English] on
account of Macumazahn, so tell him that he may sleep in peace."
The messenger said further that Saduko, the
husband of the King's daughter, Nandie, and Umbelazi's chief induna, was to=
be
put upon his trial on the morrow before the King and his council, together =
with
Mameena, daughter of Umbezi, and that my presence was desired at this trial=
.
I asked what was the charge against them. He
replied that, so far as Saduko was concerned, there were two: first, that he
had stirred up civil war in the land, and, secondly, that having pushed on
Umbelazi into a fight in which many thousands perished, he had played the t=
raitor,
deserting him in the midst of the battle, with all his following--a very
heinous offence in the eyes of Zulus, to whatever party they may belong.
Against Mameena there were three counts of
indictment. First, that it was she who had poisoned Saduko's child and othe=
rs,
not Masapo, her first husband, who had suffered for that crime. Secondly, t=
hat
she had deserted Saduko, her second husband, and gone to live with another =
man,
namely, the late Prince Umbelazi. Thirdly, that she was a witch, who had en=
meshed
Umbelazi in the web of her sorceries and thereby caused him to aspire to the
succession to the throne, to which he had no right, and made the isililo, or
cry of mourning for the dead, to be heard in every kraal in Zululand.
"With three such pitfalls in her narrow p=
ath,
Mameena will have to walk carefully if she would escape them all," I s=
aid.
"Yes, Inkoosi, especially as the pitfalls=
are
dug from side to side of the path and have a pointed stake set at the botto=
m of
each of them. Oh, Mameena is already as good as dead, as she deserves to be,
who without doubt is the greatest umtakati north of the Tugela."
I sighed, for somehow I was sorry for Mameena,
though why she should escape when so many better people had perished becaus=
e of
her I did not know; and the messenger went on:
"The Black One [that is, Panda] sent me to
tell Saduko that he would be allowed to see you, Macumazahn, before the tri=
al,
if he wished, for he knew that you had been a friend of his, and thought th=
at
you might be able to give evidence in his favour."
"And what did Saduko say to that?" I
asked.
"He said that he thanked the King, but th=
at
it was not needful for him to talk with Macumazahn, whose heart was white l=
ike
his skin, and whose lips, if they spoke at all, would tell neither more nor
less than the truth. The Princess Nandie, who is with him--for she will not
leave him in his trouble, as all others have done--on hearing these words o=
f Saduko's,
said that they were true, and that for this reason, although you were her
friend, she did not hold it necessary to see you either."
Upon this intimation I made no comment, but
"my head thought," as the natives say, that Saduko's real reason =
for
not wishing to see me was that he felt ashamed to do so, and Nandie's that =
she
feared to learn more about her husband's perfidies than she knew already.
"With Mameena it is otherwise," went=
on
the messenger, "for as soon as she was brought here with Zikali the Li=
ttle
and Wise, with whom, it seems, she has been sheltering, and learned that yo=
u,
Macumazahn, were at the kraal, she asked leave to see you--"
"And is it granted?" I broke in hurriedly, for I did not at all wish for a private interview with Mameena.<= o:p>
"Nay, have no fear, Inkoosi," replied the messenger with a smile; "it is refused, because the King said that= if once she saw you she would bewitch you and bring trouble on you, as she doe= s on all men. It is for this reason that she is guarded by women only, no man be= ing allowed to go near to her, for on women her witcheries will not bite. Still, they say that she is merry, and laughs and sings a great deal, declaring th= at her life has been dull up at old Zikali's, and that now she is going to a place= as gay as the veld in spring, after the first warm rain, where there will be plenty of men to quarrel for her and make her great and happy. That is what= she says, the witch who knows perhaps what the Place of Spirits is like."<= o:p>
Then, as I made no remarks or suggestions, the
messenger departed, saying that he would return on the morrow to lead me to=
the
place of trial.
Next morning, after the cows had been milked a=
nd
the cattle loosed from their kraals, he came accordingly, with a guard of a=
bout
thirty men, all of them soldiers who had survived the great fight of the
Amawombe. These warriors, some of whom had wounds that were scarcely healed,
saluted me with loud cries of "Inkoosi!" and "Baba" as I
stepped out of the wagon, where I had spent a wretched night of unpleasant
anticipation, showing me that there were at least some Zulus with whom I
remained popular. Indeed, their delight at seeing me, whom they looked upon=
as
a comrade and one of the few survivors of the great adventure, was quite
touching. As we went, which we did slowly, their captain told me of their f=
ears
that I had been killed with the others, and how rejoiced they were when they
learned that I was safe. He told me also that, after the third regiment had
attacked them and broken up their ring, a small body of them, from eighty t=
o a
hundred only, managed to cut a way through and escape, running, not towards=
the
Tugela, where so many thousands had perished, but up to Nodwengu, where they
reported themselves to Panda as the only survivors of the Amawombe.
"And are you safe now?" I asked of t=
he
captain.
"Oh, yes," he answered. "You se=
e,
we were the King's men, not Umbelazi's, so Cetewayo bears us no grudge. Ind=
eed,
he is obliged to us, because we gave the Usutu their stomachs full of good
fighting, which is more than did those cows of Umbelazi's. It is towards Sa=
duko
that he bears a grudge, for you know, my father, one should never pull a dr=
owning
man out of the stream--which is what Saduko did, for had it not been for his
treachery, Cetewayo would have sunk beneath the water of Death--especially =
if
it is only to spite a woman who hates him. Still, perhaps Saduko will escape
with his life, because he is Nandie's husband, and Cetewayo fears Nandie, h=
is
sister, if he does not love her. But here we are, and those who have to wat=
ch
the sky all day will be able to tell of the evening weather" (in other
words, those who live will learn).
As he spoke we passed into the private enclosu=
re
of the isi-gohlo, outside of which a great many people were gathered, shout=
ing,
talking and quarrelling, for in those days all the usual discipline of the
Great Place was relaxed. Within the fence, however, that was strongly guard=
ed on
its exterior side, were only about a score of councillors, the King, the Pr=
ince
Cetewayo, who sat upon his right, the Princess Nandie, Saduko's wife, a few=
attendants,
two great, silent fellows armed with clubs, whom I guessed to be executione=
rs,
and, seated in the shade in a corner, that ancient dwarf, Zikali, though ho=
w he
came to be there I did not know.
Obviously the trial was to be quite a private
affair, which accounted for the unusual presence of the two
"slayers." Even my Amawombe guard was left outside the gate, alth=
ough
I was significantly informed that if I chose to call upon them they would h=
ear
me, which was another way of saying that in such a small gathering I was
absolutely safe.
Walking forward boldly towards Panda, who, tho=
ugh
he was as fat as ever, looked very worn and much older than when I had last
seen him, I made my bow, whereon he took my hand and asked after my health.
Then I shook Cetewayo's hand also, as I saw that it was stretched out to me=
. He
seized the opportunity to remark that he was told that I had suffered a kno=
ck
on the head in some scrimmage down by the Tugela, and he hoped that I felt =
no
ill effects. I answered: No, though I feared that there were a few others w=
ho
had not been so fortunate, especially those who had stumbled against the
Amawombe regiment, with whom I chanced to be travelling upon a peaceful mis=
sion
of inquiry.
It was a bold speech to make, but I was determ=
ined
to give him a quid pro quo, and, as a matter of fact, he took it in very go=
od
part, laughing heartily at the joke.
After this I saluted such of the councillors
present as I knew, which was not many, for most of my old friends were dead,
and sat down upon the stool that was placed for me not very far from the dw=
arf
Zikali, who stared at me in a stony fashion, as though he had never seen me
before.
There followed a pause. Then, at some sign from
Panda, a side gate in the fence was opened, and through it appeared Saduko,=
who
walked proudly to the space in front of the King, to whom he gave the salut=
e of
"Bayéte," and, at a sign, sat himself down upon the ground. Next,=
through
the same gate, to which she was conducted by some women, came Mameena, quite
unchanged and, I think, more beautiful than she had ever been. So lovely did
she look, indeed, in her cloak of grey fur, her necklet of blue beads, and =
the
gleaming rings of copper which she wore upon her wrists and ankles, that ev=
ery
eye was fixed upon her as she glided gracefully forward to make her obeisan=
ce
to Panda.
This done, she turned and saw Nandie, to whom =
she
also bowed, as she did so inquiring after the health of her child. Without
waiting for an answer, which she knew would not be vouchsafed, she advanced=
to
me and grasped my hand, which she pressed warmly, saying how glad she was t=
o see
me safe after going through so many dangers, though she thought I looked ev=
en
thinner than I used to be.
Only of Saduko, who was watching her with his
intent and melancholy eyes, she took no heed whatsoever. Indeed, for a whil=
e I
thought that she could not have seen him. Nor did she appear to recognise
Cetewayo, although he stared at her hard enough. But, as her glance fell up=
on
the two executioners, I thought I saw her shudder like a shaken reed. Then =
she
sat down in the place appointed to her, and the trial began.
The case of Saduko was taken first. An officer
learned in Zulu law--which I can assure the reader is a very intricate and =
well-established
law--I suppose that he might be called a kind of attorney-general, rose and
stated the case against the prisoner. He told how Saduko, from a nobody, had
been lifted to a great place by the King and given his daughter, the Prince=
ss
Nandie, in marriage. Then he alleged that, as would be proved in evidence, =
the
said Saduko had urged on Umbelazi the Prince, to whose party he had attached
himself, to make war upon Cetewayo. This war having begun, at the great bat=
tle
of Endondakusuka, he had treacherously deserted Umbelazi, together with thr=
ee
regiments under his command, and gone over to Cetewayo, thereby bringing
Umbelazi to defeat and death.
This brief statement of the case for the
prosecution being finished, Panda asked Saduko whether he pleaded guilty or=
not
guilty.
"Guilty, O King," he answered, and w=
as
silent.
Then Panda asked him if he had anything to say=
in
excuse of his conduct.
"Nothing, O King, except that I was
Umbelazi's man, and when you, O King, had given the word that he and the Pr=
ince
yonder might fight, I, like many others, some of whom are dead and some ali=
ve,
worked for him with all my ten fingers that he might have the victory."=
;
"Then why did you desert my son the Princ=
e in
the battle?" asked Panda.
"Because I saw that the Prince Cetewayo w=
as
the stronger bull and wished to be on the winning side, as all men do--for =
no
other reason," answered Saduko calmly.
Now, everyone present stared, not excepting
Cetewayo. Panda, who, like the rest of us, had heard a very different tale,
looked extremely puzzled, while Zikali, in his corner, set up one of his gr=
eat
laughs.
After a long pause, at length the King, as sup=
reme
judge, began to pass sentence. At least, I suppose that was his intention, =
but
before three words had left his lips Nandie rose and said:
"My Father, ere you speak that which cann=
ot
be unspoken, hear me. It is well known that Saduko, my husband, was my brot=
her
Umbelazi's general and councillor, and if he is to be killed for clinging to
the Prince, then I should be killed also, and countless others in Zululand =
who
still remain alive because they were not in or escaped the battle. It is we=
ll known
also, my Father, that during that battle Saduko went over to my brother
Cetewayo, though whether this brought about the defeat of Umbelazi I cannot
say. Why did he go over? He tells you because he wished to be on the winning
side. It is not true. He went over in order to be revenged upon Umbelazi, w=
ho
had taken from him yonder witch"--and she pointed with her finger at
Mameena--"yonder witch, whom he loved and still loves, and whom even n=
ow
he would shield, even though to do so he must make his own name shameful.
Saduko sinned; I do not deny it, my Father, but there sits the real traitre=
ss,
red with the blood of Umbelazi and with that of thousands of others who have
'tshonile'd' [gone down to keep him company among the ghosts]. Therefore, O
King, I beseech you, spare the life of Saduko, my husband, or, if he must d=
ie, learn
that I, your daughter, will die with him. I have spoken, O King."
And very proudly and quietly she sat herself d=
own
again, waiting for the fateful words.
But those words were not spoken, since Panda o=
nly
said: "Let us try the case of this woman, Mameena."
Thereon the law officer rose again and set out=
the
charges against Mameena, namely, that it was she who had poisoned Saduko's
child, and not Masapo; that, after marrying Saduko, she had deserted him and
gone to live with the Prince Umbelazi; and that finally she had bewitched t=
he said
Umbelazi and caused him to make civil war in the land.
"The second charge, if proved, namely, th=
at
this woman deserted her husband for another man, is a crime of death,"
broke in Panda abruptly as the officer finished speaking; "therefore, =
what
need is there to hear the first and the third until that is examined. What =
do
you plead to that charge, woman?"
Now, understanding that the King did not wish =
to
stir up these other matters of murder and witchcraft for some reason of his
own, we all turned to hear Mameena's answer.
"O King," she said in her low, silve=
ry
voice, "I cannot deny that I left Saduko for Umbelazi the Handsome, any
more than Saduko can deny that he left Umbelazi the beaten for Cetewayo the
conqueror."
"Why did you leave Saduko?" asked Pa=
nda.
"O King, perhaps because I loved Umbelazi;
for was he not called the Handsome? Also you know that the Prince, your son,
was one to be loved." Here she paused, looking at poor Panda, who winc=
ed.
"Or, perhaps, because I wished to be great; for was he not of the Bloo=
d Royal,
and, had it not been for Saduko, would he not one day have been a king? Or,
perhaps, because I could no longer bear the treatment that the Princess Nan=
die
dealt out to me; she who was cruel to me and threatened to beat me, because
Saduko loved my hut better than her own. Ask Saduko; he knows more of these
matters than I do," and she gazed at him steadily. Then she went on:
"How can a woman tell her reasons, O King, when she never knows them
herself?"--a question at which some of her hearers smiled.
Now Saduko rose and said slowly:
"Hear me, O King, and I will give the rea=
son
that Mameena hides. She left me for Umbelazi because I bade her to do so, f=
or I
knew that Umbelazi desired her, and I wished to tie the cord tighter which
bound me to one who at that time I thought would inherit the Throne. Also, I
was weary of Mameena, who quarrelled night and day with the Princess Nandie=
, my
Inkosikazi."
Now Nandie gasped in astonishment (and so did =
I),
but Mameena laughed and said:
"Yes, O King, those were the two real rea=
sons
that I had forgotten. I left Saduko because he bade me, as he wished to mak=
e a
present to the Prince. Also, he was tired of me; for many days at a time he
would scarcely speak to me, because, however kind she might be, I could not=
help
quarrelling with the Princess Nandie. Moreover, there was another reason wh=
ich
I have forgotten: I had no child, and not having any child I did not think =
it
mattered whether I went or stayed. If Saduko searches, he will remember tha=
t I
told him so, and that he agreed with me."
Again she looked at Saduko, who said hurriedly=
:
"Yes, yes, I told her so; I told her that=
I
wished for no barren cows in my kraal."
Now some of the audience laughed outright, but
Panda frowned.
"It seems," he said, "that my e=
ars
are being stuffed with lies, though which of these two tells them I cannot =
say.
Well, if the woman left the man by his own wish, and that his ends might be
furthered, as he says, he had put her away, and therefore the fault, if any=
, is
his, not hers. So that charge is ended. Now, woman, what have you to tell u=
s of
the witchcraft which it is said you practised upon the Prince who is gone, =
thereby
causing him to make war in the land?"
"Little that you would wish to hear, O Ki=
ng,
or that it would be seemly for me to speak," she answered, drooping her
head modestly. "The only witchcraft that ever I practised upon Umbelazi
lies here"--and she touched her beautiful eyes--"and here"--=
and
she touched her curving lips--"and in this poor shape of mine which so=
me
have thought so fair. As for the war, what had I to do with war, who never
spoke to Umbelazi, who was so dear to me"--and she looked up with tears
running down her face--"save of love? O King, is there a man among you=
all
who would fear the witcheries of such a one as I; and because the Heavens m=
ade
me beautiful with the beauty that men must follow, am I also to be killed a=
s a
sorceress?"
Now, to this argument neither Panda nor anyone
else seemed to find an answer, especially as it was well known that Umbelazi
had cherished his ambition to the succession long before he met Mameena. So
that charge was dropped, and the first and greatest of the three proceeded
with; namely, that it was she, Mameena, and not her husband, Masapo, who ha=
d murdered
Nandie's child.
When this accusation was made against her, for=
the
first time I saw a little shade of trouble flit across Mameena's soft eyes.=
"Surely, O King," she said, "th=
at
matter was settled long ago, when the Ndwande, Zikali, the great Nyanga, sm=
elt
out Masapo the wizard, he who was my husband, and brought him to his death =
for
this crime. Must I then be tried for it again?"
"Not so, woman," answered Panda.
"All that Zikali smelt out was the poison that wrought the crime, and =
as
some of that poison was found upon Masapo, he was killed as a wizard. Yet i=
t may
be that it was not he who used the poison."
"Then surely the King should have thought=
of
that before he died," murmured Mameena. "But I forget: It is known
that Masapo was always hostile to the House of Senzangakona."
To this remark Panda made no answer, perhaps
because it was unanswerable, even in a land where it was customary to kill =
the
supposed wizard first and inquire as to his actual guilt afterwards, or not=
at all.
Or perhaps he thought it politic to ignore the suggestion that he had been
inspired by personal enmity. Only, he looked at his daughter, Nandie, who r=
ose
and said:
"Have I leave to call a witness on this
matter of the poison, my Father?"
Panda nodded, whereon Nandie said to one of the
councillors:
"Be pleased to summon my woman, Nahana, w=
ho
waits without."
The man went, and presently returned with an
elderly female who, it appeared, had been Nandie's nurse, and, never having
married, owing to some physical defect, had always remained in her service,=
a
person well known and much respected in her humble walk of life.
"Nahana," said Nandie, "you are
brought here that you may repeat to the King and his council a tale which y=
ou
told to me as to the coming of a certain woman into my hut before the death=
of
my first-born son, and what she did there. Say first, is this woman present
here?"
"Aye, Inkosazana," answered Nahana,
"yonder she sits. Who could mistake her?" and she pointed to Mame=
ena,
who was listening to every word intently, as a dog listens at the mouth of =
an
ant-bear hole when the beast is stirring beneath.
"Then what of the woman and her deeds?&qu=
ot;
asked Panda.
"Only this, O King. Two nights before the
child that is dead was taken ill, I saw Mameena creep into the hut of the l=
ady
Nandie, I who was asleep alone in a corner of the big hut out of reach of t=
he
light of the fire. At the time the lady Nandie was away from the hut with h=
er
son. Knowing the woman for Mameena, the wife of Masapo, who was on friendly=
terms
with the Inkosazana, whom I supposed she had come to visit, I did not decla=
re
myself; nor did I take any particular note when I saw her sprinkle a little=
mat
upon which the babe, Saduko's son, was wont to be laid, with some medicine,
because I had heard her promise to the Inkosazana a powder which she said w=
ould
drive away insects. Only, when I saw her throw some of this powder into the
vessel of warm water that stood by the fire, to be used for the washing of =
the
child, and place something, muttering certain words that I could not catch,=
in
the straw of the doorway, I thought it strange, and was about to question h=
er
when she left the hut. As it happened, O King, but a little while afterward=
s, before
one could count ten tens indeed, a messenger came to the hut to tell me tha=
t my
old mother lay dying at her kraal four days' journey from Nodwengu, and pra=
yed
to see me before she died. Then I forgot all about Mameena and the powder, =
and,
running out to seek the Princess Nandie, I craved her leave to go with the
messenger to my mother's kraal, which she granted to me, saying that I need=
not
return until my mother was buried.
"So I went. But, oh! my mother took long =
to
die. Whole moons passed before I shut her eyes, and all this while she would
not let me go; nor, indeed, did I wish to leave her whom I loved. At length=
it
was over, and then came the days of mourning, and after those some more day=
s of
rest, and after them again the days of the division of the cattle, so that =
in the
end six moons or more had gone by before I returned to the service of the
Princess Nandie, and found that Mameena was now the second wife of the lord
Saduko. Also I found that the child of the lady Nandie was dead, and that
Masapo, the first husband of Mameena, had been smelt out and killed as the
murderer of the child. But as all these things were over and done with, and=
as
Mameena was very kind to me, giving me gifts and sparing me tasks, and as I=
saw
that Saduko my lord loved her much, it never came into my head to say anyth=
ing
of the matter of the powder that I saw her sprinkle on the mat.
"After she had run away with the Prince w=
ho
is dead, however, I did tell the lady Nandie. Moreover, the lady Nandie, in=
my
presence, searched in the straw of the doorway of the hut and found there,
wrapped in soft hide, certain medicines such as the Nyangas sell, wherewith
those who consult them can bewitch their enemies, or cause those whom they
desire to love them or to hate their wives or husbands. That is all I know =
of the
story, O King."
"Do my ears hear a true tale, Nandie?&quo=
t;
asked Panda. "Or is this woman a liar like others?"
"I think not, my Father; see, here is the
muti [medicine] which Nahana and I found hid in the doorway of the hut that=
I
have kept unopened till this day."
And she laid on the ground a little leather ba=
g,
very neatly sewn with sinews, and fastened round its neck with a fibre stri=
ng.
Panda directed one of the councillors to open =
the
bag, which the man did unwillingly enough, since evidently he feared its ev=
il
influence, pouring out its contents on to the back of a hide shield, which =
was then
carried round so that we might all look at them. These, so far as I could s=
ee,
consisted of some withered roots, a small piece of human thigh bone, such as
might have come from the skeleton of an infant, that had a little stopper of
wood in its orifice, and what I took to be the fang of a snake.
Panda looked at them and shrank away, saying:<= o:p>
"Come hither, Zikali the Old, you who are
skilled in magic, and tell us what is this medicine."
Then Zikali rose from the corner where he had =
been
sitting so silently, and waddled heavily across the open space to where the
shield lay in front of the King. As he passed Mameena, she bent down over t=
he
dwarf and began to whisper to him swiftly; but he placed his hands upon his=
big
head, covering up his ears, as I suppose, that he might not hear her words.=
"What have I to do with this matter, O
King?" he asked.
"Much, it seems, O Opener-of-Roads,"
said Panda sternly, "seeing that you were the doctor who smelt out Mas=
apo,
and that it was in your kraal that yonder woman hid herself while her lover,
the Prince, my son, who is dead, went down to the battle, and that she was
brought thence with you. Tell us, now, the nature of this muti, and, being
wise, as you are, be careful to tell us truly, lest it should be said, O Zi=
kali,
that you are not a Nyanga only, but an umtakati as well. For then," he
added with meaning, and choosing his words carefully, "perchance, O
Zikali, I might be tempted to make trial of whether or no it is true that y=
ou
cannot be killed like other men, especially as I have heard of late that yo=
ur heart
is evil towards me and my House."
For a moment Zikali hesitated--I think to give=
his
quick brain time to work, for he saw his great danger. Then he laughed in h=
is
dreadful fashion and said:
"Oho! the King thinks that the otter is in
the trap," and he glanced at the fence of the isi-gohlo and at the fie=
rce
executioners, who stood watching him sternly. "Well, many times before=
has
this otter seemed to be in a trap, yes, ere your father saw light, O Son of
Senzangakona, and after it also. Yet here he stands living. Make no trial, O
King, of whether or no I be mortal, lest if Death should come to such a one=
as
I, he should take many others with him also. Have you not heard the saying =
that
when the Opener-of-Roads comes to the end of his road there will be no more=
a
King of the Zulus, as when he began his road there was no King of the Zulus,
since the days of his manhood are the days of all the Zulu kings?"
Thus he spoke, glaring at Panda and at Ceteway=
o,
who shrank before his gaze.
"Remember," he went on, "that t=
he
Black One who is 'gone down' long ago, the Wild Beast who fathered the Zulu
herd, threatened him whom he named the 'Thing-that-should-not-have-been-bor=
n,'
aye, and slew those whom he loved, and afterwards was slain by others, who =
also
are 'gone down,' and that you alone, O Panda, did not threaten him, and that
you alone, O Panda, have not been slain. Now, if you would make trial of
whether I die as other men die, bid your dogs fall on, for Zikali is ready,=
"
and he folded his arms and waited.
Indeed, all of us waited breathlessly, for we
understood that the terrible dwarf was matching himself against Panda and
Cetewayo and defying them both. Presently it became obvious that he had won=
the
game, since Panda only said:
"Why should I slay one whom I have befrie=
nded
in the past, and why do you speak such heavy words of death in my ears, O,
Zikali the Wise, which of late have heard so much of death?" He sighed,
adding: "Be pleased now, to tell us of this medicine, or, if you will =
not,
go, and I will send for other Nyangas."
"Why should I not tell you, when you ask =
me
softly and without threats, O King? See"--and Zikali took up some of t=
he
twisted roots--"these are the roots of a certain poisonous herb that b=
looms
at night on the tops of mountains, and woe be to the ox that eats thereof. =
They
have been boiled in gall and blood, and ill will befall the hut in which th=
ey
are hidden by one who can speak the words of power. This is the bone of a b=
abe
that has never lived to cut its teeth--I think of a babe that was left to d=
ie
alone in the bush because it was hated, or because none would father it. Su=
ch a
bone has strength to work ill against other babes; moreover, it is filled w=
ith
a charmed medicine. Look!" and, pulling out the plug of wood, he scatt=
ered
some grey powder from the bone, then stopped it up again. "This,"=
he
added, picking up the fang, "is the tooth of a deadly serpent, that, a=
fter
it has been doctored, is used by women to change the heart of a man from
another to herself. I have spoken."
And he turned to go.
"Stay!" said the King. "Who set
these foul charms in the doorway of Saduko's hut?"
"How can I tell, O King, unless I make
preparation and cast the bones and smell out the evil-doer? You have heard =
the
story of the woman Nahana. Accept it or reject it as your heart tells
you."
"If that story be true, O Zikali, how com=
es
it that you yourself smelt out, not Mameena, the wife of Masapo, but Masapo,
her husband, himself, and caused him to be slain because of the poisoning of
the child of Nandie?"
"You err, O King. I, Zikali, smelt out the
House of Masapo. Then I smelt out the poison, searching for it first in the
hair of Mameena, and finding it in the kaross of Masapo. I never smelt out =
that
it was Masapo who gave the poison. That was the judgment of you and of your
Council, O King. Nay, I knew well that there was more in the matter, and had
you paid me another fee and bade me to continue to use my wisdom, without d=
oubt
I should have found this magic stuff hidden in the hut, and mayhap have lea=
rned
the name of the hider. But I was weary, who am very old; and what was it to=
me
if you chose to kill Masapo or chose to let him go? Masapo, who, being your
secret enemy, was a man who deserved to die--if not for this matter, then f=
or
others."
Now, all this while I had been watching Mameen=
a,
who sat, in the Zulu fashion, listening to this deadly evidence, a slight s=
mile
upon her face, and without attempting any interruption or comment. Only I s=
aw that
while Zikali was examining the medicine, her eyes were seeking the eyes of
Saduko, who remained in his place, also silent, and, to all appearance, the
least interested of anyone present. He tried to avoid her glance, turning h=
is
head uneasily; but at length her eyes caught his and held them. Then his he=
art
began to beat quickly, his breast heaved, and on his face there grew a look=
of
dreamy content, even of happiness. From that moment forward, till the end of
the scene, Saduko never took his eyes off this strange woman, though I think
that, with the exception of the dwarf, Zikali, who saw everything, and of
myself, who am trained to observation, none noted this curious by-play of t=
he
drama.
The King began to speak. "Mameena," =
he
said, "you have heard. Have you aught to say? For if not it would seem
that you are a witch and a murderess, and one who must die."
"Yea, a little word, O King," she
answered quietly. "Nahana speaks truth. It is true that I entered the =
hut
of Nandie and set the medicine there. I say it because by nature I am not o=
ne
who hides the truth or would attempt to throw discredit even upon a humble
serving-woman," and she glanced at Nahana.
"Then from between your own teeth it is
finished," said Panda.
"Not altogether, O King. I have said that=
I set
the medicine in the hut. I have not said, and I will not say, how and why I=
set
it there. That tale I call upon Saduko yonder to tell to you, he who was my
husband, that I left for Umbelazi, and who, being a man, must therefore hate
me. By the words he says I will abide. If he declares that I am guilty, the=
n I
am guilty, and prepared to pay the price of guilt. But if he declares that =
I am
innocent, then, O King and O Prince Cetewayo, without fear I trust myself to
your justness. Now speak, O Saduko; speak the whole truth, whatever it may =
be,
if that is the King's will."
"It is my will," said Panda.
"And mine also," added Cetewayo, who=
, I
could see, like everyone else, was much interested in this matter.
Saduko rose to his feet, the same Saduko that =
I had
always known, and yet so changed. All the life and fire had gone from him; =
his
pride in himself was no more; none could have known him for that ambitious,=
confident
man who, in his day of power, the Zulus named the "Self-Eater." He
was a mere mask of the old Saduko, informed by some new, some alien, spirit.
With dull, lack-lustre eyes fixed always upon the lovely eyes of Mameena, in
slow and hesitating tones he began his tale.
"It is true, O Lion," he said,
"that Mameena spread the poison upon my child's mat. It is true that s=
he
set the deadly charms in the doorway of Nandie's hut. These things she did,=
not
knowing what she did, and it was I who instructed her to do them. This is t=
he
case. From the beginning I have always loved Mameena as I have loved no oth=
er
woman and as no other woman was ever loved. But while I was away with
Macumazahn, who sits yonder, to destroy Bangu, chief of the Amakoba, he who=
had
killed my father, Umbezi, the father of Mameena, he whom the Prince Cetewayo
gave to the vultures the other day because he had lied as to the death of U=
mbelazi,
he, I say, forced Mameena, against her will, to marry Masapo the Boar, who
afterwards was executed for wizardry. Now, here at your feast, when you
reviewed the people of the Zulus, O King, after you had given me the lady
Nandie as wife, Mameena and I met again and loved each other more than we h=
ad
ever done before. But, being an upright woman, Mameena thrust me away from =
her,
saying:
"'I have a husband, who, if he is not dea=
r to
me, still is my husband, and while he lives to him I will be true.' Then, O
King, I took counsel with the evil in my heart, and made a plot in myself t=
o be
rid of the Boar, Masapo, so that when he was dead I might marry Mameena. Th=
is was
the plot that I made--that my son and Princess Nandie's should be poisoned,=
and
that Masapo should seem to poison him, so that he might be killed as a wiza=
rd
and I marry Mameena."
Now, at this astounding statement, which was
something beyond the experience of the most cunning and cruel savage present
there, a gasp of astonishment went up from the audience; even old Zikali li=
fted
his head and stared. Nandie, too, shaken out of her usual calm, rose as tho=
ugh to
speak; then, looking first at Saduko and next at Mameena, sat herself down
again and waited. But Saduko went on again in the same cold, measured voice=
:
"I gave Mameena a powder which I had boug=
ht
for two heifers from a great doctor who lived beyond the Tugela, but who is=
now
dead, which powder I told her was desired by Nandie, my Inkosikazi, to dest=
roy
the little beetles than ran about the hut, and directed her where she was to
spread it. Also, I gave her the bag of medicine, telling her to thrust it i=
nto the
doorway of the hut, that it might bring a blessing upon my House. These thi=
ngs
she did ignorantly to please me, not knowing that the powder was poison, not
knowing that the medicine was bewitched. So my child died, as I wished it to
die, and, indeed, I myself fell sick because by accident I touched the powd=
er.
"Afterwards Masapo was smelt out as a wiz=
ard
by old Zikali, I having caused a bag of the poison to be sewn in his kaross=
in
order to deceive Zikali, and killed by your order, O King, and Mameena was
given to me as a wife, also by your order, O King, which was what I desired=
. Later
on, as I have told you, I wearied of her, and wishing to please the Prince =
who
has wandered away, I commanded her to yield herself to him, which Mameena d=
id
out of her love for me and to advance my fortunes, she who is blameless in =
all
things."
Saduko finished speaking and sat down again, a=
s an
automaton might do when a wire is pulled, his lack-lustre eyes still fixed =
upon
Mameena's face.
"You have heard, O King," said Mamee=
na.
"Now pass judgment, knowing that, if it be your will, I am ready to di=
e for
Saduko's sake."
But Panda sprang up in a rage.
"Take him away!" he said, pointing to
Saduko. "Take away that dog who is not fit to live, a dog who eats his=
own
child that thereby he may cause another to be slain unjustly and steal his
wife."
The executioners leapt forward, and, having
something to say, for I could bear this business no longer, I began to rise=
to
my feet. Before I gained them, however, Zikali was speaking.
"O King," he said, "it seems th=
at
you have killed one man unjustly on this matter, namely, Masapo. Would you =
do
the same by another?" and he pointed to Saduko.
"What do you mean?" asked Panda angr=
ily.
"Have you not heard this low fellow, whom I made great, giving him the
rule over tribes and my daughter in marriage, confess with his own lips tha=
t he
murdered his child, the child of my blood, in order that he might eat a fru=
it which
grew by the roadside for all men to nibble at?" and he glared at Mamee=
na.
"Aye, Child of Senzangakona," answer=
ed
Zikali, "I heard Saduko say this with his own lips, but the voice that
spoke from the lips was not the voice of Saduko, as, were you a skilled Nya=
nga
like me, you would have known as well as I do, and as well as does the white
man, Watcher-by-Night, who is a reader of hearts.
"Hearken now, O King, and you great ones
around the King, and I will tell you a story. Matiwane, the father of Saduk=
o,
was my friend, as he was yours, O King, and when Bangu slew him and his peo=
ple,
by leave of the Wild Beast [Chaka], I saved the child, his son, aye, and br=
ought
him up in my own House, having learned to love him. Then, when he became a =
man,
I, the Opener-of-Roads, showed him two roads, down either of which he might
choose to walk--the Road of Wisdom and the Road of War and Women: the white
road that runs through peace to knowledge, and the red road that runs throu=
gh
blood to death.
"But already there stood one upon this red
road who beckoned him, she who sits yonder, and he followed after her, as I
knew he would. From the beginning she was false to him, taking a richer man=
for
her husband. Then, when Saduko grew great, she grew sorry, and came to ask =
my
counsel as to how she might be rid of Masapo, whom she swore she hated. I t=
old her
that she could leave him for another man, or wait till her Spirit moved him
from her path; but I never put evil into her heart, seeing that it was there
already.
"Then she and no other, having first made
Saduko love her more than ever, murdered the child of Nandie, his Inkosikaz=
i;
and so brought about the death of Masapo and crept into Saduko's arms. Here=
she
slept a while, till a new shadow fell upon her, that of the 'Elephant-with-=
the-tuft-of-hair,'
who will walk the woods no more. Him she beguiled that she might grow great=
the
quicker, and left the house of Saduko, taking his heart with her, she who w=
as
destined to be the doom of men.
"Now, into Saduko's breast, where his hea=
rt
had been, entered an evil spirit of jealousy and of revenge, and in the bat=
tle
of Endondakusuka that spirit rode him as a white man rides a horse. As he h=
ad
arranged to do with the Prince Cetewayo yonder--nay, deny it not, O Prince,=
for
I know all; did you not make a bargain together, on the third night before =
the
battle, among the bushes, and start apart when the buck leapt out between
you?" (Here Cetewayo, who had been about to speak, threw the corner of=
his
kaross over his face.) "As he had arranged to do, I say, he went over =
with
his regiments from the Isigqosa to the Usutu, and so brought about the fall=
of
Umbelazi and the death of many thousands. Yes, and this he did for one reas=
on
only--because yonder woman had left him for the Prince, and he cared more f=
or
her than for all the world could give him, for her who had filled him with
madness as a bowl is filled with milk. And now, O King, you have heard this=
man
tell you a story, you have heard him shout out that he is viler than any ma=
n in
all the land; that he murdered his own child, the child he loved so well, to
win this witch; that afterwards he gave her to his friend and lord to buy m=
ore
of his favour, and that lastly he deserted that lord because he thought that
there was another lord from whom he could buy more favour. Is it not so, O
King?"
"It is so," answered Panda, "and
therefore must Saduko be thrown out to the jackals."
"Wait a while, O King. I say that Saduko =
has
spoken not with his own voice, but with the voice of Mameena. I say that sh=
e is
the greatest witch in all the land, and that she has drugged him with the
medicine of her eyes, so that he knows not what he says, even as she drugged
the Prince who is dead."
"Then prove it, or he dies!" exclaim=
ed
the King.
Now the dwarf went to Panda and whispered in h=
is
ear, whereon Panda whispered in turn into the ears of two of his councillor=
s.
These men, who were unarmed, rose and made as though to leave the isi-gohlo.
But as they passed Mameena one of them suddenly threw his arms about her, p=
inioning
her arms, the other tearing off the kaross he wore--for the weather was
cold--flung it over her head and knotted it behind her so that she was hidd=
en
except for her ankles and feet. Then, although she did not move or struggle,
they caught hold of her and stood still.
Now Zikali hobbled to Saduko and bade him rise,
which he did. Then he looked at him for a long while and made certain movem=
ents
with his hands before his face, after which Saduko uttered a great sigh and
stared about him.
"Saduko," said Zikali, "I pray =
you
tell me, your foster-father, whether it is true, as men say, that you sold =
your
wife, Mameena, to the Prince Umbelazi in order that his favour might fall on
you like heavy rain?"
"Wow! Zikali," said Saduko, with a s=
tart
of rage, "If were you as others are I would kill you, you toad, who da=
re
to spit slander on my name. She ran away with the Prince, having beguiled h=
im
with the magic of her beauty."
"Strike me not, Saduko," went on Zik=
ali,
"or at least wait to strike until you have answered one more question.=
Is
it true, as men say, that in the battle of Endondakusuka you went over to t=
he
Usutu with your regiments because you thought that Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti wo=
uld
be beaten, and wished to be on the side of him who won?"
"What, Toad! More slander?" cried
Saduko. "I went over for one reason only--to be revenged upon the Prin=
ce
because he had taken from me her who was more to me than life or honour. Ay=
e,
and when I went over Umbelazi was winning; it was because I went that he lo=
st
and died, as I meant that he should die, though now," he added sadly,
"I would that I had not brought him to ruin and the dust, who think th=
at,
like myself, he was but wet clay in a woman's fingers.
"O King," he added, turning to Panda,
"kill me, I pray you, who am not worthy to live, since to him whose ha=
nd
is red with the blood of his friend, death alone is left, who, while he
breathes, must share his sleep with ghosts that watch him with their angry
eyes."
Then Nandie sprang up and said:
"Nay, Father, listen not to him who is ma=
d,
and therefore holy.[*] What he has done, he has done, who, as he has said, =
was
but a tool in another's hand. As for our babe, I know well that he would ha=
ve
died sooner than harm it, for he loved it much, and when it was taken away,=
for
three whole days and nights he wept and would touch no food. Give this poor=
man
to me, my Father--to me, his wife, who loves him--and let us go hence to so=
me
other land, where perchance we may forget."
[=
*--The
Zulus suppose that insane people are inspired. --A.Q.]
"Be silent, daughter," said the King;
"and you, O Zikali, the Nyanga, be silent also."
They obeyed, and, after thinking awhile, Panda
made a motion with his hand, whereon the two councillors lifted the kaross =
from
off Mameena, who looked about her calmly and asked if she were taking part =
in
some child's game.
"Aye, woman," answered Panda, "=
you
are taking part in a great game, but not, I think, such as is played by
children--a game of life and death. Now, have you heard the tale of Zikali =
the
Little and Wise, and the words of Saduko, who was once your husband, or must
they be repeated to you?"
"There is no need, O King; my ears are too
quick to be muffled by a fur bag, and I would not waste your time."
"Then what have you to say, woman?"<= o:p>
"Not much," she answered with a shru=
g of
her shoulders, "except that I have lost in this game. You will not bel=
ieve
me, but if you had left me alone I should have told you so, who did not wis=
h to
see that poor fool, Saduko, killed for deeds he had never done. Still, the =
tale
he told you was not told because I had bewitched him; it was told for love =
of
me, whom he desired to save. It was Zikali yonder; Zikali, the enemy of you=
r House,
who in the end will destroy your House, O Son of Senzangakona, that bewitch=
ed
him, as he has bewitched you all, and forced the truth out of his unwilling
heart.
"Now, what more is there to say? Very lit=
tle,
as I think. I did the things that are laid to my charge, and worse things w=
hich
have not been stated. Oh, I played for great stakes, I, who meant to be the
Inkosazana of the Zulus, and, as it chances, by the weight of a hair I have
lost. I thought that I had counted everything, but the hair's weight which =
turned
the balance against me was the mad jealousy of this fool, Saduko, upon whic=
h I
had not reckoned. I see now that when I left Saduko I should have left him
dead. Thrice I had thought of it. Once I mixed the poison in his drink, and
then he came in, weary with his plottings, and kissed me ere he drank; and =
my
woman's heart grew soft and I overset the bowl that was at his lips. Do you=
not
remember, Saduko?
"So, so! For that folly alone I deserve to
die, for she who would reign"--and her beautiful eyes flashed
royally--"must have a tiger's heart, not that of a woman. Well, becaus=
e I
was too kind I must die; and, after all is said, it is well to die, who go
hence awaited by thousands upon thousands that I have sent before me, and w=
ho
shall be greeted presently by your son, Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti, and his
warriors, greeted as the Inkosazana of Death, with red, lifted spears and w=
ith
the royal salute!
"Now, I have spoken. Walk your little roa=
d, O
King and Prince and Councillors, till you reach the gulf into which I sink,
that yawns for all of you. O King, when you meet me again at the bottom of =
that
gulf, what a tale you will have to tell me, you who are but the shadow of a=
king,
you whose heart henceforth must be eaten out by a worm that is called
Love-of-the-Lost. O Prince and Conqueror Cetewayo, what a tale you will hav=
e to
tell me when I greet you at the bottom of that gulf, you who will bring your
nation to a wreck and at last die as I must die--only the servant of others=
and
by the will of others. Nay, ask me not how. Ask old Zikali, my master, who =
saw
the beginning of your House and will see its end. Oh, yes, as you say, I am=
a
witch, and I know, I know! Come, I am spent. You men weary me, as men have
always done, being but fools whom it is so easy to make drunk, and who when
drunk are so unpleasing. Piff! I am tired of you sober and cunning, and I am
tired of you drunken and brutal, you who, after all, are but beasts of the
field to whom Mvelingangi, the Creator, has given heads which can think, bu=
t which
always think wrong.
"Now, King, before you unchain your dogs =
upon
me, I ask one moment. I said that I hated all men, yet, as you know, no wom=
an
can tell the truth--quite. There is a man whom I do not hate, whom I never
hated, whom I think I love because he would not love me. He sits there,&quo=
t;
and to my utter dismay, and the intense interest of that company, she point=
ed at
me, Allan Quatermain!
"Well, once by my 'magic,' of which you h=
ave
heard so much, I got the better of this man against his will and judgment, =
and,
because of that soft heart of mine, I let him go; yes, I let the rare fish =
go
when he was on my hook. It is well that I should have let him go, since, ha=
d I kept
him, a fine story would have been spoiled and I should have become nothing =
but
a white hunter's servant, to be thrust away behind the door when the white
Inkosikazi came to eat his meat--I, Mameena, who never loved to stand out of
sight behind a door. Well, when he was at my feet and I spared him, he made=
me
a promise, a very small promise, which yet I think he will keep now when we
part for a little while. Macumazahn, did you not promise to kiss me once mo=
re
upon the lips whenever and wherever I should ask you?"
"I did," I answered in a hollow voic=
e,
for in truth her eyes held me as they had held Saduko.
"Then come now, Macumazahn, and give me t=
hat
farewell kiss. The King will permit it, and since I have now no husband, who
take Death to husband, there is none to say you nay."
I rose. It seemed to me that I could not help
myself. I went to her, this woman surrounded by implacable enemies, this wo=
man
who had played for great stakes and lost them, and who knew so well how to
lose. I stood before her, ashamed and yet not ashamed, for something of her=
greatness,
evil though it might be, drove out my shame, and I knew that my foolishness=
was
lost in a vast tragedy.
Slowly she lifted her languid arm and threw it
about my neck; slowly she bent her red lips to mine and kissed me, once upon
the mouth and once upon the forehead. But between those two kisses she did a
thing so swiftly that my eyes could scarcely follow what she did. It seemed=
to me
that she brushed her left hand across her lips, and that I saw her throat r=
ise
as though she swallowed something. Then she thrust me from her, saying:
"Farewell, O Macumazana, you will never
forget this kiss of mine; and when we meet again we shall have much to talk=
of,
for between now and then your story will be long. Farewell, Zikali. I pray =
that
all your plannings may succeed, since those you hate are those I hate, and =
I bear
you no grudge because you told the truth at last. Farewell, Prince Cetewayo.
You will never be the man your brother would have been, and your lot is very
evil, you who are doomed to pull down a House built by One who was great.
Farewell, Saduko the fool, who threw away your fortune for a woman's eyes, =
as
though the world were not full of women. Nandie the Sweet and the Forgiving
will nurse you well until your haunted end. Oh! why does Umbelazi lean over
your shoulder, Saduko, and look at me so strangely? Farewell, Panda the Sha=
dow.
Now let loose your slayers. Oh! let them loose swiftly, lest they should be
balked of my blood!"
Panda lifted his hand and the executioners lea=
pt
forward, but ere ever they reached her, Mameena shivered, threw wide her ar=
ms
and fell back--dead. The poisonous drug she had taken worked well and swift=
ly.
Such =
was
the end of Mameena, Child of Storm.
A deep
silence followed, a silence of awe and wonderment, till suddenly it was bro=
ken
by a sound of dreadful laughter. It came from the lips of Zikali the Ancien=
t,
Zikali, the
"Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born.&=
quot;
That
evening at sunset, just as I was about to trek, for the King had given me l=
eave
to go, and at that time my greatest desire in life seemed to be to bid good=
-bye
to Zululand and the Zulus--I saw a strange, beetle-like shape hobbling up t=
he
hill towards me, supported by two big men. It was Zikali.
He passed me without a word, merely making a
motion that I was to follow him, which I did out of curiosity, I suppose, f=
or
Heaven knows I had seen enough of the old wizard to last me for a lifetime.=
He
reached a flat stone about a hundred yards above my camp, where there was no
bush in which anyone could hide, and sat himself down, pointing to another =
stone
in front of him, on which I sat myself down. Then the two men retired out of
earshot, and, indeed, of sight, leaving us quite alone.
"So you are going away, O Macumazana?&quo=
t;
he said.
"Yes, I am," I answered with energy,
"who, if I could have had my will, would have gone away long ago."=
;
"Yes, yes, I know that; but it would have
been a great pity, would it not? If you had gone, Macumazahn, you would have
missed seeing the end of a strange little story, and you, who love to study=
the
hearts of men and women, would not have been so wise as you are to-day.&quo=
t;
"No, nor as sad, Zikali. Oh! the death of
that woman!" And I put my hand before my eyes.
"Ah! I understand, Macumazahn; you were
always fond of her, were you not, although your white pride would not suffer
you to admit that black fingers were pulling at your heartstrings? She was a
wonderful witch, was Mameena; and there is this comfort for you--that she
pulled at other heartstrings as well. Masapo's, for instance; Saduko's, for
instance; Umbelazi's, for instance, none of whom got any luck from her pull=
ing--yes,
and even at mine."
Now, as I did not think it worth while to
contradict his nonsense so far as I was concerned personally, I went off on
this latter point.
"If you show affection as you did towards
Mameena to-day, Zikali, I pray my Spirit that you may cherish none for
me," I said.
He shook his great head pityingly as he answer=
ed:
"Did you never love a lamb and kill it
afterwards when you were hungry, or when it grew into a ram and butted you,=
or
when it drove away your other sheep, so that they fell into the hands of
thieves? Now, I am very hungry for the fall of the House of Senzangakona, a=
nd
the lamb, Mameena, having grown big, nearly laid me on my back to-day within
the reach of the slayer's spear. Also, she was hunting my sheep, Saduko, in=
to
an evil net whence he could never have escaped. So, somewhat against my wil=
l, I
was driven to tell the truth of that lamb and her tricks."
"I daresay," I exclaimed; "but,= at any rate, she is done with, so what is the use of talking about her?"<= o:p>
"Ah! Macumazahn, she is done with, or so =
you
think, though that is a strange saying for a white man who believes in much
that we do not know; but at least her work remains, and it has been a great
work. Consider now. Umbelazi and most of the princes, and thousands upon
thousands of the Zulus, whom I, the Dwande, hate, dead, dead! Mameena's wor=
k, Macumazahn!
Panda's hand grown strengthless with sorrow and his eyes blind with tears.
Mameena's work, Macumazahn! Cetewayo, king in all but name; Cetewayo, who s=
hall
bring the House of Senzangakona to the dust. Mameena's work, Macumazahn! Oh=
! a
mighty work. Surely she has lived a great and worthy life, and she died a g=
reat
and worthy death! And how well she did it! Had you eyes to see her take the
poison which I gave her--a good poison, was it not?--between her kisses,
Macumazahn?"
"I believe it was your work, and not
hers," I blurted out, ignoring his mocking questions. "You pulled=
the
strings; you were the wind that caused the grass to bend till the fire caug=
ht
it and set the town in flames--the town of your foes."
"How clever you are, Macumazahn! If your =
wits
grow so sharp, one day they will cut your throat, as, indeed, they have nea=
rly
done several times already. Yes, yes, I know how to pull strings till the t=
rap
falls, and to blow grass until the flame catches it, and how to puff at tha=
t flame
until it burns the House of Kings. And yet this trap would have fallen with=
out
me, only then it might have snared other rats; and this grass would have ca=
ught
fire if I had not blown, only then it might have burnt another House. I did=
not
make these forces, Macumazahn; I did but guide them towards a great end, for
which the White House [that is, the English] should thank me one day."=
He
brooded a while, then went on: "But what need is there to talk to you =
of
these matters, Macumazahn, seeing that in a time to come you will have your
share in them and see them for yourself? After they are finished, then we w=
ill
talk."
"I do not wish to talk of them," I
answered. "I have said so already. But for what other purpose did you =
take
the trouble to come here?"
"Oh, to bid you farewell for a little whi=
le,
Macumazahn. Also to tell you that Panda, or rather Cetewayo, for now Panda =
is
but his Voice, since the Head must go where the Feet carry it, has spared
Saduko at the prayer of Nandie and banished him from the land, giving him h=
is
cattle and any people who care to go with him to wherever he may choose to =
live
from henceforth. At least, Cetewayo says it was at Nandie's prayer, and at =
mine
and yours, but what he means is that, after all that has happened, he thoug=
ht
it wise that Saduko should die of himself."
"Do you mean that he should kill himself,
Zikali?"
"No, no; I mean that his own idhlozi, his
Spirit, should be left to kill him, which it will do in time. You see,
Macumazahn, Saduko is now living with a ghost, which he calls the ghost of
Umbelazi, whom he betrayed."
"Is that your way of saying he is mad,
Zikali?"
"Oh, yes, he lives with a ghost, or the g=
host
lives in him, or he is mad--call it which you will. The mad have a way of
living with ghosts, and ghosts have a way of sharing their food with the ma=
d.
Now you understand everything, do you not?"
"Of course," I answered; "it is=
as
plain as the sun."
"Oh! did I not say you were clever,
Macumazahn, you who know where madness ends and ghosts begin, and why they =
are
just the same thing? Well, the sun is no longer plain. Look, it has sunk; a=
nd
you would be on your road who wish to be far from Nodwengu before morning. =
You
will pass the plain of Endondakusuka, will you not, and cross the Tugela by=
the
drift? Have a look round, Macumazahn, and see if you can recognise any old
friends. Umbezi, the knave and traitor, for instance; or some of the prince=
s.
If so, I should like to send them a message. What! You cannot wait? Well, t=
hen,
here is a little present for you, some of my own work. Open it when it is l=
ight
again, Macumazahn; it may serve to remind you of the strange little tale of
Mameena with the Heart of Fire. I wonder where she is now? Sometimes,
sometimes--" And he rolled his great eyes about him and sniffed at the=
air
like a hound. "Farewell till we meet again. Farewell, Macumazahn. Oh! =
if
you had only run away with Mameena, how different things might have been
to-day!"
I jumped up and fled from that terrible old dw=
arf,
whom I verily believe-- No; where is the good of my saying what I believe? I
fled from him, leaving him seated on the stone in the shadows, and as I fle=
d,
out of the darkness behind me there arose the sound of his loud and eerie l=
aughter.
Next morning I opened the packet which he had
given me, after wondering once or twice whether I should not thrust it down=
an
ant-bear hole as it was. But this, somehow, I could not find the heart to d=
o,
though now I wish I had. Inside, cut from the black core of the umzimbiti w=
ood,
with just a little of the white sap left on it to mark the eyes, teeth and =
nails,
was a likeness of Mameena. Of course, it was rudely executed, but it was--or
rather is, for I have it still--a wonderfully good portrait of her, for whe=
ther
Zikali was or was not a wizard, he was certainly a good artist. There she
stands, her body a little bent, her arms outstretched, her head held forward
with the lips parted, just as though she were about to embrace somebody, an=
d in
one of her hands, cut also from the white sap of the umzimbiti, she grasps a
human heart--Saduko's, I presume, or perhaps Umbelazi's.
Nor was this all, for the figure was wrapped i=
n a
woman's hair, which I knew at once for that of Mameena, this hair being hel=
d in
place by the necklet of big blue beads she used to wear about her throat.
=
* *
* * *
Some five years had gone by, during which many
things had happened to me that need not be recorded here, when one day I fo=
und
myself in a rather remote part of the Umvoti district of Natal, some miles =
to
the east of a mountain called the Eland's Kopje, whither I had gone to carry
out a big deal in mealies, over which, by the way, I lost a good bit of mon=
ey. That
has always been my fate when I plunged into commercial ventures.
One night my wagons, which were overloaded with
these confounded weevilly mealies, got stuck in the drift of a small tribut=
ary
of the Tugela that most inopportunely had come down in flood. Just as darkn=
ess fell
I managed to get them up the bank in the midst of a pelting rain that soake=
d me
to the bone. There seemed to be no prospect of lighting a fire or of obtain=
ing
any decent food, so I was about to go to bed supperless when a flash of
lightning showed me a large kraal situated upon a hillside about half a mile
away, and an idea entered my mind.
"Who is the headman of that kraal?" I
asked of one of the Kafirs who had collected round us in our trouble, as su=
ch
idle fellows always do.
"Tshoza, Inkoosi," answered the man.=
"Tshoza! Tshoza!" I said, for the na=
me
seemed familiar to me. "Who is Tshoza?"
"Ikona [I don't know], Inkoosi. He came f=
rom
Zululand some years ago with Saduko the Mad."
Then, of course, I remembered at once, and my =
mind
flew back to the night when old Tshoza, the brother of Matiwane, Saduko's
father, had cut out the cattle of the Bangu and we had fought the battle in=
the
pass.
"Oh!" I said, "is it so? Then l=
ead
me to Tshoza, and I will give you a 'Scotchman.'" (That is, a two-shil=
ling
piece, so called because some enterprising emigrant from Scotland passed of=
f a
vast number of them among the simple natives of Natal as substitutes for
half-crowns.)
Tempted by this liberal offer--and it was very
liberal, because I was anxious to get to Tshoza's kraal before its inhabita=
nts
went to bed--the meditative Kafir consented to guide me by a dark and devio=
us
path that ran through bush and dripping fields of corn. At length we
arrived--for if the kraal was only half a mile away, the path to it covered
fully two miles--and glad enough was I when we had waded the last stream and
found ourselves at its gate.
In response to the usual inquiries, conducted =
amid
a chorus of yapping dogs, I was informed that Tshoza did not live there, but
somewhere else; that he was too old to see anyone; that he had gone to sleep
and could not be disturbed; that he was dead and had been buried last week,=
and
so forth.
"Look here, my friend," I said at la=
st
to the fellow who was telling me all these lies, "you go to Tshoza in =
his
grave and say to him that if he does not come out alive instantly, Macumaza=
hn
will deal with his cattle as once he dealt with those of Bangu."
Impressed with the strangeness of this message,
the man departed, and presently, in the dim light of the rain-washed moon, I
perceived a little old man running towards me; for Tshoza, who was pretty
ancient at the beginning of this history, had not been made younger by a se=
vere
wound at the battle of the Tugela and many other troubles.
"Macumazahn," he said, "is that
really you? Why, I heard that you were dead long ago; yes, and sacrificed a=
n ox
for the welfare of your Spirit."
"And ate it afterwards, I'll be bound,&qu=
ot;
I answered.
"Oh! it must be you," he went on,
"who cannot be deceived, for it is true we ate that ox, combining the
sacrifice to your Spirit with a feast; for why should anything be wasted wh=
en
one is poor? Yes, yes, it must be you, for who else would come creeping abo=
ut a
man's kraal at night, except the Watcher-by-Night? Enter, Macumazahn, and be
welcome."
So I entered and ate a good meal while we talk=
ed
over old times.
"And now, where is Saduko?" I asked
suddenly as I lit my pipe.
"Saduko?" he answered, his face chan=
ging
as he spoke. "Oh! of course he is here. You know I came away with him =
from
Zululand. Why? Well, to tell the truth, because after the part we had
played--against my will, Macumazahn--at the battle of Endondakusuka, I thou=
ght
it safer to be away from a country where those who have worn their karosses
inside out find many enemies and few friends."
"Quite so," I said. "But about
Saduko?"
"Oh, I told you, did I not? He is in the =
next
hut, and dying!"
"Dying! What of, Tshoza?"
"I don't know," he answered
mysteriously; "but I think he must be bewitched. For a long while, a y=
ear
or more, he has eaten little and cannot bear to be alone in the dark; indee=
d,
ever since he left Zululand he has been very strange and moody."
Now I remembered what old Zikali had said to me
years before to the effect that Saduko was living with a ghost which would =
kill
him.
"Does he think much about Umbelazi,
Tshoza?" I asked.
"O Macumazana, he thinks of nothing else;=
the
Spirit of Umbelazi is in him day and night."
"Indeed," I said. "Can I see
him?"
"I don't know, Macumazahn. I will go and =
ask
the lady Nandie at once, for, if you can, I believe there is no time to
lose." And he left the hut.
Ten minutes later he returned with a woman, Na=
ndie
the Sweet herself, the same quiet, dignified Nandie whom I used to know, on=
ly
now somewhat worn with trouble and looking older than her years.
"Greeting, Macumazahn," she said.
"I am pleased to see you, although it is strange, very strange, that y=
ou
should come here just at this time. Saduko is leaving us--on a long journey,
Macumazahn."
I answered that I had heard so with grief, and
wondered whether he would like to see me.
"Yes, very much, Macumazahn; only be prep=
ared
to find him different from the Saduko whom you knew. Be pleased to follow
me."
So we went out of Tshoza's hut, across a court=
yard
to another large hut, which we entered. It was lit with a good lamp of Euro=
pean
make; also a bright fire burned upon the hearth, so that the place was as l=
ight
as day. At the side of the hut a man lay upon some blankets, watched by a w=
oman.
His eyes were covered with his hand, and he was moaning:
"Drive him away! Drive him away! Cannot he
suffer me to die in peace?"
"Would you drive away your old friend,
Macumazahn, Saduko?" asked Nandie very gently, "Macumazahn, who h=
as
come from far to see you?"
He sat up, and, the blankets falling off him,
showed me that he was nothing but a living skeleton. Oh! how changed from t=
hat
lithe and handsome chief whom I used to know. Moreover, his lips quivered a=
nd
his eyes were full of terrors.
"Is it really you, Macumazahn?" he s=
aid
in a weak voice. "Come, then, and stand quite close to me, so that he =
may
not get between us," and he stretched out his bony hand.
I took the hand; it was icy cold.
"Yes, yes, it is I, Saduko," I said =
in a
cheerful voice; "and there is no man to get between us; only the lady
Nandie, your wife, and myself are in the hut; she who watched you has
gone."
"Oh, no, Macumazahn, there is another in =
the
hut whom you cannot see. There he stands," and he pointed towards the
hearth. "Look! The spear is through him and his plume lies on the
ground!"
"Through whom, Saduko?"
"Whom? Why, the Prince Umbelazi, whom I
betrayed for Mameena's sake."
"Why do you talk wind, Saduko?" I as=
ked.
"Years ago I saw Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti die."
"Die, Macumazahn! We do not die; it is on=
ly
our flesh that dies. Yes, yes, I have learned that since we parted. Do you =
not
remember his last words: 'I will haunt you while you live, and when you cea=
se
to live, ah! then we shall meet again'? Oh! from that hour to this he has
haunted me, Macumazahn--he and the others; and now, now we are about to mee=
t as
he promised."
Then once more he hid his eyes and groaned.
"He is mad," I whispered to Nandie.<= o:p>
"Perhaps. Who knows?" she answered,
shaking her head.
Saduko uncovered his eyes.
"Make 'the-thing-that-burns' brighter,&qu=
ot;
he gasped, "for I do not perceive him so clearly when it is bright. Oh!
Macumazahn, he is looking at you and whispering. To whom is he whispering? I
see! to Mameena, who also looks at you and smiles. They are talking. Be sil=
ent.
I must listen."
Now, I began to wish that I were out of that h=
ut,
for really a little of this uncanny business went a long way. Indeed, I
suggested going, but Nandie would not allow it.
"Stay with me till the end," she
muttered. So I had to stay, wondering what Saduko heard Umbelazi whispering=
to
Mameena, and on which side of me he saw her standing.
He began to wander in his mind.
"That was a clever pit you dug for Bangu,
Macumazahn; but you would not take your share of the cattle, so the blood of
the Amakoba is not on your head. Ah! what a fight was that which the Amawom=
be
made at Endondakusuka. You were with them, you remember, Macumazahn; and why
was I not at your side? Oh! then we would have swept away the Usutu as the =
wind
sweeps ashes. Why was I not at your side to share the glory? I remember
now--because of the Daughter of Storm. She betrayed me for Umbelazi, and I
betrayed Umbelazi for her; and now he haunts me, whose greatness I brought =
to
the dust; and the Usutu wolf, Cetewayo, curls himself up in his form and gr=
ows
fat on his food. And--and, Macumazahn, it has all been done in vain, for
Mameena hates me. Yes, I can read it in her eyes. She mocks and hates me wo=
rse
in death than she did in life, and she says that--that it was not all her
fault--because she loves--because she loves--"
A look of bewilderment came upon his face--his
poor, tormented face; then suddenly Saduko threw his arms wide, and sobbed =
in
an ever-weakening voice:
"All--all done in vain! Oh! Mameena,
Ma--mee--na, Ma--meena!" and fell back dead.
"=
;Saduko
has gone away," said Nandie, as she drew a blanket over his face.
"But I wonder," she added with a little hysterical smile, "o=
h! how
I wonder who it was the Spirit of Mameena told him that she loved--Mameena,=
who
was born without a heart?"
I mad=
e no
answer, for at that moment I heard a very curious sound, which seemed to me=
to
proceed from somewhere above the hut. Of what did it remind me? Ah! I knew.=
It
was like the sound of the dreadful laughter of Zikali, Opener-of-Roads--Zik=
ali,
the
"Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born.&=
quot;
Doubtless, however, it was only the cry of some
storm-driven night bird. Or perhaps it was an hyena that laughed--an hyena =
that
scented death.