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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Finished, by H. Rider Haggard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Finished
+
+Author: H. Rider Haggard
+
+Release Date: April, 1999 [eBook #1724]
+[Most recently updated: February 22, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Christopher Hapka and David Widger
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FINISHED ***
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+Finished
+
+by H. Rider Haggard
+
+
+Contents
+
+ INTRODUCTION
+
+ CHAPTER I. ALLAN QUATERMAIN MEETS ANSCOMBE
+ CHAPTER II. MR. MARNHAM
+ CHAPTER III. THE HUNTERS HUNTED
+ CHAPTER IV. DOCTOR RODD
+ CHAPTER V. A GAME OF CARDS
+ CHAPTER VI. MISS HEDA
+ CHAPTER VII. THE STOEP
+ CHAPTER VIII. RODD’S LAST CARD
+ CHAPTER IX. FLIGHT
+ CHAPTER X. NOMBÉ
+ CHAPTER XI. ZIKALI
+ CHAPTER XII. TRAPPED
+ CHAPTER XIII. CETEWAYO
+ CHAPTER XIV. THE VALLEY OF BONES
+ CHAPTER XV. THE GREAT COUNCIL
+ CHAPTER XVI. WAR
+ CHAPTER XVII. KAATJE BRINGS NEWS
+ CHAPTER XVIII. ISANDHLWANA
+ CHAPTER XIX. ALLAN AWAKES
+ CHAPTER XX. HEDA’S TALE
+ CHAPTER XXI. THE KING VISITS ZIKALI
+ CHAPTER XXII. THE MADNESS OF NOMBÉ
+ CHAPTER XXIII. THE KRAAL JAZI
+
+
+
+
+Ditchingham House, Norfolk,
+May, 1917.
+
+
+My dear Roosevelt,—
+
+You are, I know, a lover of old Allan Quatermain, one who understands
+and appreciates the views of life and the aspirations that underlie and
+inform his manifold adventures.
+
+Therefore, since such is your kind wish, in memory of certain hours
+wherein both of us found true refreshment and companionship amidst the
+terrible anxieties of the World’s journey along that bloodstained road
+by which alone, so it is decreed, the pure Peak of Freedom must be
+scaled, I dedicate to you this tale telling of the events and
+experiences of my youth.
+
+Your sincere friend,
+H. RIDER HAGGARD.
+
+
+To COLONEL THEODORE ROOSEVELT,
+Sagamore Hill, U.S.A.
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+This book, although it can be read as a separate story, is the third of
+the trilogy of which _Marie_ and _Child of Storm_ are the first two
+parts. It narrates, through the mouth of Allan Quatermain, the
+consummation of the vengeance of the wizard Zikali, alias The Opener of
+Roads, or “The-Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born,” upon the royal
+Zulu House of which Senzangacona was the founder and Cetewayo, our
+enemy in the war of 1879, the last representative who ruled as a king.
+Although, of course, much is added for the purposes of romance, the
+main facts of history have been adhered to with some faithfulness.
+
+With these the author became acquainted a full generation ago, Fortune
+having given him a part in the events that preceded the Zulu War.
+Indeed he believes that with the exception of Colonel Phillips, who, as
+a lieutenant, commanded the famous escort of twenty-five policemen, he
+is now the last survivor of the party who, under the leadership of Sir
+Theophilus Shepstone, or Sompseu as the natives called him from the
+Zambesi to the Cape, were concerned in the annexation of the Transvaal
+in 1877. Recently also he has been called upon as a public servant to
+revisit South Africa and took the opportunity to travel through
+Zululand, in order to refresh his knowledge of its people, their
+customs, their mysteries, and better to prepare himself for the writing
+of this book. Here he stood by the fatal Mount of Isandhlawana which,
+with some details of the battle, is described in these pages, among the
+graves of many whom once he knew, Colonels Durnford, Pulleine and
+others. Also he saw Ulundi’s plain where the traces of war still lie
+thick, and talked with an old Zulu who fought in the attacking Impi
+until it crumbled away before the fire of the Martinis and shells from
+the heavy guns. The battle of the Wall of Sheet Iron, he called it,
+perhaps because of the flashing fence of bayonets.
+
+Lastly, in a mealie patch, he found the spot on which the corn grows
+thin, where King Cetewayo breathed his last, poisoned without a doubt,
+as he has known for many years. It is to be seen at the Kraal,
+ominously named Jazi or, translated into English, “Finished.” The
+tragedy happened long ago, but even now the quiet-faced Zulu who told
+the tale, looking about him as he spoke, would not tell it all. “Yes,
+as a young man, I was there at the time, but I do not remember, I do
+not know—the Inkoosi Lundanda (i.e., this Chronicler, so named in past
+years by the Zulus) stands on the very place where the king died—His
+bed was on the left of the door-hole of the hut,” and so forth, but no
+certain word as to the exact reason of this sudden and violent death or
+by whom it was caused. The name of that destroyer of a king is for ever
+hid.
+
+In this story the actual and immediate cause of the declaration of war
+against the British Power is represented as the appearance of the white
+goddess, or spirit of the Zulus, who is, or was, called Nomkubulwana or
+Inkosazana-y-Zulu, i.e., the Princess of Heaven. The exact
+circumstances which led to this decision are not now ascertainable,
+though it is known that there was much difference of opinion among the
+Zulu Indunas or great captains, and like the writer, many believe that
+King Cetewayo was personally averse to war against his old allies, the
+English.
+
+The author’s friend, Mr. J. Y. Gibson, at present the representative of
+the Union in Zululand, writes in his admirable history: “There was a
+good deal of discussion amongst the assembled Zulu notables at Ulundi,
+but of how counsel was swayed it is not possible now to obtain a
+reliable account.”
+
+The late Mr. F. B. Fynney, F.R.G.S., who also was his friend in days
+bygone, and, with the exception of Sir Theophilus Shepstone, who
+perhaps knew the Zulus and their language better than any other
+official of his day, speaking of this fabled goddess wrote: “I remember
+that just before the Zulu War Nomkubulwana appeared revealing something
+or other which had a great effect throughout the land.”
+
+The use made of this strange traditional Guardian Angel in the
+following tale is not therefore an unsupported flight of fancy, and the
+same may be said of many other incidents, such as the account of the
+reading of the proclamation annexing the Transvaal at Pretoria in 1877,
+which have been introduced to serve the purposes of the romance.
+
+Mameena, who haunts its pages, in a literal as well as figurative
+sense, is the heroine of _Child of Storm,_ a book to which she gave her
+own poetic title.
+
+THE AUTHOR.
+
+
+1916.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+ALLAN QUATERMAIN MEETS ANSCOMBE
+
+
+You, my friend, into whose hand, if you live, I hope these scribblings
+of mine will pass one day, must well remember the 12th of April of the
+year 1877 at Pretoria. Sir Theophilus Shepstone, or Sompseu, for I
+prefer to call him by his native name, having investigated the affairs
+of the Transvaal for a couple of months or so, had made up his mind to
+annex that country to the British Crown. It so happened that I, Allan
+Quatermain, had been on a shooting and trading expedition at the back
+of the Lydenburg district where there was plenty of game to be killed
+in those times. Hearing that great events were toward I made up my
+mind, curiosity being one of my weaknesses, to come round by Pretoria,
+which after all was not very far out of my way, instead of striking
+straight back to Natal. As it chanced I reached the town about eleven
+o’clock on this very morning of the 12th of April and, trekking to the
+Church Square, proceeded to outspan there, as was usual in the
+Seventies. The place was full of people, English and Dutch together,
+and I noted that the former seemed very elated and were talking
+excitedly, while the latter for the most part appeared to be sullen and
+depressed.
+
+Presently I saw a man I knew, a tall, dark man, a very good fellow and
+an excellent shot, named Robinson. By the way you knew him also, for
+afterwards he was an officer in the Pretoria Horse at the time of the
+Zulu war, the corps in which you held a commission. I called to him and
+asked what was up.
+
+“A good deal, Allan,” he said as he shook my hand. “Indeed we shall be
+lucky if all isn’t up, or something like it, before the day is over.
+Shepstone’s Proclamation annexing the Transvaal is going to be read
+presently.”
+
+I whistled and asked,
+
+“How will our Boer friends take it? They don’t look very pleased.”
+
+“That’s just what no one knows, Allan. Burgers the President is
+squared, they say. He is to have a pension; also he thinks it the only
+thing to be done. Most of the Hollanders up here don’t like it, but I
+doubt whether they will put out their hands further than they can draw
+them back. The question is—what will be the line of the Boers
+themselves? There are a lot of them about, all armed, you see, and more
+outside the town.”
+
+“What do you think?”
+
+“Can’t tell you. Anything may happen. They may shoot Shepstone and his
+staff and the twenty-five policemen, or they may just grumble and go
+home. Probably they have no fixed plan.”
+
+“How about the English?”
+
+“Oh! we are all crazy with joy, but of course there is no organization
+and many have no arms. Also there are only a few of us.”
+
+“Well,” I answered, “I came here to look for excitement, life having
+been dull for me of late, and it seems that I have found it. Still I
+bet you those Dutchmen do nothing, except protest. They are slim and
+know that the shooting of an unarmed mission would bring England on
+their heads.”
+
+“Can’t say, I am sure. They like Shepstone who understands them, and
+the move is so bold that it takes their breath away. But as the Kaffirs
+say, when a strong wind blows a small spark will make the whole veld
+burn. It just depends upon whether the spark is there. If an Englishman
+and a Boer began to fight for instance, anything might happen. Goodbye,
+I have got a message to deliver. If things go right we might dine at
+the European tonight, and if they don’t, goodness knows where we shall
+dine.”
+
+I nodded sagely and he departed. Then I went to my wagon to tell the
+boys not to send the oxen off to graze at present, for I feared lest
+they should be stolen if there were trouble, but to keep them tied to
+the trek-tow. After this I put on the best coat and hat I had, feeling
+that as an Englishman it was my duty to look decent on such an
+occasion, washed, brushed my hair—with me a ceremony without meaning,
+for it always sticks up—and slipped a loaded Smith & Wesson revolver
+into my inner poacher pocket. Then I started out to see the fun, and
+avoiding the groups of surly-looking Boers, mingled with the crowd that
+I saw was gathering in front of a long, low building with a broad
+stoep, which I supposed, rightly, to be one of the Government offices.
+
+Presently I found myself standing by a tall, rather loosely-built man
+whose face attracted me. It was clean-shaven and much bronzed by the
+sun, but not in any way good-looking; the features were too irregular
+and the nose was a trifle too long for good looks. Still the impression
+it gave was pleasant and the steady blue eyes had that twinkle in them
+which suggests humour. He might have been thirty or thirty-five years
+of age, and notwithstanding his rough dress that consisted mainly of a
+pair of trousers held up by a belt to which hung a pistol, and a common
+flannel shirt, for he wore no coat, I guessed at once that he was
+English-born.
+
+For a while neither of us said anything after the taciturn habit of our
+people even on the veld, and indeed I was fully occupied in listening
+to the truculent talk of a little party of mounted Boers behind us. I
+put my pipe into my mouth and began to hunt for my tobacco, taking the
+opportunity to show the hilt of my revolver, so that these men might
+see that I was armed. It was not to be found, I had left it in the
+wagon.
+
+“If you smoke Boer tobacco,” said the stranger, “I can help you,” and I
+noted that the voice was as pleasant as the face, and knew at once that
+the owner of it was a gentleman.
+
+“Thank you, Sir. I never smoke anything else,” I answered, whereon he
+produced from his trousers pocket a pouch made of lion skin of
+unusually dark colour.
+
+“I never saw a lion as black as this, except once beyond Buluwayo on
+the borders of Lobengula’s country,” I said by way of making
+conversation.
+
+“Curious,” answered the stranger, “for that’s where I shot the brute a
+few months ago. I tried to keep the whole skin but the white ants got
+at it.”
+
+“Been trading up there?” I asked.
+
+“Nothing so useful,” he said. “Just idling and shooting. Came to this
+country because it was one of the very few I had never seen, and have
+only been here a year. I think I have had about enough of it, though.
+Can you tell me of any boats running from Durban to India? I should
+like to see those wild sheep in Kashmir.”
+
+I told him that I did not know for certain as I had never taken any
+interest in India, being an African elephant-hunter and trader, but I
+thought they did occasionally. Just then Robinson passed by and called
+to me—
+
+“They’ll be here presently, Quatermain, but Sompseu isn’t coming
+himself.”
+
+“Does your name happen to be Allan Quatermain?” asked the stranger. “If
+so I have heard plenty about you up in Lobengula’s country, and of your
+wonderful shooting.”
+
+“Yes,” I replied, “but as for the shooting, natives always exaggerate.”
+
+“They never exaggerated about mine,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
+“Anyhow I am very glad to see you in the flesh, though in the spirit
+you rather bored me because I heard too much of you. Whenever I made a
+particularly bad miss, my gun-bearer, who at some time seems to have
+been yours, would say, ‘Ah! if only it had been the Inkosi Macumazahn,
+how different would have been the end!’ My name is Anscombe, Maurice
+Anscombe,” he added rather shyly. (Afterwards I discovered from a book
+of reference that he was a younger son of Lord Mountford, one of the
+richest peers in England.)
+
+Then we both laughed and he said—
+
+“Tell me, Mr. Quatermain, if you will, what those Boers are saying
+behind us. I am sure it is something unpleasant, but as the only Dutch
+I know is ‘Guten Tag’ and ‘Vootsack’ (Good-day and Get out) that takes
+me no forwarder.”
+
+“It ought to,” I answered, “for the substance of their talk is that
+they object to be ‘vootsacked’ by the British Government as represented
+by Sir Theophilus Shepstone. They are declaring that they won the land
+‘with their blood’ and want to keep their own flag flying over it.”
+
+“A very natural sentiment,” broke in Anscombe.
+
+“They say that they wish to shoot all damned Englishmen, especially
+Shepstone and his people, and that they would make a beginning now were
+they not afraid that the damned English Government, being angered,
+would send thousands of damned English rooibatjes, that is, red-coats,
+and shoot _them_ out of evil revenge.”
+
+“A very natural conclusion,” laughed Anscombe again, “which I should
+advise them to leave untested. Hush! Here comes the show.”
+
+I looked and saw a body of blackcoated gentlemen with one officer in
+the uniform of a Colonel of Engineers, advancing slowly. I remember
+that it reminded me of a funeral procession following the corpse of the
+Republic that had gone on ahead out of sight. The procession arrived
+upon the stoep opposite to us and began to sort itself out, whereon the
+English present raised a cheer and the Boers behind us cursed audibly.
+In the middle appeared an elderly gentleman with whiskers and a stoop,
+in whom I recognized Mr. Osborn, known by the Kaffirs as Malimati, the
+Chief of the Staff. By his side was a tall young fellow, yourself, my
+friend, scarcely more than a lad then, carrying papers. The rest stood
+to right and left in a formal line. _You_ gave a printed document to
+Mr. Osborn who put on his glasses and began to read in a low voice
+which few could hear, and I noticed that his hand trembled. Presently
+he grew confused, lost his place, found it, lost it again and came to a
+full stop.
+
+“A nervous-natured man,” remarked Mr. Anscombe. “Perhaps he thinks that
+those gentlemen are going to shoot.”
+
+“That wouldn’t trouble him,” I answered, who knew him well. “His fears
+are purely mental.”
+
+That was true since I know that this same Sir Melmoth Osborn as he is
+now, as I have told in the book I called _Child of Storm_, swam the
+Tugela alone to watch the battle of Indondakasuka raging round him, and
+on another occasion killed two Kaffirs rushing at him with a right and
+left shot without turning a hair. It was reading this paper that
+paralyzed him, not any fear of what might happen.
+
+There followed a very awkward pause such as occurs when a man breaks
+down in a speech. The members of the Staff looked at him and at each
+other, then behold! you, my friend, grabbed the paper from his hand and
+went on reading it in a loud clear voice.
+
+“That young man has plenty of nerve,” said Mr. Anscombe.
+
+“Yes,” I replied in a whisper. “Quite right though. Would have been a
+bad omen if the thing had come to a stop.”
+
+Well, there were no more breakdowns, and at last the long document was
+finished and the Transvaal annexed. The Britishers began to cheer but
+stopped to listen to the formal protest of the Boer Government, if it
+could be called a government when everything had collapsed and the
+officials were being paid in postage stamps. I can’t remember whether
+this was read by President Burgers himself or by the officer who was
+called State Secretary. Anyway, it was read, after which there came an
+awkward pause as though people were waiting to see something happen. I
+looked round at the Boers who were muttering and handling their rifles
+uneasily. Had they found a leader I really think that some of the
+wilder spirits among them would have begun to shoot, but none appeared
+and the crisis passed.
+
+The crowd began to disperse, the English among them cheering and
+throwing up their hats, the Dutch with very sullen faces. The
+Commissioner’s staff went away as it had come, back to the building
+with blue gums in front of it, which afterwards became Government
+House, that is all except you. You started across the square alone with
+a bundle of printed proclamations in your hand which evidently you had
+been charged to leave at the various public offices.
+
+“Let us follow him,” I said to Mr. Anscombe. “He might get into trouble
+and want a friend.”
+
+He nodded and we strolled after you unostentatiously. Sure enough you
+nearly did get into trouble. In front of the first office door to which
+you came, stood a group of Boers, two of whom, big fellows, drew
+together with the evident intention of barring your way.
+
+“Mynheeren,” you said, “I pray you to let me pass on the Queen’s
+business.”
+
+They took no heed except to draw closer together and laugh insolently.
+Again you made your request and again they laughed. Then I saw you lift
+your leg and deliberately stamp upon the foot of one of the Boers. He
+drew back with an exclamation, and for a moment I believed that he or
+his fellow was going to do something violent. Perhaps they thought
+better of it, or perhaps they saw us two Englishmen behind and noticed
+Anscombe’s pistol. At any rate you marched into the office triumphant
+and delivered your document.
+
+“Neatly done,” said Mr. Anscombe.
+
+“Rash,” I said, shaking my head, “very rash. Well, he’s young and must
+be excused.”
+
+But from that moment I took a great liking to you, my friend, perhaps
+because I wondered whether in your place I should have been daredevil
+enough to act in the same way. For you see I am English, and I like to
+see an Englishman hold his own against odds and keep up the credit of
+the country. Although, of course, I sympathized with the Boers who,
+through their own fault, were losing their land without a blow struck.
+As you know well, for you were living near Majuba at the time, plenty
+of blows were struck afterwards, but of that business I cannot bear to
+write. I wonder how it will all work out after I am dead and if I shall
+ever learn what happens in the end.
+
+Now I have only mentioned this business of the Annexation and the part
+you played in it, because it was on that occasion that I became
+acquainted with Anscombe. For you have nothing to do with this story
+which is about the destruction of the Zulus, the accomplishment of the
+vengeance of Zikali the wizard at the kraal named Finished, and
+incidentally, the love affairs of two people in which that old wizard
+took a hand, as I did to my sorrow.
+
+It happened that Mr. Anscombe had ridden on ahead of his wagons which
+could not arrive at Pretoria for a day or two, and as he found it
+impossible to get accommodation at the _European_ or elsewhere, I
+offered to let him sleep in mine, or rather alongside in a tent I had.
+He accepted and soon we became very good friends. Before the day was
+out I discovered that he had served in a crack cavalry regiment, but
+resigned his commission some years before. I asked him why.
+
+“Well,” he said, “I came into a good lot of money on my mother’s death
+and could not see a prospect of any active service. While the regiment
+was abroad I liked the life well enough, but at home it bored me. Too
+much society for my taste, and that sort of thing. Also I wanted to
+travel; nothing else really amuses me.”
+
+“You will soon get tired of it,” I answered, “and as you are well off,
+marry some fine lady and settle down at home.”
+
+“Don’t think so. I doubt if I should ever be happily married, I want
+too much. One doesn’t pick up an earthly angel with a cast-iron
+constitution who adores you, which are the bare necessities of
+marriage, under every bush.” Here I laughed. “Also,” he added, the
+laughter going out of his eyes, “I have had enough of fine ladies and
+their ways.”
+
+“Marriage is better than scrapes,” I remarked sententiously.
+
+“Quite so, but one might get them both together. No, I shall never
+marry, although I suppose I ought as my brothers have no children.”
+
+“Won’t you, my friend,” thought I to myself, “when the skin grows again
+on your burnt fingers.”
+
+For I was sure they had been burnt, perhaps more than once. How, I
+never learned, for which I am rather sorry for it interests me to study
+burnt fingers, if they do not happen to be my own. Then we changed the
+subject.
+
+Anscombe’s wagons were delayed for a day or two by a broken axle or a
+bog hole, I forget which. So, as I had nothing particular to do until
+the Natal post-cart left, we spent the time in wandering about
+Pretoria, which did not take us long as it was but a little dorp in
+those days, and chatting with all and sundry. Also we went up to
+Government House as it was now called, and left cards, or rather wrote
+our names in a book for we had no cards, being told by one of the Staff
+whom we met that we should do so. An hour later a note arrived asking
+us both to dinner that night and telling us very nicely not to mind if
+we had no dress things. Of course we had to go, Anscombe rigged up in
+my second best clothes that did not fit him in the least, as he was a
+much taller man than I am, and a black satin bow that he had bought at
+Becket’s Store together with a pair of shiny pumps.
+
+I actually met you, my friend, for the first time that evening, and in
+trouble too, though you may have forgotten the incident. We had made a
+mistake about the time of dinner, and arriving half an hour too soon,
+were shown into a long room that opened on to the verandah. You were
+working there, being I believe a private secretary at the time, copying
+some despatch; I think you said that which gave an account of the
+Annexation. The room was lit by a paraffin lamp behind you, for it was
+quite dark and the window was open, or at any rate unshuttered. The
+gentleman who showed us in, seeing that you were very busy, took us to
+the far end of the room, where we stood talking in the shadow. Just
+then a door opened opposite to that which led to the verandah, and
+through it came His Excellency the Administrator, Sir Theophilus
+Shepstone, a stout man of medium height with a very clever, thoughtful
+face, as I have always thought, one of the greatest of African
+statesmen. He did not see us, but he caught sight of you and said
+testily—
+
+“Are you mad?” To which you answered with a laugh—
+
+“I hope not more than usual, Sir, but why?”
+
+“Have I not told you always to let down the blinds after dark? Yet
+there you sit with your head against the light, about the best target
+for a bullet that could be imagined.”
+
+“I don’t think the Boers would trouble to shoot me, Sir. If you had
+been here I would have drawn the blinds and shut the shutters too,” you
+answered, laughing again.
+
+“Go to dress or you will be late for dinner,” he said still rather
+sternly, and you went. But when you had gone and after we had been
+announced to him, he smiled and added something which I will not repeat
+to you even now. I think it was about what you did on the Annexation
+day of which the story had come to him.
+
+I mention this incident because whenever I think of Shepstone, whom I
+had known off and on for years in the way that a hunter knows a
+prominent Government official, it always recurs to my mind, embodying
+as it does his caution and appreciation of danger derived from long
+experience of the country, and the sternness he sometimes affected
+which could never conceal his love towards his friends. Oh! there was
+greatness in this man, although they did call him an “African
+Talleyrand.” If it had not been so would every native from the Cape to
+the Zambesi have known and revered his name, as perhaps that of no
+other white man has been revered? But I must get on with my tale and
+leave historical discussions to others more fitted to deal with them.
+
+We had a very pleasant dinner that night, although I was so ashamed of
+my clothes with smart uniforms and white ties all about me, and
+Anscombe kept fidgeting his feet because he was suffering agony from
+his new pumps which were a size too small. Everybody was in the best of
+spirits, for from all directions came the news that the Annexation was
+well received and that the danger of any trouble had passed away. Ah!
+if we had only known what the end of it would be!
+
+It was on our way back to the wagon that I chanced to mention to
+Anscombe that there was still a herd of buffalo within a few days’ trek
+of Lydenburg, of which I had shot two not a month before.
+
+“Are there, by Jove!” he said. “As it happens I never got a buffalo;
+always I just missed them in one sense or another, and I can’t leave
+Africa with a pair of bought horns. Let’s go there and shoot some.”
+
+I shook my head and replied that I had been idling long enough and must
+try to make some money, news at which he seemed very disappointed.
+
+“Look here,” he said, “forgive me for mentioning it, but business is
+business. If you’ll come you shan’t be a loser.”
+
+Again I shook my head, whereat he looked more disappointed than before.
+
+“Very well,” he exclaimed, “then I must go alone. For kill a buffalo I
+will; that is unless the buffalo kills me, in which case my blood will
+be on your hands.”
+
+I don’t know why, but at that moment there came into my mind a
+conviction that if he did go alone a buffalo or something would kill
+him and that then I should be sorry all my life.
+
+“They are dangerous brutes, much worse than lions,” I said.
+
+“And yet you, who pretend to have a conscience, would expose me to
+their rage unprotected and alone,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye
+which I could see even by moonlight. “Oh! Quatermain, how I have been
+mistaken in your character.”
+
+“Look here, Mr. Anscombe,” I said, “it’s no use. I cannot possibly go
+on a shooting expedition with you just now. Only to-day I have heard
+from Natal that my boy is not well and must undergo an operation which
+will lay him up for quite six weeks, and may be dangerous. So I must
+get down to Durban before it takes place. After that I have a contract
+in Matabeleland whence you have just come, to take charge of a trading
+store there for a year; also perhaps to try to shoot a little ivory for
+myself. So I am fully booked up till, let us say, October, 1878, that
+is for about eighteen months, by which time I daresay I shall be dead.”
+
+“Eighteen months,” replied this cool young man. “That will suit me very
+well. I will go on to India as I intended, then home for a bit and will
+meet you on the 1st of October, 1878, after which we will proceed to
+the Lydenburg district and shoot those buffalo, or if they have
+departed, other buffalo. Is it a bargain?”
+
+I stared at him, thinking that the Administrator’s champagne had got
+into his head.
+
+“Nonsense,” I exclaimed. “Who knows where you will be in eighteen
+months? Why, by that time you will have forgotten all about me.”
+
+“If I am alive and well, on the 1st of October, 1878, I shall be
+exactly where I am now, upon this very square in Pretoria, with a
+wagon, or wagons, prepared for a hunting trip. But as not unnaturally
+you have doubts upon that point, I am prepared to pay forfeit if I
+fail, or even if circumstances cause you to fail.”
+
+Here he took a cheque-book from his letter-case and spread it out on
+the little table in the tent, on which there were ink and a pen,
+adding—
+
+“Now, Mr. Quatermain, will it meet your views if I fill this up for
+£250?”
+
+“No,” I answered; “taking everything into consideration the sum is
+excessive. But if you do not mind facing the risks of my
+non-appearance, to say nothing of your own, you may make it £50.”
+
+“You are very moderate in your demands,” he said as he handed me the
+cheque which I put in my pocket, reflecting that it would just pay for
+my son’s operation.
+
+“And you are very foolish in your offers,” I replied. “Tell me, why do
+you make such crack-brained arrangements?”
+
+“I don’t quite know. Something in me seems to say that we _shall_ make
+this expedition and that it will have a very important effect upon my
+life. Mind you, it is to be to the Lydenburg district and nowhere else.
+And now I am tired, so let’s turn in.”
+
+Next morning we parted and went our separate ways.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+MR. MARNHAM
+
+
+So much for preliminaries, now for the story.
+
+The eighteen months had gone by, bringing with them to me their share
+of adventure, weal and woe, with all of which at present I have no
+concern. Behold me arriving very hot and tired in the post-cart from
+Kimberley, whither I had gone to invest what I had saved out of my
+Matabeleland contract in a very promising speculation whereof, today,
+the promise remains and no more. I had been obliged to leave Kimberley
+in a great hurry, before I ought indeed, because of the silly bargain
+which I have just recorded. Of course I was sure that I should never
+see Mr. Anscombe again, especially as I had heard nothing of him during
+all this while, and had no reason to suppose that he was in Africa.
+Still I had taken his £50 and he _might_ come. Also I have always
+prided myself upon keeping an appointment.
+
+The post-cart halted with a jerk in front of the _European Hotel_, and
+I crawled, dusty and tired, from its interior, to find myself face to
+face with Anscombe, who was smoking a pipe upon the stoep!
+
+“Hullo, Quatermain,” he said in his pleasant, drawling voice, “here you
+are, up to time. I have been making bets with these five gentlemen,”
+and he nodded at a group of loungers on the stoep, “as to whether you
+would or would not appear, I putting ten to one on you in drinks.
+Therefore you must now consume five whiskies and sodas, which will save
+them from consuming fifty and a subsequent appearance at the Police
+Court.”
+
+I laughed and said I would be their debtor to the extent of one, which
+was duly produced.
+
+After it was drunk Anscombe and I had a chat. He said that he had been
+to India, shot, or shot at whatever game he meant to kill there,
+visited his relations in England and thence proceeded to keep his
+appointment with me in Africa. At Durban he had fitted himself out in a
+regal way with two wagons, full teams, and some spare oxen, and trekked
+to Pretoria where he had arrived a few days before. Now he was ready to
+start for the Lydenburg district and look for those buffalo.
+
+“But,” I said, “the buffalo probably long ago departed. Also there has
+been a war with Sekukuni, the Basuto chief who rules all that country,
+which remains undecided, although I believe some kind of a peace has
+been patched up. This may make hunting in this neighborhood dangerous.
+Why not try some other ground, to the north of the Transvaal, for
+instance?”
+
+“Quatermain,” he answered, “I have come all the way from England, I
+will not say to kill, but to try to kill buffalo in the Lydenburg
+district, with you if possible, if not, without you, and thither I am
+going. If you think it unsafe to accompany me, don’t come; I will get
+on as best I can alone, or with some other skilled person if I can find
+one.”
+
+“If you put it like that I shall certainly come,” I replied, “with the
+proviso that should the buffalo prove to be non-existent or the pursuit
+of them impossible, we either give up the trip, or go somewhere else,
+perhaps to the country at the back of Delagoa Bay.”
+
+“Agreed,” he said; after which we discussed terms, he paying me my
+salary in advance.
+
+On further consideration we determined, as two were quite unnecessary
+for a trip of the sort, to leave one of my wagons and half the cattle
+in charge of a very respectable man, a farmer who lived about five
+miles from Pretoria just over the pass near to the famous Wonder-boom
+tree which is one of the sights of the place. Should we need this wagon
+it could always be sent for; or, if we found the Lydenburg
+hunting-ground, which he was so set upon visiting, unproductive or
+impossible, we could return to Pretoria over the high-veld and pick it
+up before proceeding elsewhere.
+
+These arrangements took us a couple of days or so. On the third we
+started, without seeing you, my friend, or any one else that I knew,
+since just at that time every one seemed to be away from Pretoria. You,
+I remember, had by now become the Master of the High Court and were,
+they informed me at your office, absent on circuit.
+
+The morning of our departure was particularly lovely and we trekked
+away in the best of spirits, as so often happens to people who are
+marching into trouble. Of our journey there is little to say as
+everything went smoothly, so that we arrived at the edge of the
+high-veld feeling as happy as the country which has no history is
+reported to do. Our road led us past the little mining settlement of
+Pilgrim’s Rest where a number of adventurous spirits, most of them
+English, were engaged in washing for gold, a job at which I once took a
+turn near this very place without any startling success. Of the
+locality I need only say that the mountainous scenery is among the most
+beautiful, the hills are the steepest and the roads are, or were, the
+worst that I have ever travelled over in a wagon.
+
+However, “going softly” as the natives say, we negotiated them without
+accident and, leaving Pilgrim’s Rest behind us, began to descend
+towards the low-veld where I was informed a herd of buffalo could still
+be found, since, owing to the war with Sekukuni, no one had shot at
+them of late. This war had been suspended for a while, and the
+Land-drost at Pilgrim’s Rest told me he thought it would be safe to
+hunt on the borders of that Chief’s country, though he should not care
+to do so himself.
+
+Game of the smaller sort began to be plentiful about here, so not more
+than a dozen miles from Pilgrim’s Rest we outspanned early in the
+afternoon to try to get a blue wildebeeste or two, for I had seen the
+spoor of these creatures in a patch of soft ground, or failing them
+some other buck. Accordingly, leaving the wagon by a charming stream
+that wound and gurgled over a bed of granite, we mounted our salted
+horses, which were part of Anscombe’s outfit, and set forth rejoicing.
+Riding through the scattered thorns and following the spoor where I
+could, within half an hour we came to a little glade. There, not fifty
+yards away, I caught sight of a single blue wildebeeste bull standing
+in the shadow of the trees on the further side of the glade, and
+pointed out the ugly beast, for it is the most grotesque of all the
+antelopes, to Anscombe.
+
+“Off you get,” I whispered. “It’s a lovely shot, you can’t miss it.”
+
+“Oh, can’t I!” replied Anscombe. “Do you shoot.”
+
+I refused, so he dismounted, giving me his horse to hold, and kneeling
+down solemnly and slowly covered the bull. Bang went his rifle, and I
+saw a bough about a yard above the wildebeeste fall on to its back. Off
+it went like lightning, whereon Anscombe let drive with the left barrel
+of the Express, almost at hazard as it seemed to me, and by some chance
+hit it above the near fore-knee, breaking its leg.
+
+“That was a good shot,” he cried, jumping on to his horse.
+
+“Excellent,” I answered. “But what are you going to do?”
+
+“Catch it. It is cruel to leave a wounded animal,” and off he started.
+
+Of course I had to follow, but the ensuing ride remains among the more
+painful of my hunting memories. We tore through thorn trees that
+scratched my face and damaged my clothes; we struck a patch of antbear
+holes, into one of which my horse fell so that my stomach bumped
+against its head; we slithered down granite koppies, and this was the
+worst of it, at the end of each chapter, so to speak, always caught
+sight of that accursed bull which I fondly hoped would have vanished
+into space. At length after half an hour or so of this game we reached
+a stretch of open, rolling ground, and there not fifty yards ahead of
+us was the animal still going like a hare, though how it could do so on
+three legs I am sure I do not know. We coursed it like greyhounds, till
+at last Anscombe, whose horse was the faster, came alongside of the
+exhausted creature, whereon it turned suddenly and charged.
+
+Anscombe held out his rifle in his right hand and pulled the trigger,
+which, as he had forgotten to reload it, was a mere theatrical
+performance. Next second there was such a mix-up that for a while I
+could not distinguish which was Anscombe, which was the wildebeeste,
+and which the horse. They all seemed to be going round and round in a
+cloud of dust. When things settled themselves a little I discovered the
+horse rolling on the ground, Anscombe on his back with his hands up in
+an attitude of prayer and the wildebeeste trying to make up its mind
+which of them it should finish first. I settled the poor thing’s doubts
+by shooting it through the heart, which I flatter myself was rather
+clever of me under the circumstances. Then I dismounted to examine
+Anscombe, who, I presumed, was done for. Not a bit of it. There he sat
+upon the ground blowing like a blacksmith’s bellows and panting out—
+
+“What a glorious gallop. I finished it very well, didn’t I? You
+couldn’t have made a better shot yourself.”
+
+“Yes,” I answered, “you finished it very well as you will find out if
+you will take the trouble to open your rifle and count your cartridges.
+I may add that if we are going to hunt together I hope you will never
+lead me such a fool’s chase again.”
+
+He rose, opened the rifle and saw that it was empty, for although he
+had never re-loaded he had thrown out the two cartridges which he had
+discharged in the glen.
+
+“By Jingo,” he said, “you must have shot it, though I could have sworn
+that it was I. Quatermain, has it ever struck you what a strange thing
+is the human imagination?”
+
+“Drat the human imagination,” I answered, wiping away the blood that
+was trickling into my eye from a thorn scratch. “Let’s look at your
+horse. If it is lamed you will have to ride Imagination back to the
+wagon which must be six miles away, that is if we can find it before
+dark.”
+
+Sighing out something about a painfully practical mind, he obeyed, and
+when the beast was proved to be nothing more than blown and a little
+bruised, made remarks as to the inadvisability of dwelling on future
+evil events, which I reminded him had already been better summed up in
+the New Testament.
+
+After this we contemplated the carcase of the wildebeeste which it
+seemed a pity to leave to rot. Just then Anscombe, who had moved a few
+yards to the right out of the shadow of an obstructing tree, exclaimed—
+
+“I say, Quatermain, come here and tell me if I have been knocked silly,
+or if I really see a quite uncommon kind of house built in ancient
+Greek style set in a divine landscape.”
+
+“Temple to Diana, I expect,” I remarked as I joined him on the further
+side of the tree.
+
+I looked and rubbed my eyes. There, about half a mile away, situated in
+a bay of the sweeping hills and overlooking the measureless expanse of
+bush-veld beneath, was a remarkable house, at least for those days and
+that part of Africa. To begin with the situation was superb. It stood
+on a green and swelling mound behind which was a wooded kloof where ran
+a stream that at last precipitated itself in a waterfall over a great
+cliff. Then in front was that glorious view of the bush-veld, at which
+a man might look for a lifetime and not grow tired, stretching away to
+the Oliphant’s river and melting at last into the dim line of the
+horizon.
+
+The house itself also, although not large, was of a kind new to me. It
+was deep, but narrow fronted, and before it were four columns that
+carried the roof which projected so as to form a wide verandah.
+Moreover it seemed to be built of marble which glistened like snow in
+the setting sun. In short in that lonely wilderness, at any rate from
+this distance, it did look like the deserted shrine of some forgotten
+god.
+
+“Well, I’m bothered!” I said.
+
+“So am I,” answered Anscombe, “to know the name of the Lydenburg
+district architect whom I should like to employ; though I suspect it is
+the surroundings that make the place look so beautiful. Hullo! here
+comes somebody, but he doesn’t look like an architect; he looks like a
+wicked baronet disguised as a Boer.”
+
+True enough, round a clump of bush appeared an unusual looking person,
+mounted on a very good horse. He was tall, thin and old, at least he
+had a long white beard which suggested age, although his figure, so far
+as it could be seen beneath his rough clothes, seemed vigorous. His
+face was clean cut and handsome, with a rather hooked nose, and his
+eyes were grey, but as I saw when he came up to us, somewhat bloodshot
+at the corners. His general aspect was refined and benevolent, and as
+soon as he opened his mouth I perceived that he was a person of gentle
+breeding.
+
+And yet there was something about him, something in his atmosphere, so
+to speak, that I did not like. Before we parted that evening I felt
+sure that in one way or another he was a wrong-doer, not straight; also
+that he had a violent temper.
+
+He rode up to us and asked in a pleasant voice, although the manner of
+his question, which was put in bad Dutch, was not pleasant,
+
+“Who gave you leave to shoot on our land?”
+
+“I did not know that any leave was required; it is not customary in
+these parts,” I answered politely in English. “Moreover, this buck was
+wounded miles away.”
+
+“Oh!” he exclaimed in the same tongue, “that makes a difference, though
+I expect it was still on our land, for we have a lot; it is cheap about
+here.” Then after studying a little, he added apologetically, “You
+mustn’t think me strange, but the fact is my daughter hates things to
+be killed near the house, which is why there’s so much game about.”
+
+“Then pray make her our apologies,” said Anscombe, “and say that it
+shall not happen again.”
+
+He stroked his long beard and looked at us, for by now he had
+dismounted, then said—
+
+“Might I ask you gentlemen your names?”
+
+“Certainly,” I replied. “I am Allan Quatermain and my friend is the
+Hon. Maurice Anscombe.”
+
+He started and said—
+
+“Of Allan Quatermain of course I have heard. The natives told me that
+you were trekking to those parts; and if you, sir, are one of Lord
+Mountford’s sons, oddly enough I think I must have known your father in
+my youth. Indeed I served with him in the Guards.”
+
+“How very strange,” said Anscombe. “He’s dead now and my brother is
+Lord Mountford. Do you like life here better than that in the Guards? I
+am sure I should.”
+
+“Both of them have their advantages,” he answered evasively, “of which,
+if, as I think, you are also a soldier, you can judge for yourself. But
+won’t you come up to the house? My daughter Heda is away, and my
+partner Mr. Rodd” (as he mentioned this name I saw a blue vein, which
+showed above his cheek bone, swell as though under pressure of some
+secret emotion) “is a retiring sort of a man—indeed some might think
+him sulky until they came to know him. Still, we can make you
+comfortable and even give you a decent bottle of wine.”
+
+“No, thank you very much,” I answered, “we must get back to the wagon
+or our servants will think that we have come to grief. Perhaps you will
+accept the wildebeeste if it is of any use to you.”
+
+“Very well,” he said in a voice that suggested regret struggling with
+relief. To the buck he made no allusion, perhaps because he considered
+that it was already his own property. “Do you know your way? I believe
+your wagon is camped out there to the east by what we call the Granite
+stream. If you follow this Kaffir path,” and he pointed to a track near
+by, “it will take you quite close.”
+
+“Where does the path run to?” I asked. “There are no kraals about, are
+there?”
+
+“Oh! to the Temple, as my daughter calls our house. My partner and I
+are labour agents, we recruit natives for the Kimberley Mines,” he said
+in explanation, adding, “Where do you propose to shoot?”
+
+I told him.
+
+“Isn’t that rather a risky district?” he said. “I think that Sekukuni
+will soon be giving more trouble, although there is a truce between him
+and the English. Still he might send a regiment to raid that way.”
+
+I wondered how our friend knew so much of Sekukuni’s possible
+intentions, but only answered that I was accustomed to deal with
+natives and did not fear them.
+
+“Ah!” he said, “well, you know your own business best. But if you
+should get into any difficulty, make straight for this place. The
+Basutos will not interfere with you here.”
+
+Again I wondered why the Basutos should look upon this particular spot
+as sacred, but thinking it wisest to ask no questions, I only answered—
+
+“Thank you very much. We’ll bear your invitation in mind, Mr.—”
+
+“Marnham.”
+
+“Marnham,” I repeated after him. “Good-bye and many thanks for your
+kindness.”
+
+“One question,” broke in Anscombe, “if you will not think me rude. What
+is the name of the architect who designed that most romantic-looking
+house of yours which seems to be built of marble?”
+
+“My daughter designed it, or at least I think she copied it from some
+old drawing of a ruin. Also it _is_ marble; there’s a whole hill of the
+stuff not a hundred yards from the door, so it was cheaper to use than
+anything else. I hope you will come and see it on your way back, though
+it is not as fine as it appears from a distance. It would be very
+pleasant after all these years to talk to an English gentleman again.”
+
+Then we parted, I rather offended because he did not seem to include me
+in the description, he calling after us—
+
+“Stick close to the path through the patch of big trees, for the ground
+is rather swampy there and it’s getting dark.”
+
+Presently we came to the place he mentioned where the timber, although
+scattered, was quite large for South Africa, of the yellow-wood
+species, and interspersed wherever the ground was dry with huge
+euphorbias, of which the tall finger-like growths and sad grey
+colouring looked unreal and ghostlike in the waning light. Following
+the advice given to us, we rode in single file along the narrow path,
+fearing lest otherwise we should tumble into some bog hole, until we
+came to higher land covered with the scattered thorns of the country.
+
+“Did that bush give you any particular impression?” asked Anscombe a
+minute or two later.
+
+“Yes,” I answered, “it gave me the impression that we might catch fever
+there. See the mist that lies over it,” and turning in my saddle I
+pointed with the rifle in my hand to what looked like a mass of cotton
+wool over which, without permeating it, hung the last red glow of
+sunset, producing a curious and indeed rather unearthly effect. “I
+expect that thousands of years ago there was a lake yonder, which is
+why trees grow so big in the rich soil.”
+
+“You are curiously mundane, Quatermain,” he answered. “I ask you of
+spiritual impressions and you dilate to me of geological formations and
+the growth of timber. You felt nothing in the spiritual line?”
+
+“I felt nothing except a chill,” I answered, for I was tired and
+hungry. “What the devil are you driving at?”
+
+“Have you got that flask of Hollands about you, Quatermain?”
+
+“Oh! those are the spirits you are referring to,” I remarked with
+sarcasm as I handed it to him.
+
+He took a good pull and replied—
+
+“Not at all, except in the sense that bad spirits require good spirits
+to correct them, as the Bible teaches. To come to facts,” he added in a
+changed voice, “I have never been in a place that depressed me more
+than that thrice accursed patch of bush.”
+
+“Why did it depress you?” I asked, studying him as well as I could in
+the fading light. To tell the truth I feared lest he had knocked his
+head when the wildebeeste upset him, and was suffering from delayed
+concussion.
+
+“Can’t tell you, Quatermain. I don’t look like a criminal, do I? Well,
+I entered those trees feeling a fairly honest man, and I came out of
+them feeling like a murderer. It was as though something terrible had
+happened to me there; it was as though I had killed someone there.
+Ugh!” and he shivered and took another pull at the Hollands.
+
+“What bosh!” I said. “Besides, even if it were to come true, I am sorry
+to say I’ve killed lots of men in the way of business and they don’t
+bother me overmuch.”
+
+“Did you ever kill one to win a woman?”
+
+“Certainly not. Why, that would be murder. How can you ask me such a
+thing? But I have killed several to win cattle,” I reflected aloud,
+remembering my expedition with Saduko against the chief Bangu, and some
+other incidents in my career.
+
+“I appreciate the difference, Quatermain. If you kill for cows, it is
+justifiable homicide; if you kill for women, it is murder.”
+
+“Yes,” I replied, “that is how it seems to work out in Africa. You see,
+women are higher in the scale of creation than cows, therefore crimes
+committed for their sake are enormously greater than those committed
+for cows, which just makes the difference between justifiable homicide
+and murder.”
+
+“Good lord! what an argument,” he exclaimed and relapsed into silence.
+Had he been accustomed to natives and their ways he would have
+understood the point much better than he did, though I admit it is
+difficult to explain.
+
+In due course we reached the wagon without further trouble. While we
+were shielding our pipes after an excellent supper I asked Anscombe his
+impressions of Mr. Marnham.
+
+“Queer cove, I think,” he answered. “Been a gentleman, too, and still
+keeps the manners, which isn’t strange if he is one of the Marnhams,
+for they are a good family. I wonder he mentioned having served with my
+father.”
+
+“It slipped out of him. Men who live a lot alone are apt to be
+surprised into saying things they regret afterwards, as I noticed he
+did. But why do you wonder?”
+
+“Because as it happens, although I have only just recalled it, my
+father used to tell some story about a man named Marnham in his
+regiment. I can’t remember the details, but it had to do with cards
+when high stakes were being played for, and with the striking of a
+superior officer in the quarrel that ensued, as a result of which the
+striker was requested to send in his papers.”
+
+“It may not have been the same man.”
+
+“Perhaps not, for I believe that more than one Marnham served in that
+regiment. But I remember my father saying, by way of excuse for the
+person concerned, that he had a most ungovernable temper. I think he
+added, that he left the country and took service in some army on the
+Continent. I should rather like to clear the thing up.”
+
+“It isn’t probable that you will, for even if you should ever meet this
+Marnham again, I fancy you would find he held his tongue about his
+acquaintance with your father.”
+
+“I wonder what Miss Heda is like,” went on Anscombe after a pause. “I
+am curious to see a girl who designs a house on the model of an ancient
+ruin.”
+
+“Well, you won’t, for she’s away somewhere. Besides we are looking for
+buffalo, not girls, which is a good thing as they are less dangerous.”
+
+I spoke thus decisively because I had taken a dislike to Mr. Marnham
+and everything to do with him, and did not wish to encourage the idea
+of further meetings.
+
+“No, never, I suppose. And yet I feel as though I were certainly
+destined to see that accursed yellow-wood swamp again.”
+
+“Nonsense,” I replied as I rose to turn in. Ah! if I had but known!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+THE HUNTERS HUNTED
+
+
+While I was taking off my boots I heard a noise of jabbering in some
+native tongue which I took to be Sisutu, and not wishing to go to the
+trouble of putting them on again, called to the driver of the wagon to
+find out what it was. This man was a Cape Colony Kaffir, a Fingo I
+think, with a touch of Hottentot in him. He was an excellent driver,
+indeed I do not think I have ever seen a better, and by no means a bad
+shot. Among Europeans he rejoiced in the name of Footsack, a Boer Dutch
+term which is generally addressed to troublesome dogs and means “Get
+out.” To tell the truth, had I been his master he would have got out,
+as I suspected him of drinking, and generally did not altogether trust
+him. Anscombe, however, was fond of him because he had shown courage in
+some hunting adventure in Matabeleland, I think it was at the shooting
+of that very dark-coloured lion whose skin had been the means of making
+us acquainted nearly two years before. Indeed he said that on this
+occasion Footsack had saved his life, though from all that I could
+gather I do not think this was quite the case. Also the man, who had
+been on many hunting trips with sportsmen, could talk Dutch well and
+English enough to make himself understood, and therefore was useful.
+
+He went as I bade him, and coming back presently, told me that a party
+of Basutos, about thirty in number, who were returning from Kimberley,
+where they had been at work in the mines, under the leadership of a
+Bastard named Karl, asked leave to camp by the wagon for the night, as
+they were afraid to go on to “Tampel” in the dark.
+
+At first I could not make out what “Tampel” was, as it did not sound
+like a native name. Then I remembered that Mr. Marnham had spoken of
+his house as being called the Temple, of which, of course, Tampel was a
+corruption; also that he said he and his partner were labour agents.
+
+“Why are they afraid?” I asked.
+
+“Because, Baas, they say that they must go through a wood in a swamp,
+which they think is haunted by spooks, and they much afraid of spooks;”
+that is of ghosts.
+
+“What spooks?” I asked.
+
+“Don’t know, Baas. They say spook of some one who has been killed.”
+
+“Rubbish,” I replied. “Tell them to go and catch the spook; we don’t
+want a lot of noisy fellows howling chanties here all night.”
+
+Then it was that Anscombe broke in in his humorous, rather drawling
+voice.
+
+“How can you be so hard-hearted, Quatermain? After the supernatural
+terror which, as I told you, I experienced in that very place, I
+wouldn’t condemn a kicking mule to go through it in this darkness. Let
+the poor devils stay; I daresay they are tired.”
+
+So I gave in, and presently saw their fires beginning to burn through
+the end canvas of the wagon which was unlaced because the night was
+hot. Also later on I woke up, about midnight I think, and heard voices
+talking, one of which I reflected sleepily, sounded very like that of
+Footsack.
+
+Waking very early, as is my habit, I peeped out of the wagon, and
+through the morning mist perceived Footsack in converse with a
+particularly villainous-looking person. I at once concluded this must
+be Karl, evidently a Bastard compounded of about fifteen parts of
+various native bloods to one of white, who, to add to his attractions,
+was deeply scarred with smallpox and possessed a really alarming
+squint. It seemed to me that Footsack handed to this man something that
+looked suspiciously like a bottle of squareface gin wrapped up in dried
+grass, and that the man handed back to Footsack some small object which
+he put in his mouth.
+
+Now, I wondered to myself, what is there of value that one who does not
+eat sweets would stow away in his mouth. Gold coin perhaps, or a quid
+of tobacco, or a stone. Gold was too much to pay for a bottle of gin,
+tobacco was too little, but how about the stone? What stone? Who wanted
+stones? Then suddenly I remembered that these people were said to come
+from Kimberley, and whistled to myself. Still I did nothing,
+principally because the mist was still so dense that although I could
+see the men’s faces, I could not clearly see the articles which they
+passed to each other about two feet lower, where it still lay very
+thickly, and to bring any accusation against a native which he can
+prove to be false is apt to destroy authority. So I held my tongue and
+waited my chance. It did not come at once, for before I was dressed
+those Basutos had departed together with their leader Karl, for now
+that the sun was up they no longer feared the haunted bush.
+
+It came later, thus: We were trekking along between the thorns upon a
+level and easy track which enabled the driver Footsack to sit upon the
+“voorkisse” or driving box of the wagon, leaving the lad who is called
+the voorlooper to lead the oxen. Anscombe was riding parallel to the
+wagon in the hope of killing some guineafowl for the pot (though a very
+poor shot with a rifle he was good with a shot-gun). I, who did not
+care for this small game, was seated smoking by the side of Footsack
+who, I noted, smelt of gin and generally showed signs of dissipation.
+Suddenly I said to him—
+
+“Show me that diamond which the Bastard Karl gave you this morning in
+payment for the bottle of your master’s drink.”
+
+It was a bow drawn at a venture, but the effect of the shot was
+remarkable. Had I not caught it, the long bamboo whip Footsack held
+would have fallen to the ground, while he collapsed in his seat like a
+man who has received a bullet in his stomach.
+
+“Baas,” he gasped, “Baas, how did you know?”
+
+“I knew,” I replied grandly, “in the same way that I know everything.
+Show me the diamond.”
+
+“Baas,” he said, “it was not the Baas Anscombe’s gin, it was some I
+bought in Pilgrim’s Rest.”
+
+“I have counted the bottles in the case and know very well whose gin it
+was,” I replied ambiguously, for the reason that I had done nothing of
+the sort. “Show me the diamond.”
+
+Footsack fumbled about his person, his hair, his waistcoat pockets and
+even his moocha, and ultimately from somewhere produced a stone which
+he handed to me. I looked at it, and from the purity of colour and
+size, judged it to be a diamond worth £200, or possibly more. After
+careful examination I put it into my pocket, saying,
+
+“This is the price of your master’s gin and therefore belongs to him as
+much as it does to anybody. Now if you want to keep out of trouble,
+tell me—whence came it into the hands of that man, Karl?”
+
+“Baas,” replied Footsack, trembling all over, “how do I know? He and
+the rest have been working at the mines; I suppose he found it there.”
+
+“Indeed! And did he find others of the same sort?”
+
+“I think so, Baas. At least he said that he had been buying bottles of
+gin with such stones all the way down from Kimberley. Karl is a great
+drunkard, Baas, as I am sure, who have known him for years.”
+
+“That is not all,” I remarked, keeping my eyes fixed on him. “What else
+did he say?”
+
+“He said, Baas, that he was very much afraid of returning to the Baas
+Marnham whom the Kaffirs call White-beard, with only a few stones
+left.”
+
+“Why was he afraid?”
+
+“Because the Baas Whitebeard, he who dwells at Tampel, is, he says, a
+very angry man if he thinks himself cheated, and Karl is afraid lest he
+should kill him as another was killed, he whose spook haunts the wood
+through which those silly people feared to pass last night.”
+
+“Who was killed and who killed him?” I asked.
+
+“Baas, I don’t know,” replied Footsack, collapsing into sullen silence
+in a way that Kaffirs have when suddenly they realize that they have
+said too much. Nor did I press the matter further, having learned
+enough.
+
+What had I learned? This: that Messrs. Marnham & Rodd were illicit
+diamond buyers, I.D.B.‘s as they are called, who had cunningly situated
+themselves at a great distance from the scene of operations practically
+beyond the reach of civilized law. Probably they were engaged also in
+other nefarious dealings with Kaffirs, such as supplying them with guns
+wherewith to make war upon the Whites. Sekukuni had been fighting us
+recently, so that there would be a very brisk market for rifles. This,
+too, would account for Marnham’s apparent knowledge of that Chief’s
+plans. Possibly, however, he had no knowledge and only made a pretence
+of it to keep us out of the country.
+
+Later on I confided the whole story and my suspicions to Anscombe, who
+was much interested.
+
+“What picturesque scoundrels!” he exclaimed, “We really ought to go
+back to the Temple. I have always longed to meet some real live
+I.D.B.‘s.”
+
+“It is probable that you have done that already without knowing it. For
+the rest, if you wish to visit that den of iniquity, you must do so
+alone.”
+
+“Wouldn’t whited sepulchre be a better term, especially as it seems to
+cover dead men’s bones?” he replied in his frivolous manner.
+
+Then I asked him what he was going to do about Footsack and the bottle
+of gin, which he countered by asking me what I was going to do with
+that diamond.
+
+“Give it to you as Footsack’s master,” I said, suiting the action to
+the word. “I don’t wish to be mixed up in doubtful transactions.”
+
+Then followed a long argument as to who was the real owner of the
+stone, which ended in its being hidden away to be produced if called
+for, and in Footsack, who ought have had a round dozen, receiving a
+scolding from his master, coupled with the threat that if he stole more
+gin he would be handed over to a magistrate—when we met one.
+
+On the following day we reached the hot, low-lying veld which the herd
+of buffalo was said to inhabit. Next morning, however, when we were
+making ready to begin hunting, a Basuto Kaffir appeared who, on being
+questioned, said that he was one of Sekukuni’s people sent to this
+district to look for two lost oxen. I did not believe this story,
+thinking it more probable that he was a spy, but asked him whether in
+his hunt for oxen he had come across buffalo.
+
+He replied that he had, a herd of thirty-two of them, counting the
+calves, but that they were over the Oliphant’s River about
+five-and-twenty miles away, in a valley between some outlying hills and
+the rugged range of mountains, beyond which was situated Sekukuni’s
+town. Moreover, in proof of his story he showed me spoor of the beasts
+heading in that direction which was quite a week old.
+
+Now for my part, as I did not think it wise to get too near to
+Sekukuni, I should have given them up and gone to hunt something else.
+Anscombe, however, was of a different opinion and pleaded hard that we
+should follow them. They were the only herd within a hundred miles, he
+said, if indeed there were any others this side of the Lebombo
+Mountains. As I still demurred, he suggested, in the nicest possible
+manner, that if I thought the business risky, I should camp somewhere
+with the wagon, while he went on with Footsack to look for the buffalo.
+I answered that I was well used to risks, which in a sense were my
+trade, and that as he was more or less in my charge I was thinking of
+him, not of myself, who was quite prepared to follow the buffalo, not
+only to Sekukuni’s Mountains but over them. Then fearing that he had
+hurt my feelings, he apologized, and offered to go elsewhere if I
+liked. The upshot was that we decided to trek to the Oliphant’s River,
+camp there and explore the bush on the other side on horseback, never
+going so far from the wagon that we could not reach it again before
+nightfall.
+
+This, then, we did, outspanning that evening by the hot but beautiful
+river which was still haunted by a few hippopotamus and many
+crocodiles, one of which we shot before turning in. Next morning,
+having breakfasted off cold guineafowl, we mounted, crossed the river
+by a ford that was quite as deep as I liked, to which the Kaffir path
+led us, and, leaving Footsack with the two other boys in charge of the
+wagon, began to hunt for the buffalo in the rather swampy bush that
+stretched from the further bank to the slope of the first hills, eight
+or ten miles away. I did not much expect to find them, as the Basuto
+had said that they had gone over these hills, but either he lied or
+they had moved back again.
+
+Not half a mile from the river bank, just as I was about to dismount to
+stalk a fine waterbuck of which I caught sight standing among some
+coarse grass and bushes, my eye fell upon buffalo spoor that from its
+appearance I knew could not be more than a few hours old. Evidently the
+beasts had been feeding here during the night and at dawn had moved
+away to sleep in the dry bush nearer the hills. Beckoning to Anscombe,
+who fortunately had not seen the waterbuck, at which he would certainly
+have fired, thereby perhaps frightening the buffalo, I showed him the
+spoor that we at once started to follow.
+
+Soon it led us into other spoor, that of a whole herd of thirty or
+forty beasts indeed, which made our task quite easy, at least till we
+came to harder ground, for the animals had gone a long way. An hour or
+more later, when we were about seven miles from the river, I perceived
+ahead of us, for we were now almost at the foot of the hills, a cool
+and densely-wooded kloof.
+
+“That is where they will be,” I said. “Now come on carefully and make
+no noise.”
+
+We rode to the wide mouth of the kloof where the signs of the buffalo
+were numerous and fresh, dismounted and tied our horses to a thorn, so
+as to approach them silently on foot. We had not gone two hundred yards
+through the bush when suddenly about fifty paces away, standing
+broadside on in the shadow between two trees, I saw a splendid old bull
+with a tremendous pair of horns.
+
+“Shoot,” I whispered to Anscombe, “you will never get a better chance.
+It is the sentinel of the herd.”
+
+He knelt down, his face quite white with excitement, and covered the
+bull with his Express.
+
+“Keep cool,” I whispered again, “and aim behind the shoulder, half-way
+down.”
+
+I don’t think he understood me, for at that moment off went the rifle.
+He hit the beast somewhere, as I heard the bullet clap, but not
+fatally, for it turned and lumbered off up the kloof, apparently
+unhurt, whereon he sent the second barrel after it, a clean miss this
+time. Then of a sudden all about us appeared buffaloes that had, I
+suppose, been sleeping invisible to us. These, with snorts and bellows,
+rushed off towards the river, for having their senses about them, they
+had no mind to be trapped in the kloof. I could only manage a shot at
+one of them, a large and long-horned cow which I knocked over quite
+dead. If I had fired again it would have been but to wound, a thing I
+hate. The whole business was over in a minute. We went and looked at my
+dead cow which I had caught through the heart.
+
+“It’s cruel to kill these things,” I said, “for I don’t know what use
+we are going to make of them, and they must love life as much as we
+do.”
+
+“We’ll cut the horns off,” said Anscombe.
+
+“You may if you like,” I answered, “but you will find it a tough job
+with a sheath knife.”
+
+“Yes, I think that shall be the task of the worthy Footsack to-morrow,”
+he replied. “Meanwhile let us go and finish off my bull, as Footsack &
+Co. may as well bring home two pair of horns as one.”
+
+I looked at the dense bush, and knowing something of the habits of
+wounded buffaloes, reflected that it would be a nasty job. Still I said
+nothing, because if I hesitated, I knew he would want to go alone. So
+we started. Evidently the beast had been badly hit, for the blood spoor
+was easy to follow. Yet it had been able to retreat up to the end of
+the kloof that terminated in a cliff over which trickled a stream of
+water. Here it was not more than a hundred paces wide, and on either
+side of it were other precipitous cliffs. As we went from one of these
+a war-horn, such as the Basutos use, was blown. Although I heard it,
+oddly enough, I paid no attention to it at the time, being utterly
+intent upon the business in hand.
+
+Following a wounded buffalo bull up a tree-clad and stony kloof is no
+game for children, as these beasts have a habit of returning on their
+tracks and then rushing out to gore you. So I went on with every sense
+alert, keeping Anscombe well behind me. As it happened our bull had
+either been knocked silly or inherited no guile from his parents. When
+he found he could go no further he stopped, waited behind a bush, and
+when he saw us he charged in a simple and primitive fashion. I let
+Anscombe fire, as I wished him to have the credit of killing it all to
+himself, but somehow or other he managed to miss both barrels. Then,
+trouble being imminent, I let drive as the beast lowered its head, and
+was lucky enough to break its spine (to shoot at the head of a buffalo
+is useless), so that it rolled over quite dead at our feet.
+
+“You have got a magnificent pair of horns,” I said, contemplating the
+fallen giant.
+
+“Yes,” answered Anscombe, with a twinkle of his humorous eyes, “and if
+it hadn’t been for you I think that I should have got them in more
+senses than one.”
+
+As the words passed his lips some missile, from its peculiar sound I
+judged it was the leg off an iron pot, hurtled past my head, fired
+evidently from a smoothbore gun with a large charge of bad powder. Then
+I remembered the war-horn and all that it meant.
+
+“Off you go,” I said, “we are ambushed by Kaffirs.”
+
+We were indeed, for as we tailed down that kloof, from the top of both
+cliffs above us came a continuous but luckily ill-directed fire.
+Lead-coated stones, pot legs and bullets whirred and whistled all round
+us, yet until the last, just when we were reaching the tree to which we
+had tied our horses, quite harmlessly. Then suddenly I saw Anscombe
+begin to limp. Still he managed to run on and mount, though I observed
+that he did not put his right foot into the stirrup.
+
+“What’s the matter?” I asked as we galloped off.
+
+“Shot through the instep, I think,” he answered with a laugh, “but it
+doesn’t hurt a bit.”
+
+“I expect it will later,” I replied. “Meanwhile, thank God it wasn’t at
+the top of the kloof. They won’t catch us on the horses, which they
+never thought of killing first.”
+
+“They are going to try though. Look behind you.”
+
+I looked and saw twenty or thirty men emerging from the mouth of the
+kloof in pursuit.
+
+“No time to stop to get those horns,” he said with a sigh.
+
+“No,” I answered, “unless you are particularly anxious to say good-bye
+to the world pinned over a broken ant-heap in the sun, or something
+pleasant of the sort.”
+
+Then we rode on in silence, I thinking what a fool I had been first to
+allow myself to be overruled by Anscombe and cross the river, and
+secondly not to have taken warning from that war-horn. We could not go
+very fast because of the difficult and swampy nature of the ground;
+also the great heat of the day told on the horses. Thus it came about
+that when we reached the ford we were not more than ten minutes ahead
+of our active pursuers, good runners every one of them, and accustomed
+to the country. I suppose that they had orders to kill or capture us at
+any cost, for instead of giving up the chase, as I hoped they would,
+they stuck to us in surprising fashion.
+
+We splashed through the river, and luckily on the further bank were met
+by Footsack who had seen us coming and guessed that something was
+wrong.
+
+“Inspan!” I shouted to him, “and be quick about it if you want to see
+tomorrow’s light. The Basutos are after us.”
+
+Off he went like a shot, his face quite green with fear.
+
+“Now,” I said to Anscombe, as we let our horses take a drink for which
+they were mad, “we have got to hold this ford until the wagon is ready,
+or those devils will get us after all. Dismount and I’ll tie up the
+horses.”
+
+He did so with some difficulty, and at my suggestion, while I made the
+beasts fast, cut the lace of his boot which was full of blood, and
+soaked his wounded foot, that I had no time to examine, in the cool
+water. These things done, I helped him to the rear of a thorn tree
+which was thick enough to shield most of his body, and took my own
+stand behind a similar thorn at a distance of a few paces.
+
+Presently the Basutos appeared, trotting along close together whereon
+Anscombe, who was seated behind the tree, fired both barrels of his
+Express at them at a range of about two hundred yards. It was a foolish
+thing to do, first because he missed them clean, for he had
+over-estimated the range and the bullets went above their heads, and
+secondly because it caused them to scatter and made them careful,
+whereas had they come on in a lump we could have taught them a lesson.
+However I said nothing, as I knew that reproaches would only make him
+nervous. Down went those scoundrels on to their hands and knees and,
+taking cover behind stones and bushes on the further bank, began to
+fire at us, for they were all armed with guns of one sort and another,
+and there was only about a hundred yards of water between us. As they
+effected this manoeuvre I am glad to say I was able to get two of them,
+while Anscombe, I think, wounded another.
+
+After this our position grew quite warm, for as I have said the thorn
+trunks were not very broad, and three or four of the natives, who had
+probably been hunters, were by no means bad shots, though the rest of
+them fired wildly. Anscombe, in poking his head round the tree to
+shoot, had his hat knocked off by a bullet, while a slug went through
+the lappet of my coat. Then a worse thing happened. Either by chance or
+design Anscombe’s horse was struck in the neck and fell struggling,
+whereon my beast, growing frightened, broke its riem and galloped to
+the wagon. That is where I ought to have left them at first, only I
+thought that we might need them to make a bolt on, or to carry Anscombe
+if he could not walk.
+
+Quite a long while went by before, glancing behind me, I saw that the
+oxen that had been grazing at a little distance had at length arrived
+and were being inspanned in furious haste. The Basutos saw it also, and
+fearing lest we should escape, determined to try to end the business.
+Suddenly they leapt from their cover, and with more courage than I
+should have expected of them, rushed into the river, proposing to storm
+us, which, to speak truth, I think they would have done had I not been
+a fairly quick shot.
+
+As it was, finding that they were losing too heavily from our fire,
+they retreated in a hurry, leaving their dead behind them, and even a
+wounded man who was clinging to a rock. He, poor wretch, was in mortal
+terror lest we should shoot him again, which I had not the heart to do,
+although as his leg was shattered above the knee by an Express bullet,
+it might have been true kindness. Again and again he called out for
+mercy, saying that he only attacked us because his chief, who had been
+warned of our coming “by the White Man,” ordered him to take our guns
+and cattle.
+
+“What white man?” I shouted. “Speak or I shoot.”
+
+There was no answer, for at this moment he fainted from loss of blood
+and vanished beneath the water. Then another Basuto, I suppose he was
+their captain, but do not know for he was hidden in some bushes, called
+out—
+
+“Do not think that you shall escape, White Men. There are many more of
+our people coming, and we will kill you in the night when you cannot
+see to shoot us.”
+
+At this moment, too, Footsack shouted that the wagon was inspanned and
+ready. Now I hesitated what to do. If we made for the wagon, which must
+be very slowly because of Anscombe’s wounded foot, we had to cross
+seventy or eighty yards of rising ground almost devoid of cover. If, on
+the other hand, we stayed where we were till nightfall a shot might
+catch one of us, or other Basutos might arrive and rush us. There was
+also a third possibility, that our terrified servants might trek off
+and leave us in order to save their own lives, which verily I believe
+they would have done, not being of Zulu blood. I put the problem to
+Anscombe, who shook his head and looked at his foot. Then he produced a
+lucky penny which he carried in his pocket and said—
+
+“Let us invoke the Fates. Heads we run like heroes; tails we stay here
+like heroes,” and he spun the penny, while I stared at him open-mouthed
+and not without admiration.
+
+Never, I thought to myself, had this primitive method of cutting a
+gordian knot been resorted to in such strange and urgent circumstances.
+
+“Heads it is!” he said coolly. “Now, my boy, do you run and I’ll crawl
+after you. If I don’t arrive, you know my people’s address, and I
+bequeath to you all my African belongings in memory of a most pleasant
+trip.”
+
+“Don’t play the fool,” I replied sternly. “Come, put your right arm
+round my neck and hop on your left leg as you never hopped before.”
+
+Then we started, and really our transit was quite lively, for all those
+Basutos began what for them was rapid firing. I think, however, that
+their best shots must have fallen, for not a bullet touched us,
+although before we got out of their range one or two went very near.
+
+“There,” said Anscombe, as a last amazing hop brought him to the wagon
+rail, “there, you see how wise it is to give Providence a chance
+sometimes.”
+
+“In the shape of a lucky penny,” I grumbled as I hoisted him up.
+
+“Certainly, for why should not Providence inhabit a penny as much as it
+does any other mundane thing? Oh, my dear Quatermain, have you never
+been taught to look to the pence and let the rest take care of itself?”
+
+“Stop talking rubbish and look to your foot, for the wagon is
+starting,” I replied.
+
+Then off we went at a good round trot, for never have I seen oxen more
+scientifically driven than they were by Footsack and his friends on
+this occasion, or a greater pace got out of them. As soon as we reached
+a fairly level piece of ground I made Anscombe lie down on the cartel
+of the wagon and examined his wound as well as circumstances would
+allow. I found that the bullet or whatever the missile may have been,
+had gone through his right instep just beneath the big sinew, but so
+far as I could judge without injuring any bone. There was nothing to be
+done except rub in some carbolic ointment, which fortunately he had in
+his medicine chest, and bind up the wound as best I could with a clean
+handkerchief, after which I tied a towel, that was _not_ clean, over
+the whole foot.
+
+By this time evening was coming on, so we ate of such as we had with
+us, which we needed badly enough, without stopping the wagon. I
+remember that it consisted of cheese and hard biscuits. At dark we were
+obliged to halt a little by a stream until the moon rose, which
+fortunately she did very soon, as she was only just past her full. As
+soon as she was up we started again, and with a breathing space or two,
+trekked all that night, which I spent seated on the after part of the
+wagon and keeping a sharp look out, while, notwithstanding the
+roughness of the road and his hurt, Anscombe slept like a child upon
+the cartel inside.
+
+I was very tired, so tired that the fear of surprise was the only thing
+that kept me awake, and I recall reflecting in a stupid kind of way,
+that it seemed always to have been my lot in life to watch thus, in one
+sense or another, while others slept.
+
+The night passed somehow without anything happening, and at dawn we
+halted for a while to water the oxen, which we did with buckets, and
+let them eat what grass they could reach from their yokes, since we did
+not dare to outspan them. Just as we were starting on again the
+voortrekker, whom I had set to watch at a little distance, ran up with
+his eyes bulging out of his head, and reported that he had seen a
+Basuto with an assegai hanging about in the bush, as though to keep
+touch with us, after which we delayed no more.
+
+All that day we blundered on, thrashing the weary cattle that at every
+halt tried to lie down, and by nightfall came to the outspan near to
+the house called the Temple, where we had met the Kaffirs returning
+from the diamond fields. This journey we had accomplished in exactly
+half the time it had taken on the outward trip. Here we were obliged to
+stop, as our team must have rest and food. So we outspanned and slept
+that night without much fear, since I thought it most improbable that
+the Basutos would attempt to follow us so far, as we were now within a
+day’s trek of Pilgrim’s Rest, whither we proposed to proceed on the
+morrow. But that is just where I made a mistake.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+DOCTOR RODD
+
+
+I did get a little sleep that night, with one eye open, but before dawn
+I was up again seeing to the feeding of our remaining horse with some
+mealies that we carried, and other matters. The oxen we had been
+obliged to unyoke that they might fill themselves with grass and water,
+since otherwise I feared that we should never get them on to their feet
+again. As it was, the poor brutes were so tired that some of them could
+scarcely eat, and all lay down at the first opportunity.
+
+Having awakened Footsack and the other boys that they might be ready to
+take advantage of the light when it came, for I was anxious to be away,
+I drank a nip of Hollands and water and ate a biscuit, making Anscombe
+do the same. Coffee would have been more acceptable, but I thought it
+wiser not to light a fire for fear of showing our whereabouts.
+
+Now a faint glimmer in the east told me that the dawn was coming. Just
+by the wagon grew a fair-sized, green-leaved tree, and as it was quite
+easy to climb even by starlight, up it I went so as to get above the
+ground mist and take a look round before we trekked. Presently the sky
+grew pearly and light began to gather; then the edge of the sun
+appeared, throwing long level rays across the world. Everywhere the
+mist lay dense as cotton wool, except at one spot about a mile behind
+us where there was a little hill or rather a wave of the ground, over
+which we had trekked upon the preceding evening. The top of this rise
+was above mist level, and on it no trees grew because the granite came
+to the surface. Having discovered nothing, I called to the boys to
+drive up the oxen, some of which had risen and were eating again, and
+prepared to descend from my tree.
+
+As I did so, out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of something
+that glittered far away, so far that it would only have attracted the
+notice of a trained hunter. Yes, something was shining on the brow of
+the rise of which I have spoken. I stared at it through my glasses and
+saw what I had feared to see. A body of natives was crossing the rise
+and the glitter was caused by the rays of dawn striking on their spears
+and gun-barrels.
+
+I came down out of that tree like a frightened wild cat and ran to the
+wagon, thinking hard as I went. The Basutos were after us, meaning to
+attack as soon as there was sufficient light. In ten minutes or less
+they would be here. There was no time to inspan the oxen, and even if
+there had been, stiff and weary as the beasts were, we should be
+overtaken before we had gone a hundred yards on that bad road. What
+then was to be done? Run for it? It was impossible, Anscombe could not
+run. My eye fell upon the horse munching the last of his mealies.
+
+“Footsack,” I said as quietly as I could, “never mind about inspanning
+yet, but saddle up the horse. Be quick now.”
+
+He looked at me doubtfully, but obeyed, having seen nothing. If he had
+seen I knew that he would have been off. I nipped round to the end of
+the wagon, calling to the other two boys to let the oxen be a while and
+come to me.
+
+“Now, Anscombe,” I said, “hand out the rifles and cartridges. Don’t
+stop to ask questions, but do what I tell you. They are on the rack by
+your side. So. Now put on your revolver and let me help you down. Man,
+don’t forget your hat.”
+
+He obeyed quickly enough, and presently was standing on one leg by my
+side, looking cramped and tottery.
+
+“The Basutos are on us,” I said.
+
+He whistled and remarked something about Chapter No. 2.
+
+“Footsack,” I called, “bring the horse here; the Baas wishes to ride a
+little to ease his leg.”
+
+He did so, stopping a moment to pull the second girth tight. Then we
+helped Anscombe into the saddle.
+
+“Which way?” he asked.
+
+I looked at the long slope in front of us. It was steep and bad going.
+Anscombe might get up it on the horse before the Kaffirs overtook us,
+but it was extremely problematical if we could do so. I might perhaps
+if I mounted behind him and the horse could bear us both, which was
+doubtful, but how about our poor servants? He saw the doubt upon my
+face and said in his quiet way,
+
+“You may remember that our white-bearded friend told us to make
+straight for his place in case of any difficulty with the Basutos. It
+seems to have arisen.”
+
+“I know he did,” I answered, “but I cannot make up my mind which is the
+more dangerous, Marnham or the Basutos. I rather think that he set them
+on to us.”
+
+“It is impossible to solve problems at this hour of the morning,
+Quatermain, and there is no time to toss. So I vote for the Temple.”
+
+“It seems our best chance. At any rate that’s your choice, so let’s
+go.”
+
+Then I sang out to the Kaffirs, “The Basutos are on us. We go to Tampel
+for refuge. Run!”
+
+My word! they did run. I never saw athletes make better time over the
+first quarter of a mile. We ran, too, or at least the horse did, I
+hanging on to the stirrup and Anscombe holding both the rifles beneath
+his arm. But the beast was tired, also blown out with that morning feed
+of mealies, so our progress was not very fast. When we were about two
+hundred yards from the wagon I looked back and saw the Basutos
+beginning to arrive. They saw us also, and uttering a sort of whistling
+war cry, started in pursuit.
+
+After this we had quite an interesting time. I scrambled on to the
+horse behind Anscombe, whereon that intelligent animal, feeling the
+double weight, reduced its pace proportionately, to a slow tripple,
+indeed, out of which it could not be persuaded to move. So I slipped
+off again over its tail and we went on as before. Meanwhile the
+Basutos, very active fellows, were coming up. By this time the
+yellow-wood grove in the swamp, of which I have already written, was
+close to us, and it became quite a question which of us would get there
+first (I may mention that Footsack & Co. had already attained its
+friendly shelter). Anscombe kicked the horse with his sound heel and I
+thumped it with my fist, thereby persuading it to a hand gallop.
+
+As we reached the outlying trees of the wood the first Basuto, a lank
+fellow with a mouth like a rat trap, arrived and threw an assegai at us
+which passed between Anscombe’s back and my nose. Then he closed and
+tried to stab with another assegai. I could do nothing, but Anscombe
+showed himself cleverer than I expected. Dropping the reins, he drew
+his pistol and managed to send a bullet through that child of nature’s
+head, so that he went down like a stone.
+
+“And you tell me I am a bad shot,” he drawled.
+
+“It was a fluke,” I gasped, for even in these circumstances truth would
+prevail.
+
+“Wait and you’ll see,” he replied, re-cocking the revolver.
+
+As a matter of fact there was no need for more shooting, since at the
+verge of the swamp the Basutos pulled up. I do not think that the death
+of their companion caused them to do this, for they seemed to take no
+notice of him. It was as though they had reached some boundary which
+they knew it would not be lawful for them to pass. They simply stopped,
+took the dead man’s assegai and shield from the body and walked quietly
+back towards the wagon, leaving him where he lay. The horse stopped
+also, or rather proceeded at a walk.
+
+“There!” exclaimed Anscombe. “Did I not tell you I had a presentiment
+that I should kill a man in this accursed wood?”
+
+“Yes,” I said as soon as I had recovered my breath, “but you mixed up a
+woman with the matter and I don’t see one.”
+
+“That’s true,” he replied, “I hope we shan’t meet her later.”
+
+Then we went on as quickly as we could, which was not very fast, for I
+feared lest the Basutos should change their minds and follow us. As the
+risk of this became less our spirits rose, since if we had lost the
+wagon and the oxen, at least we had saved our lives, which was almost
+more than we could have expected in the circumstances. At last we came
+to that glade where we had killed the wildebeeste not a week before.
+There lay its skeleton picked clean by the great brown kites that
+frequent the bush-veld, some of which still sat about in the trees.
+
+“Well, I suppose we must go on to Tampel,” said Anscombe rather
+faintly, for I could see that his wound was giving him a good deal of
+pain.
+
+As he spoke from round the tree whence he had first emerged, appeared
+Mr. Marnham, riding the same horse and wearing the same clothes. The
+only difference between his two entries was that the first took place
+in the late evening and the second in the early morning.
+
+“So here you are again,” he said cheerfully.
+
+“Yes,” I answered, “and it is strange to meet you at the same spot.
+Were you expecting us?”
+
+“Not more than I expect many things,” he replied with a shrewd glance
+at me, adding, “I always rise with the sun, and thinking that I heard a
+shot fired in the distance, came to see what was happening. The Basutos
+attacked you at daybreak, did they not?”
+
+“They did, but how did you know that, Mr. Marnham?”
+
+“Your servants told me. I met them running to the house looking very
+frightened. You are wounded, Mr. Anscombe?”
+
+“Yes, a couple of days ago on the border of Sekukuni’s country where
+the natives tried to murder us.”
+
+“Ah!” he replied without surprise. “I warned you the trip was
+dangerous, did I not? Well, come on home where my partner, Rodd, who
+luckily has had medical experience, will attend to you. Mr. Quatermain
+can tell me the story as we go.”
+
+So we went on up the long slope, I relating our adventures, to which
+Mr. Marnham listened without comment.
+
+“I expect that the Kaffirs will have looted the wagon and be on the way
+home with your oxen by now,” he said when I had finished.
+
+“Are you not afraid that they will follow us here?” I asked.
+
+“Oh no, Mr. Quatermain. We do business with these people, also they
+sometimes come to be doctored by Rodd when they are sick, so this place
+is sacred ground to them. They stopped hunting you when they got to the
+Yellow-wood swamp where our land begins, did they not?”
+
+“Yes, but now I want to hunt them. Can you give me any help? Those oxen
+are tired out and footsore, so we might be able to catch them up.”
+
+He shook his head. “We have very few people here, and by the time that
+you could get assistance from the Camp at Barberton, if the Commandant
+is able and willing to give you any, which I rather doubt, they will be
+far away. Moreover,” he added, dropping his voice, “let us come to an
+understanding. You are most welcome to any help or hospitality that I
+can offer, but if you wish to do more fighting I must ask you to go
+elsewhere. As I have told you, we are peaceful men who trade with these
+people, and do not wish to be involved in a quarrel with them, which
+might expose us to attack or bring us into trouble with the British
+Government which has annexed but not conquered their country. Do I make
+myself clear?”
+
+“Perfectly. While we are with you we will do nothing, but afterwards we
+hold ourselves at liberty to act as we think best.”
+
+“Quite so. Meanwhile I hope that you and Mr. Anscombe will make
+yourselves comfortable with us for as long as you like.”
+
+In my own mind I came to the conclusion that this would be for the
+shortest time possible, but I only said—
+
+“It is most kind of you to take in complete strangers thus. No, not
+complete,” I added, looking towards Anscombe who was following on the
+tired horse a few paces behind, “for you knew his father, did you not?”
+
+“His father?” he said, lifting his eyebrows. “No. Oh! I remember, I
+said something to that effect the other night, but it was a mistake. I
+mixed up two names, as one often does after a lapse of many years.”
+
+“I understand,” I answered, but remembering Anscombe’s story I
+reflected to myself that our venerable host was an excellent liar. Or
+more probably he meant to convey that he wished the subject of his
+youthful reminiscences to be taboo.
+
+Just then we reached the house which had a pretty patch of well-kept
+flower-garden in front of it, surrounded by a fence covered with wire
+netting to keep out buck. By the gate squatted our three retainers,
+looking very blown and rather ashamed of themselves.
+
+“Your master wishes to thank you for your help in a dark hour,
+Footsack, and I wish to congratulate you all upon the swiftness of your
+feet,” I said in Dutch.
+
+“Oh! Baas, the Basutos were many and their spears are sharp,” he began
+apologetically.
+
+“Be silent, you running dog,” I said, “and go help your master to
+dismount.”
+
+Then we went through the gate, Anscombe leaning on my shoulder and on
+that of Mr. Marnham, and up the path which was bordered with fences of
+the monthly rose, towards the house. Really this was almost as charming
+to look at near at hand as it had been from far away. Of course the
+whole thing was crude in detail. Rough, half-shaped blocks of marble
+from the neighbouring quarry had been built into walls and columns.
+Nothing was finished, and considered bit by bit all was coarse and
+ugly. Yet the general effect was beautiful because it was an effect of
+design, the picture of an artist who did not fully understand the
+technicalities of painting, the work of a great writer who had as yet
+no proper skill in words. Never did I see a small building that struck
+me more. But then what experience have I of buildings, and, as Anscombe
+reminded me afterwards, it was but a copy of something designed when
+the world was young, or rather when civilization was young, and man new
+risen from the infinite ages of savagery, saw beauty in his dreams and
+tried to symbolize it in shapes of stone.
+
+We came to the broad stoep, to which several rough blocks of marble
+served as steps. On it in a long chair made of native wood and seated
+with hide rimpis, sat or rather lolled a man in a dressing-gown who was
+reading a book. He raised himself as we came and the light of the sun,
+for the verandah faced to the east, shone full upon his face, so that I
+saw him well. It was that of a man of something under forty years of
+age, dark, powerful, and weary—not a good face, I thought. Indeed, it
+gave me the impression of one who had allowed the evil which exists in
+the nature of all of us to become his master, or had even encouraged it
+to do so.
+
+In the Psalms and elsewhere we are always reading of the righteous and
+the unrighteous until those terms grow wearisome. It is only of late
+years that I have discovered, or think that I have discovered, what
+they mean. Our lives cannot be judged by our deeds; they must be judged
+by our desires or rather by our moral attitude. It is not what we do so
+much as what we try to do that counts in the formation of character.
+All fall short, all fail, but in the end those who seek to climb out of
+the pit, those who strive, however vainly, to fashion failure to
+success, are, by comparison, the righteous, while those who are content
+to wallow in our native mire and to glut themselves with the daily
+bread of vice, are the unrighteous. To turn our backs thereon wilfully
+and without cause, is the real unforgiveable sin against the Spirit. At
+least that is the best definition of the problem at which I in my
+simplicity can arrive.
+
+Such thoughts have often occurred to me in considering the character of
+Dr. Rodd and some others whom I have known; indeed the germ of them
+arose in my mind which, being wearied at the time and therefore
+somewhat vacant, was perhaps the more open to external impressions, as
+I looked upon the face of this stranger on the stoep. Moreover, as I am
+proud to record, I did not judge him altogether wrongly. He was a
+blackguard who, under other influences or with a few added grains of
+self-restraint and of the power of recovery, might have become a good
+or even a saintly man. But by some malice of Fate or some evil
+inheritance from an unknown past, those grains were lacking, and
+therefore he went not up but down the hill.
+
+“Case for you, Rodd,” called out Marnham.
+
+“Indeed,” he answered, getting to his feet and speaking in a full
+voice, which, like his partner’s, was that of an educated Englishman.
+“What’s the matter. Horse accident?”
+
+Then we were introduced, and Anscombe began to explain his injury.
+
+“Um!” said the doctor, studying him with dark eyes. “Kaffir bullet
+through the foot some days ago. Ought to be attended to at once. Also
+you look pretty done, so don’t tire yourself with the story, which I
+can get from Mr. Quatermain. Come and lie down and I’ll have a look at
+you while they are cooking breakfast.”
+
+Then he guided us to a room of which the double French windows opened
+on to the stoep, a very pretty room with two beds in it. Making
+Anscombe lie down on one of these he turned up his trouser, undid my
+rough bandage and examined the wound.
+
+“Painful?” he asked.
+
+“Very,” answered Anscombe, “right up to the thigh.”
+
+After this he drew off the nether garments and made a further
+examination.
+
+“Um,” he said again, “I must syringe this out. Stay still while I get
+some stuff.”
+
+I followed him from the room, and when we were out of hearing on the
+stoep inquired what he thought. I did not like the look of that leg.
+
+“It is very bad,” he answered, “so bad that I am wondering if it
+wouldn’t be best to remove the limb below the knee and make it a job.
+You can see for yourself that it is septic and the inflammation is
+spreading up rapidly.”
+
+“Good Heavens!” I exclaimed, “do you fear mortification?”
+
+He nodded. “Can’t say what was on that slug or bit of old iron and he
+hasn’t had the best chance since. Mortification, or tetanus, or both,
+are more than possible. Is he a temperate man?”
+
+“So far as I know,” I answered, and stared at him while he thought.
+Then he said with decision,
+
+“That makes a difference. To lose a foot is a serious thing; some might
+think almost as bad as death. I’ll give him a chance, but if those
+symptoms do not abate in twenty-four hours, I must operate. You needn’t
+be afraid, I was house surgeon at a London Hospital—once, and I keep my
+hand in. Lucky you came straight here.”
+
+Having made his preparations and washed his hands, he returned,
+syringed the wound with some antiseptic stuff, and dressed and bandaged
+the leg up to the knee. After this he gave Anscombe hot milk to drink,
+with two eggs broken into it, and told him to rest a while as he must
+not eat anything solid at present. Then he threw a blanket over him,
+and, signing to me to come away, let down a mat over the window.
+
+“I put a little something into that milk,” he said outside, “which will
+send him to sleep for a few hours. So we will leave him quiet. Now
+you’ll want a wash.”
+
+“Where are you going to take Mr. Quatermain?” asked Marnham who was
+seated on the stoep.
+
+“Into my room,” he answered.
+
+“Why? There’s Heda’s ready.”
+
+“Heda might return at any moment,” replied the doctor. “Also Mr.
+Quatermain had better sleep in Mr. Anscombe’s room. He will very likely
+want some one to look after him at night.”
+
+Marnham opened his mouth to speak again, then changed his mind and was
+silent, as a servant is silent under rebuke. The incident was quite
+trifling, yet it revealed to me the relative attitude of these two men.
+Without a doubt Rodd was the master of his partner, who did not even
+care to dispute with him about the matter of the use of his daughter’s
+bedroom. They were a queer couple who, had it not been for my anxiety
+as to Anscombe’s illness, would have interested me very much, as indeed
+they were destined to do.
+
+Well, I went to tidy up in the doctor’s room, and as he left me alone
+while I washed, had the opportunity of studying it a little. Like the
+rest of the house it was lined with native wood which was made to serve
+as the backs of bookshelves and of cupboards filled with medicines and
+instruments. The books formed a queer collection. There were medical
+works, philosophical works, histories, novels, most of them French, and
+other volumes of a sort that I imagine are generally kept under lock
+and key; also some that had to do with occult matters. There was even a
+Bible. I opened it thoughtlessly, half in idle curiosity, to see
+whether it was ever used, only to replace it in haste. For at the very
+page that my eye fell on, I remember it was one of my favourite
+chapters in Isaiah, was a stamp in violet ink marked H. M.‘s
+Prison—well, I won’t say where.
+
+I may state, however, that the clue enabled me in after years to learn
+an episode in this man’s life which had brought about his ruin. There
+is no need to repeat it or to say more than that gambling and an evil
+use of his medical knowledge to provide the money to pay his debts,
+were the cause of his fall. The strange thing is that he should have
+kept the book which had probably been given to him by the prison
+chaplain. Still everybody makes mistakes sometimes. Or it may have had
+associations for him, and of course he had never seen this stamp upon
+an unread page, which happened to leap to my eye.
+
+Now I was able to make a shrewd guess at his later career. After his
+trouble he had emigrated and began to practise in South Africa. Somehow
+his identity had been discovered; his past was dragged up against him,
+possibly by rivals jealous of his skill; his business went and he found
+it advisable to retire to the Transvaal before the Annexation, at that
+time the home of sundry people of broken repute. Even there he did not
+stop in a town, but hid himself upon the edge of savagery. Here he
+foregathered with another man of queer character, Marnham, and in his
+company entered upon some doubtful but lucrative form of trade while
+still indulging his love of medicine by doctoring and operating upon
+natives, over whom he would in this way acquire great influence.
+Indeed, as I discovered before the day was over, he had quite a little
+hospital at the back of the house in which were four or five beds
+occupied by Kaffirs and served by two male native nurses whom he had
+trained. Also numbers of out-patients visited him, some of whom
+travelled from great distances, and occasionally, but not often, he
+attended white people who chanced to be in the neighbourhood.
+
+The three of us breakfasted in a really charming room from the window
+of which could be studied a view as beautiful as any I know. The
+Kaffirs who waited were well trained and dressed in neat linen
+uniforms. The cooking was good; there was real silver on the table,
+then a strange sight in that part of Africa, and amongst engravings and
+other pictures upon the walls, hung an oil portrait of a very beautiful
+young woman with dark hair and eyes.
+
+“Is that your daughter, Mr. Marnham?” I asked.
+
+“No,” he replied rather shortly, “it is her mother.”
+
+Immediately afterwards he was called from the room to speak to some
+one, whereon the doctor said—
+
+“A foreigner as you see, a Hungarian; the Hungarian women are very good
+looking and very charming.”
+
+“So I have understood,” I answered, “but does this lady live here?”
+
+“Oh, no. She is dead, or I believe that she is dead. I am not sure,
+because I make it a rule never to pry into people’s private affairs.
+All I know about her is that she was a beauty whom Marnham married late
+in life upon the Continent when she was but eighteen. As is common in
+such cases he was very jealous of her, but it didn’t last long, as she
+died, or I understand that she died, within a year of her daughter’s
+birth. The loss affected him so much that he emigrated to South Africa
+with the child and began life anew. I do not think that they correspond
+with Hungary, and he never speaks of her even to his daughter, which
+suggests that she is dead.”
+
+I reflected that all these circumstances might equally well suggest
+several other things, but said nothing, thinking it wisest not to
+pursue the subject. Presently Marnham returned and informed me that a
+native had just brought him word that the Basutos had made off homeward
+with our cattle, but had left the wagon and its contents quite
+untouched, not even stealing the spare guns and ammunition.
+
+“That’s luck,” I said, astonished, “but extremely strange. How do you
+explain it, Mr. Marnham?”
+
+He shrugged his shoulders and answered—
+
+“As every one knows, you are a much greater expert in native habits and
+customs than I am, Mr. Quatermain.”
+
+“There are only two things that I can think of,” I said. “One is that
+for some reason or other they thought the wagon tagati, bewitched you
+know, and that it would bring evil on them to touch it, though this did
+not apply to the oxen. The other is that they supposed it, but not the
+oxen, to belong to some friend of their own whose property they did not
+wish to injure.”
+
+He looked at me sharply but said nothing, and I went on to tell them
+the details of the attack that had been made upon us, adding—
+
+“The odd part of the affair is that one of those Basutos called out to
+us that some infernal scoundrel of a white had warned Sekukuni of our
+coming and that he had ordered them to take our guns and cattle. This
+Basuto, who was wounded and praying for mercy, was drowned before he
+could tell me who the white man was.”
+
+“A Boer, I expect,” said Marnham quietly. “As you know they are not
+particularly well affected towards us English just now. Also I happen
+to be aware that some of them are intriguing with Sekukuni against the
+British through Makurupiji, his ‘Mouth’ or prime-minister, a very
+clever old scamp who likes to have two stools to sit on.”
+
+“And doubtless will end by falling between them. Well, you see, now
+that I think of it, the wounded Kaffir only said that they were ordered
+to take our guns and oxen, and incidentally our lives. The wagon was
+not mentioned.”
+
+“Quite so, Mr. Quatermain. I will send some of our boys to help your
+servants to bring everything it contains up here.”
+
+“Can’t you lend me a team of oxen,” I asked, “to drag it to the house?”
+
+“No, we have nothing but young cattle left. Both red-water and
+lung-sickness have been so bad this season that all the horned stock
+have been swept out of the country. I doubt whether you could beg,
+borrow or steal a team of oxen this side of Pretoria, except from some
+of the Dutchmen who won’t part.”
+
+“That’s awkward. I hoped to be able to trek in a day or two.”
+
+“Your friend won’t be able to trek for a good many days at the best,”
+broke in the doctor, who had been listening unconcernedly, “but of
+course you could get away on the horse after it has rested.”
+
+“You told me you left a span of oxen at Pretoria,” said Marnham. “Why
+not go and fetch them here, or if you don’t like to leave Mr. Anscombe,
+send your driver and the boys.”
+
+“Thanks for the idea. I will think it over,” I answered.
+
+That morning after Footsack and the voorlooper had been sent with some
+of the servants from the Temple to fetch up the contents of the wagon,
+for I was too tired to accompany them, having found that Anscombe was
+still asleep, I determined to follow his example. Finding a long chair
+on the stoep, I sat down and slumbered in it sweetly for hours. I
+dreamt of all sorts of things, then through my dreams it seemed to me
+that I heard two voices talking, those of our Marnham and Rodd, not on
+the stoep, but at a distance from it. As a matter of fact they were
+talking, but so far away that in my ordinary waking state I could never
+have heard them. My own belief is that the senses, and I may add the
+semi-spiritual part of us, are much more acute when we lie half bound
+in the bonds of sleep, than when we are what is called wide awake.
+Doubtless when we are quite bound they attain the limits of their power
+and, I think, sail at times to the uttermost ends of being. But
+unhappily of their experiences we remember nothing when we awake. In
+half sleep it is different; then we do retain some recollection.
+
+In this curious condition of mind it seemed to me that Rodd said to
+Marnham—
+
+“Why have you brought these men here?”
+
+“I did not bring them here,” he answered. “Luck, Fate, Fortune, God or
+the Devil, call it what you will, brought them here, though if you had
+your wish, it is true they would never have come. Still, as they have
+come, I am glad. It is something to me, living in this hell, to get a
+chance of talking to English gentlemen again before I die.”
+
+“English gentlemen,” remarked Rodd reflectively, “Well, Anscombe is of
+course, but how about that other hunter? After all, in what way is he
+better than the scores of other hunters and Kaffir traders and
+wanderers whom one meets in this strange land?”
+
+“In what way indeed?” thought I to myself, in my dream.
+
+“If you can’t see, I can’t explain to you. But as I happen to know, the
+man is of blood as good as mine—and a great deal better than yours,” he
+added with a touch of insolence. “Moreover, he has an honest name among
+white and black, which is much in this country.”
+
+“Yes,” replied the doctor in the same reflective voice, “I agree with
+you, I let him pass as a gentleman. But I repeat, Why did you bring
+them here when with one more word it would have been so easy—” and he
+stopped.
+
+“I have told you, it was not I. What are you driving at?”
+
+“Do you think it is exactly convenient, especially when we are under
+the British flag again, to have two people who, we both admit, are
+English gentlemen, that is, clean, clear-eyed men, considering us and
+our affairs for an indefinite period, just because you wish for the
+pleasure of their society? Would it not have been better to tell those
+Basutos to let them trek on to Pretoria?”
+
+“I don’t know what would have been better. I repeat, what are you
+driving at?
+
+“Heda is coming home in a day or two; she might be here any time,”
+remarked Rodd as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe.
+
+“Yes, because you made me write and say that I wanted her. But what of
+that?”
+
+“Nothing in particular, except that I am not sure that I wish her to
+associate with ‘an English gentleman’ like this Anscombe.”
+
+Marnham laughed scornfully. “Ah! I understand,” he said. “Too clean and
+straight. Complications might ensue and the rest of it. Well, I wish to
+God they would, for I know the Anscombes, or used to, and I know the
+genus called Rodd.”
+
+“Don’t be insulting; you may carry the thing too far one day, and
+whatever I have done I have paid for. But you’ve not paid—yet.”
+
+“The man is very ill. You are a skilled doctor. If you’re afraid of
+him, why don’t you kill him?” asked Marnham with bitter scorn.
+
+“There you have me,” replied Rodd. “Men may shed much, but most of them
+never shed their professional honour. I shall do my honest best to cure
+Mr. Anscombe, and I tell you that he will take some curing.”
+
+Then I woke up, and as no one was in sight, wondered whether or no I
+had been dreaming. The upshot of it was that I made up my mind to send
+Footsack to Pretoria for the oxen, not to go myself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+A GAME OF CARDS
+
+
+I slept in Anscombe’s room that night and looked after him. He was very
+feverish and the pain in his leg kept him awake a good deal. He told me
+that he could not bear Dr. Rodd and wished to get away at once. I had
+to explain to him that this was impossible until his spare oxen arrived
+which I was going to send for to Pretoria, but of other matters,
+including that of the dangerous state of his foot, I said nothing. I
+was thankful when towards two in the morning, he fell into a sound
+sleep and allowed me to do the same.
+
+Before breakfast time, just as I had finished dressing myself in some
+of the clean things which had been brought from the wagon, Rodd came
+and made a thorough and business-like examination of his patient, while
+I awaited the result with anxiety on the stoep. At length he appeared
+and said—
+
+“Well, I think that we shall be able to save the foot, though I can’t
+be quite sure for another twenty-four hours. The worst symptoms have
+abated and his temperature is down by two degrees. Anyway he will have
+to stay in bed and live on light food till it is normal, after which he
+might lie in a long chair on the stoep. On no account must he attempt
+to stand.”
+
+I thanked him for his information heartily enough and asked him if he
+knew where Marnham was, as I wanted to speak to him with reference to
+the despatch of Footsack to fetch the oxen from Pretoria.
+
+“Not up yet, I think,” he answered. “I fancy that yesterday was one of
+his ‘wet’ nights, excitement of meeting strangers and so on.”
+
+“Wet nights?” I queried, wishing for a clearer explanation.
+
+“Yes, he is a grand old fellow, one of the best, but like most other
+people he has his little weaknesses, and when the fit is on him he can
+put away a surprising amount of liquor. I tell you so that you should
+not be astonished if you notice anything, or try to argue with him when
+he is in that state, as then his temper is apt to be—well, lively. Now
+I must go and give him a pint of warm milk; that is his favourite
+antidote, and in fact the best there is.”
+
+I thought to myself that we had struck a nice establishment in which to
+be tied, literally by the leg, for an indefinite period. I was not
+particularly flush at the time, but I know I would have paid a £100 to
+be out of it; before the end I should have been glad to throw in
+everything that I had. But mercifully that was hidden from me.
+
+Rodd and I breakfasted together and discoursed of Kaffir customs, as to
+which he was singularly well informed. Then I accompanied him to see
+his native patients in the little hospital of which I have spoken.
+Believing the man to be a thorough scamp as I did, it was astonishing
+to me to note how gentle and forbearing he was to these people. Of his
+skill I need say nothing, as that was evident. He was going to perform
+an internal operation upon a burly old savage, rather a serious one I
+believe; at any rate it necessitated chloroform. He asked me if I would
+like to assist, but I declined respectfully, having no taste for such
+things. So I left him boiling his instruments and putting on what
+looked like a clean nightgown over his clothes, and returned to the
+stoep.
+
+Here I found Marnham, whose eyes were rather bloodshot, though
+otherwise, except for a shaky hand, he seemed right enough. He murmured
+something about having overslept himself and inquired very politely,
+for his manners were beautiful, after Anscombe and as to whether we
+were quite comfortable and so forth. After this I consulted him as to
+the best road for our servants to travel by to Pretoria, and later on
+despatched them, giving Footsack various notes to ensure the delivery
+of the oxen to him. Also I gave him some money to pay for their keep
+and told him with many threats to get back with the beasts as quick as
+he could travel. Then I sent him and the two other boys off, not
+without misgivings, although he was an experienced man in his way and
+promised faithfully to fulfil every injunction to the letter. To me he
+seemed so curiously glad to go that I inquired the reason, since after
+a journey like ours, it would have been more natural if he had wished
+to rest.
+
+“Oh! Baas,” he said, “I don’t think this Tampel very healthy for
+coloured people. I am told of some who have died here. That man Karl
+who gave me the diamond, I think he must have died also, at least I saw
+his spook last night standing over me and shaking his head, and the
+boys saw it too.”
+
+“Oh! be off with your talk of spooks,” I said, “and come back quickly
+with those oxen, or I promise you that you will die and be a spook
+yourself.”
+
+“I will, Baas, I will!” he ejaculated and departed almost at a run,
+leaving me rather uncomfortable.
+
+I believed nothing of the tale of the spook of Karl, but I saw that
+Footsack believed in it, and was afraid lest he might be thereby
+prevented from returning. I would much rather have gone myself, but it
+was impossible for me to leave Anscombe so ill in the hands of our
+strange hosts. And there was no one else whom I could send. I might
+perhaps have ridden to Pilgrim’s Rest and tried to find a white
+messenger there; indeed afterwards I regretted not having done so,
+although it would have involved at least a day’s absence at a very
+critical time. But the truth is I never thought of it until too late,
+and probably if I had, I should not have been able to discover anyone
+whom I could trust.
+
+As I walked back to the house, having parted from Footsack on the top
+of a neighbouring ridge whence I could point out his path to him, I met
+Marnham riding away. He pulled up and said that he was going down to
+the Granite stream to arrange about setting some one up to watch the
+wagon. I expressed sorrow that he should have the trouble, which should
+have been mine if I could have got away, whereon he answered that he
+was glad of the opportunity for a ride, as it was something to do.
+
+“How do you fill in your time here,” I asked carelessly, “as you don’t
+farm?”
+
+“Oh! by trading,” he replied, and with a nod set his horse to a canter.
+
+A queer sort of trading, thought I to myself, where there is no store.
+Now what exactly does he trade in, I wonder?
+
+As it happened I was destined to find out before I was an hour older.
+Having given Anscombe a look and found that he was comfortable, I
+thought that I would inspect the quarry whence the marble came of which
+the house was built, as it had occurred to me that if there was plenty
+of it, it might be worth exploiting some time in the future. It had
+been pointed out to me in the midst of some thorns in a gully that ran
+at right angles to the main kloof not more than a few hundred yards
+from the house. Following a path over which the stones had been dragged
+originally, I came to the spot and discovered that a little cavity had
+been quarried in what seemed to me to be a positive mountain of pure
+white marble. I examined the place as thoroughly as I could, climbing
+among some bushes that grew in surface earth which had been washed down
+from the top, in order to do so.
+
+At the back of these bushes there was a hole large enough for a man to
+creep through. I crept through with the object of ascertaining whether
+the marble veins continued. To my surprise I found a stout yellow-wood
+door within feet of the mouth of the hole. Reflecting that no doubt it
+was here that the quarrymen kept, or had kept tools and explosives, I
+gave it a push. I suppose it had been left unfastened accidentally, or
+that something had gone wrong with the lock; at any rate it swung open.
+Pursuing my researches as to the depth of the marble I advanced boldly
+and, the place being dark, struck a match. Evidently the marble did
+continue, as I could see by the glittering roof of a cavern, for such
+it was. But the floor attracted my attention as well as the roof, for
+on it were numerous cases not unlike coffins, bearing the stamp of a
+well-known Birmingham firm, labelled “fencing iron” and addressed to
+Messrs. Marnham & Rodd, Transvaal, _via_ Delagoa Bay.
+
+I knew at once what they were, having seen the like before, but if any
+doubt remained in my mind it was easy to solve, for as it chanced one
+of the cases was open and half emptied. I slipped my hand into it. As I
+thought it contained the ordinary Kaffir gun of commerce, cost
+delivered in Africa, say 35s.; cost delivered to native chief in cash
+or cattle, say £10, which, when the market is eager, allows for a
+decent profit. Contemplating those cases, survivors probably of a much
+larger stock, I understood how it came about that Sekukuni had dared to
+show fight against the Government. Doubtless it was hence that the guns
+had come which sent a bullet through Anscombe’s foot and nearly
+polished off both of us.
+
+Moreover, as further matches showed me, that cave contained other
+stores—item, kegs of gunpowder; item, casks of cheap spirit; item, bars
+of lead, also a box marked “bullet moulds” and another marked
+“Percussion caps.” I think, too, there were some innocent bags full of
+beads and a few packages of Birmingham-made assegai blades. There may
+have been other things, but if so I did not wait to investigate them.
+Gathering up the ends of my matches and, in case there should be any
+dust in the place that would show footmarks, flapping the stone floor
+behind me with my pocket handkerchief, I retired and continued my
+investigations of that wonderful marble deposit from the bottom of the
+quarry, to which, having re-arranged the bushes, I descended by another
+route, leaping like a buck from stone to stone.
+
+It was just as well that I did so, for a few minutes later Dr. Rodd
+appeared.
+
+“Made a good job of your operation?” I asked cheerfully.
+
+“Pretty fair, thanks,” he answered, “although that Kaffir tried to
+brain the nurse-man when he was coming out of the anæsthetic. But are
+you interested in geology?”
+
+“A little,” I replied, “that is if there is any chance of making money
+out of it, which there ought to be here, as this marble looks almost as
+good as that of Carrara. But flint instruments are more my line, that
+is in an ignorant and amateur way, as I think they are in yours, for I
+saw some in your room. Tell me, what do you think of this. Is it a
+scraper?” and I produced a stone out of my pocket which I had found a
+week before in the bush-veld.
+
+At once he forgot his suspicions, of which I could see he arrived very
+full indeed. This curious man, as it happened, was really fond of flint
+instruments, of which he knew a great deal.
+
+“Did you find this here?” he asked.
+
+I led him several yards further from the mouth of the cave and pointed
+out the exact spot where I said I had picked it up amongst some quarry
+debris. Then followed a most learned discussion, for it appeared that
+this was a flint instrument of the rarest and most valuable type, one
+that Noah might have used, or Job might have scraped himself with, and
+the question was how the dickens had it come among that quarry debris.
+In the end we left the problem undecided, and having presented the
+article to Dr. Rodd, a gift for which he thanked me with real warmth, I
+returned to the house filled with the glow that rewards one who has
+made a valuable discovery.
+
+Of the following three days I have nothing particular to say, except
+that during them I was perhaps more acutely bored than ever I had been
+in my life before. The house was beautiful in its own fashion; the food
+was excellent; there was everything I could want to drink, and Rodd
+announced that he no longer feared the necessity of operation upon
+Anscombe’s leg. His recovery was now a mere matter of time, and
+meanwhile he must not use his foot or let the blood run into it more
+than could be helped, which meant that he must keep himself in a
+recumbent position. The trouble was that I had nothing on earth to do
+except study the characters of our hosts, which I found disagreeable
+and depressing. I might have gone out shooting, but nothing of the sort
+was allowed upon the property in obedience to the wish of Miss Heda, a
+mysterious young person who was always expected and never appeared, and
+beyond it I was afraid to travel for fear of Basutos. I might have gone
+to Pilgrim’s Rest or Lydenburg to make report of the nefarious deeds of
+the said Basutos, but at best it would have taken one or two days, and
+possibly I should have been detained by officials who never consider
+any one’s time except their own.
+
+This meant that I should have been obliged to leave Anscombe alone,
+which I did not wish to do, so I just sat still and, as I have said,
+was intensely bored, hanging about the place and smoking more than was
+good for me.
+
+In due course Anscombe emerged on to the stoep, where he lay with his
+leg up, and was also bored, especially after he had tried to pump old
+Marnham about his past in the Guards and completely failed. It was in
+this mood of utter dejection that we agreed to play a game of cards one
+evening. Not that either of us cared for cards; indeed, personally, I
+have always detested them because, with various-coloured counters to
+represent money which never passed, they had formed one of the
+afflictions of my youth.
+
+It was so annoying if you won, to be handed a number of green counters
+and be informed that they represented so many hundreds or thousands of
+pounds, or vice-versa if you lost, for as it cost no one anything, my
+dear father insisted upon playing for enormous stakes. Never in any
+aspect of life have I cared for fooling. Anscombe also disliked cards,
+I think because his ancestors too had played with counters, such as
+some that I have seen belonging to the Cocoa-Tree Club and other
+gambling places of a past generation, marked as high as a thousand
+guineas, which counters must next morning be redeemed in hard cash,
+whereby his family had been not a little impoverished.
+
+“I fancy you will find they are high-fliers,” he said when the pair had
+left to fetch a suitable table, for the night being very hot we were
+going to play on the stoep by the light of the hanging paraffin lamp
+and some candles. I replied to the effect that I could not afford to
+lose large sums of money, especially to men who for aught I knew might
+then be engaged in marking the cards.
+
+“I understand,” he answered. “Don’t you bother about that, old fellow.
+This is my affair, arranged for my special amusement. I shan’t grumble
+if the fun costs something, for I am sure there will be fun.”
+
+“All right,” I said, “only if we should happen to win money, it’s
+yours, not mine.”
+
+To myself I reflected, however, that with these two opponents we had
+about as much chance of winning as a snowflake has of resisting the
+atmosphere of the lower regions.
+
+Presently they returned with the table, which had a green cloth over it
+that hung down half-way to the ground. Also one of the native boys
+brought a tray with spirits, from which I judged by various signs, old
+Marnham, who had already drunk his share at dinner, had helped himself
+freely on the way. Soon we were arranged, Anscombe, who was to be my
+partner, opposite to me in his long chair, and the game began.
+
+I forget what particular variant of cards it was we played, though I
+know it admitted of high and progressive stakes. At first, however,
+these were quite moderate and we won, as I suppose we were meant to do.
+After half an hour or so Marnham rose to help himself to brandy and
+water, a great deal of brandy and very little water, while I took a nip
+of Hollands, and Anscombe and Rodd filled their pipes.
+
+“I think this is getting rather slow,” said Rodd to Anscombe. “I vote
+we put a bit more on.”
+
+“As much as you like,” answered Anscombe with a little drawl and
+twinkle of the eye, which always showed that he was amused. “Both
+Quatermain and I are born gamblers. Don’t look angry, Quatermain, you
+know you are. Only if we lose you will have to take a cheque, for I
+have precious little cash.”
+
+“I think that will be good enough,” replied the doctor quietly—“if you
+lose.”
+
+So the stakes were increased to an amount that made my hair stand up
+stiffer even than usual, and the game went on. Behold! a marvel came to
+pass. How it happened I do not know, unless Marnham had brought the
+wrong cards by mistake or had grown too fuddled to understand his
+partner’s telegraphic signals, which I, being accustomed to observe,
+saw him make, not once but often, still we won! What is more, with a
+few set-backs, we went on winning, till presently the sums written down
+to our credit, for no actual cash passed, were considerable. And all
+the while, at the end of each bout Marnham helped himself to more
+brandy, while the doctor grew more mad in a suppressed-thunder kind of
+a way. For my part I became alarmed, especially as I perceived that
+Anscombe was on the verge of breaking into open merriment, and his legs
+being up I could not kick him under the table.
+
+“My partner ought to go to bed. Don’t you think we should stop?” I
+said.
+
+“On the whole I do,” replied Rodd, glowering at Marnham, who, somewhat
+unsteadily, was engaged in wiping drops of brandy from his long beard.
+
+“D——d if I do,” exclaimed that worthy. “When I was young and played
+with gentlemen they always gave losers an opportunity of revenge.”
+
+“Then,” replied Anscombe with a flash of his eyes, “let us try to
+follow in the footsteps of the gentlemen with whom you played in your
+youth. I suggest that we double the stakes.”
+
+“That’s right! That’s the old form!” said Marnham.
+
+The doctor half rose from his chair, then sat down again. Watching him,
+I concluded that he believed his partner, a seasoned vessel, was not so
+drunk as he pretended to be, and either in an actual or a figurative
+sense, had a card up his sleeve. If so, it remained there, for again we
+won; all the luck was with us.
+
+“I am getting tired,” drawled Anscombe. “Lemon and water are not
+sustaining. Shall we stop?”
+
+“By Heaven! no,” shouted Marnham, to which Anscombe replied that if it
+was wished, he would play another hand, but no more.
+
+“All right,” said Marnham, “but let it be for double or quits.”
+
+He spoke quite quietly and seemed suddenly to have grown sober. Now I
+think that Rodd made up his mind that he really was acting and that he
+really had that card up his sleeve. At any rate he did not object. I,
+however, was of a different opinion, having often seen drunken men
+succumb to an access of sobriety under the stress of excitement and
+remarked that it did not last long.
+
+“Do you really mean that?” I said, speaking for the first time and
+addressing myself to the doctor. “I don’t quite know what the sum
+involved is, but it must be large.”
+
+“Of course,” he answered.
+
+Then remembering that at the worst Anscombe stood to lose nothing, I
+shrugged my shoulders and held my tongue. It was Marnham’s deal, and
+although he was somewhat in the shadow of the hanging lamp and the
+candles had guttered out, I distinctly saw him play some hocus-pocus
+with the cards, but in the circumstances made no protest. As it chanced
+he must have hocus-pocused them wrong, for though _his_ hand was full
+of trumps, Rodd held nothing at all. The battle that ensued was quite
+exciting, but the end of it was that an ace in the hand of Anscombe,
+who really was quite a good player, did the business, and we won again.
+
+In the rather awful silence that followed Anscombe remarked in his
+cheerful drawl—
+
+“I’m not sure that my addition is quite right; we’ll check that in the
+morning, but I make out that you two gentlemen owe Quatermain and
+myself £749 10s.”
+
+Then the doctor broke out.
+
+“You accursed old fool,” he hissed—there is no other word for it—at
+Marnham. “How are you going to pay all this money that you have gambled
+away, drunken beast that you are!”
+
+“Easily enough, you felon,” shouted Marnham. “So,” and thrusting his
+hand into his pocket he pulled out a number of diamonds which he threw
+upon the table, adding, “there’s what will cover it twice over, and
+there are more where they came from, as you know well enough, my
+medical jailbird.”
+
+“You dare to call me that,” gasped the doctor in a voice laden with
+fury, so intense that it had deprived him of his reason,
+“you—you—murderer! Oh! why don’t I kill you as I shall some day?” and
+lifting his glass, which was half full, he threw the contents into
+Marnham’s face.
+
+“That’s a nice man for a prospective son-in-law, isn’t he?” exclaimed
+the old scamp, as, seizing the brandy decanter, he hurled it straight
+at Rodd’s head, only missing him by an inch.
+
+“Don’t you think you had both better go to bed, gentlemen?” I inquired.
+“You are saying things you might regret in the morning.”
+
+Apparently they did think it, for without another word they rose and
+marched off in different directions to their respective rooms, which I
+heard both of them lock. For my part I collected the I.O.U.‘s; also the
+diamonds which still lay upon the table, while Anscombe examined the
+cards.
+
+“Marked, by Jove!” he said. “Oh! my dear Quatermain, never have I had
+such an amusing evening in all my life.”
+
+“Shut up, you silly idiot,” I answered. “There’ll be murder done over
+this business, and I only hope it won’t be on us.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+MISS HEDA
+
+
+It might be thought that after all this there would have been a painful
+explanation on the following morning, but nothing of the sort happened.
+After all the greatest art is the art of ignoring things, without which
+the world could scarcely go on, even among the savage races. Thus on
+this occasion the two chief actors in the scene of the previous night
+pretended that they had forgotten what took place, as I believe, to a
+large extent truly. The fierce flame of drink in the one and of passion
+in the other had burnt the web of remembrance to ashes. They knew that
+something unpleasant had occurred and its main outlines; the rest had
+vanished away; perhaps because they knew also that they were not
+responsible for what they said and did, and therefore that what
+occurred had no right to a permanent niche in their memories. It was,
+as it were, something outside of their normal selves. At least so I
+conjectured, and their conduct seemed to give colour to my guess.
+
+The doctor spoke to me of the matter first.
+
+“I fear there was a row last night,” he said; “it has happened here
+before over cards, and will no doubt happen again until matters clear
+themselves up somehow. Marnham, as you see, drinks, and when drunk is
+the biggest liar in the world, and I, I am sorry to say, am cursed with
+a violent temper. Don’t judge either of us too harshly. If you were a
+doctor you would know that all these things come to us with our blood,
+and we didn’t fashion our own clay, did we? Have some coffee, won’t
+you?”
+
+Subsequently when Rodd wasn’t there, Marnham spoke also and with that
+fine air of courtesy which was peculiar to him.
+
+“I owe a deep apology,” he said, “to yourself and Mr. Anscombe. I do
+not recall much about it, but I know there was a scene last night over
+those cursed cards. A weakness overtakes me sometimes. I will say no
+more, except that you, who are also a man who perhaps have felt
+weaknesses of one sort or another, will, I hope, make allowances for me
+and pay no attention to anything that I may have said or done in the
+presence of guests; yes, that is what pains me—in the presence of
+guests.”
+
+Something in his distinguished manner caused me to reflect upon every
+peccadillo that I had ever committed, setting it in its very worst
+light.
+
+“Quite so,” I answered, “quite so. Pray do not mention the matter any
+more, although—” These words seemed to jerk themselves out of my
+throat, “you did call each other by such very hard names.”
+
+“I daresay,” he answered with a vacant smile, “but if so they meant
+nothing.”
+
+“No, I understand, just like a lovers’ quarrel. But look here, you left
+some diamonds on the table which I took to keep the Kaffirs out of
+temptation. I will fetch them.”
+
+“Did I? Well, probably I left some I.O.U.‘s also which might serve for
+pipelights. So suppose we set the one against the other. I don’t know
+the value of either the diamonds or the pipelights, it may be less or
+more, but for God’s sake don’t let me see the beastly things again.
+There’s no need, I have plenty.”
+
+“I must speak to Anscombe,” I answered. “The money at stake was his,
+not mine.”
+
+“Speak to whom you will,” he replied, and I noted that the throbbing
+vein upon his forehead indicated a rising temper. “But never let me see
+those diamonds again. Throw them into the gutter if you wish, but never
+let me see them again, or there will be trouble.”
+
+Then he flung out of the room, leaving his breakfast almost untasted.
+
+Reflecting that this queer old bird probably did not wish to be
+cross-questioned as to his possession of so many uncut diamonds, or
+that they were worth much less than the sum he had lost, or possibly
+that they were not diamonds at all but glass, I went to report the
+matter to Anscombe. He only laughed and said that as I had got the
+things I had better keep them until something happened, for we had both
+got it into our heads that something would happen before we had done
+with that establishment.
+
+So I went to put the stones away as safely as I could. While I was
+doing so I heard the rumble of wheels, and came out just in time to see
+a Cape cart, drawn by four very good horses and driven by a Hottentot
+in a smart hat and a red waistband, pull up at the garden gate. Out of
+this cart presently emerged a neatly dressed lady, of whom all I could
+see was that she was young, slender and rather tall; also, as her back
+was towards me, that she had a great deal of auburn hair.
+
+“There!” said Anscombe. “I knew that something would happen. Heda has
+happened. Quatermain, as neither her venerated parent nor her loving
+fiance, for such I gather he is, seems to be about, you had better go
+and give her a hand.”
+
+I obeyed with a groan, heartily wishing that Heda hadn’t happened,
+since some sense warned me that she would only add to the present
+complications. At the gate, having given some instructions to a very
+stout young coloured woman who, I took it, was her maid, about a basket
+of flower roots in the cart, she turned round suddenly and we came face
+to face with the gate between us. For a moment we stared at each other,
+I reflecting that she really was very pretty with her delicately-shaped
+features, her fresh, healthy-looking complexion, her long dark
+eyelashes and her lithe and charming figure. What she reflected about
+me I don’t know, probably nothing half so complimentary. Suddenly,
+however, her large greyish eyes grew troubled and a look of alarm
+appeared upon her face.
+
+“Is anything wrong with my father?” she asked. “I don’t see him.”
+
+“If you mean Mr. Marnham,” I replied, lifting my hat, “I believe that
+Dr. Rodd and he—”
+
+“Never mind about Dr. Rodd,” she broke in with a contemptuous little
+jerk of her chin, “how is my father?”
+
+“I imagine much as usual. He and Dr. Rodd were here a little while ago,
+I suppose that they have gone out” (as a matter of fact they had, but
+in different directions).
+
+“Then that’s all right,” she said with a sigh of relief. “You see, I
+heard that he was very ill, which is why I have come back.”
+
+So, thought I to myself, she loves that old scamp and she—doesn’t love
+the doctor. There will be more trouble as sure as five and two are
+seven. All we wanted was a woman to make the pot boil over.
+
+Then I opened the gate and took a travelling bag from her hand with my
+politest bow.
+
+“My name is Quatermain and that of my friend Anscombe. We are staying
+here, you know,” I said rather awkwardly.
+
+“Indeed,” she answered with a delightful smile, “what a very strange
+place to choose to stay in.”
+
+“It is a beautiful house,” I remarked.
+
+“Not bad, although I designed it, more or less. But I was alluding to
+its inhabitants.”
+
+This finished me, and I am sure she felt that I could think of nothing
+nice to say about those inhabitants, for I heard her sigh. We walked
+side by side up the rose-fringed path and presently arrived at the
+stoep, where Anscombe, whose hair I had cut very nicely on the previous
+day, was watching us from his long chair. They looked at each other,
+and I saw both of them colour a little, out of mere foolishness, I
+suppose.
+
+“Anscombe,” I said, “this is—” and I paused, not being quite certain
+whether she also was called Marnham. “Heda Marnham,” she interrupted.
+
+“Yes—Miss Heda Marnham, and this is the Honourable Maurice Anscombe.”
+
+“Forgive me for not rising, Miss Marnham,” said Anscombe in his
+pleasant voice (by the way hers was pleasant too, full and rather low,
+with just a suggestion of something foreign about it). “A shot through
+the foot prevents me at present.”
+
+“Who shot you?” she asked quickly.
+
+“Oh! only a Kaffir.”
+
+“I am so sorry, I hope you will get well soon. Forgive me now, I must
+go to look for my father.”
+
+“She is uncommonly pretty,” remarked Anscombe, “and a lady into the
+bargain. In reflecting on old Marnham’s sins we must put it to his
+credit that he has produced a charming daughter.”
+
+“Too pretty and charming by half,” I grunted.
+
+“Perhaps Dr. Rodd is of the same way of thinking. Great shame that such
+a girl should be handed over to a medical scoundrel like Dr. Rodd. I
+wonder if she cares for him?”
+
+“Just about as much as a canary cares for a tom-cat. I have found that
+out already.”
+
+“Really, Quatermain, you are admirable. I never knew anyone who could
+make a better use of the briefest opportunity.”
+
+Then we were silent, waiting, not without a certain impatience, for the
+return of Miss Heda. She did return with surprising quickness
+considering that she had found time to search for her parent, to change
+into a clean white dress, and to pin a single hibiscus flower on to her
+bodice which gave just the touch of colour that was necessary to
+complete her costume.
+
+“I can’t find my father,” she said, “but the boys say he has gone out
+riding. I can’t find anybody. When you have been summoned from a long
+way off and travelled post-haste, rather to your own inconvenience, it
+is amusing, isn’t it?”
+
+“Wagons and carts in South Africa don’t arrive like express trains,
+Miss Marnham,” said Anscombe, “so you shouldn’t be offended.”
+
+“I am not at all offended, Mr. Anscombe. Now that I know there is
+nothing the matter with my father I’m—But, tell me, how did you get
+your wound?”
+
+So he told her with much amusing detail after his fashion. She listened
+quietly with a puckered up brow and only made one comment. It was,—
+
+“I wonder what white man told those Sekukuni Kaffirs that you were
+coming.”
+
+“I don’t know,” he answered, “but he deserves a bullet through him
+somewhere above the ankle.”
+
+“Yes, though few people get what they deserve in this wicked world.”
+
+“So I have often thought. Had it been otherwise, for example, I should
+have been—”
+
+“What would you have been?” she asked, considering him curiously.
+
+“Oh! a better shot than Mr. Allan Quatermain, and as beautiful as a
+lady I once saw in my youth.”
+
+“Don’t talk rubbish before luncheon,” I remarked sternly, and we all
+laughed, the first wholesome laughter that I had heard at the Temple.
+For this young lady seemed to bring happiness and merriment with her. I
+remember wondering what it was of which her coming reminded me, and
+concluding that it was like the sight and smell of a peach orchard in
+full bloom stumbled on suddenly in the black desert of the burnt winter
+veld.
+
+After this we became quite friendly. She dilated on her skill in having
+produced the Temple from an old engraving, which she fetched and showed
+to us, at no greater an expense than it would have cost to build an
+ordinary house.
+
+“That is because the marble was at hand,” said Anscombe.
+
+“Quite so,” she replied demurely. “Speaking in a general sense one can
+do many things in life—if the marble is at hand. Only most of us when
+we look for marble find sandstone or mud.”
+
+“Bravo!” said Anscombe, “I have generally lit upon the sandstone.”
+
+“And I on the mud,” she mused.
+
+“And I on all three, for the earth contains marble and mud and
+sandstone, to say nothing of gold and jewels,” I broke in, being tired
+of silence.
+
+But neither of them paid much attention to me. Anscombe did say, out of
+politeness, I suppose, that pitch and subterranean fires should be
+added, or some such nonsense.
+
+Then she began to tell him of her infantile memories of Hungary, which
+were extremely faint; of how they came to this place and lived first of
+all in two large Kaffir huts, until suddenly they began to grow rich;
+of her school days at Maritzburg; of the friends with whom she had been
+staying, and I know not what, until at last I got up and went out for a
+walk.
+
+When I returned an hour or so later they were still talking, and so
+continued to do until Dr. Rodd arrived upon the scene. At first they
+did not see him, for he stood at an angle to them, but I saw him and
+watched his face with a great deal of interest. It, or rather its
+expression, was not pleasant; before now I have seen something like it
+on that of a wild beast which thinks that it is about to be robbed of
+its prey by a stronger wild beast, in short, a mixture of hate, fear
+and jealousy—especially jealousy. At the last I did not wonder, for
+these two seemed to be getting on uncommonly well.
+
+They were, so to speak, well matched. She, of course, was the better
+looking of the two, a really pretty and attractive young woman indeed,
+but the vivacity of Anscombe’s face, the twinkle of his merry blue eyes
+and its general refinement made up for what he lacked—regularity of
+feature. I think he had just told her one of his good stories which he
+always managed to make so humorous by a trick of pleasing and harmless
+exaggeration, and they were both laughing merrily. Then she caught
+sight of the doctor and her merriment evaporated like a drop of water
+on a hot shovel. Distinctly I saw her pull herself together and prepare
+for something.
+
+“How do you do?” she said rapidly, rising and holding out her slim
+sun-browned hand. “But I need not ask, you look so well.”
+
+“How do you do, my dear,” with a heavy emphasis on the “dear” he
+answered slowly. “But I needn’t ask, for I see that you are in perfect
+health and spirits,” and he bent forward as though to kiss her.
+
+Somehow or other she avoided that endearment or seal of possession. I
+don’t quite know how, as I turned my head away, not wishing to witness
+what I felt to be unpleasant. When I looked up again, however, I saw
+that she had avoided it, the scowl on his face, the demureness of hers
+and Anscombe’s evident amusement assured me of this. She was asking
+about her father; he answered that he also seemed quite well.
+
+“Then why did you write to tell me that I ought to come as he was not
+at all well?” she inquired, with a lifting of her delicate eyebrows.
+
+The question was never answered, for at that moment Marnham himself
+appeared.
+
+“Oh! father,” she said, and rushed into his arms, while he kissed her
+tenderly on both cheeks.
+
+So I was not mistaken, thought I to myself, she does really love this
+moral wreck, and what is more, he loves her, which shows that there
+must be good in him. Is anyone truly bad, I wondered, or for the matter
+of that, truly good either? Is it not all a question of circumstance
+and blood?
+
+Neither then or at any other time have I found an answer to the
+problem. At any rate to me there seemed something beautiful about the
+meeting of these two.
+
+The influence of Miss Heda in the house was felt at once. The boys
+became smarter and put on clean clothes. Vases of flowers appeared in
+the various rooms; ours was turned out and cleaned, a disagreeable
+process so far as we were concerned. Moreover, at dinner both Marnham
+and Rodd wore dress clothes with short jackets, a circumstance that put
+Anscombe and myself to shame since we had none. It was curious to see
+how with those dress clothes, which doubtless awoke old associations
+within him, Marnham changed his colour like a chameleon. Really he
+might have been the colonel of a cavalry regiment rising to toast the
+Queen after he had sent round the wine, so polite and polished was his
+talk. Who could have identified the man with the dry old ruffian of
+twenty-four hours before, he who was drinking claret (and very good
+claret too) mixed with water and listening with a polite interest to
+all the details of his daughter’s journey? Even the doctor looked a
+gentleman, which doubtless he was once upon a time, in evening dress.
+Moreover, some kind of truce had been arranged. He no longer called
+Miss Heda “My dear” or attempted any familiarities, while she on more
+than one occasion very distinctly called him Dr. Rodd.
+
+So much for that night and for several others that followed. As for the
+days they went by pleasantly and idly. Heda walked about on her
+father’s arm, conversed in friendly fashion with the doctor, always
+watching him, I noticed, as a cat watches a dog that she knows is
+waiting an opportunity to spring, and for the rest associated with us
+as much as she could. Particularly did she seem to take refuge behind
+my own insignificance, having, I suppose, come to the conclusion that I
+was a harmless person who might possibly prove useful. But all the
+while I felt that the storm was banking up. Indeed Marnham himself, at
+any rate to a great extent, played the part of the cloud-compelling
+Jove, for soon it became evident to me, and without doubt to Dr. Rodd
+also, that he was encouraging the intimacy between his daughter and
+Anscombe by every means in his power.
+
+In one way and another he had fully informed himself as to Anscombe’s
+prospects in life, which were brilliant enough. Moreover he liked the
+man who, as the remnant of the better perceptions of his youth told
+him, was one of the best class of Englishmen, and what is more, he saw
+that Heda liked him also, as much indeed as she disliked Rodd. He even
+spoke to me of the matter in a round-about kind of fashion, saying that
+the young woman who married Anscombe would be lucky and that the father
+who had him for a son-in-law might go to his grave confident of his
+child’s happiness. I answered that I agreed with him, unless the lady’s
+affections had already caused her to form other ties.
+
+“Affections!” he exclaimed, dropping all pretence, “there are none
+involved in this accursed business, as you are quite sharp enough to
+have seen for yourself.”
+
+“I understood that an engagement was involved,” I remarked.
+
+“On my part, perhaps, not on hers,” he answered. “Oh! can’t you
+understand, Quatermain, that sometimes men find themselves forced into
+strange situations against their will?”
+
+Remembering the very ugly name that I had heard Rodd call Marnham on
+the night of the card party, I reflected that I could understand well
+enough, but I only said—
+
+“After all marriage is a matter that concerns a woman even more than it
+does her father, one, in short, of which she must be the judge.”
+
+“Quite so, Quatermain, but there are some daughters who are prepared to
+make great sacrifices for their fathers. Well, she will be of age ere
+long, if only I can stave it off till then. But how, how?” and with a
+groan he turned and left me.
+
+That old gentleman’s neck is in some kind of a noose, thought I to
+myself, and his difficulty is to prevent the rope from being drawn
+tight. Meanwhile this poor girl’s happiness and future are at stake.
+
+“Allan,” said Anscombe to me a little later, for by now he called me by
+my Christian name, “I suppose you haven’t heard anything about those
+oxen, have you?”
+
+“No, I could scarcely expect to yet, but why do you ask?”
+
+He smiled in his droll fashion and replied, “Because, interesting as
+this household is in sundry ways, I think it is about time that we, or
+at any rate that I, got out of it.”
+
+“Your leg isn’t fit to travel yet, Anscombe, although Rodd says that
+all the symptoms are very satisfactory.”
+
+“Yes, but to tell you the truth I am experiencing other symptoms quite
+unknown to that beloved physician and so unfamiliar to myself that I
+attribute them to the influences of the locality. Altitude affects the
+heart, does it not, and this house stands high.”
+
+“Don’t play off your jokes on me,” I said sternly. “What do you mean?”
+
+“I wonder if you find Miss Heda attractive, Allan, or if you are too
+old. I believe there comes an age when the only beauties that can move
+a man are those of architecture, or scenery, or properly cooked food.”
+
+“Hang it all! I am not Methusaleh,” I replied; “but if you mean that
+you are falling in love with Heda, why the deuce don’t you say so,
+instead of wasting my time and your own?”
+
+“Because time was given to us to waste. Properly considered it is the
+best use to which it can be put, or at any rate the one that does least
+mischief. Also because I wished to make you say it for me that I might
+judge from the effect of your words whether it is or is not true. I may
+add that I fear the former to be the case.”
+
+“Well, if you are in love with the girl you can’t expect one so ancient
+as myself, who is quite out of touch with such follies, to teach you
+how to act.”
+
+“No, Allan. Unfortunately there are occasions when one must rely upon
+one’s own wisdom, and mine, what there is of it, tells me I had better
+get out of this. But I can’t ride even if I took the horse and you ran
+behind, and the oxen haven’t come.”
+
+“Perhaps you could borrow Miss Marnham’s cart in which to run away from
+her,” I suggested sarcastically.
+
+“Perhaps, though I believe it would be fatal to my foot to sit up in a
+cart for the next few days, and the horses seem to have been sent off
+somewhere. Look here, old fellow,” he went on, dropping his bantering
+tone, “it’s rather awkward to make a fool of oneself over a lady who is
+engaged to some one else, especially if one suspects that with a little
+encouragement she might begin to walk the same road. The truth is I
+have taken the fever pretty bad, worse than ever I did before, and if
+it isn’t stopped soon it will become chronic.”
+
+“Oh no, Anscombe, only intermittent at the worst, and African malaria
+nearly always yields to a change of climate.”
+
+“How can I expect a cynic and a misogynist to understand the simple
+fervour of an inexperienced soul—Oh! drat it all, Quatermain, stop your
+acid chaff and tell me what is to be done. Really I am in a tight
+place.”
+
+“Very; so tight that I rejoice to think, as you were kind enough to
+point out, that my years protect me from anything of the sort. I have
+no advice to give; I think you had better ask it of the lady.”
+
+“Well, we did have a little conversation, hypothetical of course, about
+some friends of ours who found themselves similarly situated, and I
+regret to say without result.”
+
+“Indeed. I did not know you had any mutual acquaintances. What did she
+say and do?”
+
+“She said nothing, only sighed and looked as though she were going to
+burst into tears, and all she did was to walk away. I’d have followed
+her if I could, but as my crutch wasn’t there it was impossible. It
+seemed to me that suddenly I had come up against a brick wall, that
+there was something on her mind which she could not or would not let
+out.”
+
+“Yes, and if you want to know, I will tell you what it is. Rodd has got
+a hold over Marnham of a sort that would bring him somewhere near the
+gallows. As the price of his silence Marnham has promised him his
+daughter. The daughter knows that her father is in this man’s power,
+though I think she does not know in what way, and being a good girl—”
+
+“An angel you mean—do call her by her right name, especially in a place
+where angels are so much wanted.”
+
+“Well, an angel if you like—she has promised on her part to marry a man
+she loathes in order to save her parent’s bacon.”
+
+“Just what I concluded, from what we heard in the row. I wonder which
+of that pair is the bigger blackguard. Well, Allan, that settles it.
+You and I are on the side of the angel. You will have to get her out of
+this scrape and—if she’ll have me, I’ll marry her; and if she won’t,
+why it can’t be helped. Now that’s a fair division of labour. How are
+you going to do it? I haven’t an idea, and if I had, I should not
+presume to interfere with one so much older and wiser than myself.”
+
+“I suppose that by the time you appeared in it, the game of heads I win
+and tails you lose had died out of the world,” I replied with an
+indignant snort. “I think the best thing I can do will be to take the
+horse and look for those oxen. Meanwhile you can settle your business
+by the light of your native genius, and I only hope you’ll finish it
+without murder and sudden death.”
+
+“I say, old fellow,” said Anscombe earnestly, “you don’t really mean to
+go off and leave me in this hideousness? I haven’t bothered much up to
+the present because I was sure that you would find a way out, which
+would be nothing to a man of your intellect and experience. I mean it
+honestly, I do indeed.”
+
+“Do you? Well, I can only say that my mind is a perfect blank, but if
+you will stop talking I will try to think the matter over. There’s Miss
+Heda in the garden cutting flowers. I will go to help her, which will
+be a very pleasant change.”
+
+And I went, leaving him to stare after me jealously.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+THE STOEP
+
+
+When I reached Miss Heda she was collecting half-opened monthly roses
+from the hedge, and not quite knowing what to say I made the
+appropriate quotation. At least it was appropriate to my thought, and,
+from her answer, to hers also.
+
+“Yes,” she said, “I am gathering them while I may,” and she sighed and,
+as I thought, glanced towards the verandah, though of this I could not
+be sure because of the wide brim of the hat she was wearing.
+
+Then we talked a little on indifferent matters, while I pricked my
+fingers helping to pluck the roses. She asked me if I thought that
+Anscombe was getting on well, and how long it would be before he could
+travel. I replied that Dr. Rodd could tell her better than myself, but
+that I hoped in about a week.
+
+“In a week!” she said, and although she tried to speak lightly there
+was dismay in her voice.
+
+“I hope you don’t think it too long,” I answered; “but even if he is
+fit to go, the oxen have not come yet, and I don’t quite know when they
+will.”
+
+“Too long!” she exclaimed. “Too long! Oh! if you only knew what it is
+to me to have such guests as you are in this place,” and her dark eyes
+filled with tears.
+
+By now we had passed to the side of the house in search of some other
+flower that grew in the shade, I think it was mignonette, and were out
+of sight of the verandah and quite alone.
+
+“Mr. Quatermain,” she said hurriedly, “I am wondering whether to ask
+your advice about something, if you would give it. I have no one to
+consult here,” she added rather piteously.
+
+“That is for you to decide. If you wish to do so I am old enough to be
+your father, and will do my best to help.”
+
+We walked on to an orange grove that stood about forty yards away,
+ostensibly to pick some fruit, but really because we knew that there we
+should be out of hearing and could see any one who approached.
+
+“Mr. Quatermain,” she said presently in a low voice, “I am in great
+trouble, almost the greatest a woman can have. I am engaged to be
+married to a man whom I do not care for.”
+
+“Then why not break it off? It may be unpleasant, but it is generally
+best to face unpleasant things, and nothing can be so bad as marrying a
+man whom you do not—care for.”
+
+“Because I cannot—I dare not. I have to obey.”
+
+“How old are you, Miss Marnham?”
+
+“I shall be of age in three months’ time. You may guess that I did not
+intend to return here until they were over, but I was, well—trapped. He
+wrote to me that my father was ill and I came.”
+
+“At any rate when they are over you will not have to obey any one. It
+is not long to wait.”
+
+“It is an eternity. Besides this is not so much a question of obedience
+as of duty and of love. I love my father who, whatever his faults, has
+always been very kind to me.”
+
+“And I am sure he loves you. Why not go to him and tell him your
+trouble?”
+
+“He knows it already, Mr. Quatermain, and hates this marriage even more
+than I do, if that is possible. But he is driven to it, as I am. Oh! I
+must tell the truth. The doctor has some hold over him. My father has
+done something dreadful; I don’t know what and I don’t want to know,
+but if it came out it would ruin my father, or worse, worse. I am the
+price of his silence. On the day of our marriage he will destroy the
+proofs. If I refuse to marry him, they will be produced and then—”
+
+“It is difficult,” I said.
+
+“It is more than difficult, it is terrible. If you could see all there
+is in my heart, you would know how terrible.”
+
+“I think I can see, Miss Heda. Don’t say any more now. Give me time to
+consider. In case of necessity come to me again, and be sure that I
+will protect you.”
+
+“But you are going in a week.”
+
+“Many things happen in a week. Sufficient to the day is its evil. At
+the end of the week we will come to some decision unless everything is
+already decided.”
+
+For the next twenty-four hours I reflected on this pretty problem as
+hard as ever I did on anything in all my life. Here was a young woman
+who must somehow be protected from a scoundrel, but who could not be
+protected because she herself had to protect another scoundrel—to wit,
+her own father. Could the thing be faced out? Impossible, for I was
+sure that Marnham had committed a murder, or murders, of which Rodd
+possessed evidence that would hang him. Could Heda be married to
+Anscombe at once? Yes, if both were willing, but then Marnham would
+still be hung. Could they elope? Possibly, but with the same result.
+Could I take her away and put her under the protection of the Court at
+Pretoria? Yes, but with the same result. I wondered what my Hottentot
+retainer, Hans, would have advised, he who was named Light-in-Darkness,
+and in his own savage way was the cleverest and most cunning man that I
+have met. Alas! I could not raise him from the grave to tell me, and
+yet I knew well what he would have answered.
+
+“Baas,” he would have said, “this is a rope which only the pale old man
+(i.e., death) can cut. Let this doctor die or let the father die, and
+the maiden will be free. Surely heaven is longing for one or both of
+them, and if necessary, Baas, I believe that I can point out a path to
+heaven!”
+
+I laughed to myself at the thought, which was one that a white man
+could not entertain even as a thought. And I felt that the hypothetical
+Hans was right, death alone could cut this knot, and the reflection
+made me shiver.
+
+That night I slept uneasily and dreamed. I dreamed that once more I was
+in the Black Kloof in Zululand, seated in front of the huts at the end
+of the kloof. Before me squatted the old wizard, Zikali, wrapped up in
+his kaross—Zikali, the “Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born,” whom I
+had not seen for years. Near him were the ashes of a fire, by the help
+of which I knew he had been practising divination. He looked up and
+laughed one of his terrible laughs.
+
+“So you are here again, Macumazahn,” he said, “grown older, but still
+the same; here at the appointed hour. What do you come to seek from the
+Opener of Roads? Not Mameena as I think this time. No, no, it is she
+who seeks you this time, Macumazahn. She found you once, did she not?
+Far away to the north among a strange people who worshipped an Ivory
+Child, a people of whom I knew in my youth, and afterwards, for was not
+their prophet, Harut, a friend of mine and one of our brotherhood? She
+found you beneath the tusks of the elephant, Jana, whom Macumazahn the
+skilful could not hit. Oh! do not look astonished.”
+
+“How do you know?” I asked in my dream.
+
+“Very simply, Macumazahn. A little yellow man named Hans has been with
+me and told me all the story not an hour ago, after which I sent for
+Mameena to learn if it were true. She will be glad to meet you,
+Macumazahn, she who has a hungry heart that does not forget. Oh! don’t
+be afraid. I mean here beneath the sun, in the land beyond there will
+be no need for her to meet you since she will dwell ever at your side.”
+
+“Why do you lie to me, Zikali?” I seemed to ask. “How can a dead man
+speak to you and how can I meet a woman who is dead?”
+
+“Seek the answer to that question in the hour of the battle when the
+white men, your brothers, fall beneath assegai as weeds fall before the
+hoe—or perhaps before it. But have done with Mameena, since she who
+never grows more old can well afford to wait. It is not of Mameena that
+you came to speak to me; it is of a fair white woman named Heddana you
+would speak, and of the man she loves, you, who will ever be mixing
+yourself up in affairs of others, and therefore must bear their burdens
+with no pay save that of honour. Hearken, for the time is short. When
+the storm bursts upon them bring hither the fair maiden, Heddana, and
+the white lord, Mauriti, and I will shelter them for your sake. Take
+them nowhere else. Bring them hither if they would escape trouble. I
+shall be glad to see you, Macumazahn, for at last I am about to smite
+the Zulu House of Senzangacona, my foes, with a bladder full of blood,
+and oh! it stains their doorposts red.”
+
+Then I woke up, feeling afraid, as one does after a nightmare, and was
+comforted to hear Anscombe sleeping quietly on the other side of the
+room.
+
+“Mauriti. Why did Zikali call him Mauriti?” I wondered drowsily to
+myself. “Oh! of course his name is Maurice, and it was a Zulu
+corruption of a common sort as was Heddana of Heda.” Then I dozed off
+again, and by the morning had forgotten all about my dream until it was
+brought back to me by subsequent events. Still it was this and nothing
+else that put it into my head to fly to Zululand on an emergency that
+was to arise ere long.[1]
+
+ [1] For the history of Zikali and Mameena see the book called _Child
+ of Storm_ by H. Rider Haggard.
+
+
+That evening Rodd was absent from dinner, and on inquiring where he
+might be, I was informed that he had ridden to visit a Kaffir headman,
+a patient of his who lived at a distance, and would very probably sleep
+at the kraal, returning early next day. One of the topics of
+conversation during dinner was as to where the exact boundary line used
+to run between the Transvaal and the country over which the Basuto
+chief, Sekukuni, claimed ownership and jurisdiction. Marnham said that
+it passed within a couple of miles of his house, and when we rose, the
+moon being very bright, offered to show me where the beacons had been
+placed years before by a Boer Commission. I accepted, as the night was
+lovely for a stroll after the hot day. Also I was half conscious of
+another undefined purpose in my mind, which perhaps may have spread to
+that of Marnham. Those two young people looked very happy together
+there on the stoep, and as they must part so soon it would, I thought,
+be kind to give them the opportunity of a quiet chat.
+
+So off we went to the brow of the hill on which the Temple stood,
+whence old Marnham pointed out to me a beacon, which I could not see in
+the dim, silvery bush-veld below, and how the line ran from it to
+another beacon somewhere else.
+
+“You know the Yellow-wood swamp,” he said. “It passes straight through
+that. That is why those Basutos who were following you pulled up upon
+the edge of the swamp, though as a matter of fact, according to their
+ideas, they had a perfect right to kill you on their side of the line
+which cuts through the middle.”
+
+I made some remark to the effect that I presumed that the line had in
+fact ceased to exist at all, as the Basuto territory had practically
+become British; after which we strolled back to the house. Walking
+quietly between the tall rose hedges and without speaking, for each of
+us was preoccupied with his own thoughts, suddenly we came upon a very
+pretty scene.
+
+We had left Anscombe and Heda seated side by side on the stoep. They
+were still there, but much closer together. In fact his arms were round
+her, and they were kissing each other in a remarkably whole-hearted
+way. About this there could be no mistake, since the rimpi-strung couch
+on which they sat was immediately under the hanging lamp—a somewhat
+unfortunate situation for such endearments. But what did they think of
+hanging lamps or any other lights, save those of their own eyes, they
+who were content to kiss and murmur words of passion as though they
+were as much alone as Adam and Eve in Eden? What did they think either
+of the serpent coiled about the bole of this tree of knowledge whereof
+they had just plucked the ripe and maddening fruit?
+
+By a mutual instinct Marnham and I withdrew ourselves, very gently
+indeed, purposing to skirt round the house and enter it from behind, or
+to be seized with a fit of coughing at the gate, or to do something to
+announce our presence at a convenient distance. When we had gone a
+little way we heard a crash in the bushes.
+
+“Another of those cursed baboons robbing the garden,” remarked Marnham
+reflectively.
+
+“I think he is going to rob the house also,” I replied, turning to
+point to something dark that seemed to be leaping up on to the
+verandah.
+
+Next moment we heard Heda utter a little cry of alarm, and a man say in
+a low fierce voice—
+
+“So I have caught you at last, have I!”
+
+“The doctor has returned from his business rounds sooner than was
+expected, and I think that we had better join the party,” I remarked,
+and made a bee line for the stoep, Marnham following me.
+
+I think that I arrived just in time to prevent mischief. There, with a
+revolver in his hand, stood Rodd, tall and formidable, his dark face
+looking like that of Satan himself, a very monument of rage and
+jealousy. There in front of him on the couch sat Heda, grasping its
+edge with her fingers, her cheeks as pale as a sheet and her eyes
+shining. By her side was Anscombe, cool and collected as usual, I
+noticed, but evidently perplexed.
+
+“If there is any shooting to be done,” he was saying, “I think you had
+better begin with me.”
+
+His calmness seemed to exasperate Rodd, who lifted the revolver. But I
+too was prepared, for in that house I always went armed. There was no
+time to get at the man, who was perhaps fifteen feet away, and I did
+not want to hurt him. So I did the best I could; that is, I fired at
+the pistol in his hand, and the light being good, struck it near the
+hilt and knocked it off the barrel before he could press the trigger,
+if he really meant to shoot.
+
+“That’s a good shot,” remarked Anscombe who had seen me, while Rodd
+stared at the hilt which he still held.
+
+“A lucky one,” I answered, walking forward. “And now, Dr. Rodd, will
+you be so good as to tell me what you mean by flourishing a revolver,
+presumably loaded, in the faces of a lady and an unarmed man?”
+
+“What the devil is that to you,” he asked furiously, “and what do you
+mean by firing at me?”
+
+“A great deal,” I answered, “seeing that a young woman and my friend
+are concerned. As for firing at you, had I done so you would not be
+asking questions now. I fired at the pistol in your hand, but if there
+is more trouble next time it shall be at the holder,” and I glanced at
+my revolver.
+
+Seeing that I meant business he made no reply, but turned upon Marnham
+who had followed me.
+
+“This is your work, you old villain,” he said in a low voice that was
+heavy with hate. “You promised your daughter to me. She is engaged to
+me, and now I find her in this wanderer’s arms.”
+
+“What have I to do with it?” said Marnham. “Perhaps she has changed her
+mind. You had better ask her.”
+
+“There is no need to ask me,” interrupted Heda, who now seemed to have
+got her nerve again. “I _have_ changed my mind. I never loved you, Dr.
+Rodd, and I will not marry you. I love Mr. Anscombe here, and as he has
+asked me to be his wife I mean to marry him.”
+
+“I see,” he sneered, “you want to be a peeress one day, no doubt. Well,
+you never shall if I can help it. Perhaps, too, this fine gentleman of
+yours will not be so particularly anxious to marry you when he learns
+that you are the daughter of a murderer.”
+
+That word was like a bombshell bursting among us. We looked at each
+other as people, yet dazed with the shock, might on a battlefield when
+the noise of the explosion has died and the smoke cleared away, to see
+who is still alive. Anscombe spoke the first.
+
+“I don’t know what you mean or to what you refer,” he said quietly.
+“But at any rate this lady who has promised to marry me is innocent,
+and therefore if all her ancestors had been murderers it would not in
+the slightest turn me from my purpose of marrying her.”
+
+She looked at him, and all the gratitude in the world shone in her
+frightened eyes. Marnham stepped, or rather staggered forward, the blue
+vein throbbing on his forehead.
+
+“He lies,” he said hoarsely, tugging at his long beard. “Listen now and
+I will tell you the truth. Once, more than a year ago, I was drunk and
+in a rage. In this state I fired at a Kaffir to frighten him, and by
+some devil’s chance shot him dead. That’s what he calls being a
+murderer.”
+
+“I have another tale,” said Rodd, “with which I will not trouble this
+company just now. Look here, Heda, either you fulfil your promise and
+marry me, or your father swings.”
+
+She gasped and sank together on the seat as though she had been shot.
+Then I took up my parable.
+
+“Are you the man,” I asked, “to accuse others of crime? Let us see. You
+have spent several months in an English prison (I gave the name) for a
+crime I won’t mention.”
+
+“How do you know—” he began.
+
+“Never mind, I do know and the prison books will show it. Further, your
+business is that of selling guns and ammunition to the Basutos of
+Sekukuni’s tribe, who, although the expedition against them has been
+temporarily recalled, are still the Queen’s enemies. Don’t deny it, for
+I have the proofs. Further, it was you who advised Sekukuni to kill us
+when we went down to his country to shoot the other day, because you
+were afraid that we should discover whence he got his guns.” (This was
+a bow drawn at a venture, but the arrow went home, for I saw his jaw
+drop.) “Further, I believe you to be an illicit diamond buyer, and I
+believe also that you have again been arranging with the Basutos to
+make an end of us, though of these last two items at present I lack
+positive proof. Now, Dr. Rodd, I ask you for the second time whether
+you are a person to accuse others of crimes and whether, should you do
+so, you will be considered a credible witness when your own are brought
+to light?”
+
+“If I had been guilty of any of these things, which I am not, it is
+obvious that my partner must have shared in all of them, except the
+first. So if you inform against me, you inform against him, and the
+father of Heda, whom your friend wishes to marry, will, according to
+your showing, be proved a gun-runner, a thief and a would-be murderer
+of his guests. I should advise you to leave that business alone, Mr.
+Quatermain.”
+
+The reply was bold and clever, so much so that I regarded this
+blackguard with a certain amount of admiration, as I answered—
+
+“I shall take your advice if you take mine to leave another business
+alone, that of this young lady and her father, but not otherwise.”
+
+“Then spare your breath and do your worst; only careful, sharp as you
+think yourself, that your meddling does not recoil on your own head.
+Listen, Heda, either you make up your mind to marry me at once and
+arrange that this young gentleman, who as a doctor I assure you is now
+quite fit to travel without injury to his health, leaves this house
+to-morrow with the spy Quatermain—you might lend him the Cape cart to
+go in—or I start with the proofs to lay a charge of murder against your
+father. I give you till to-morrow morning to have a family council to
+think it over. Good-night.”
+
+“Good-night,” I answered as he passed me, “and please be careful that
+none of us see your face again before to-morrow morning. As you may
+happen to have heard, my native name means Watcher-by-Night,” and I
+looked at the revolver in my hand.
+
+When he had vanished I remarked in as cheerful voice as I could
+command, that I thought it was bedtime, and as nobody stirred, added,
+“Don’t be afraid, young lady. If you feel lonely, you must tell that
+stout maid of yours to sleep in your room. Also, as the night is so hot
+I shall take my nap on the stoep, there, just opposite your window. No,
+don’t let us talk any more now. There will be plenty of time for that
+to-morrow.”
+
+She rose, looked at Anscombe, looked at me, looked at her father very
+pitifully; then with a little exclamation of despair passed into her
+room by the French window, where presently I heard her call the native
+maid and tell her that she was to sleep with her.
+
+Marnham watched her depart. Then he too went with his head bowed and
+staggering a little in his walk. Next Anscombe rose and limped off into
+his room, I following him.
+
+“Well, young man,” I said, “you have put us all in the soup now and no
+mistake.”
+
+“Yes, Allan, I am afraid I have. But on the whole don’t you think it
+rather interesting soup—so many unexpected ingredients, you see!”
+
+“Interesting soup! Unexpected ingredients!” I repeated after him,
+adding, “Why not call it hell’s broth at once?”
+
+Then he became serious, dreadfully serious.
+
+“Look here,” he said, “I love Heda, and whatever her family history may
+be I mean to marry her and face the row at home.”
+
+“You could scarcely do less in all the circumstances, and as for rows,
+that young lady would soon fit herself into any place that you can give
+her. But the question is, how can you marry her?”
+
+“Oh! something will happen,” he replied optimistically.
+
+“You are quite right there. Something will certainly happen, but the
+point is—what? Something was very near happening when I turned up on
+that stoep, so near that I think it was lucky for you, or for Miss
+Heda, or both, that I have learned how to handle a pistol. Now let me
+see your foot, and don’t speak another word to me about all this
+business to-night. I’d rather tackle it when I am clear-headed in the
+morning.”
+
+Well, I examined his instep and leg very carefully and found that Rodd
+was right. Although it still hurt him to walk, the wound was quite
+healed and all inflammation had gone from the limb. Now it was only a
+question of time for the sinews to right themselves. While I was thus
+engaged he held forth on the virtues and charms of Heda, I making no
+comment.
+
+“Lie down and get to sleep, if you can,” I said when I had finished.
+“The door is locked and I am going on to the stoep, so you needn’t be
+afraid of the windows. Good-night.”
+
+I went out and sat myself down in such a position that by the light of
+the hanging lamp, which still burned, I could make sure that no one
+could approach either Heda’s or my room without my seeing him. For the
+rest, all my life I have been accustomed to night vigils, and the
+loaded revolver hung from my wrist by a loop of hide. Moreover, never
+had I felt less sleepy. There I sat hour after hour, thinking.
+
+The substance of my thoughts does not matter, since the events that
+followed make them superfluous to the story. I will merely record,
+therefore, that towards dawn a great horror took hold of me. I did not
+know of what I was afraid, but I was much afraid of something. Nothing
+was passing in either Heda’s or our room, of that I made sure by
+personal examination. Therefore it would seem that my terrors were
+unnecessary, and yet they grew and grew. I felt sure that something was
+happening somewhere, a dread occurrence which it was beyond my power to
+prevent, though whether it were in this house or at the other end of
+Africa I did not know.
+
+The mental depression increased and culminated. Then of a sudden it
+passed completely away, and as I mopped the sweat from off my brow I
+noticed that dawn was breaking. It was a tender and beautiful dawn, and
+in a dim way I took it as a good omen. Of course it was nothing but the
+daily resurrection of the sun, and yet it brought to me comfort and
+hope. The night was past with all its fears; the light had come with
+all its joys. From that moment I was certain that we should triumph
+over these difficulties and that the end of them would be peace.
+
+So sure was I that I ventured to take a nap, knowing that the slightest
+movement or sound would wake me. I suppose I slept until six o’clock,
+when I was aroused by a footfall. I sprang up, and saw before me one of
+our native servants. He was trembling and his face was ashen beneath
+the black. Moreover he could not speak. All he did was to put his head
+on one side, like a dead man, and keep on pointing downwards. Then with
+his mouth open and starting eyes he beckoned to me to follow him.
+
+I followed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+RODD’S LAST CARD
+
+
+The man led me to Marnham’s room, which I had never entered before. All
+I could see at first, for the shutters were closed, was that the place
+seemed large, as bedchambers go in South Africa. When my eyes grew
+accustomed to the light, I made out the figure of a man seated in a
+chair with his head bent forward over a table that was placed at the
+foot of the bed almost in the centre of the room. I threw open the
+shutters and the morning light poured in. The man was Marnham. On the
+table were writing materials, also a brandy bottle with only a dreg of
+spirit in it. I looked for the glass and found it by his side on the
+floor, shattered, not merely broken.
+
+“Drunk,” I said aloud, whereon the servant, who understood me, spoke
+for the first time, saying in a frightened voice in Dutch—
+
+“No, Baas, dead, half cold. I found him so just now.”
+
+I bent down and examined Marnham, also felt his face. Sure enough, he
+was dead, for his jaw had fallen; also his flesh was chill, and from
+him came a horrible smell of brandy. I thought for a moment, then bade
+the boy fetch Dr. Rodd and say nothing to any one else, He went, and
+now for the first time I noticed a large envelope addressed “Allan
+Quatermain, Esq.” in a somewhat shaky hand. This I picked up and
+slipped into my pocket.
+
+Rodd arrived half dressed.
+
+“What’s the matter now?” he growled.
+
+I pointed to Marnham, saying—
+
+“That is a question for you to answer.
+
+“Oh! drunk again, I suppose,” he said. Then he did as I had done, bent
+down and examined him. A few seconds later he stepped or reeled back,
+looking as frightened as a man could be, and exclaiming—
+
+“Dead as a stone, by God! Dead these three hours or more.”
+
+“Quite so,” I answered, “but what killed him?”
+
+“How should I know?” he asked savagely. “Do you suspect me of poisoning
+him?”
+
+“My mind is open,” I replied; “but as you quarrelled so bitterly last
+night, others might.”
+
+The bolt went home; he saw his danger.
+
+“Probably the old sot died in a fit, or of too much brandy. How can one
+know without a post-mortem? But that mustn’t be made by me. I’m off to
+inform the magistrate and get hold of another doctor. Let the body
+remain as it is until I return.”
+
+I reflected quickly. Ought I to let him go or not? If he had any hand
+in this business, doubtless he intended to escape. Well, supposing this
+were so and he did escape, that would be a good thing for Heda, and
+really it was no affair of mine to bring the fellow to justice.
+Moreover there was nothing to show that he was guilty; his whole manner
+seemed to point another way, though of course he might be acting.
+
+“Very well,” I replied, “but return as quickly as possible.”
+
+He stood for a few seconds like a man who is dazed. It occurred to me
+that it might have come into his mind with Marnham’s death that he had
+lost his hold over Heda. But if so he said nothing of it, but only
+asked—
+
+“Will you go instead of me?”
+
+“On the whole I think not,” I replied, “and if I did, the story I
+should have to tell might not tend to your advantage.”
+
+“That’s true, damn you!” he exclaimed and left the room.
+
+Ten minutes later he was galloping towards Pilgrim’s Rest. Before I
+departed from the death chamber I examined the place carefully to see
+if I could find any poison or other deadly thing, but without success.
+One thing I did discover, however. Turning the leaf of a blotting-book
+that was by Marnham’s elbow, I came upon a sheet of paper on which were
+written these words in his hand, “Greater love hath no man than this—”
+that was all.
+
+Either he had forgotten the end of the quotation or changed his mind,
+or was unable through weakness to finish the sentence. This paper also
+I put in my pocket. Bolting the shutters and locking the door I
+returned to the stoep, where I was alone, for as yet no one else was
+stirring. Then I remembered the letter in my pocket and opened it. It
+ran—
+
+“DEAR MR. QUATERMAIN,—
+
+    “I have remembered that those who quarrel with Dr. Rodd are apt to
+    die soon and suddenly; at any rate life at my age is always
+    uncertain. Therefore, as I know you to be an honest man, I am
+    enclosing my will that it may be in safe keeping and purpose to
+    send it to your room to-morrow morning. Perhaps when you return to
+    Pretoria you will deposit it in the Standard Bank there, and if I
+    am still alive, forward me the receipt. You will see that I leave
+    everything to my daughter whom I dearly love, and that there is
+    enough to keep the wolf from her door, besides my share in this
+    property, if it is ever realized.
+
+    “After all that has passed to-night I do not feel up to writing a
+    long letter, so
+
+
+“Remain sincerely yours,
+“H. A. MARNHAM.”
+
+
+“PS.—I should like to state clearly upon paper that my earnest hope and
+wish are that Heda may get clear of that black-hearted, murderous,
+scoundrel Rodd and marry Mr. Anscombe, whom I like and who, I am sure,
+would make her a good husband.”
+
+
+Thinking to myself this did not look very like the letter of a suicide,
+I glanced through the will, as the testator seemed to have wished that
+I should do so. It was short, but properly drawn, signed, and
+witnessed, and bequeathed a sum of £9,000, which was on deposit at the
+Standard Bank, together with all his other property, real and personal,
+to Heda for her own sole use, free from the debts and engagements of
+her husband, should she marry. Also she was forbidden to spend more
+than £1,000 of the capital. In short the money was strictly tied up.
+With the will were some other papers that apparently referred to
+certain property in Hungary to which Heda might become entitled, but
+about these I did not trouble.
+
+Replacing these documents in a safe inner pocket in the lining of my
+waistcoat, I went into our room and woke up Anscombe who was sleeping
+soundly, a fact that caused an unreasonable irritation in my mind. When
+at length he was thoroughly aroused I said to him—
+
+“You are in luck’s way, my friend. Marnham is dead.”
+
+“Oh! poor Heda,” he exclaimed, “she loved him. It will half break her
+heart.”
+
+“If it breaks half of her heart,” I replied, “it will mend the other
+half, for now her filial affection can’t force her to marry Rodd, and
+that is where you are in luck’s way.”
+
+Then I told him all the story.
+
+“Was he murdered or did he commit suicide?” he asked when I had
+finished.
+
+“I don’t know, and to tell you the truth I don’t want to know; nor will
+you if you are wise, unless knowledge is forced upon you. It is enough
+that he is dead, and for his daughter’s sake the less the circumstances
+of his end are examined into the better.”
+
+“Poor Heda!” he said again, “who will tell her? I can’t. _You_ found
+him, Allan.”
+
+“I expected that job would be my share of the business, Anscombe. Well,
+the sooner it is over the better. Now dress yourself and come on to the
+stoep.”
+
+Then I left him and next minute met Heda’s fat, half-breed maid, a
+stupid but good sort of a woman who was called Kaatje, emerging from
+her mistress’s room with a jug, to fetch hot water, I suppose.
+
+“Kaatje,” I said, “go back and tell the Missie Heda that I want to
+speak to her as soon as I can. Never mind the hot water, but stop and
+help her to dress.”
+
+She began to grumble a little in a good-natured way, but something in
+my eye stopped her and she went back into the room. Ten minutes later
+Heda was by my side.
+
+“What is it, Mr. Quatermain?” she asked. “I feel sure that something
+dreadful has happened.”
+
+“It has, my dear,” I answered, “that is, if death is dreadful. Your
+father died last night.”
+
+“Oh!” she said, “oh!” and sank back on to the seat.
+
+“Bear up,” I went on, “we must all die one day, and he had reached the
+full age of man.”
+
+“But I loved him,” she moaned. “He had many faults I know, still I
+loved him.”
+
+“It is the lot of life, Heda, that we should lose what we love. Be
+thankful, therefore, that you have some one left to love.”
+
+“Yes, thank God! that’s true. If it had been him—no, it’s wicked to say
+that.”
+
+Then I told her the story, and while I was doing so, Anscombe joined
+us, walking by aid of his stick. Also I showed them both Marnham’s
+letter to me and the will, but the other bit of paper I did not speak
+of or show.
+
+She sat very pale and quiet and listened till I had done. Then she
+said—
+
+“I should like to see him.”
+
+“Perhaps it is as well,” I answered. “If you can bear it, come at once,
+and do you come also, Anscombe.”
+
+We went to the room, Anscombe and Heda holding each other by the hand.
+I unlocked the door and, entering, threw open a shutter. There sat the
+dead man as I had left him, only his head had fallen over a little. She
+gazed at him, trembling, then advanced and kissed his cold forehead,
+muttering,
+
+“Good-bye, father. Oh! good-bye, father.”
+
+A thought struck me, and I asked—
+
+“Is there any place here where your father locked up things? As I have
+shown you, you are his heiress, and if so it might be as well in this
+house that you should possess yourself of his property.”
+
+“There is a safe in the corner,” she answered, “of which he always kept
+the key in his trouser pocket.”
+
+“Then with your leave I will open it in your presence.”
+
+Going to the dead man I searched his pocket and found in it a bunch of
+keys. These I withdrew and went to the safe over which a skin rug was
+thrown. I unlocked it easily enough. Within were two bags of gold, each
+marked £100; also another larger bag marked “My wife’s jewelry. For
+Heda”; also some papers and a miniature of the lady whose portrait hung
+in the sitting-room; also some loose gold.
+
+“Now who will take charge of these?” I asked. “I do not think it safe
+to leave them here.”
+
+“You, of course,” said Anscombe, while Heda nodded.
+
+So with a groan I consigned all these valuables to my capacious
+pockets. Then I locked up the empty safe, replaced the keys where I had
+found them on Marnham, fastened the shutter and left the room with
+Anscombe, waiting for a while outside till Heda joined us, sobbing a
+little. After this we got something to eat, insisting on Heda doing the
+same.
+
+On leaving the table I saw a curious sight, namely, the patients whom
+Rodd was attending in the little hospital of which I have spoken,
+departing towards the bush-veld, those of them who could walk well and
+the attendants assisting the others. They were already some distance
+away, too far indeed for me to follow, as I did not wish to leave the
+house. The incident filled me with suspicion, and I went round to the
+back to make inquiries, but could find no one. As I passed the hospital
+door, however, I heard a voice calling in Sisutu—
+
+“Do not leave me behind, my brothers.”
+
+I entered and saw the man on whom Rodd had operated the day of our
+arrival, lying in bed and quite alone. I asked him where the others had
+gone. At first he would not answer, but when I pretended to leave him,
+called out that it was back to their own country. Finally, to cut the
+story short, I extracted from him that they had left because they had
+news that the Temple was going to be attacked by Sekukuni and did not
+wish to be here when I and Anscombe were killed. How the news reached
+him he refused, or could not, say; nor did he seem to know anything of
+the death of Marnham. When I pressed him on the former point, he only
+groaned and cried for water, for he was in pain and thirsty. I asked
+him who had told Sekukuni’s people to kill us, but he refused to speak.
+
+“Very well,” I said, “then you shall lie here alone and die of thirst,”
+and again I turned towards the door.
+
+At this he cried out—
+
+“I will tell you. It was the white medicine-man who lives here; he who
+cut me open. He arranged it all a few days ago because he hates you.
+Last night he rode to tell the impi when to come.”
+
+“When is it to come?” I asked, holding the jug of water towards him.
+
+“To-night at the rising of the moon, so that it may get far away before
+the dawn. My people are thirsty for your blood and for that of the
+other white chief, because you killed so many of them by the river. The
+others they will not harm.”
+
+“How did you learn all this?” I asked him again, but without result,
+for he became incoherent and only muttered something about being left
+alone because the others could not carry him. So I gave him some water,
+after which he fell asleep, or pretended to do so, and I left him,
+wondering whether he was delirious, or spoke truth. As I passed the
+stables I saw that my own horse was there, for in this district horses
+are always shut up at night to keep them from catching sickness, but
+that the four beasts that had brought Heda from Natal in the Cape cart
+were gone, though it was evident that they had been kraaled here till
+within an hour or two. I threw my horse a bundle of forage and returned
+to the house by the back entrance. The kitchen was empty, but crouched
+by the door of Marnham’s room sat the boy who had found him dead. He
+had been attached to his master and seemed half dazed. I asked him
+where the other servants were, to which he replied that they had all
+run away. Then I asked him where the horses were. He answered that the
+Baas Rodd had ordered them to be turned out before he rode off that
+morning. I bade him accompany me to the stoep, as I dared not let him
+out of my sight, which he did unwillingly enough.
+
+There I found Anscombe and Heda. They were seated side by side upon the
+couch. Tears were running down her face and he, looking very troubled,
+held her by the hand. Somehow that picture of Heda has always remained
+fixed in my mind. Sorrow becomes some women and she was one of them.
+Her beautiful dark grey eyes did not grow red with weeping; the tears
+just welled up in them and fell like dewdrops from the heart of a
+flower.
+
+She sat very upright and very still, as he did, looking straight in
+front of her, while a ray of sunshine, falling on her head, showed the
+chestnut-hued lights in her waving hair, of which she had a great
+abundance.
+
+Indeed the pair of them, thus seated side by side, reminded me of an
+engraving I had seen somewhere of the statues of a husband and wife in
+an old Egyptian tomb. With just such a look did the woman of thousands
+of years ago sit gazing in patient hope into the darkness of the
+future. Death had made her sad, but it was gone by, and the little
+wistful smile about her lips seemed to suggest that in this darkness
+her sorrowful eyes already saw the stirring of the new life to be.
+Moreover, was not the man she loved the companion of her hopes as he
+had been of her woes. Such was the fanciful thought that sprang up in
+my mind, even in the midst of those great anxieties, like a single
+flower in a stony wilderness of thorns or one star on the blackness of
+the night.
+
+In a moment it had gone and I was telling them of what I had learned.
+They listened till I had finished. Then Anscombe said slowly—
+
+“Two of us can’t hold this house against an impi. We must get out of
+it.”
+
+“Both your conclusions seem quite sound,” I remarked, “that is if
+yonder old Kaffir is telling the truth. But the question is—how? We
+can’t all three of us ride on one nag, as you are still a cripple.”
+
+“There is the Cape cart,” suggested Heda.
+
+“Yes, but the horses have been turned out, and I don’t know where to
+look for them. Nor dare I send that boy alone, for probably he would
+bolt like the others. I think that you had better get on my horse and
+ride for it, leaving us to take our chance. I daresay the whole thing
+is a lie and that we shall be in no danger,” I added by way of
+softening the suggestion.
+
+“That I will never do,” she replied with so much quiet conviction that
+I saw it was useless to pursue the argument.
+
+I thought for a moment, as the position was very difficult. The boy was
+not to be trusted, and if I went with him I should be leaving these two
+alone and, in Anscombe’s state, almost defenceless. Still it seemed as
+though I must. Just then I looked up, and there at the garden gate saw
+Anscombe’s driver, Footsack, the man whom I had despatched to Pretoria
+to fetch his oxen. I noted that he looked frightened and was
+breathless, for his eyes started out of his head. Also his hat was gone
+and he bled a little from his face.
+
+Seeing us he ran up the path and sat down as though he were tired.
+
+“Where are the oxen?” I asked.
+
+“Oh! Baas,” he answered, “the Basutos have got them. We heard from an
+old black woman that Sekukuni had an impi out, so we waited on the top
+of that hill about an hour’s ride away to see if it was true. Then
+suddenly the doctor Baas appeared riding, and I ran out and asked him
+if it were safe to go on. He knew me again and answered—
+
+“‘Yes, quite safe, for have I not just ridden this road without meeting
+so much as a black child. Go on, man; your masters will be glad to have
+their oxen, as they wish to trek, or will by nightfall.’ Then he
+laughed and rode away.
+
+“So we went on, driving the oxen. But when we came to the belt of
+thorns at the bottom of the hill, we found that the doctor Baas had
+either lied to us or he had not seen. For there suddenly the tall grass
+on either side of the path grew spears; yes, everywhere were spears. In
+a minute the two voorloopers were assegaied. As for me, I ran forward,
+not back, since the Kaffirs were behind me, across the path, Baas,
+driving off the oxen. They sprang at me, but I jumped this way and that
+way and avoided them. Then they threw assegais—see, one of them cut my
+cheek, but the rest missed. They had guns in their hands also, but none
+shot. I think they did not wish to make a noise. Only one of them
+shouted after me—
+
+“‘Tell Macumazahn that we are going to call on him tonight when he
+cannot see to shoot. We have a message for him from our brothers whom
+he killed at the drift of the Oliphant’s River.’
+
+“Then I ran on here without stopping, but I saw no more Kaffirs. That
+is all, Baas.”
+
+Now I did not delay to cross-examine the man or to sift the true from
+the false in his story, since it was clear to me that he had run into a
+company of Basutos, or rather been beguiled thereto by Rodd, and lost
+our cattle, also his companions, who were either killed as he said, or
+had escaped some other way.
+
+“Listen, man,” I said. “I am going to fetch some horses. Do you stay
+here and help the Missie to pack the cart and make the harness ready.
+If you disobey me or run away, then I will find you and you will never
+run again. Do you understand?”
+
+He vowed that he did and went to get some water, while I explained
+everything to Anscombe and Heda, pointing out that all the information
+we could gather seemed to show that no attack was to be made upon the
+house before nightfall, and that therefore we had the day before us. As
+this was so I proposed to go to look for the horses myself, since
+otherwise I was sure we should never find them. Meanwhile Heda must
+pack and make ready the cart with the help of Footsack, Anscombe
+superintending everything, as he could very well do since he was now
+able to walk leaning on a stick.
+
+Of course neither of them liked my leaving them, but in view of our
+necessities they raised no objection. So off I went, taking the boy
+with me. He did not want to go, being, as I have said, half dazed with
+grief or fear, or both, but when I had pointed out to him clearly that
+I was quite prepared to shoot him if he played tricks, he changed his
+mind. Having saddled my mare that was now fresh and fat, we started,
+the boy guiding me to a certain kloof at the foot of which there was a
+small plain of good grass where he said the horses were accustomed to
+graze.
+
+Here sure enough we found two of them, and as they had been turned out
+with their headstalls on, were able to tie them to trees with the riems
+which were attached to the headstalls. But the others were not there,
+and as two horses could not drag a heavy Cape cart, I was obliged to
+continue the search. Oh! what a hunt those beasts gave me. Finding
+themselves free, for as Rodd’s object was that they should stray, he
+had ordered the stable-boy not to kneel-halter them, after filling
+themselves with grass they had started off for the farm where they were
+bred, which, it seemed, was about fifty miles away, grazing as they
+went. Of course I did not know this at the time, so for several hours I
+rode up and down the neighbouring kloofs, as the ground was too hard
+for me to hope to follow them by their spoor.
+
+It occurred to me to ask the boy where the horses came from, a question
+that he happened to be able to answer, as he had brought them home when
+they were bought the year before. Having learned in what direction the
+place lay I rode for it at an angle, or rather for the path that led to
+it, making the boy run alongside, holding to my stirrup leather. About
+three o’clock in the afternoon I struck this path, or rather track, at
+a point ten or twelve miles away from the Temple, and there, just
+mounting a rise, met the two horses quietly walking towards me. Had I
+been a quarter of an hour later they would have passed and vanished
+into a sea of thorn-veld. We caught them without trouble and once more
+headed homewards, leading them by their riems.
+
+Reaching the glade where the other two were tied up, we collected them
+also and returned to the house, where we arrived at five o’clock. As
+everything seemed quiet I put my mare into the stable, slipped its bit
+and gave it some forage. Then I went round the house, and to my great
+joy found Anscombe and Heda waiting anxiously, but with nothing to
+report, and with them Footsack. Very hastily I swallowed some food,
+while Footsack inspanned the horses. In a quarter of an hour all was
+ready. Then suddenly, in an inconsequent female fashion, Heda developed
+a dislike to leaving her father unburied.
+
+“My dear young lady,” I said, “it seems that you must choose between
+that and our all stopping to be buried with him.”
+
+She saw the point and compromised upon paying him a visit of farewell,
+which I left her to do in Anscombe’s company, while I fetched my mare.
+To tell the truth I felt as though I had seen enough of the unhappy
+Marnham, and not for £50 would I have entered that room again. As I
+passed the door of the hospital, leading my horse, I heard the old
+Kaffir screaming within and sent the boy who was with me to find out
+what was the matter with him. That was the last I saw of either of
+them, or ever shall see this side of kingdom come. I wonder what became
+of them?
+
+When I got back to the front of the house I found the cart standing
+ready at the gate, Footsack at the head of the horses and Heda with
+Anscombe at her side. It had been neatly packed during the day by Heda
+with such of her and our belongings as it would hold, including our
+arms and ammunition. The rest, of course, we were obliged to abandon.
+Also there were two baskets full of food, some bottles of brandy and a
+good supply of overcoats and wraps. I told Footsack to take the reins,
+as I knew him to be a good driver, and helped Anscombe to a seat at his
+side, while Heda and the maid Kaatje got in behind in order to balance
+the vehicle. I determined to ride, at any rate for the present.
+
+“Which way, Baas?” asked Footsack.
+
+“Down to the Granite Stream where the wagon stands,” I answered.
+
+“That will be through the Yellow-wood Swamp. Can’t we take the other
+road to Pilgrim’s Rest and Lydenburg, or to Barberton?” asked Anscombe
+in a vague way, and as I thought, rather nervously.
+
+“No,” I answered, “that is unless you wish to meet those Basutos who
+stole the oxen and Dr. Rodd returning, if he means to return.”
+
+“Oh! let us go through the Yellow-wood,” exclaimed Heda, who, I think,
+would rather have met the devil than Dr. Rodd.
+
+Ah! if I had but known that we were heading straight for that person,
+sooner would I have faced the Basutos twice over. But I did what seemed
+wisest, thinking that he would be sure to return with another doctor or
+a magistrate by the shorter and easier path which he had followed in
+the morning. It just shows once more how useless are all our care and
+foresight, or how strong is Fate, have it which way you will.
+
+So we started down the slope, and I, riding behind, noted poor Heda
+staring at the marble house, which grew ever more beautiful as it
+receded and the roughness of its building disappeared, especially at
+that part of it which hid the body of her old scamp of a father whom
+still she loved. We came down to the glen and once more saw the bones
+of the blue wildebeeste that we had shot—oh! years and years ago, or so
+it seemed. Then we struck out for the Granite Stream.
+
+Before we reached the patch of Yellow-wood forest where I knew that the
+cart must travel very slowly because of the trees and the swampy nature
+of the ground, I pushed on ahead to reconnoitre, fearing lest there
+might be Basutos hidden in this cover. Riding straight through it I
+went as far as the deserted wagon at a sharp canter, seeing nothing and
+no one. Once indeed, towards the end of the wood where it was more
+dense, I thought that I heard a man cough and peered about me through
+the gloom, for here the rays of the sun, which was getting low in the
+heavens, scarcely penetrated. As I could perceive no one I came to the
+conclusion that I must have been deceived by my fancy. Or perhaps it
+was some baboon that coughed, though it was strange that a baboon
+should have come to such a low-lying spot where there was nothing for
+it to eat.
+
+The place was eerie, so much so that I bethought me of tales of the
+ghosts whereby it was supposed to be haunted. Also, oddly enough, of
+Anscombe’s presentiment which he had fulfilled by killing a Basuto.
+Look! There lay his grinning skull with some patches of hair still on
+it, dragged away from the rest of the bones by a hyena. I cantered on
+down the slope beyond the wood and through the scattered thorns to the
+stream on the banks of which the wagon should be. It had gone, and by
+the freshness of the trail, within an hour or two. A moment’s
+reflection told me what had happened. Having stolen our oxen the
+Basutos drove them to the wagon, inspanned them and departed with their
+loot. On the whole I was glad to see this, since it suggested that they
+had retired towards their own country, leaving our road open.
+
+Turning my horse I rode back again to meet the cart. As I reached the
+edge of the wood at the top of the slope I heard a whistle blown, a
+very shrill whistle, of which the sound would travel for a mile or two
+on that still air. Also I heard the sound of men’s voices in
+altercation and caught words, such as—“Let go, or by Heaven—!” then a
+furious laugh and other words which seemed to be—“In five minutes the
+Kaffirs will be here. In ten you will be dead. Can I help it if they
+kill you after I have warned you to turn back?” Then a woman’s scream.
+
+Rodd’s voice, Anscombe’s voice and Kaatje’s scream—not Heda’s but
+Kaatje’s!
+
+Then as I rode furiously round the last patch of intervening trees the
+sound of a pistol shot. I was out of them now and saw everything. There
+was the cart on the further side of a swamp. The horses were standing
+still and snorting. Holding the rein of one of the leaders was Rodd,
+whose horse also stood close by. He was rocking on his feet and as I
+leapt from my mare and ran up, I saw his face. It was horrible, full of
+pain and devilish rage. With his disengaged hand he pointed to Anscombe
+sitting in the cart and grasping a pistol that still smoked.
+
+“You’ve killed me,” he said in a hoarse, choking voice, for he was shot
+through the lung, “to get her,” and he waved his hand towards Heda who
+was peering at him between the heads of the two men. “You are a
+murderer, as her father was, and as David was before you. Well, I hope
+you won’t keep her long. I hope you’ll die as I do and break her false
+heart, you damned thief.”
+
+All of this he said in a slow voice, pausing between the words and
+speaking ever more thickly as the blood from his wound choked him. Then
+of a sudden it burst in a stream from his lips, and still pointing with
+an accusing finger at Anscombe, he fell backwards into the slimy pool
+behind him and there vanished without a struggle.
+
+So horrible was the sight that the driver, Footsack, leapt from the
+cart, uttering a kind of low howl, ran to Rodd’s horse, scrambled into
+the saddle and galloped off, striking it with his fist, where to I do
+not know. Anscombe put his hand before his eyes, Heda sank down on the
+seat in a heap, and the coloured woman, Kaatje, beat her breast and
+said something in Dutch about being accursed or bewitched. Luckily I
+kept my wits and went to the horses’ heads, fearing lest they should
+start and drag the trap into the pool. “Wake up,” I said. “That fellow
+has only got what he deserved, and you were quite right to shoot him.”
+
+“I am glad you think so,” answered Anscombe absently. “It was so like
+murder. Don’t you remember I told you I should kill a man in this place
+and about a woman?”
+
+“I remember nothing,” I answered boldly, “except that if we stop here
+much longer we shall have those Basutos on us. That brute was whistling
+to them and holding the horses till they came to kill us. Pull yourself
+together, take the reins and follow me.”
+
+He obeyed, being a skilful whip enough who, as he informed me
+afterwards, had been accustomed to drive a four-in-hand at home.
+Mounting my horse, which stood by, I guided the cart out of the wood
+and down the slope beyond, till at length we came to our old outspan
+where I proposed to turn on to the wagon track which ran to Pilgrim’s
+Rest. I say proposed, for when I looked up it I perceived about five
+hundred yards away a number of armed Basutos running towards us, the
+red light of the sunset shining on their spears. Evidently the scout or
+spy to whom Rodd whistled, had called them out of their ambush which
+they had set for us on the Pilgrim’s Rest road in order that they might
+catch us if we tried to escape that way.
+
+Now there was only one thing to be done. At this spot a native track
+ran across the little stream and up a steepish slope beyond. On the
+first occasion of our outspanning here I had the curiosity to mount
+this slope, reflecting as I did so that although rough it would be
+quite practicable for a wagon. At the top of it I found a wide flat
+plain, almost high-veld, for the bushes were very few, across which the
+track ran on. On subsequent inquiry I discovered that it was one used
+by the Swazis and other natives when they made their raids upon the
+Basutos, or when bodies of them went to work in the mines.
+
+“Follow me,” I shouted and crossed the stream which was shallow between
+the little pools, then led the way up the stony slope. The four horses
+negotiated it very well and the Cape cart, being splendidly built, took
+no harm. At the top I looked back and saw that the Basutos were
+following us.
+
+“Flog the horses!” I cried to Anscombe, and off we went at a hand
+gallop along the native track, the cart swaying and bumping upon the
+rough veld. The sun was setting now, in half an hour it would be quite
+dark.
+
+Could we keep ahead of them for that half hour?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+FLIGHT
+
+
+The sun sank in a blaze of glory. Looking back by the light of its last
+rays I saw a single native silhouetted against the red sky. He was
+standing on a mound that we had passed a mile or more behind us,
+doubtless waiting for his companions whom he had outrun. So they had
+not given up the chase. What was to be done? Once it was completely
+dark we could not go on. We should lose our way; the horses would get
+into ant-bear holes and break their legs. Perhaps we might become
+bogged in some hollow, therefore we must wait till the moon rose, which
+would not be for a couple of hours.
+
+Meanwhile those accursed Basutos would be following us even in the
+dark. This would hamper them, no doubt, but they would keep the path,
+with which they were probably familiar, beneath their feet, and what is
+more, the ground being soft with recent rain, they could feel the wheel
+spoor with their fingers. I looked about me. Just here another track
+started off in a nor’-westerly direction from that which we were
+following. Perhaps it ran to Lydenburg; I do not know. To our left, not
+more than a hundred yards or so away, the higher veld came to an end
+and sloped in an easterly direction down to bush-land below.
+
+Should I take the westerly road which ran over a great plain? No, for
+then we might be seen for miles and cut off. Moreover, even if we
+escaped the natives, was it desirable we should plunge into
+civilization just now and tell all our story, as in that case we must
+do. Rodd’s death was quite justified, but it had happened on Transvaal
+territory and would require a deal of explanation. Fortunately there
+was no witness of it, except ourselves. Yes, there was though—the
+driver Footsack, if he had got away, which, being mounted, would seem
+probable, a man who, for my part, I would not trust for a moment. It
+would be an ugly thing to see Anscombe in the dock charged with murder
+and possibly myself, with Footsack giving evidence against us before a
+Boer jury who might be hard on Englishmen. Also there was the body with
+a bullet in it.
+
+Suddenly there came into my mind a recollection of the very vivid dream
+of Zikali which had visited me, and I reflected that in Zululand there
+would be little need to trouble about the death of Rodd. But Zululand
+was a long way off, and if we were to avoid the Transvaal, there was
+only one way of going there, namely through Swaziland. Well, among the
+Swazis we should be quite safe from the Basutos, since the two peoples
+were at fierce enmity. Moreover I knew the Swazi chiefs and king very
+well, having traded there, and could explain that I came to collect
+debts owing to me.
+
+There was another difficulty. I had heard that the trouble between the
+English Government and Cetewayo, the Zulu king, was coming to a head,
+and that the High Commissioner, Sir Bartle Frere, talked of presenting
+him with an ultimatum. It would be awkward if this arrived while we
+were in the country, though even so, being on such friendly terms with
+the Zulus of all classes, I did not think that I, or any with me, would
+run great risks.
+
+All these thoughts rushed through my brain while I considered what to
+do. At the moment it was useless to ask the opinion of the others who
+were but children in native matters. I and I alone must take the
+responsibility and act, praying that I might do so aright. Another
+moment and I had made up my mind.
+
+Signing to Anscombe to follow me, I rode about a hundred yards or more
+down the nor’-westerly path. Then I turned sharply along a rather stony
+ridge of ground, the cart following me all the time, and came back
+across our own track, my object being of course to puzzle any Kaffirs
+who might spoor us. Now we were on the edge of the gentle slope that
+led down to the bush-veld. Over this I rode towards a deserted cattle
+kraal built of stones, in the rich soil of which grew sundry trees;
+doubtless one of those which had been abandoned when Mosilikatze swept
+all this country on his way north about the year 1838. The way to it
+was easy, since the surrounding stones had been collected to build the
+kraal generations before. As we passed over the edge of the slope in
+the gathering gloom, Heda cried—
+
+“Look!” and pointed in the direction whence we came. Far away a sheet
+of flame shot upwards.
+
+“The house is burning,” she exclaimed.
+
+“Yes,” I said, “it can be nothing else;” adding to myself, “a good job
+too, for now there will be no postmortem on old Marnham.”
+
+Who fired the place I never learnt. It may have been the Basutos, or
+Marnham’s body-servant, or Footsack, or a spark from the kitchen fire.
+At any rate it blazed merrily enough notwithstanding the marble walls,
+as a wood-lined and thatched building of course would do. On the whole
+I suspected the boy, who may very well have feared lest he should be
+accused of having had a hand in his master’s death. At least it was
+gone, and watching the distant flames I bethought me that with it went
+all Heda’s past. Twenty-four hours before her father was alive, the
+bondservant of Rodd and a criminal. Now he was ashes and Rodd was dead,
+while she and the man she loved were free, with all the world before
+them. I wished that I could have added that they were safe. Afterwards
+she told me that much the same ideas passed through her own mind.
+
+Dismounting I led the horses into the old kraal through the gap in the
+wall which once had been the gateway. It was a large kraal that
+probably in bygone days had held the cattle of some forgotten head
+chief whose town would have stood on the brow of the rise; so large
+that notwithstanding the trees I have mentioned, there was plenty of
+room for the cart and horses in its centre. Moreover, on such soil the
+grass grew so richly that after we had slipped their bits, the horses
+were able to fill themselves without being unharnessed. Also a little
+stream from a spring on the brow ran within a few yards whence, with
+the help of Kaatje, a strong woman, I watered them with the bucket
+which hung underneath the cart. Next we drank ourselves and ate some
+food in the darkness that was now complete. Then leaving Kaatje to
+stand at the head of the horses in case they should attempt any sudden
+movement, I climbed into the cart, and we discussed things in low
+whispers.
+
+It was a curious debate in that intense gloom which, close as our faces
+were together, prevented us from seeing anything of each other, except
+once when a sudden flare of summer lightning revealed them, white and
+unnatural as those of ghosts. On our present dangers I did not dwell,
+putting them aside lightly, though I knew they were not light. But of
+the alternative as to whether we should try to escape to Lydenburg and
+civilization, or to Zululand and savagery, I felt it to be my duty to
+speak.
+
+“To put it plainly,” said Anscombe in his slow way when I had finished,
+“you mean that in the Transvaal I might be tried as a murderer and
+perhaps convicted, whereas if we vanish into Zululand the probability
+is that this would not happen.”
+
+“I mean,” I whispered back, “that we might both be tried and, if
+Footsack should chance to appear and give evidence, find ourselves in
+an awkward position. Also there is another witness—Kaatje, and for the
+matter of that, Heda herself. Of course her evidence would be in our
+favour, but to make it understood by a jury she would have to explain a
+great deal of which she might prefer not to speak. Further, at the
+best, the whole business would get into the English papers, which you
+and your relatives might think disagreeable, especially in view of the
+fact that, as I understand, you and Heda intend to marry.”
+
+“Still I think that I would rather face it out,” he said in his
+outspoken way, “even if it should mean that I could never return to
+England. After all, of what have I to be afraid? I shot this scoundrel
+because I was obliged to do so.”
+
+“Yes, but it is of this that you may have to convince a jury who might
+possibly find a motive in Rodd’s past, and your present, relationship
+to the same lady. But what has she to say?”
+
+“I have to say,” whispered Heda, “that for myself I care nothing, but
+that I could never bear to see all these stories about my poor father
+raked up. Also there is Maurice to be considered. It would be terrible
+if they put him in prison—or worse. Let us go to Zululand, Mr.
+Quatermain, and afterwards get out of Africa. Don’t you agree,
+Maurice?”
+
+“What does Mr. Quatermain think himself?” he answered. “He is the
+oldest and by far the wisest of us and I will be guided by him.”
+
+Now I considered and said—
+
+“There is such a thing as flying from present troubles to others that
+may be worse, the ‘ills we know not of.’ Zululand is disturbed. If war
+broke out there we might all be killed. On the other hand we might not,
+and it ought to be possible for you to work up to Delagoa Bay and there
+get some ship home, that is if you wish to keep clear of British law. I
+cannot do so, as I must stay in Africa. Nor can I take the
+responsibility of settling what you are to do, since if things went
+wrong, it would be on my head. However, if you decide for the Transvaal
+or Natal and we escape, I must tell you that I shall go to the first
+magistrate we find and make a full deposition of all that has happened.
+It is not possible for me to live with the charge of having been
+concerned in the shooting of a white man hanging over me that might be
+brought up at any time, perhaps when no one was left in the country to
+give evidence on my behalf, for then, even if I were acquitted my name
+would always be tarnished. In Zululand, on the other hand, there are no
+magistrates before whom I could depose, and if this business should
+come out, I can always say that we went there to escape from the
+Basutos. Now I am going to get down to see if the horses are all right.
+Do you two talk the thing over and make up your minds. Whatever you
+agree on, I shall accept and do my best to carry through.” Then,
+without waiting for an answer, I slipped from the cart.
+
+Having examined the horses, who were cropping all the grass within
+reach of them, I crept to the wall of the kraal so as to be quite out
+of earshot. The night was now pitch dark, dark as it only knows how to
+be in Africa. More, a thunderstorm was coming up of which that flash of
+sheet lightning had been a presage. The air was electric. From the vast
+bush-clad valley beneath us came a wild, moaning sound caused, I
+suppose, by wind among the trees, though here I felt none; far away a
+sudden spear of lightning stabbed the sky. The brooding trouble of
+nature spread to my own heart. I was afraid, and not of our present
+dangers, though these were real enough, so real that in a few hours we
+might all be dead.
+
+To dangers I was accustomed; for years they had been my daily food by
+day and by night, and, as I think I have said elsewhere, I am a
+fatalist, one who knows full well that when God wants me He will take
+me; that is if He can want such a poor, erring creature. Nothing that I
+did or left undone could postpone or hasten His summons for a moment,
+though of course I knew it to be my duty to fight against death and to
+avoid it for as long as I might, because that I should do so was a
+portion of His plan. For we are all part of a great pattern, and the
+continuance or cessation of our lives re-acts upon other lives, and
+therefore life is a trust.
+
+No, it was of greater things that I felt afraid, things terrible and
+imminent which I could not grasp and much less understand. I understand
+them now, but who would have guessed that on the issue of that
+whispered colloquy in the cart behind me, depended the fate of a people
+and many thousands of lives? As I was to learn in days to come, if
+Anscombe and Heda had determined upon heading for the Transvaal, there
+would, as I believe, have been no Zulu war, which in its turn meant
+that there would have been no Boer Rebellion and that the mysterious
+course of history would have been changed.
+
+I shook myself together and returned to the cart.
+
+“Well,” I whispered, but there was no answer. A moment later there came
+another flash of lightning.
+
+“There,” said Heda, “how many do you make it?
+
+“Ninety-eight,” he answered.
+
+“I counted ninety-nine,” she said, “but anyway it was within the
+hundred. Mr. Quatermain, we will go to Zululand, if you please, if you
+will show us the way there.”
+
+“Right,” I answered, “but might I ask what that has to do with your
+both counting a hundred?”
+
+“Only this,” she said, “we could not make up our minds. Maurice was for
+the Transvaal, I was for Zululand. So you see we agreed that if another
+flash came before we counted a hundred, we would go to Zululand, and if
+it didn’t, to Pretoria. A very good way of settling, wasn’t it?”
+
+“Excellent!” I replied, “quite excellent for those who could think of
+such a thing.”
+
+As a matter of fact I don’t know which of them thought of it because I
+never inquired. But I did remember afterwards how Anscombe had tossed
+with a lucky penny when it was a question whether we should or should
+not run for the wagon during our difficulty by the Oliphant’s River;
+also when I asked him the reason for this strange proceeding he
+answered that Providence might inhabit a penny as well as anything
+else, and that he wished to give it—I mean Providence—a chance. How
+much more then, he may have argued, could it inhabit a flash of
+lightning which has always been considered a divine manifestation from
+the time of the Roman Jove, and no doubt far before him.
+
+Forty or fifty generations ago, which is not long, our ancestors set
+great store by the behaviour of lightning and thunder, and doubtless
+the instinct is still in our blood, in the same way that all our
+existing superstitions about the moon come down to us from the time
+when our forefathers worshipped her. They did this for tens of hundreds
+or thousands of years, and can we expect a few coatings of the veneer
+that we politely call civilization, which after all is only one of our
+conventions that vanish in any human stress such as war, to kill out
+the human impulse it seems to hide? I do not know, though I have my own
+opinion, and probably these young people never reasoned the matter out.
+They just acted on an intuition as ancient as that which had attracted
+them to each other, namely a desire to consult the ruling fates by
+omens or symbols. Or perhaps Anscombe thought that as his experience
+with the penny had proved so successful, he would give Providence
+another “chance.” If so it took it and no mistake. Confound it! I don’t
+know what he thought; I only dwell on the matter because of the great
+results which followed this consultation of the Sybilline books of
+heaven.
+
+As it happened my speculations, if I really indulged in any at that
+time, were suddenly extinguished by the bursting of the storm. It was
+of the usual character, short but very violent. Of a sudden the sky
+became alive with lightnings and the atmosphere with the roar of winds.
+One flash struck a tree quite near the kraal, and I saw that tree seem
+to melt in its fiery embrace, while about where it had been, rose a
+column of dust from the ground beneath. The horses were so frightened
+that luckily they stood quite quiet, as I have often known animals to
+do in such circumstances. Then came the rain, a torrential rain as I,
+who was out in it holding the horses, became painfully aware. It
+thinned after a while, however, as the storm rolled away.
+
+Suddenly in a silence between the tremendous echoes of the passing
+thunder I thought that I heard voices somewhere on the brow of the
+slope, and as the horses were now quite calm, I crept through the trees
+to that part of the enclosure which I judged to be nearest to them.
+
+Voices they were sure enough, and of the Basutos who were pursuing us.
+What was more, they were coming down the slope. The top of the old wall
+reached almost to my chin. Taking off my hat I thrust my head forward
+between two loose stones, that I might hear the better.
+
+The men were talking together in Sisutu. One, whom I took to be their
+captain, said to the others—
+
+“That white-headed old jackal, Macumazahn, has given us the slip again.
+He doubled on his tracks and drove the horses down the hillside to the
+lower path in the valley. I could feel where the wheels went over the
+edge.”
+
+“It is so, Father,” answered another voice, “but we shall catch him and
+the others at the bottom if we get there before the moon rises, since
+they cannot have moved far in this rain and darkness. Let me go first
+and guide you who know every tree and stone upon this slope where I
+used to herd cattle when I was a child.”
+
+“Do so,” said the captain. “I can see nothing now the lightning has
+gone, and were it not that I have sworn to dip my spear in the blood of
+Macumazahn who has fooled us again, I would give up the hunt.”
+
+“I think it would be better to give it up in any case,” said a third
+voice, “since it is known throughout the land that no luck has ever
+come to those who tried to trap the Watcher-by-Night. Oh! he is a
+leopard who springs and is gone again. How many are the throats in
+which his fangs have met. Leave him alone, I say, lest our fate should
+be that of the white doctor in the Yellow-wood Swamp, he who set us on
+this hunt. We have his wagon and his cattle; let us be satisfied.”
+
+“I will leave him alone when he sleeps for the last time, and not
+before,” answered the captain, “he who shot my brother in the drift the
+other day. What would Sekukuni say if we let him escape to bring the
+Swazis on us? Moreover, we want that white maiden for a hostage in case
+the English should attack us again. Come, you who know the road, and
+lead us.”
+
+There was some disturbance as this man passed to the front. Then I
+heard the line move forward. Presently they were going by the wall
+within a foot or two of me. Indeed by ill-luck just as we were opposite
+to each other the captain stumbled and fell against the wall.
+
+“There is an old cattle kraal here,” he said. “What if those white rats
+have hidden in it?”
+
+I trembled as I heard the words. If a horse should neigh or make any
+noise that could be heard above the hiss of the rain! I did not dare to
+move for fear lest I should betray myself. There I stood so close to
+the Kaffirs that I could smell them and hear the rain pattering on
+their bodies. Only very stealthily I drew my hunting knife with my
+right hand. At that moment the lightning, which I thought had quite
+gone by, flashed again for the last time, revealing the fat face of the
+Basuto captain within a foot of my own, for he was turned towards the
+wall on which one of his hands rested. Moreover, the blue and ghastly
+light revealed mine to him thrust forward between the two stones, my
+eyes glaring at him.
+
+“The head of a dead man is set upon the wall!” he cried in terror. “It
+is the ghost of—”
+
+He got no further, for as the last word passed his lips I drove the
+knife at him with all my strength deep into his throat. He fell back
+into the arms of his followers, and next instant I heard the sound of
+many feet rushing in terror down the hill. What became of him I do not
+know, but if he still lives, probably he agrees with his tribesman that
+Macumazahn—Watcher-by-Night, or his ghost “is a leopard who springs and
+kills and is gone again”; also, that those who try to trap him meet
+with no luck. I say, or his ghost—because I am sure he thought that I
+was a spirit of the dead; doubtless I must have looked like one with my
+white, rain-drowned face appearing there between the stones and made
+ghastly and livid by the lightning.
+
+Well, they had gone, the whole band of them, not less than thirty or
+forty men, so I went also, back to the cart where I found the others
+very comfortable indeed beneath the rainproof tilt. Saying nothing of
+what had happened, of which they were as innocent as babes, I took a
+stiff tot of brandy, for I was chilled through by the wet, and while
+waiting for the moon to rise, busied myself with getting the bits back
+into the horses’ mouths—an awkward job in the dark. At length it
+appeared in a clear sky, for the storm had quite departed and the rain
+ceased. As soon as there was light enough I took the near leader by the
+bridle and led the cart to the brow of the hill, which was not easy
+under the conditions, making Kaatje follow with my horse.
+
+Then, as there were no signs of any Basutos, we started on again, I
+riding about a hundred yards ahead, keeping a sharp look-out for a
+possible ambush. Fortunately, however, the veld was bare and open,
+consisting of long waves of ground. One start I did get, thinking that
+I saw men’s heads just on the crest of a wave, which turned out to be
+only a herd of springbuck feeding among the tussocks of grass. I was
+very glad to see them, since their presence assured me that no human
+being had recently passed that way.
+
+All night long we trekked, following the Kaffir path for as long as I
+could see it, and after that going by my compass. I knew whereabouts
+the drift of the Crocodile River should be, as I had crossed it twice
+before in my life, and kept my eyes open for a certain tall koppie
+which stood within half a mile of it on the Swazi side of the river.
+Ultimately to my joy I caught sight of this hill faintly outlined
+against the sky and headed for it. Half a mile further on I struck a
+wagon-track made by Boers trekking into Swazi-Land to trade or shoot.
+Then I knew that the drift was straight ahead of us, and called to
+Anscombe to flog up the weary horses.
+
+We reached the river just before the dawn. To my horror it was very
+full, so full that the drift looked dangerous, for it had been swollen
+by the thunder-rain of the previous night. Indeed some wandering Swazis
+on the further bank shouted to us that we should be drowned if we tried
+to cross.
+
+“Which means that the only thing to do is to stay until the water runs
+down,” I said to Anscombe, for the two women, tired out, were asleep.
+
+“I suppose so,” he answered, “unless those Basutos—”
+
+I looked back up the long slope down which we had come and saw no one.
+Then I raised myself in my stirrups and looked along another track that
+joined the road just here, leading from the bush-veld, as ours led from
+the high-veld. The sun was rising now, dispersing the mist that hung
+about the trees after the wet. Searching among these with my eyes,
+presently I perceived the light gleaming upon what I knew must be the
+points of spears projecting above the level of the ground vapour.
+
+“Those devils are after us by the lower road,” I said to Anscombe,
+adding, “I heard them pass the old cattle kraal last night. They
+followed our spoor over the edge of the hill, but in the dark lost it
+among the stones.”
+
+He whistled and asked what was to be done.
+
+“That is for you to decide,” I answered. “For my part I’d rather risk
+the river than the Basutos,” and I looked at the slumbering Heda.
+
+“Can we bolt back the way we came, Allan?”
+
+“The horses are very spent and we might meet more Basutos,” and again I
+looked at Heda.
+
+“A hard choice, Allan. It is wonderful how women complicate everything
+in life, because they are life, I suppose.” He thought a moment and
+went on, “Let’s try the river. If we fail, it will be soon over, and it
+is better to drown than be speared.”
+
+“Or be kept alive by savages who hate us,” I exclaimed, with my eyes
+still fixed upon Heda.
+
+Then I got to business. There were hide riems on the bridles of the
+leaders. I undid these and knotted their loose ends firmly together. To
+them I made fast the riem of my own mare, slipping a loop I tied in it,
+over my right hand and saying—
+
+“Now I will go first, leading the horses. Do you drive after me for all
+you are worth, even if they are swept off their feet. I can trust my
+beast to swim straight, and being a mare, I hope that the horses will
+follow her as they have done all night. Wake up Heda and Kaatje.”
+
+He nodded, and looking very pale, said—
+
+“Heda my dear, I am sorry to disturb you, but we have to get over a
+river with a rough bottom, so you and Kaatje must hang on and sit
+tight. Don’t be frightened, you are as safe as a church.”
+
+“God forgive him for that lie,” thought I to myself as, having
+tightened the girths, I mounted my mare. Then gripping the riem I
+kicked the beast to a canter, Anscombe flogging up the team as we swung
+down the bank to the edge of the foaming torrent, on the further side
+of which the Swazis shouted and gesticulated to us to go back.
+
+We were in it now, for, as I had hoped, the horses followed the mare
+without hesitation. For the first twenty yards or so all went well, I
+heading up the stream. Then suddenly I felt that the mare was swimming.
+
+“Flog the horses and don’t let them turn,” I shouted to Anscombe.
+
+Ten more yards and I glanced over my shoulder. The team was swimming
+also, and behind them the cart rocked and bobbed like a boat swinging
+in a heavy sea. There came a strain on the riem; the leaders were
+trying to turn! I pulled hard and encouraged them with my voice, while
+Anscombe, who drove splendidly, kept their heads as straight as he
+could. Mercifully they came round again and struck out for the further
+shore, the water-logged cart floating after them. Would it turn over?
+That was the question in my mind. Five seconds; ten seconds and it was
+still upright. Oh! it was going. No, a fierce back eddy caught it and
+set it straight again. My mare touched bottom and there was hope. It
+struggled forward, being swept down the stream all the time. Now the
+horses in the cart also found their footing and we were saved.
+
+No, the wet had caused the knot of one of the riems to slip beneath the
+strain, or perhaps it broke—I don’t know. Feeling the pull slacken the
+leaders whipped round on to the wheelers. There they all stood in a
+heap, their heads and part of their necks above water, while the cart
+floated behind them on its side. Kaatje screamed and Anscombe flogged.
+I leapt from my mare and struggled to the leaders, the water up to my
+chin. Grasping their bits I managed to keep them from turning further.
+But I could do no more and death came very near to us. Had it not been
+for some of those brave Swazis on the bank it would have found us,
+every one. But they plunged in, eight of them, holding each other’s
+hands, and half-swimming, half-wading, reached us. They got the horses
+by the head and straightened them out, while Anscombe plied his whip. A
+dash forward and the wheels were on the bottom again.
+
+Three minutes later we were safe on the further bank, which my mare had
+already reached, where I lay gasping on my face, ejaculating prayers of
+thankfulness and spitting out muddy water.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+NOMBÉ
+
+
+The Swazis, shivering, for all these people hate cold, and shaking
+themselves like a dog when he comes to shore, gathered round, examining
+me.
+
+“Why!” said one of them, an elderly man who seemed to be their leader,
+“this is none other than Macumazahn, Watcher-by-Night, the old friend
+of all us black people. Surely the spirits of our fathers have been
+with us who might have risked our lives to save a Boer or a
+half-breed.” (The Swazis, I may explain, did not like the Boers for
+reasons they considered sound.)
+
+“Yes,” I said, sitting up, “it is I, Macumazahn.”
+
+“Then why,” asked the man, “did you, whom all know to be wise, show
+yourself to have suddenly become a fool?” and he pointed to the raging
+river.
+
+“And why,” I asked, “do you show yourself a fool by supposing that I,
+whom you know to be none, am a fool? Look across the water for your
+answer.”
+
+He looked and saw the Basutos, fifty or more of them, arriving, just
+too late.
+
+“Who are these?” he asked.
+
+“They are the people of Sekukuni whom you should know well enough. They
+have hunted us all night, yes, and before, seeking to murder us; also
+they have stolen our oxen, thirty-two fine oxen which I give to your
+king if he can take them back. Now perhaps you understand why we dared
+the Crocodile River in its rage.”
+
+At the name of Sekukuni the man, who it seemed was the captain of some
+border guards, stiffened all over like a terrier which perceives a rat.
+“What!” he exclaimed, “do these dirty Basuto dogs dare to carry spears
+so near our country? Have they not yet learned their lesson?”
+
+Then he rushed into the water, shaking an assegai he had snatched up,
+and shouted,
+
+“Bide a while, you fleas from the kaross of Sekukuni, till I can come
+across and crack you between my thumb and finger. Or at the least wait
+until Macumazahn has time to get his rifle. No, put down those guns of
+yours; for every shot you fire I swear that I will cut ten Basuto
+throats when we come to storm your koppies, as we shall do ere long.”
+
+“Be silent,” I said, “and let me speak.”
+
+Then I, too, called across the river, asking where was that fat captain
+of theirs, as I would talk with him. One of the men shouted back that
+he had stopped behind, very sick, because of a ghost that he had seen.
+
+“Ah!” I answered, “a ghost who pricked him in the throat. Well, I was
+that ghost, and such are the things that happen to those who would harm
+Macumazahn and his friends. Did you not say last night that he is a
+leopard who leaps out in the dark, bites and is gone again?”
+
+“Yes,” the man shouted back, “and it is true, though had we known, O
+Macumazahn, that you were the ghost hiding in those stones, you should
+never have leapt again. Oh! that white medicine-man who is dead has
+sent us on a mad errand.”
+
+“So you will think when I come to visit you among your koppies. Go home
+and take a message from Macumazahn to Sekukuni, who believes that the
+English have run away from him. Tell him that they will return again
+and these Swazis with them, and that then he will cease to live and his
+town will be burnt and his tribe will no more be a tribe. Away now,
+more swiftly than you came, since the water by which you thought to
+trap us is falling, and a Swazi impi gathers to make an end of every
+one of you.”
+
+The man attempted no answer, nor did his people so much as fire on us.
+They turned tail and crept off like a pack of frightened
+jackals—pursued by the mocking of the Swazis.
+
+Still in a way they had the laugh of us, seeing that they gave us a
+terrible fright and stole our wagon and thirty-two oxen. Well, a year
+or two later I helped to pay them back for that fright and even
+recovered some of the oxen.
+
+When they had gone the Swazis led us to a kraal about two miles from
+the river, sending on a runner with orders to make huts and food ready
+for us. It was just as much as we could do to reach it, for we were all
+utterly worn out, as were the horses. Still we did get there at last,
+the hot sun warming us as we went. Arrived at the kraal I helped Heda
+and Kaatje from the cart—the former could scarcely walk, poor dear—and
+into the guest hut which seemed clean, where food of a sort and fur
+karosses were brought to them in which to wrap themselves while their
+clothes dried.
+
+Leaving them in charge of two old women, I went to see to Anscombe, who
+as yet could not do much for himself, also to the outspanning of the
+horses which were put into a cattle kraal, where they lay down at once
+without attempting to eat the green forage which was given to them.
+After this I gave our goods into the charge of the kraal-head, a nice
+old fellow whom I had never met before, and he led Anscombe to another
+hut close to that where the women were. Here we drank some maas, that
+is curdled milk, ate a little mutton, though we were too fatigued to be
+very hungry, and stripping off our wet clothes, threw them out into the
+sun to dry.
+
+“That was a close shave,” said Anscombe as he wrapped up in the kaross.
+
+“Very,” I answered. “So close that I think you must have been started
+in life with an extra strong guardian angel well accustomed to native
+ways.”
+
+“Yes,” he replied, “and, old fellow, I believe that on earth he goes by
+the name of Allan Quatermain.”
+
+After this I remember no more, for I went to sleep, and so remained for
+about twenty-four hours. This was not wonderful, seeing that for two
+days and nights practically I had not rested, during which time I went
+through much fatigue and many emotions.
+
+When at length I did wake up, the first thing I saw was Anscombe
+already dressed, engaged in cleaning my clothes with a brush from his
+toilet case. I remember thinking how smart and incongruous that
+dressing-bag, made appropriately enough of crocodile hide, looked in
+this Kaffir hut with its silver-topped bottles and its ivory-handled
+razors.
+
+“Time to get up, Sir. Bath ready, Sir,” he said in his jolly, drawling
+voice, pointing to a calabash full of hot water. “Hope you slept as
+well as I did, Sir.”
+
+“You appear to have recovered your spirits,” I remarked as I rose and
+began to wash myself.
+
+“Yes, Sir, and why not? Heda is quite well, for I have seen her. These
+Swazis are very good people, and as Kaatje understands their language,
+bring us all we want. Our troubles seem to be done with. Old Marnham is
+dead, and doubtless cremated; Rodd is dead and, let us hope, in heaven;
+the Basutos have melted away, the morning is fine and warm and a whole
+kid is cooking for breakfast.”
+
+“I wish there were two, for I am ravenous,” I remarked.
+
+“The horses are getting rested and feeding well, though some of their
+legs have filled, and the trap is little the worse, for I have walked
+to look at them, or rather hopped, leaning on the shoulder of a very
+sniffy Swazi boy. Do you know, old fellow, I believe there never were
+any Basutos; also that the venerable Marnham and the lurid Rodd had no
+real existence, that they were but illusions, a prolonged nightmare—no
+more. Here is your shirt. I am sorry that I have not had time to wash
+it, but it has cooked well in the sun, which, being flannel, is almost
+as good.”
+
+“At any rate Heda remains,” I remarked, cutting his nonsense short,
+“and I suppose she is not a nightmare or a delusion.”
+
+“Yes, thank God! she remains,” he replied with earnestness. “Oh! Allan,
+I thought she must drown in that river, and if I had lost her, I think
+I should have gone mad. Indeed, at the moment I felt myself going mad
+while I dragged and flogged at those horses.”
+
+“Well, you didn’t lose her, and if she had drowned, you would have
+drowned also. So don’t talk any more about it. She is safe, and now we
+have got to keep her so, for you are not married yet, my boy, and there
+are generally more trees in a wood than one can see. Still we are alive
+and well, which is more than we had any right to expect, and, as you
+say, let us thank God for that.”
+
+Then I put on my coat and my boots which Anscombe had greased as he had
+no blacking, and crept from the hut.
+
+There, only a few yards away, engaged in setting the breakfast in the
+shadow of another hut on a tanned hide that served for a tablecloth
+while Kaatje saw to the cooking close by, I found Heda, still a little
+pale and sorrowful but otherwise quite well and rested. Moreover, she
+had managed to dress herself very nicely, I suppose by help of spare
+clothes in the cart, and therefore looked as charming as she always
+did. I think that her perfect manners were one of her greatest
+attractions. Thus on this morning her first thought was to thank me
+very sweetly for all she was good enough to say I had done for her and
+Anscombe, thereby, as she put it, saving their lives several times
+over.
+
+“My dear young lady,” I answered as roughly as I could, “don’t flatter
+yourself on that point; it was my own life of which I was thinking.”
+
+But she only smiled and, shaking her head in a fascinating way that was
+peculiar to her, remarked that I could not deceive her as I did the
+Kaffirs. After this the solid Kaatje brought the food and we
+breakfasted very heartily, or at least I did.
+
+Now I am not going to set out all the details of our journey through
+Swazi-Land, for though in some ways it was interesting enough, also as
+comfortable as a stay among savages can be, for everywhere we were
+kindly received, to do so would be too long, and I must get on with my
+story. At the king’s kraal, which we did not reach for some days as the
+absence of roads and the flooded state of the rivers, also the need of
+sparing our horses, caused us to travel very slowly, I met a Boer who I
+think was concession hunting.
+
+He told me that things were really serious in Zululand, so serious that
+he thought there was a probability of immediate war between the English
+and the Zulus. He said also that Cetewayo, the Zulu king, had sent
+messengers to stir up the Basutos and other tribes against the white
+men, with the result that Sekukuni had already made a raid towards
+Pilgrim’s Rest and Lydenburg.
+
+I expressed surprise and asked innocently if he had done any harm. The
+Boer replied he understood that they had stolen some cattle, killed two
+white men, if not more, and burnt their house. He added, however, that
+he was not sure whether the white men had been killed by the Kaffirs or
+by other white men with whom they had quarrelled. There was a rumour to
+this effect, and he understood that the magistrate of Barberton had
+gone with some mounted police and armed natives to investigate the
+matter.
+
+Then we parted, as, having got his concession to which the king
+Umbandine had put his mark when he was drunk on brandy that the Boer
+himself had brought with him as a present, he was anxious to be gone
+before he grew sober and revoked it. Indeed, he was in so great a hurry
+that he never stopped to inquire what I was doing in Swazi-Land, nor do
+I think he realized that I was not alone. Certainly he was quite
+unaware that I had been mixed up in these Basuto troubles. Still his
+story as to the investigation concerning the deaths of Marnham and Rodd
+made me uneasy, since I feared lest he should hear something on his
+journey and put two and two together, though as a matter of fact I
+don’t think he ever did either of these things.
+
+The Swazis told me much the same story as to the brewing Zulu storm. In
+fact an old Induna or councillor, whom I knew, informed me that
+Cetewayo had sent messengers to them, asking for their help if it
+should come to fighting with the white men, but that the king and
+councillors answered that they had always been the Queen’s children
+(which was not strictly true, as they were never under English rule)
+and did not wish to “bite her feet if she should have to fight with her
+hands.” I replied that I hoped they would always act up to these fine
+words, and changed the subject.
+
+Now once more the question arose as to whether we should make for Natal
+or press on to Zululand. The rumour of coming war suggested that the
+first would be our better course, while the Boer’s story as to the
+investigation of Rodd’s death pointed the other way. Really I did not
+know which to do, and as usual Anscombe and Heda seemed inclined to
+leave the decision to me. I think that after all Natal would have
+gained the day had it not been for a singular circumstance, not a flash
+of lightning this time. Indeed, I had almost made up my mind to risk
+trouble and inquiry as to Rodd’s death, remembering that in Natal these
+two young people could get married, which, being in loco parentis, I
+thought it desirable they should do as soon as possible, if only to
+ease me of my responsibilities. Also thence I could attend to the
+matter of Heda’s inheritance and rid myself of her father’s will that
+already had been somewhat damaged in the Crocodile River, though not as
+much as it might have been since I had taken the precaution to enclose
+it in Anscombe’s sponge bag before we left the house.
+
+The circumstance was this: On emerging from the cart one morning, where
+I slept to keep an eye upon the valuables, for it will be remembered
+that we had a considerable sum in gold with us, also Heda’s jewels, a
+Swazi informed me that a messenger wished to see me. I asked what
+messenger and whence did he come. He replied that the messenger was a
+witch-doctoress named Nombé, and that she came from Zululand and said
+that I knew her father.
+
+I bade the man bring her to me, wondering who on earth she could be,
+for it is not usual for the Zulus to send women as messengers, and from
+whom she came. However, I knew exactly what she would be like, some
+hideous old hag smelling horribly of grease and other abominations,
+with a worn snake skin and some human bones tied about her.
+
+Presently she came, escorted by the Swazi who was grinning, for I think
+he guessed what I expected to see. I stared and rubbed my eyes,
+thinking that I must still be asleep, for instead of a fat old Isanusi
+there appeared a tall and graceful young woman, rather light-coloured,
+with deep and quiet eyes and a by no means ill-favoured face,
+remarkable for a fixed and somewhat mysterious smile. She was a
+witch-doctoress sure enough, for she wore in her hair the regulation
+bladders and about her neck the circlet of baboon’s teeth, also round
+her middle a girdle from which hung little bags of medicines.
+
+She contemplated me gravely and I contemplated her, waiting till she
+should choose to speak. At length, having examined me inch by inch, she
+saluted by raising her rounded arm and tapering hand, and remarked in a
+soft, full voice—
+
+“All is as the picture told. I perceive before me the lord Macumazahn.”
+
+I thought this a strange saying, seeing that I could not recollect
+having given my photograph to any one in Zululand.
+
+“You need no magic to tell you that, doctoress,” I remarked, “but where
+did you see my picture?”
+
+“In the dust far away,” she replied.
+
+“And who showed it to you?”
+
+“One who knew you, O Macumazahn, in the years before I came out of the
+Darkness, one named Opener of Roads, and with him another who also knew
+you in those years, one who has gone down to the Darkness.”
+
+Now for some occult reason I shrank from asking the name of this “one
+who had gone down to the Darkness,” although I was sure that she was
+waiting for the question. So I merely remarked, without showing
+surprise—
+
+“So Zikali still lives, does he? He should have been dead long ago.”
+
+“You know well that he lives, Macumazahn, for how could he die till his
+work was accomplished? Moreover, you will remember that he spoke to you
+when last moon was but just past her full—in a dream, Macumazahn. I
+brought that dream, although you did not see me.”
+
+“Pish!” I exclaimed. “Have done with your talk of dreams. Who thinks
+anything of dreams?”
+
+“You do,” she replied even more placidly than before, “you whom that
+dream has brought hither—with others.”
+
+“You lie,” I said rudely. “The Basutos brought me here.”
+
+“The Watcher-by-Night is pleased to say that I lie, so doubtless I do
+lie,” she answered, her fixed smile deepening a little. Then she folded
+her arms across her breast and remained silent.
+
+“You are a messenger, O seer of pictures in the dust and bearer of the
+cup of dreams,” I said with sarcasm. “Who sends a message by your lips
+for me, and what are the words of the message?”
+
+“My Lords the Spirits spoke the message by the mouth of the master
+Zikali. He sends it on to you by the lips of your servant, the
+doctoress Nombé.”
+
+“Are you indeed a doctoress, being so young?” I asked, for somehow I
+wished to postpone the hearing of that message.
+
+“O Macumazahn, I have heard the call, I have felt the pain in my back,
+I have drunk of the black medicine and of the white medicine, yes, for
+a whole year. I have been visited by the multitude of Spirits and seen
+the shades of those who live and of those who are dead. I have dived
+into the river and drawn my snake from its mud; see, its skin is about
+me now,” and opening the mantle she wore she showed what looked like
+the skin of a black mamba, fastened round her slender body. “I have
+dwelt in the wilderness alone and listened to its voices. I have sat at
+the feet of my master, the Opener of Roads, and looked down the road
+and drunk of his wisdom. Yes, I am in truth a doctoress.”
+
+“Well, after all this, you should be as wise as you are pretty.”
+
+“Once before, Macumazahn, you told a maid of my people that she was
+pretty and she came to no good end; though to one that was great.
+Therefore do not say to me that I am pretty, though I am glad that you
+should think so who can compare me with so many whom you have known,”
+and she dropped her eyes, looking a little shy.
+
+It was the first human touch I had seen about her, and I was glad to
+have found a weak spot in her armour. Moreover, from that moment she
+was always my friend.
+
+“As you will, Nombé. Now for your message.”
+
+“My Lords the Spirits, speaking through Zikali as one who makes music
+speak through a pipe of reeds, say—”
+
+“Never mind what the spirits say. Tell me what Zikali says,” I
+interrupted.
+
+“So be it, Macumazahn. These are the words of Zikali: ‘O
+Watcher-by-Night, the time draws on when the
+Thing-who-should-never-have-been-born will be as though he never had
+been born, whereat he rejoices. But first there is much for him to do,
+and as he told you nearly three hundred moons ago, in what must be done
+you will have your part. Of that he will speak to you afterwards.
+Macumazahn, you dreamed a dream, did you not, lying asleep in the house
+that was built of white stone which now is black with fire? I, Zikali,
+sent you that dream through the arts of a child of mine who is named
+Nombé, she to whom I have given a Spirit to guide her feet. You did
+well to follow it, Macumazahn, for had you tried the other path, which
+would have led you back to the towns of the white men, you and those
+with you must have been killed, how it does not matter. Now by the
+mouth of Nombé I say to you, do not follow the thought that is in your
+mind as she speaks to you and go to Natal, since if you do so, you and
+those with you will come to much shame and trouble that to you would be
+worse than death, over the matter of the killing of a certain white
+doctor in a swamp where grow yellow-wood trees. For there in Natal you
+will be taken, all of you, and sent back to the Transvaal to be tried
+before a man who wears upon his head horse’s hair stained white. But if
+you come to Zululand this shadow shall pass away from you, since great
+things are about to happen which will cause so small a matter to be
+forgot. Moreover, I Zikali, who do not lie, promise this: That however
+great may be their dangers here in Zululand, those half-fledged ones
+whom you, the old night-hawk, cover with your wings, shall in the end
+suffer no harm; those of whom I spoke to you in your dream, the white
+lord, Mauriti, and the white lady, Heddana, who stretch out their arms
+one to another. I wait to welcome you, here at the Black Kloof, whither
+my daughter Nombé will guide you. Cetewayo, the king, also will welcome
+you, and so will another whose name I do not utter. Now choose. I have
+spoken.’”
+
+Having delivered her message Nombé stood quite still, smiling as
+before, and apparently indifferent as to its effect.
+
+“How do I know that you come from Zikali?” I asked. “You may be but the
+bait set upon a trap.”
+
+From somewhere within her robe she produced a knife and handed it to
+me, remarking—
+
+“The Master says you will remember this, and by it know that the
+message comes from him. He bade me add that with it was carved a
+certain image that once he gave to you at Panda’s kraal, wrapped round
+with a woman’s hair, which image you still have.”
+
+I looked at the knife and did remember it, for it was one of those of
+Swedish make with a wooden handle, the first that I had ever seen in
+Africa. I had made a present of it to Zikali when I returned to
+Zululand before the war between the Princes. The image, too, I still
+possessed. It was that of the woman called Mameena who brought about
+the war, and the wrapping which covered it was of the hair that once
+grew upon her head.
+
+“The words are Zikali’s,” I said, returning her the knife, “but why do
+you call yourself the child of one who is too old to be a father?”
+
+“The Master says that my great-grandmother was his daughter and that
+therefore I am his child. Now, Macumazahn, I go to eat with my people,
+for I have servants with me. Then I must speak with the Swazi king, for
+whom I also have a message, which I cannot do at present because he is
+still drunk with the white man’s liquor. After that I shall be ready to
+return with you to Zululand.”
+
+“I never said that I was going to Zululand, Nombé.”
+
+“Yet your heart has gone there already, Macumazahn, and you must follow
+your heart. Does not the image which was carved with the knife you
+gave, hold a white heart in its hand, and although it seems to be but a
+bit of Umzimbeete wood, is it not alive and bewitched, which perhaps is
+why you could never make up your mind to burn it, Macumazahn?”
+
+“I wish I had,” I replied angrily; but having thrown this last spear,
+with a flash of her unholy eyes Nombé had turned and gone.
+
+A clever woman and thoroughly coached, thought I. Well, Zikali was
+never one to suffer fools, and doubtless she is another of the pawns
+whom he uses on his board of policy. Oh! she, or rather he was right;
+my heart was in Zululand, though not in the way he thought, and I
+longed to see the end of that great game played by a wizard against a
+despot and his hosts.
+
+So we went to Zululand because after talking it over we all came to the
+conclusion that this was the best thing to do, especially as there we
+seemed to be sure of a welcome. For later in the day Nombé repeated to
+Anscombe and Heda the invitation which she had delivered to me,
+assuring them also that in Zululand they would come to no harm.
+
+It was curious to watch the meeting between Heda and Nombé. The
+doctoress appeared just as we had risen from breakfast, and Heda,
+turning round, came face to face with her.
+
+“Is this your witch, Mr. Quatermain?” she asked me in her vivacious
+way. “Why, she is different from what I expected, quite good-looking
+and, yes, impressive. I am not sure that she does not frighten me a
+little.”
+
+“What does the Inkosikaasi (i.e., the chieftainess) say concerning me,
+Macumazahn?” asked Nombé.
+
+“Only what I said, that you are young who she thought would be old, and
+pretty who she thought would be ugly.”
+
+“To grow old we must first be young, Macumazahn, and in due season all
+of us will become ugly, even the Inkosikaasi. But I thought she said
+also that she feared me.”
+
+“Do you know English, Nombé?”
+
+“Nay, but I know how to read eyes, and the Inkosikaasi has eyes that
+talk. Tell her that she has no reason to fear me who would be her
+friend, though I think that she will bring me little luck.”
+
+It was scarcely necessary, so far as Heda was concerned, but I
+translated, leaving out the last sentence.
+
+“Say to her that I am grateful who have few friends, and that I will
+fear her no more,” said Heda.
+
+Again I translated, whereon Nombé stretched out her hand, saying—
+
+“Let her not scorn to take it, it is clean. It has brought no man to
+his death—” Here she looked at Heda meaningly. “Moreover, though she is
+white and I am black, I like herself am of high blood and come of a
+race of warriors who did nothing small, and lastly, we are of an age,
+and if she is beautiful, I am wise and have gifts great as her own.”
+
+Once more I interpreted for the benefit of Anscombe, for Heda
+understood Zulu well enough, although she had pretended not to do so,
+after which the two shook hands, to Anscombe’s amusement and my wonder.
+For I felt this scene to be strained and one that hid, or presaged,
+something I did not comprehend.
+
+“This is the Chief she loves?” said Nombé to me, studying Anscombe with
+her steady eyes after Heda had gone. “Well, he is no common man and
+brave, if idle; one, too, who may grow tall in the world, should he
+live, when he has learned to think. But, Macumazahn, if she met you
+both at the same time why did she not choose you?”
+
+“Just now you said you were wise, Nombé,” I replied laughing, “but now
+I see that, like most of your trade, you are but a vain boaster. Is
+there a hat upon my head that you cannot see the colour of my hair, and
+is it natural that youth should turn to age?”
+
+“Sometimes if the mind is old, Macumazahn, which is why I love the
+Spirits only who are more ancient than the mountains, and with them
+Zikali their servant, who was young before the Zulus were a people, or
+so he says, and still year by year gathers wisdom as the bee gathers
+honey. Inspan your horses, Macumazahn, for I have done my business and
+am ready to start.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+ZIKALI
+
+
+Ten days had gone by when once more I found myself drawing near to the
+mouth of the Black Kloof where dwelt Zikali the Wizard. Our journey in
+Zululand had been tedious and uneventful. It seemed to me that we met
+extraordinarily few people; it was as though the place had suddenly
+become depopulated, and I even passed great kraals where there was no
+one to be seen. I asked Nombé what was the meaning of this, for she and
+three silent men she had with her were acting as our guides. Once she
+answered that the people had moved because of lack of food, as the
+season had been one of great scarcity owing to drought, and once that
+they had been summoned to a gathering at the king’s kraal near Ulundi.
+At any rate they were not there, and the few who did appear stared at
+us strangely.
+
+Moreover, I noticed that they were not allowed to speak to us. Also
+Heda was kept in the cart and Nombé insisted that the rear canvas
+curtain should be closed and a blanket fastened behind Anscombe who
+drove, evidently with the object that she should not be seen. Further,
+on the plea of weariness, from the time that we entered Zulu territory
+Nombé asked to be allowed to ride in the cart with Kaatje and Heda, her
+real reason, as I was sure, being that she might keep a watch on them.
+Lastly we travelled by little-frequented tracks, halting at night in
+out-of-the-way places, where, however, we always found food awaiting
+us, doubtless by arrangement.
+
+With one man whom I had known in past days and who recognized me, I did
+manage to have a short talk. He asked me what I was doing in Zululand
+at that time. I replied that I was on a visit to Zikali, whereon he
+said I should be safer with him than with any one else.
+
+Our conversation went no further, for just then one of Nombé’s servants
+appeared and made some remark to the man of which I could not catch the
+meaning, whereon he promptly turned and departed, leaving me wondering
+and uneasy.
+
+Evidently we were being isolated, but when I remonstrated with Nombé
+she only answered with her most unfathomable smile—
+
+“O Macumazahn, you must ask Zikali of all these things. I am no one and
+know nothing, who only do what the Master tells me is for your good.”
+
+“I am minded to turn and depart from Zululand,” I said angrily, “for in
+this low veld whither you have led us there is fever and the horses
+will catch sickness or be bitten by the tsetse fly and perish.”
+
+“I cannot say, Macumazahn, who only travel by the road the Master
+pointed out. Yet if you will be guided by me, you will not try to leave
+Zululand.”
+
+“You mean that I am in a trap, Nombé.”
+
+“I mean that the country is full of soldiers and that all white men
+have fled from it. Therefore, even if you were allowed to pass because
+the Zulus love you, Macumazahn, it might well happen that those with
+you would stay behind, sound asleep, Macumazahn, for which, like you, I
+should be sorry.”
+
+After this I said no more, for I knew that she meant to warn me. We had
+entered on this business and must see it through to its end, sweet or
+bitter.
+
+As for Anscombe and Heda their happiness seemed to be complete. The
+novelty of the life charmed them, and of its dangers they took no
+thought, being content to leave me, in whom they had a blind faith, to
+manage everything. Moreover, Heda, who in the joy of her love was
+beginning to forget the sorrow of her father’s death and the other
+tragic events through which she had just passed, took a great fancy to
+the young witch-doctoress who conversed with her in Zulu, a language of
+which, having lived so long in Natal, Heda knew much already. Indeed,
+when I suggested to her that to be over-trusting was not wise, she
+fired up and replied that she had been accustomed to natives all her
+life and could judge them, adding that she had every confidence in
+Nombé.
+
+After this I held my tongue and said no more of my doubts. What was the
+use since Heda would not listen to them, and at that time Anscombe was
+nothing but her echo?
+
+So this, for me, very dull journey continued, till at length, after
+being held up for a couple of days by a flooded river where there was
+nothing to do but sit and smoke, as Nombé requested me not to make a
+noise by shooting at the big game that abounded, we began to emerge
+from the bush-veld on to the lovely uplands in the neighbourhood of
+Nongoma. Leaving these on our right we headed for a place called Ceza,
+a natural stronghold consisting of a flat plain on the top of a
+mountain, which plain is surrounded by bush. It is at the foot of this
+stronghold that the Black Kloof lies, being one of the ravines that run
+up into the mountain.
+
+So thither we came at last. It was drawing towards sunset, a tremendous
+and stormy sunset, as we approached the place, and lo! it looked
+exactly as it had done when first I saw it more than a score of years
+before, forbidding as the mouth of hell, vast and lonesome. There stood
+the columns of boulders fantastically piled one upon another; there
+grew the sparse trees upon its steep sides, mingled with aloes that
+looked like the shapes of men; there was the granite bottom swept
+almost clean by floods in some dim age, and the little stream that
+flowed along it. There, too, was the spot where once I had outspanned
+my wagons on the night when my servants swore that they saw the
+Imikovu, or wizard-raised spectres, floating past them on the air in
+the shapes of the Princes and others who were soon to fall at the
+battle of the Tugela. Up it we went, I riding and Nombé, who had
+descended from the cart that followed, walking by my side and watching
+me.
+
+“You seem sad, Macumazahn,” she said at length.
+
+“Yes, Nombé, I am sad. This place makes me so.”
+
+“Is it the place, Macumazahn, or is it the thought of one whom once you
+met in the place, one who is dead?”
+
+I looked at her, pretending not to understand, and she went on—
+
+“I have the gift of vision, Macumazahn, which comes at times to those
+of my trade, and now and again, amongst others, I have seemed to see
+the spirit of a certain woman haunting this kloof as though she were
+waiting for some one.”
+
+“Indeed, and what may that woman be like?” I inquired carelessly.
+
+“As it chances I can see her now gliding backwards in front of you just
+there, and therefore am able to answer your question, Macumazahn. She
+is tall and slender, beautifully made, and light-coloured for one of us
+black people. She has large eyes like a buck, and those eyes are full
+of fire that does not come from the sun but from within. Her face is
+tender yet proud, oh! so proud that she makes me afraid. She wears a
+cloak of grey fur, and about her neck there is a circlet of big blue
+beads with which her fingers play. A thought comes from her to me.
+These are the words of the thought: ‘I have waited long in this dark
+place, watching by day and night till you, the Watcher-by-Night, return
+to meet me here. At length you have come, and in this enchanted place
+my hungry spirit can feed upon your spirit for a while. I thank you for
+coming, who now am no more lonely. Fear nothing, Macumazahn, for by a
+certain kiss I swear to you that till the appointed hour when you
+become as I am, I will be a shield upon your arm and a spear in your
+hand.’ Such are the words of her thought, Macumazahn, but she has gone
+away and I hear no more. It was as though your horse rode over her and
+she passed through you.”
+
+Then, like one who wished to answer no questions, Nombé turned and went
+back to the cart, where she began to talk indifferently with Heda, for
+as soon as we entered the kloof her servants had drawn back the
+curtains and let fall the blanket. As for me, I groaned, for of course
+I knew that Zikali, who was well acquainted with the appearance of
+Mameena, had instructed Nombé to say all this to me in order to impress
+my mind for some reason of his own. Yet he had done it cleverly, for
+such words as those Mameena might well have uttered could her great
+spirit have need to walk the earth again. Was such a thing possible, I
+wondered? No, it was not possible, yet it was true that her atmosphere
+seemed to cling about this place and that my imagination, excited by
+memory and Nombé’s suggestions, seemed to apprehend her presence.
+
+As I reflected the horse advanced round the little bend in the
+ever-narrowing cliffs, and there in front of me, under the gigantic
+mass of overhanging rock, appeared the kraal of Zikali surrounded by
+its reed fence. The gate of the fence was open, and beyond it, on his
+stool in front of the large hut, sat Zikali. Even at that distance it
+was impossible to mistake his figure, which was like no other that I
+had known in the world. A broad-shouldered dwarf with a huge head,
+deep, sunken eyes and snowy hair that hung upon his shoulders; the
+whole frame and face pervaded with an air of great antiquity, and yet
+owing to the plumpness of the flesh and that freshness of skin which is
+sometimes seen in the aged, comparatively young-looking.
+
+Such was the great wizard Zikali, known throughout the land for longer
+than any living man could remember as “Opener of Roads,” a title that
+referred to his powers of spiritual vision, also as the
+“Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born,” a name given to him by Chaka,
+the first and greatest of the Zulu kings, because of his deformity.
+
+There he sat silent, impassive, staring open-eyed at the red ball of
+the setting sun, looking more like some unshapely statue than a man.
+His silent, fierce-faced servants appeared. To me they looked like the
+same men whom I had seen here three and twenty years before, only grown
+older. Indeed, I think they were, for they greeted me by name and
+saluted by raising their broad spears. I dismounted and waited while
+Anscombe, whose foot was now quite well again, helped Heda from the
+cart which was led away by the servants. Anscombe, who seemed a little
+oppressed, remarked that this was a strange place.
+
+“Yes,” said Heda, “but it is magnificent. I like it.”
+
+Then her eye fell upon Zikali seated before the hut and she turned
+pale.
+
+“Oh! what a terrible-looking man,” she murmured, “if he is a man.”
+
+The maid Kaatje saw him also and uttered a little cry.
+
+“Don’t be frightened, dear,” said Anscombe, “he is only an old dwarf.”
+
+“I suppose so,” she exclaimed doubtfully, “but to me he is like the
+devil.”
+
+Nombé slid past us. She threw off the kaross she wore and for the first
+time appeared naked except for the mucha about her middle and her
+ornaments. Down she went on her hands and knees and in this humble
+posture crept towards Zikali. Arriving in front of him she touched the
+ground with her forehead, then lifting her right arm, gave the salute
+of _Makosi_, to which as a great wizard he was entitled, being supposed
+to be the home of many spirits. So far as I could see he took no notice
+of her. Presently she moved and squatted herself down on his right
+hand, while two of his attendants appeared from behind the hut and took
+their stand between him and its doorway, holding their spears raised.
+About a minute later Nombé beckoned to us to approach, and we went
+forward across the courtyard, I a little ahead of the others. As we
+drew near Zikali opened his mouth and uttered a loud and terrifying
+laugh. How well I remembered that laugh which I had first heard at
+Dingaan’s kraal as a boy after the murder of Retief and the Boers.[1]
+
+ [1] See the book called _Marie,_ by H. Rider Haggard.
+
+
+“I begin to think that you are right and that this old gentleman must
+be the devil,” said Anscombe to Heda, then lapsed into silence.
+
+As I was determined not to speak first I took the opportunity to fill
+my pipe. Zikali, who was watching me, although all the while he seemed
+to be staring at the setting sun, made a sign. One of the servants
+dashed away and immediately returned, bearing a flaming brand which he
+proffered to me as a pipe-lighter. Then he departed again to bring
+three carved stools of red wood which he placed for us. I looked at
+mine and knew it again by the carvings. It was the same on which I had
+sat when first I met Zikali. At length he spoke in his deep, slow
+voice.
+
+“Many years have gone by, Macumazahn, since you made use of that stool.
+They are cut in notches upon the leg you hold and you may count them if
+you will.”
+
+I examined the leg. There were the notches, twenty-two or three of
+them. On the other legs were more notches too numerous to reckon.
+
+“Do not look at those, Macumazahn, for they have nothing to do with
+you. They tell the years since the first of the House of Senzangacona
+sat upon that stool, since Chaka sat upon it, since Dingaan and others
+sat upon it, one Mameena among them. Well, much has happened since it
+served you for a rest. You have wandered far and seen strange things
+and lived where others would have died because it was your lot to live,
+of all of which we will talk afterwards. And now when you are grey you
+have come back here, as the Opener of Roads told you you would do,
+bringing with you new companions, you who have the art of making
+friends even when you are old, which is one given to few men. Where are
+those with whom you used to company, Macumazahn? Where are Saduko and
+Mameena and the rest? All gone except the
+Thing-who-should-never-have-been-born,” and again he laughed loudly.
+
+“And who it seems has never learned when to die,” I remarked, speaking
+for the first time.
+
+“Just so, Macumazahn, because I cannot die until my work is finished.
+But thanks be to the spirits of my fathers and to my own that I live on
+to glut with vengeance, the end draws near at last, and as I promised
+you in the dead days, you shall have your share in it, Macumazahn.”
+
+He paused, then continued, still staring at the sinking sun, which made
+his remarks about us, whom he did not seem to see, uncanny—
+
+“That white man with you is brave and well-born, one who loves
+fighting, I think, and the maiden is fair and sweet, with a high
+spirit. She is thinking to herself that I am an old wizard whom, if she
+were not afraid of me, she would ask to tell her her fortune. See, she
+understands and starts. Well, perhaps I will one day. Meanwhile, here
+is a little bit of it. She will have five children, of whom two will
+die and one will give her so much trouble that she will wish it had
+died also. But who their father will be I do not say. Nombé my child,
+lead away this White One and her woman to the hut that has been made
+ready for her, for she is weary and would rest. See, too, that she
+lacks for nothing which we can give her who is our guest. Let the white
+lord, Mauriti, accompany her to the hut and be shown that next to it in
+which he and Macumazahn will sleep, so that he may be sure that she is
+safe, and attend to the horses if he wills. There is a place to tether
+them behind the huts, and the men who travelled with you will help him.
+Afterwards, when I have spoken with him, Macumazahn can join them that
+they may eat before they sleep.”
+
+These directions I translated to Anscombe, who went gladly enough with
+Heda, for I think they were both afraid of the terrible old dwarf and
+did not desire his company in the gathering gloom.
+
+“The sun sinks once more, Macumazahn,” he said when they were gone,
+“and the air grows chill. Come with me now into my hut where the fire
+burns, for I am aged and the cold strikes through me. Also there we can
+be alone.”
+
+So speaking he turned and crawled into the hut, looking like a gigantic
+white-headed beetle as he did so, a creature, I remembered, to which I
+had once compared him in the past. I followed, carrying the historic
+stool, and when he had seated himself on his kaross on the further side
+of the fire, took up my position opposite to him. This fire was fed
+with some kind of root or wood that gave a thin clear flame with little
+or no smoke. Over it he crouched, so closely that his great head seemed
+to be almost in the flame at which he stared with unblinking eyes as he
+had done at the sun, circumstances which added to his terrifying
+appearance and made me think of a certain region and its inhabitants.
+
+“Why do you come here, Macumazahn?” he asked after studying me for a
+while through that window of fire.
+
+“Because you brought me, Zikali, partly through your messenger, Nombé,
+and partly by means of a dream which she says you sent.”
+
+“Did I, Macumazahn? If so, I have forgotten it. Dreams are as many as
+gnats by the water; they bite us while we sleep, but when we wake up we
+forget them. Also it is foolishness to say that one man can send a
+dream to another.”
+
+“Then your messenger lied, Zikali, especially as she added that she
+brought it.”
+
+“Of course she lied, Macumazahn. Is she not my pupil whom I have
+trained from a child? Moreover, she lied well, it would seem, who
+guessed what sort of a dream you would have when you thought of turning
+your steps to Zululand.”
+
+“Why do you play at sticks (i.e., fence) with me, Zikali, seeing that
+neither of us are children?”
+
+“O Macumazahn, that is where you are mistaken, seeing that both of us,
+old though we be and cunning though we think ourselves, are nothing but
+babes in the arms of Fate. Well, well, I will tell you the truth, since
+it would be foolish to try to throw dust into such eyes as yours. I
+knew that you were down in Sekukuni’s country and I was watching
+you—through my spies. You have been nowhere during all these years that
+I was not watching you—through my spies. For instance, that
+Arab-looking man named Harut, whom first you met at a big kraal in a
+far country, was a spy of mine. He has visited me lately and told me
+much of your doings. No, don’t ask me of him now who would talk to you
+of other matters—”
+
+“Does Harut still live then, and has he found a new god in place of the
+Ivory Child?” I interrupted.
+
+“Macumazahn, if he did not live, how could he visit and speak with me?
+Well, I watched you there by the Oliphant’s River where you fought
+Sekukuni’s people, and afterwards in the marble hut where you found the
+old white man dead in his chair and got the writings that you have in
+your pocket which concern the maiden Heddana; also afterwards when the
+white man, your friend, killed the doctor who fell into a mud hole and
+the Basutos stole his cattle and wagon.”
+
+“How do you know all these things, Zikali?”
+
+“Have I not told you—through my spies. Was there not a half-breed
+driver called Footsack, and do not the Basutos come and go between the
+Black Kloof and Sekukuni’s town, bearing me tidings?”
+
+“Yes, Zikali, and so does the wind and so do the birds.”
+
+“True! O Macumazahn, I see that you are one who has watched Nature and
+its ways as closely as my spies watch you. So I learned these matters
+and knew that you were in trouble over the death of these white men,
+and your friends likewise, and as you were always dear to me, I sent
+that child Nombé to bring you to me, thinking from what I knew of you
+that you would be more likely to follow a woman who is both wise and
+good to look at, than a man who might be neither. I told her to say to
+you that you and the others would be safer here than in Natal at
+present. It seems that you hearkened and came. That is all.”
+
+“Yes, I hearkened and came. But, Zikali, that is not all, for you know
+well that you sent for me for your own sake, not for mine.”
+
+“O Macumazahn, who can prevent a needle from piercing cloth when it is
+pushed by a finger like yours? Your wits are too sharp for me,
+Macumazahn; your eyes read through the blanket of cunning with which I
+would hide my thought. You speak truly. I did send for you for my own
+sake as well as for yours. I sent for you because I wanted your
+counsel, Macumazahn, and because Cetewayo the king also wants your
+counsel, and I wished to see you before you saw Cetewayo. Now you have
+the whole truth.”
+
+“What do you want my counsel about, Zikali?”
+
+He leaned forward till his white locks almost seemed to mingle with the
+thin flame, through which he glared at me with eyes that were fiercer
+than the fire.
+
+“Macumazahn, you remember the story that I told you long ago, do you
+not?”
+
+“Very well, Zikali. It was that you hate the House of Senzangacona
+which has given all its kings to Zululand. First, because you are one
+of the Dwandwe tribe whom the Zulus crushed and mocked at. Secondly,
+because Chaka the Lion named you the
+'Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born’ and killed your wives, for
+which crime you brought about the death of Chaka. Thirdly, because you
+have matched your single wit for many years against all the power of
+the royal House and yet kept your life in you, notably when Panda
+threatened you in my presence at the trial of one who has ‘gone down,’
+and you told him to kill you if he dared. Now you would prove that you
+were right by causing your cunning to triumph over the royal House.”
+
+“True, quite true, O Macumazahn. You have a good memory, Macumazahn,
+especially for anything that has to do with that woman who has ‘gone
+down.’ I sent her down, but how was she named, Macumazahn? I forget, I
+forget, whose mind being old, falls suddenly into black pits of
+darkness—like her who went down.”
+
+He paused and we stared at each other through the veil of fire. Then as
+I made no answer, he went on—
+
+“Oh! I remember now, she was called Mameena, was she not, a name taken
+from the wailing of the wind? Hark! It is wailing now.”
+
+I listened; it was, and I shivered to hear it, since but a minute
+before the night had been quite still. Yes, the wind moaned and wailed
+about the rocks of the Black Kloof.
+
+“Well, enough of her. Why trouble about the dead when there are so many
+to be sent to join them? Macumazahn, the hour is at hand. The fool
+Cetewayo has quarrelled with your people, the English, and on my
+counsel. He has sent and killed women, or allowed others to do so,
+across the river in Natal. His messengers came to me asking what he
+should do. I answered, 'Shall a king of the blood of Chaka fear to
+allow his own wicked ones to be slain because they have stepped across
+a strip of water, and still call himself king of the Zulus?’ So those
+women were dragged back across the water and killed; and now the
+Queen’s man from the Cape asks many things, great fines of cattle, the
+giving up of the slayers, and that an end should be made of the Zulu
+army, which is to lay down its spears and set to hoeing like the old
+women in the kraals.”
+
+“And if the king refuses, what then, Zikali?”
+
+“Then, Macumazahn, the Queen’s man will declare war on the Zulus;
+already he gathers his soldiers for the war.”
+
+“Will Cetewayo refuse, Zikali?”
+
+“I do not know. His mind swings this way and that, like a pole balanced
+on a rock. The ends of the pole are weighted with much counsel, and it
+hangs so even that if a grasshopper lit on one end or the other, it
+would turn the scale.”
+
+“And do you wish me to be that grasshopper, Zikali?”
+
+“Who else? That is why I brought you to Zululand.”
+
+“So you wish me to counsel Cetewayo to lie down in the bed that the
+English have made for him. If he seeks my advice I will do so gladly,
+for so I am sure he will sleep well.”
+
+“Why do you mock me, Macumazahn? I wish you to counsel Cetewayo to
+throw back his word into the teeth of the Queen’s man and to fight the
+English.”
+
+“And thus bring destruction on the Zulus and death to thousands of them
+and of my own people, and in return gain nothing but remorse. Do you
+think me mad or wicked, or both, that I should do this thing?”
+
+“Nay, Macumazahn, you would gain much. I could show you where the
+king’s cattle are hidden. The English will never find them, and after
+the war you might take as many as you chose. But it would be useless,
+for knowing you well, I am sure that you would only hand them over to
+the British Government, as once you handed over the cattle of Bangu,
+being fashioned that way by the Great-Great, Macumazahn.”
+
+“Perhaps I might, but then what should I gain, Zikali?”
+
+“This: you would so bring things about that, being broken by war, the
+Zulu power could never again menace the white men, which would be a
+great and good deed, Macumazahn.”
+
+“Mayhap—I am not sure. But of this I am sure, that I will not thrust my
+face into your nest of wasps, that the English hornets may steal the
+honey when they are disturbed. I leave such matters to the Queen and
+those who rule under her. So have done with such talk, for you do but
+waste your breath, Zikali.”
+
+“It is as I guessed it would be,” he answered, shaking his great head.
+“You are too honest to prosper in the world, Macumazahn. Well, I must
+find other means to bring the House of Cetewayo to the end that he
+deserves, who has been an evil and a cruel king.”
+
+All this he said, showing neither surprise nor resentment, which
+convinced me of what I had suspected throughout, that never for an
+instant did he believe that I should fall in with his suggestions and
+try to influence the Zulus to declare war. No, this talk of his was but
+a blind; there was some deeper scheme at work in his cunning old brain
+which he was hiding from me. Why exactly had he beguiled me to
+Zululand? I could not divine, and to ask him would be worse than
+useless, but then and there I made up my mind that I would get away
+from the Black Kloof early on the following morning, if that were
+possible.
+
+He began to speak of other matters in a low, droning voice, like a man
+who converses with himself. Sad, all of them, such as the haunted death
+of Saduko who had betrayed his lord, the Prince Umbelazi, because of a
+woman, every circumstance of which seemed to be familiar to him.
+
+I made no answer, who was waiting for an opportunity to leave the hut,
+and did not care to dwell on these events. He ceased and brooded for a
+while, then said suddenly—
+
+“You are hungry and would eat, Macumazahn, and I who eat little would
+sleep, for in sleep the multitudes of Spirits visit me, bringing
+tidings from afar. Well, we have spoken together and of that I am glad,
+for who knows when the chance will come again, though I think that soon
+we shall meet at Ulundi, Ulundi where Fate spreads its net. What was it
+I had to say to you? Ah! I remember. There is one who is always in your
+thoughts and whom you wish to see, one too who wishes to see you. You
+shall, you shall in payment for the trouble you have taken in coming so
+far to visit a poor old Zulu doctor whom, as you told me long ago, you
+know to be nothing but a cheat.”
+
+He paused and, why I could not tell, I grew weak with fear of I knew
+not what, and bethought me of flight.
+
+“It is cold in this hut, is it not?” he went on. “Burn up, fire, burn
+up!” and plunging his hand into a catskin bag of medicines which he
+wore, he drew out some powder which he threw upon the embers that
+instantly burst into bright flame.
+
+“Look now, Macumazahn,” he said, “look to your right.”
+
+I looked and oh Heaven! there before me with outstretched arms and
+infinite yearning on her face, stood Mameena, Mameena as I had last
+seen her after I gave her the promised kiss that she used to cover her
+taking of the poison. For five seconds, mayhap, she stood thus, living,
+wonderful, but still as death, the fierce light showing all. Then the
+flame died down again and she was gone.
+
+I turned and next instant was out of the hut, pursued by the terrible
+laughter of Zikali.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+TRAPPED
+
+
+Outside in the cool night air I recovered myself, sufficiently at any
+rate to be able to think, and saw at once that the thing was an
+illusion for which Zikali had prepared my mind very carefully by means
+of the young witch-doctoress, Nombé. He knew well enough that this
+remarkable woman, Mameena, had made a deep impression on me nearly a
+quarter of a century before, as she had done upon other men with whom
+she had been associated. Therefore it was probable that she would
+always be present to my thought, since whatever a man forgets, he
+remembers the women who have shown him favour, true or false, for
+Nature has decreed it thus.
+
+Moreover, this was one to be remembered for herself, since she was
+beautiful and most attractive in her wild way. Also she had brought
+about a great war, causing the death of thousands, and lastly her end
+might fairly be called majestic. All these impressions Zikali had
+instructed Nombé to revivify by her continual allusions to Mameena, and
+lastly by her pretence that she saw her walking in front of me. Then
+when I was tired and hungry, in that place which for me was so closely
+connected with this woman, and in his own uncanny company, either by
+mesmerism or through the action of the drug he threw upon the fire, he
+had succeeded in calling up the illusion of her presence to my charmed
+sight. All this was clear enough, what remained obscure was his object.
+
+Possibly he had none beyond an impish desire to frighten me, which is
+common enough among practitioners of magic in all lands. Well, for a
+little while he had succeeded, although to speak truth I remained
+uncertain whether in a sense I was not more thrilled and rejoiced than
+frightened. Mameena had never been so ill to look upon, and I knew that
+dead or living I had nothing to fear from her who would have walked
+through hell fire for my sake, would have done anything, except perhaps
+sacrifice her ambition. No, even if this were her ghost I should have
+been glad to see her again.
+
+But it was not a ghost; it was only a fancy reproduced exactly as my
+mind had photographed her, almost as my eyes last saw her, when her
+kiss was still warm upon my lips.
+
+Such were my thoughts as I stood outside that hut with the cold
+perspiration running down my face, for to tell the truth my nerves were
+upset, although without reason. So upset were they that when suddenly a
+silent-footed man appeared out of the darkness I jumped as high as
+though I had set my foot on a puff-adder, and until I recognized him by
+his voice as one of Nombé’s servants who had accompanied us from
+Swazi-Land, felt quite alarmed. As a matter of fact he had only come to
+tell me that our meal was ready and that the other “high White Ones”
+were waiting for me.
+
+He led me round the fence that encircled Zikali’s dwelling-place, to
+two huts that stood nearly behind it, almost against the face of the
+rock which, overhanging in a curve, formed a kind of natural roof above
+them. I thought they must have been built since I visited the place, as
+I, who have a good memory for such things, did not remember them.
+Indeed, on subsequent examination I found that they were quite new, for
+the poles that formed their uprights were still green and the grass of
+the thatch was scarcely dry. It looked to me as if they had been
+specially constructed for our accommodation.
+
+In one of these huts, that to the right which was allotted to Anscombe
+and myself, I found the others waiting for me, also the food. It was
+good of its sort and well cooked, and we ate it by the light of some
+candles that we had with us, Kaatje serving us. Yet, although a little
+while before I had been desperately hungry, now my appetite seemed to
+have left me and I made but a poor meal. Heda and Anscombe also seemed
+oppressed and ate sparingly. We did not talk much until Kaatje had
+taken away the tin plates and gone to eat her own supper by a fire that
+burned outside the hut. Then Heda broke out, saying that she was
+terrified of this place and especially of its master, the old dwarf,
+and felt sure that something terrible was going to happen to her.
+Anscombe did his best to calm her, and I also told her she had nothing
+to fear.
+
+“If there is nothing to fear, Mr. Quatermain,” she answered, turning on
+me, “why do you look so frightened yourself? By your face you might
+have seen a ghost.”
+
+This sudden and singularly accurate thrust, for after all I had seen
+something that looked very like a ghost, startled me, and before I
+could invent any soothing and appropriate fib, Nombé appeared, saying
+that she had come to lead Heda to her sleeping-place. After this
+further conversation was impossible since, although Nombé knew but few
+words of English, she was a great thought-reader and I feared to speak
+of anything secret in her presence. So we all went out of the hut,
+Nombé and I drawing back a little to the fire while the lovers said
+good-night to each other.
+
+“Nombé,” I said, “the Inkosikazi Heddana is afraid. The rocks of this
+kloof lie heavy on her heart; the face of the Opener of Roads is
+fearful to her and his laughter grates upon her ears. Do you
+understand?”
+
+“I understand, Macumazahn, and it is as I expected. When you yourself
+are frightened it is natural that she, an untried maiden, should be
+frightened also in this home of spirits.”
+
+“It is men we fear, not spirits, now when all Zululand is boiling like
+a pot,” I replied angrily.
+
+“Have it as you will, Macumazahn,” she said, and at that moment her
+quiet, searching eyes and fixed smile were hateful to me. “At least you
+admit that you do fear. Well, for the lady Heddana fear nothing. I
+sleep across the door of her hut, and while I who have learned to love
+her, live, I say—for her fear nothing, whatever may chance or whatever
+you may see or hear.”
+
+“I believe you, but, Nombé, you might die.”
+
+“Yes, I may die, but be sure of this, that when I die she will be safe,
+and he who loves her also. Sleep well, Macumazahn, and do not dream too
+much of what you heard and saw in Zikali’s house.”
+
+Then before I could speak she turned and left me.
+
+I did _not_ sleep well; I slept very badly. To begin with, Maurice
+Anscombe, generally the most cheerful and nonchalant of mortals with a
+jest for every woe, was in a most depressed condition, and informed me
+of it several times, while I was getting ready to turn in. He said he
+thought the place hateful and felt as if people he could not see were
+looking at him (I had the same sensation but did not mention the fact
+to him). When I told him he was talking stuff, he only replied that he
+could not help it, and pointed out that it was not his general habit to
+be downcast in any danger, which was quite true. Now, he added, he was
+enjoying much the same sensations as he did when first he saw the
+Yellow-wood Swamp and got the idea into his head that he would kill
+some one there, which happened in due course.
+
+“Do you mean that you think you are going to kill somebody else?” I
+asked anxiously.
+
+“No,” he answered, “I think I am going to be killed, or something like
+it, probably by that accursed old villain of a witch-doctor, who I
+don’t believe is altogether human.”
+
+“Others have thought that before now, Anscombe, and to be plain, I
+don’t know that he is. He lives too much with the dead to be like other
+people.”
+
+“And with Satan, to whom I expect he makes sacrifices. The truth is I’m
+afraid of his playing some of his tricks with Heda. It is for her I
+fear, not for myself, Allan. Oh! why on earth did you come here?”
+
+“Because you wished it and it seemed the safest thing to do. Look here,
+my boy, as usual the trouble comes through a woman. When a man’s
+single—you know the rest. You used to be able to laugh at anything, but
+now that you are practically double you can’t laugh any more. Well,
+that’s the common lot of man and you’ve got to put up with it. Adam was
+pretty jolly in his garden until Eve was started, but you know what
+happened afterwards. The rest of his life was a compound of temptation,
+anxiety, family troubles, remorse, hard labour with primitive
+instruments, and a flaming sword behind him. If you had left your Eve
+alone you would have escaped all this. But you see you didn’t, and as a
+matter of fact, nobody ever does who is worth his salt, for Nature has
+arranged it so.”
+
+“You appear to talk with experience, Allan,” he retorted blandly. “By
+the way, that girl Nombé, when she isn’t star-gazing or muttering
+incantations, is always trying to explain to Heda some tale about you
+and a lady called Mameena. I gather that you were introduced to her in
+this neighbourhood where, Nombé says, you were in the habit of kissing
+her in public, which sounds an odd kind of a thing to do; all of which
+happened before she, Nombé, was born. She adds, according to Kaatje’s
+interpretation, that you met her again this afternoon, which, as I
+understand the young woman has been long dead, seems so
+incomprehensible that I wish you would explain.”
+
+“With reference to Heda,” I said, ignoring the rest as unworthy of
+notice, “I think you may make your mind easy. Zikali knows that she is
+in my charge and I don’t believe that he wants to quarrel with me.
+Still, as you are uncomfortable here, the best thing to do will be to
+get away as early as possible to-morrow morning, where to we can decide
+afterwards. And now I am going to sleep, so please stop arguing.”
+
+As I have already hinted, my attempts in the sleep line proved a
+failure, for whenever I did drop off I was pursued by bad dreams, which
+resulted from lying down so soon after supper. I heard the cries of
+desperate men in their mortal agony. I saw a rain-swollen river; its
+waters were red with blood. I beheld a vision of one who I knew by his
+dress to be a Zulu king, although I could not see his face. He was
+flying and staggering with weariness as he fled. A great hound followed
+him. It lifted its head from the spoor; it was that of Zikali set upon
+the hound’s body, Zikali who laughed instead of baying. Then one whose
+copper ornaments tinkled as she walked, entered beside me, whispering
+into my ear. “A quarter of a hundred years have gone by since we talked
+together in this haunted kloof,” she seemed to whisper, “and before we
+talk again face to face there remain to pass of years”—
+
+Here she ceased, though naturally I should have liked to hear the
+number. But that is just where dreams break down. They tell us only of
+what we know, or can evolve therefrom. Of what it is impossible for us
+to know they tell us nothing—at least as a general rule.
+
+I woke up with a start, and feeling stifled in that hot place and
+aggravated by the sound of Anscombe’s peaceful breathing, threw a coat
+about me and, removing the door-board, crept into the air. The night
+was still, the stars shone, and at a little distance the embers of the
+fire still glowed. By it was seated a figure wrapped in a kaross. The
+end of a piece of wood that the fire had eaten through fell on to the
+red ashes and flamed up brightly. By its light I saw that the figure
+was Nombé’s. The eternal smile was still upon her face, the smile which
+suggested a knowledge of hidden things that from moment to moment
+amused her soul. Her lips moved as though she were talking to an
+invisible companion, and from time to time, like one who acts upon
+directions, she took a pinch of ashes and blew them, either towards
+Heda’s hut or ours. Yes, she did this when all decent young women
+should have been asleep, like one who keeps some unholy, midnight
+assignation.
+
+Talking with her master, Zikali, or trying to cast spells upon us,
+confound her! thought I to myself, and very silently crept back into
+the hut. Afterwards it occurred to me that she might have had another
+motive, namely of watching to see that none of us left the huts.
+
+The rest of the night went by somehow. Once, listening with all my
+ears, I thought that I caught the sound of a number of men tramping and
+of some low word of command, but as I heard no more, concluded that
+fancy had deceived me. There I lay, puzzling over the situation till my
+head ached, and wondering how we were to get clear of the Black Kloof
+and Zikali, and out of Zululand which I gathered was no place for white
+people at the moment.
+
+It seemed to me that the only thing was to make start for Dundee on the
+Natal border, and for the rest to trust to fortune. If we got into
+trouble over the death of Rodd, unpleasant as this would be, the matter
+must be faced out, that was all. For even if any witness appeared
+against us, the man had been killed in self-defence whilst trying to
+bring about our deaths at the hands of Basutos. I could see now that I
+was foolish not to have taken this line from the first, but as I think
+I have already explained, what weighed with me was the terror of
+involving these young people in a scandal which might shadow all their
+future lives. Also some fate inch by inch had dragged me into Zululand.
+Fortunately in life there are few mistakes, and even worse than
+mistakes that cannot be repaired, if the wish towards reparation is
+real and earnest. Were it otherwise not many of us would escape
+destruction in one form or another.
+
+Thus I reflected until at length light flowing faintly through the
+smoke-hole of the hut told me that dawn was at hand. Seeing it I rose
+quietly, for I did not wish to wake Anscombe, dressed and left the hut.
+My object was to find Nombé, who I hoped would be still sitting by the
+fire, and send her to Zikali with a message that I wished to speak with
+him at once. Glancing round me in the grey dawn I saw that she was gone
+and that as yet no one seemed to be stirring. Hearing a horse snort at
+a little distance, I made my way towards the sound and in a little bay
+of the overhanging cliff discovered the cart and near by our beasts
+tied up with a plentiful supply of forage. Since so far as I could
+judge in that uncertain light, nothing seemed to be wrong with them
+except weariness, for three of them were still lying down, I walked on
+to the gate of the fence which surrounded Zikali’s big hut, proposing
+to wait there until some one appeared by whom I could send my message.
+
+I reached the gate which I tried and found to be fastened on its inner
+side. Then I sat down, lit my pipe and waited. It was extraordinarily
+lonesome in that place; at least this was the feeling that came over
+me. No doubt the sun was up behind the Ceza Stronghold that I have
+mentioned, which towered high behind me, for the sky above grew light
+with the red rays of its rising. But all the vast Black Kloof with its
+huge fantastic rocks was still plunged in gloom, whereof the shadows
+seemed to oppress my heart, weary as I was with my wakeful night and
+many anxieties. I was horribly nervous also and, as it proved, not
+without reason. Presently I heard rustlings on the further side of the
+fence as of people creeping about cautiously, and the sound of
+whispering. Then of a sudden the gate was thrown open and through it
+emerged about a dozen Zulu warriors, all of them ringed men, who
+instantly surrounded me, seated there upon the ground.
+
+I looked at them and they looked at me for quite a long while, since
+following my usual rule, I determined not to be the first to speak.
+Moreover, if they meant to kill me there was no use in speaking. At
+length their leader, an elderly man with thin legs, a large stomach and
+a rather pleasant countenance, saluted politely, saying—
+
+“Good morning, O Macumazahn.”
+
+“Good morning, O Captain, whose name and business I do not know,” I
+answered.
+
+“The winds know the mountain on which they blow, but the mountain does
+not know the winds which it cannot see,” he remarked with poetical
+courtesy; a Zulu way of saying that more people are acquainted with Tom
+Fool than Tom Fool is aware of.
+
+“Perhaps, Captain; yet the mountain can feel the winds,” and I might
+have added, smell them, for the Kloof was close and these Kaffirs had
+not recently bathed.
+
+“I am named Goza and come on an errand from the king, O Macumazahn.”
+
+“Indeed, Goza, and is your errand to cut my throat?”
+
+“Not at present, Macumazahn, that is, unless you refuse to do what the
+king wishes.”
+
+“And what does the king wish, Goza?”
+
+“He wishes, Macumazahn, that you, his friend, should visit him.”
+
+“Which is just what I was on my way to do, Goza.” (This was not true,
+but it didn’t matter, for, if a lie, in the words of the schoolgirl’s
+definition, is an abomination to the Lord, it is a very present help in
+time of trouble.) “After we have eaten I and my friends will accompany
+you to the king’s kraal at Ulundi.”
+
+“Not so, Macumazahn. The king said nothing about your friends, of whom
+I do not think he has ever heard any more than we have. Moreover, if
+your friends are white, you will do well not to mention them, since the
+order is that all white people in Zululand who have not come here by
+the king’s desire, are to be killed at once, except yourself,
+Macumazahn.”
+
+“Is it so, Goza? Well, as you will have understood, I am quite alone
+here and have no friends. Only I did not wish to travel so early.”
+
+“Of course we understand that you are quite alone and have no friends,
+is it not so, my brothers?”
+
+“Yes, yes, we understand,” they exclaimed in chorus, one of them
+adding, “and shall so report to the King.”
+
+“What kind of blankets do you like; the plain grey ones or the white
+ones with the blue stripes?” I asked, desiring to confirm them in this
+determination.
+
+“The grey ones are warmer, Macumazahn, and do not show dirt so much,”
+answered Goza thoughtfully.
+
+“Good, I will remember when I have the chance.”
+
+“The promise of Macumazahn is known from of old to be as a tree that
+elephants cannot pull down and white ants will not eat,” said the
+sententious Goza, thereby intimating his belief that some time or other
+they would receive those blankets. As a matter of fact the survivors of
+the party and the families of the others did receive them after the
+war, for in dealing with natives I have always made a point of trying
+to fulfil any promise or engagement made for value received.
+
+“And now,” went on Goza, “will the Inkosi be pleased to start, as we
+have to travel far to-day?”
+
+“Impossible,” I replied. “Before I leave I must eat, for who can
+journey upon yesterday’s food? Also I must saddle my horse, collect
+what belongs to me, and bid farewell to my host, Zikali.”
+
+“Of meat we have plenty with us, Macumazahn, and therefore you will not
+hunger on the way. Your horse and everything that is yours shall be
+brought after you; since were you mounted on that swift beast and
+minded to escape, how could we catch you with our feet, and did you
+please to shoot us with your rifle, how could we who have only spears,
+save ourselves from dying? As for the Opener of Roads, his servants
+have told us that he means to sleep all to-day that he may talk with
+spirits in his dreams, and therefore it is useless for you to wait to
+bid him farewell. Moreover, the orders of the king are that we should
+bring you to him at once.”
+
+After this for a time there was silence, while I sat immovable
+revolving the situation, and the Zulus regarded me with a benignant
+interest. Goza took his snuff-box from his ear, shook out some into the
+palm of his hand and, after offering it to me in vain, inhaled it
+himself.
+
+“The orders of the king are (sneeze) that we should bring you to him
+alive if possible, and if not (sneeze) dead. Choose which you will,
+Macumazahn. Perhaps you may prefer to go to Ulundi dead, which
+would—ah! how strong is this snuff, it makes me weep like a woman—save
+you the trouble of walking. But if you prefer that we should carry you,
+be so good, Macumazahn, first to write the words which will cause the
+grey blankets to be delivered to us, for we know well that even your
+bones would desire to keep your promise. Is it not a proverb in the
+land from the time of the slaying of Bangu when you gave the cattle you
+had earned to Saduko’s wanderers?”
+
+I listened and an idea occurred to me, as perhaps it had to Goza.
+
+“I hear you, Goza,” I said, “and I will start for Ulundi on my feet—to
+save _you_ the trouble of carrying me. But as the times are rough and
+accidents may always happen; as, too, I wish to make sure that you
+should get those blankets, and it may chance that I shall arrive there
+on my back, first I will write words which, if they are delivered to
+the witch-doctoress Nombé, will, sooner or later, turn into blankets.”
+
+“Write the words quickly, Macumazahn, and they will be delivered,” said
+Goza.
+
+So I drew out my pocket-book and wrote—
+
+“DEAR ANSCOMBE,—
+    “There is treachery afoot and I think that Zikali is at the bottom
+    of it. I am being carried off to Cetewayo at Ulundi, by a party of
+    armed Zulus who will not allow me to communicate with you, probably
+    by Zikali’s orders. You must do the best you can for Heda and
+    yourself. Escape to Natal if you are able. Of course I will help if
+    I get the chance, but if war is about to break out Cetewayo may
+    kill me. I think that you can trust Nombé; also that Zikali does
+    not wish to work you any ill unless he is obliged, though I have no
+    doubt that he has trapped us here for some dark purpose of his own.
+    Tell him through Nombé that if harm comes to you I will kill him if
+    I live, and that if I die, I will settle the score with him
+    afterwards. God save and bless you both. Keep up your courage and
+    use your wits.
+
+
+“Your friend,
+“A. Q.”
+
+
+I tore out the sheet, folded, addressed it and presented it to Goza,
+remarking that although it seemed to be but paper, it really was
+fourteen blankets—if given at once to Nombé.
+
+He nodded and handed it to one of his men, who departed in the
+direction of our huts. So, thought I to myself, Nombé knows all about
+this business, which means that it is being worked by Zikali. That is
+why she spoke to me as she did last night.
+
+“It is time to start, Macumazahn, and I think you told us that you
+would prefer to do so on your feet,” said Goza, looking suggestively at
+his spear.
+
+“I am ready,” I said, rising because I must. For a moment I
+contemplated the door in the kraal fence, wondering whether it would be
+safe to bolt through it and take refuge with Zikali. No, it was not
+safe, since Zikali sat there in his hut pulling the strings and
+probably might refuse to see me. Moreover, it was likely enough that
+before I could find him one of those broad spears would find my heart.
+There was nothing to be done except submit. Still I did call out in a
+loud voice—
+
+“Farewell, Zikali. I leave you without a present against my will who am
+being taken by soldiers to visit the king at Ulundi. When we meet again
+I will talk all this matter over with you.”
+
+There was no answer, and as Goza took the opportunity to say that he
+disliked the noise of shouting extremely, which sometimes made him do
+things that he afterwards regretted, I became silent. Then we departed,
+I in the exact centre of that guard of Zulus, heavy-hearted and filled
+with fears both for myself and those I left behind me.
+
+Down the Black Kloof we tramped, emerging on the sunlit plain beyond
+without meeting any one. A couple of miles further on we came to a
+small stream where Goza announced we would halt to eat. So we ate of
+cold toasted meat which one of the men produced from a basket he
+carried, unpalatable food but better than nothing. Just as we had
+finished I looked up and saw the soldier to whom my note had been
+given. He was leading my mare that had been saddled. On it were my
+large saddle-bags packed with my belongings, also my thick overcoat,
+mackintosh, waterbottle, and other articles down to a bag of tobacco, a
+spare pipe and a box of wax matches. Moreover, the man carried my
+double-barrelled Express rifle and a shot-gun that could be used for
+ball, together with two bags of cartridges. Practically nothing
+belonging to me had been forgotten.
+
+I asked him who had collected the things. He replied the doctress Nombé
+had done so and had brought him the horse saddled to carry them. He did
+not know who saddled the horse as he had seen no one but Nombé to whom
+he had given the writing which she hid away. In answer to further
+questions, he said that Nombé had sent me a message. It was—
+
+“I bid farewell to Macumazahn for a little while and wish him good
+fortune till we meet again. Let him not be afraid in the battle, for
+even if he is hurt it will not be to death, since those go with him
+whom he cannot see, and protect him with their shields. Say to
+Macumazahn that I, Nombé, remember in the morning what I said in the
+night and that what seems to be quite lost is ofttimes found again.
+Wish him good fortune and tell him I am sorry that I had not time to
+cause his spare garments to be cleansed with water, but that I have
+been careful to find his little box with the white man’s medicines.”
+
+I could extract nothing more from this soldier, who was either very
+stupid, or chose to appear so; nor indeed did I dare to put direct
+questions about the cart and those who travelled in it.
+
+Soon we marched again, for Goza would not allow me to ride the horse,
+fearing that I should escape on it. Nor would he let me carry either of
+the guns lest I should make use of them. All day we travelled, reaching
+the Nongoma heights in the late afternoon. On this beautiful spot we
+found a kraal situated where afterwards a magistracy was built when we
+conquered the country, whence there is one of the finest views in
+Zululand. There was no one in the kraal except two old women who
+appeared to be deaf and dumb for all I could get out of them. These
+aged dames, however, or others who were hidden, had made ready for our
+arrival, since a calf lay skinned and prepared for cooking, and by it
+big gourds filled with Kaffir beer and “maas” or curdled milk.
+
+In due course we ate of these provisions, and after we had finished I
+gave Goza a stiff tot of brandy, of which Nombé, or perhaps Anscombe,
+had thoughtfully sent a bottle with my other baggage. The strong liquor
+made the old fellow talkative and enabled me to get a good deal of
+information out of him. Thus I learned that certain demands, as to
+which he was rather vague, had been made upon Cetewayo by the English
+Government, and that the King was now considering whether he should
+accede to them or fight. The Great Council of the nation was summoned
+to attend at Ulundi within a few days, when the matter would be
+decided. Meanwhile all the regiments were being gathered, or, as we
+should say, mobilized; an army, said Goza, greater than any that Chaka
+had ever led.
+
+I asked him what I had to do with this business, that I, a peaceful
+traveller and an old friend of the Zulus, should be made prisoner and
+dragged off to Ulundi. He replied he did not know who was not in the
+council of the High Ones, but he thought that Cetewayo the king wished
+to see me because I was their friend, perhaps that he might send me as
+a messenger to the white people. I asked him how the king knew that I
+was in the country, to which he replied that Zikali had told him I was
+coming, he did not know how, whereon he, Goza, was sent at once to
+fetch me. I could get no more out of him.
+
+I wondered if it would be worth while to make him quite drunk and then
+attempt to escape on the horse, but gave up the idea. To begin with,
+his men were at hand and there was not enough brandy to make them all
+drunk. Also even if I succeeded in winning away here in the heart of
+Zululand, it would not help Anscombe or Heda and I should probably be
+cut off and killed before I could get out of the country. So I
+abandoned the plan and went to sleep instead.
+
+Next morning we left Nongoma early in the hope of reaching Ulundi that
+evening if the Ivuna and Black Umfolozi Rivers proved fordable. As it
+chanced, although they were high, we were able to cross them, I seated
+on the horse which two of the Zulus led. Next we tramped for miles
+through the terrible Bekameezi Valley, a hot and desolate place which
+the Zulus swear is haunted. So unhealthy is this valley, which is the
+home of large game, that whole kraals full of people who have tried to
+cultivate the rich land, have died in it of fever, or fled away leaving
+their crops unreaped. Now no man dwells there. After this we climbed a
+terrible mount to the high land of Mahlabatini, and having eaten,
+pushed on once more.
+
+At length we sighted the great hill-encircled plain of Ulundi which may
+be called the cradle of the Zulu race as, politically speaking, it was
+destined to be its coffin. On the ridge to the west once stood the
+Nobamba kraal where dwelt Senzangacona, the father of Chaka the Lion.
+Nearer to the White Umfolozi was Panda’s dwelling-place, Nodwengu,
+which once I knew so well, while on the slope of the hills of the
+north-east stood the town of Ulundi in which Cetewayo dwelt, bathed in
+the lights of sunset.
+
+Indeed it and all the vast plain were red as though with blood, red as
+they were destined to be on the coming day of the last battle of the
+Zulus.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+CETEWAYO
+
+
+It was dark when at last we reached the Ulundi kraal, for the growing
+moon was obscured by clouds. Therefore I could see nothing and was only
+aware, by the sound of voices and the continual challenging, that we
+were passing through great numbers of men. At length we were admitted
+at the eastern gate and I was taken to a hut where I at once flung
+myself down to sleep, being so weary that I could not attempt to eat.
+Next morning as I was finishing my breakfast in the little fenced
+courtyard of this guest-hut, Goza appeared and said that the king
+commanded me to be brought to him at once, adding that I must “speak
+softly” to him, as he was “very angry.”
+
+So off we went across the great cattle kraal where a regiment of young
+men, two thousand strong or so, were drilling with a fierce intensity
+which showed they knew that they were out for more than exercise. About
+the sides of the kraal also stood hundreds of soldiers, all of them
+talking and, it seemed to me, excited, for they stamped upon the ground
+and even jumped into the air to give point to their arguments. Suddenly
+some of them caught sight of me, whereon a tall, truculent fellow
+called out—
+
+“What does a white man at Ulundi at such a time, when even John Dunn
+dare not come? Let us kill him and send his head as a present to the
+English general across the Tugela. That will settle this long talk
+about peace or war.”
+
+Others of a like mind echoed this kind proposal, with the result that
+presently a score or so of them made a rush at me, brandishing their
+sticks, since they might not carry arms in the royal kraal. Goza did
+his best to keep them off, but was swept aside like a feather, or
+rather knocked over, for I saw him on his back with his thin legs in
+the air.
+
+“You must climb out of this pit by yourself,” he began, addressing me
+in his pompous and figurative way. Then somebody stamped on his face,
+and fixing his teeth in his assailant’s heel, he grew silent for a
+while.
+
+The truculent blackguard, who was about six feet three high and had a
+mouth like a wolf’s throat, arrived in front of me and, bending down,
+roared out—
+
+“We are going to kill you, White Man.”
+
+I had a pistol in my pocket and could perfectly well have killed him,
+as I was much tempted to do. A second’s reflection showed me, however,
+that this would be useless, and in a sense put me in the wrong, though
+when the matter came on for argument it would interest me no more. So I
+just folded my arms and, looking up at him, said—
+
+“Why, Black Man?”
+
+“Because your face is white,” he roared.
+
+“No,” I answered, “because your heart is black and your eyes are so
+full of blood that you do not know Macumazahn when you see him.”
+
+“Wow!” said one, “it is Watcher-by-Night whom our fathers knew before
+us. Leave him alone.”
+
+“No,” shouted the great fellow, “I will send him to watch where it is
+always night, I who keep a club for white rats,” and he brandished his
+stick over me.
+
+Now my temper rose. Watching my opportunity, I stretched out my right
+foot and hooked him round the ankle, at the same time striking up with
+all my force. My fist caught him beneath the chin and over he went
+backwards sprawling on the ground.
+
+“Son of a dog!” I said, “if a single stick touches me, at least you
+shall go first,” and whipping out my revolver, I pointed it at him.
+
+He lay quiet enough, but how the matter would have ended I do not know,
+for passion was running high, had not Goza at this moment risen with a
+bleeding nose and called out—
+
+“O Fools, would you kill the king’s guest to whom the king himself has
+given safe-conduct. Surely you are pots full of beer, not men.”
+
+“Why not?” answered one. “This is the Place of Soldiers. The king’s
+house is yonder. Give the old jackal a start of a length of ten
+assegais. If he reaches it first, he can shake hands with his friend,
+the king. If not we will make him into medicine.”
+
+“Yes, yes, run for it, Jackal,” clamoured the others, knocking their
+shields with their sticks, as men do who would frighten a buck, and
+opening out to make a road for me.
+
+Now while all this was going on, with some kind of sixth sense I had
+noted a big man whose face was shrouded by a blanket thrown over his
+head, who very quietly had joined these drunken rioters, and vaguely
+wondered who he might be.
+
+“I will not run,” I said slowly, “that I may be saved by the king. Nay,
+I will die here, though some of you shall die first. Go to the king,
+Goza, and tell him how his servants have served his guest,” and I
+lifted my pistol, waiting till the first stick touched me to put a
+bullet through the bully on the ground.
+
+“There is no need,” said a deep voice that proceeded from the draped
+man of whom I have spoken, “for the king has come to see for himself.”
+
+Then the blanket was thrown back, revealing Cetewayo grown fat and much
+aged since last I saw him, but undoubtedly Cetewayo.
+
+“Bayete!” roared the mob in salute, while some of those who had been
+most active in the tumult tried to slip away.
+
+“Let no man stir,” said Cetewayo, and they stood as though they were
+rooted to the ground, while I slipped my pistol back into my pocket.
+
+“Who are you, White Man?” he asked, looking at me, “and what do you
+here?”
+
+“The King should know Macumazahn,” I answered, lifting my hat, “whom
+Dingaan knew, whom Panda knew well, and whom the King knew before he
+was a king.”
+
+“Yes, I know you,” he answered, “although since we spoke together you
+have shrunk like an oxhide in the sun, and time has stained your beard
+white.”
+
+“And the King has grown fat like the ox on summer grass. As for what I
+do here, did not the King send for me by Goza, and was I not brought
+like a baby in a blanket.”
+
+“The last time we met,” he went on, taking no heed of my words, “was
+yonder at Nodwengu when the witch Mameena was tried for sorcery, she
+who made my brother mad and brought about the great battle, in which
+you fought for him with the Amawombe regiment. Do you not remember how
+she kissed you, Macumazahn, and took poison between the kisses, and how
+before she grew silent she spoke evil words to me, saying that I was
+doomed to pull down my own House and to die as she died, words that
+have haunted me ever since and now haunt me most of all? I wish to
+speak to you concerning them, Macumazahn, for it is said in the land
+that this beautiful witch loved you alone and that you only knew her
+mind.”
+
+I made no reply, who was heartily tired of this subject of Mameena whom
+no one seemed able to forget.
+
+“Well,” he went on, “we will talk of that matter alone, since it is not
+natural that you should wish to speak of your dead darlings before the
+world,” and with a wave of the hand he put the matter aside. Then
+suddenly his attitude changed. His face, that had been thoughtful and
+almost soft, became fierce, his form seemed to swell and he grew
+terrible.
+
+“What was that dog doing?” he asked of Goza, pointing to the brute whom
+I had knocked down and who still lay prostrate on his back, afraid to
+stir.
+
+“O King,” answered Goza, “he was trying to kill Macumazahn because he
+is a white man, although I told him that he was your guest, being
+brought to you by the royal command. He was trying to kill him by
+giving him a start of ten spears’ length and making him run to the
+isigodhlo (the king’s house) and beating him to death with the sticks
+of these men if they caught him, which, as he is old and they are
+young, they must have done. Only the Watcher-by-Night would not run;
+no, although he is so small he knocked him to the earth with his fist,
+and there he lies. That is all, O King.”
+
+“Rise, dog,” said Cetewayo, and the man rose trembling with fear, and,
+being bidden, gave his name, which I forget.
+
+“Listen, dog,” went on the king in the same cold voice. “What Goza says
+is true, for I saw and heard it all with my eyes and ears. You would
+have made yourself as the king. You dared to try to kill the king’s
+guest to whom he had given safe-conduct, and to stain the king’s
+doorposts with his blood, thereby defiling his house and showing him to
+the white people as a murderer of one of them whom he had promised to
+protect. Macumazahn, do _you_ say how he shall die, and I will have it
+done.”
+
+“I do not wish him to die,” I answered, “I think that he and those with
+him were drunk. Let him go, O King.”
+
+“Aye, Macumazahn, I will let him go. See now, we are in the centre of
+the cattle-kraal, and to the eastern gate is as far as to the
+isigodhlo. Let this man have a start of ten spears’ length and run to
+the eastern gate, as he would have made Macumazahn run to the king’s
+house, and let his companions, those who would have hunted Macumazahn,
+hunt him.
+
+“If he wins through to the gate he can go on to the Government in Natal
+and tell them of the cruelty of the Zulus. Only then, let those who
+hunted him be brought before me for trial and perhaps we shall see how
+_they_ can run.”
+
+Now the poor wretch caught hold of my hand, begging me to intercede for
+him, but soldiers who had come up dragged him away and, having measured
+the distance allowed him, set him on a mark made upon the ground.
+Presently at a word off he sped like an arrow, and after him went his
+friends, ten or more of them. I think they caught him just by the gate
+doubling like a hare, or so the shouts of laughter from the watching
+regiment told me, for myself I would not look.
+
+“That dog ate his own stomach,” said Cetewayo grimly, thereby
+indicating in native fashion that the biter had been bit or the
+engineer hoist with his petard. “It is long since there has been a war
+in the land, and some of these young soldiers who have never used an
+assegai save to skin an ox or cut the head from a chicken, shout too
+loud and leap too high. Now they will be quieter, and while you stay
+here you may walk where you will in safety, Macumazahn,” he added
+thoughtfully.
+
+Then dismissing the matter from his mind, as we white people dismiss
+any trivial incident in a morning stroll, he talked for a few minutes
+to the commanding officer of the regiment that was drilling, who ran up
+to make some report to him, and walked back towards the isigodhlo,
+beckoning me to follow with Goza.
+
+After waiting for a little while outside the gate in the surrounding
+fence, a body-servant ordered us to enter, which we did to find the
+king seated on the shady side of his big hut quite alone. At a sign I
+also sat myself down upon a stool that had been set for me, while Goza,
+whose nose was still bleeding, squatted at my side.
+
+“Your manners are not so good as they were once, Macumazahn,” said
+Cetewayo presently, “or perhaps you have been so long away from the
+royal kraal that you have forgotten its customs.”
+
+I stared at him, wondering what he could mean, whereon he added with a
+laugh—
+
+“What is that in your pocket? Is it not a loaded pistol, and do you not
+remember that it is death to appear before the king armed? Now I might
+kill you and have no blame, although you are my guest, for who knows
+that you are not sent by the English Queen to shoot me?”
+
+“I ask the King’s pardon,” I said humbly enough. “I did not think about
+the pistol. Let your servants take it away.”
+
+“Perhaps it is safer in your pocket, where I saw you place it in the
+cattle-kraal, Macumazahn, than in their hands, which do not know how to
+hold such things. Moreover, I know that you are not one who stabs in
+the dark, even when our peoples growl round each other like two dogs
+about to fight, and if you were, in this place your life would have to
+pay for mine. There is beer by your side; drink and fear nothing. Did
+you see the Opener of Roads, Goza, and if so, what is his answer to my
+message?”
+
+“O King, I saw him,” answered Goza. “The Father of the doctors, the
+friend and master of the Spirits, says he has heard the King’s word,
+yes, that he heard it as it passed the King’s lips, and that although
+he is very old, he will travel to Ulundi and be present at the Great
+Council of the nation which is to be summoned on the eighth day from
+this, that of the full moon. Yet he makes a prayer of the King. It is
+that a place may be prepared for him, for his people and for his
+servants who carry him, away from this town of Ulundi, where he may
+sojourn quite alone, a decree of death being pronounced against any who
+attempt to break in upon his privacy, either where he dwells or upon
+his journey. These are his very words, O King:
+
+“‘I, who am the most ancient man in Zululand, dwell with the spirits of
+my fathers, who will not suffer strangers to come nigh them and who, if
+they are offended, will bring great woes upon the land. Moreover, I
+have sworn that while there is a king in Zululand and I draw the breath
+of life, never again will I set foot in a royal kraal, because when
+last I did so at the slaying of the witch, Mameena, the king who is
+dead thought it well to utter threats against me, and never more will
+I, the Opener of Roads, be threatened by a mortal. Therefore if the
+King and his Council seek to drink of the water of my wisdom, it must
+be in the place and hour of my own choosing. If this cannot be, let me
+abide here in my house and let the King seek light from other doctors,
+since mine shall remain as a lamp to my own heart.’”
+
+Now I saw that these words greatly disturbed Cetewayo who feared
+Zikali, as indeed did all the land.
+
+“What does the old wizard mean?” he asked angrily. “He lives alone like
+a bat in a cave and for years has been seen of none. Yet as a bat flies
+forth at night, ranging far and wide in search of prey, so does his
+spirit seem to fly through Zululand. Everywhere I hear the same word.
+It is—‘What says the Opener of Roads?’ It is—‘How can aught be done
+unless the Opener of Roads has declared that it shall be done, he who
+was here before the Black One (Chaka) was born, he who it is said was
+the friend of Inkosi Umkulu, the father of the Zulus who died before
+our great-grandfathers could remember; he who has all knowledge and is
+almost a spirit, if indeed he be not a spirit?’ I ask you, Macumazahn,
+who are his friend, what does he mean, and why should I not kill him
+and be done?”
+
+“O King,” I answered, “in the days of your uncle Dingaan, when Dingaan
+slew the Boers who were his guests, and thus began the war between the
+White and the Black, I, who was a lad, heard the laughter of Zikali for
+the first time yonder at the kraal Ungungundhlovu, I who rode with
+Retief and escaped the slaughter, but his face I did not see. Many
+years later, in the days of Panda your father, I saw his face and
+therefore you name me his friend. Yet this friend who drew me to visit
+him, perhaps by your will, O King, has now caused me to be brought here
+to Ulundi doubtless by your will, O King, but against my own, for who
+wishes to come to a town where he is well-nigh slain by the first
+brawler he meets in the cattle kraal?”
+
+“Yet you were not slain, Macumazahn, and perhaps you do not know all
+the story of that brawler,” replied Cetewayo almost humbly, like one
+who begs pardon, though the rest of what I had said he ignored. “But
+still you are Zikali’s friend, for between you and him there is a rope
+which enabled him to draw you to Zululand, which rope I have heard
+called by a woman’s name. Therefore by the spirit of that woman, which
+still can draw you like a rope, I charge you, tell me—what does this
+old wizard mean, and why should I not kill him and be rid of one who
+haunts my heart like an evil vision of the night and, as I sometimes
+think, is an _umtakati_, an evil-doer, who would work ill to me and all
+my House, yes, and to all my people?”
+
+“How should I know what he means, O King?” I answered with indignation,
+though in fact I could guess well enough. “As for killing him, cannot
+the King kill whom he will? Yet I remember that once I heard your
+father ask much the same question and of Zikali himself, saying that he
+was minded to find out whether or no he were mortal like other men. I
+remember also Zikali answered that there was a saying that when the
+Opener of Roads came to the end of his road, there would be no more a
+king of Zululand, as there was none when first he set foot upon his
+road. Now I have spoken, who am a white man and do not understand your
+sayings.”
+
+“I remember it also, Macumazahn, who was present at the time,” he
+replied heavily. “My father feared this Zikali and his father feared
+him, and I have heard that the Black One himself, who feared nothing,
+feared him also. And I, too, fear him, so much that I dare not make up
+my mind upon a great matter without his counsel, lest he should bewitch
+me and the nation and bring us to nothing.”
+
+He paused, then turning to Goza, asked, “Did the Opener of Roads tell
+you where he wished to dwell when he comes to visit me here at Ulundi?”
+
+“O King,” answered Goza, “yonder in the hills, not further away than an
+aged man can walk in the half of an hour, is a place called the Valley
+of Bones, because there in the days of those who went before the King,
+and even in the King’s day, many evildoers have been led to die. Zikali
+would dwell in this Valley of Bones, and there and nowhere else would
+meet the King and the Great Council, not in the daylight but after
+sunset when the moon has risen.”
+
+“Why,” said Cetewayo, starting, “the place is ill-omened and, they say,
+haunted, one that no man dares to approach after the fall of darkness
+for fear lest the ghosts of the dead should leap upon him gibbering.”
+
+“Such were the words of the Opener of Roads, O King,” replied Goza.
+“There and nowhere else will he meet the King, and there he demands
+that three huts should be built to shelter him and his folk and stored
+with all things needful. If this be not granted to him, then he refuses
+to visit the King or to give counsel to the nation.”
+
+“So be it then,” said Cetewayo. “Send messengers to the Opener of
+Roads, Goza, saying that what he desires shall be done. Let my command
+go out that under pain of death none spy upon him while he journeys
+hither or returns. Let the huts be built forthwith, and when it is
+known that he is coming, let food in plenty be placed in them and
+afterwards morning by morning taken to the mouth of the valley. Bid him
+announce his arrival and the hour he chooses for our meeting by
+messenger. Begone.”
+
+Goza leapt up, gave the royal salute, and retreated backwards from the
+presence of the king, leaving us alone. I also rose to depart, but
+Cetewayo motioned to me to be seated.
+
+“Macumazahn,” he said, “the Great Queen’s man who has come to Natal
+(Sir Bartle Frere) threatens me with war because two evil-doing women
+were taken on the Natal side of the Tugela and brought back to Zululand
+and killed by Mehlokazulu, being the wives of his father, Sirayo, which
+was done without my knowledge. Also two white men were driven away from
+an island in the Tugela River by some of my soldiers.”
+
+“Is that all, O King?” I asked.
+
+“No. The Queen’s man says I kill my people without trial, which is a
+lie told him by the missionaries, and that girls have been killed also
+who refused to marry those to whom they were given and ran away with
+other men. Also that wizards are smelt out and slain, which happens but
+rarely now; all of this contrary to the promises I made to Sompseu when
+he came to recognize me as king upon my father’s death, and some other
+such small matters.”
+
+“What is demanded if you would avoid war, O King?”
+
+“Nothing less than this, Macumazahn: That the Zulu army should be
+abolished and the soldiers allowed to marry whom and when they please,
+because, says the Queen’s man, he fears lest it should be used to
+attack the English, as though I who love the English, as those have
+done who went before me, desire to lay a finger on them. Also that
+another Queen’s man should be sent to dwell here in my country, to be
+the eyes and ears of the English Government and have power with me in
+the land; yes, and more demands which would destroy the Zulus as a
+people and make me, their king, but a petty kraal-head.”
+
+“And what will the King answer?” I asked.
+
+“I know not what to answer. The fine of two thousand cattle I will pay
+for the killing of the women. If it may be, I wish no quarrel with the
+English, though gladly I would have fought the Dutch had not Sompseu
+stretched out his arm over their land. But how can I disband the army
+and make an end of the regiments that have conquered in so many wars?
+Macumazahn, I tell you that if I did this, in a moon I should be dead.
+Oh! you white people think there is but one will in Zululand, that of
+the king. But it is not so, for he is but a single man among ten
+thousand thousand, who lives to work the people’s wish. If he beats
+them with too thick a stick, or if he brings them to shame or does what
+the most of them do not wish, then where is the king? Then, I say, he
+goes a road that was trodden by Chaka and Dingaan who were before me,
+yes, the red road of the assegai. Therefore today, I stand like a man
+between two falling cliffs. If I run towards the English the Zulu cliff
+falls upon me. If I run towards my own people, the English cliff falls
+upon me, and in either case I am crushed and no more seen. Tell me
+then, Macumazahn, you whose heart is honest, what must I do?”
+
+So he spoke, wringing his hands, with tears starting to his eyes, and
+upon my word, although I never liked Cetewayo as I had liked his
+father, Panda, perhaps because I loved his brother, Umbelazi, whom he
+killed, and had known him do many cruel deeds, my heart bled for him.
+
+“I cannot tell you, King,” I answered, thinking that I must say
+something, “but I pray you do not make war against the queen, for she
+is the most mighty One in the whole earth, and though her foot, of
+which you see but the little toe here in Africa, seems small to you,
+yet if she is angered, it will stamp the Zulus flat, so that they cease
+to be.”
+
+“Many have told me this, Macumazahn. Yes, even Uhamu, the son of my
+uncle Unzibe, or, as some say, the son of his spirit, to which his
+mother was married after Unzibe was dead, and others throughout the
+land, and in truth I think it myself. But who can hold the army which
+shouts for war? _Ow!_ the Council must decide, which means perhaps that
+Zikali will decide, for now all hang upon his lips.”
+
+“Then I am sorry,” I exclaimed.
+
+He looked at me shrewdly.
+
+“Are you? So am I. Yet his counsel must be asked, and better that it
+should be here in my presence than yonder secretly at the Black Kloof.
+I would kill him if I dared, but I dare not, who am sure—why I may not
+say—that the same sun will see his death and mine.”
+
+He waved his hand to show that the talk on this matter was ended, then
+added—
+
+“Macumazahn, you are my prisoner for a while, but give me your word
+that you will not try to escape and you may go where you will within an
+hour’s ride of Ulundi. I would pay you well to stop here with me, but
+this I know you would never do should there be trouble between us and
+your people. Therefore I promise you that if war breaks out I will send
+you safely to Natal, or perhaps sooner, as my messenger, whence
+doubtless you will return to fight against me. Know that I have given
+orders that every other white man or woman who is found in Zululand
+shall be killed as a spy. Even John Dunn has fled or is flying, or so I
+hear, John Dunn who has fed out of my hand and grown rich on my gifts.
+You yourself would have been killed as you came from Swazi-Land in your
+cart, had not command been sent to those chiefs through whose lands you
+passed that neither they nor their people were so much as to look at
+you.”
+
+Now for one intense moment I thought, as hard as ever I had done in my
+life. It was evident—unless he were dealing very cunningly with me,
+which I did not believe—that Cetewayo knew nothing of Anscombe and
+Heda, but thought that I had come into Zululand alone. Should I or
+should I not tell him and beg his protection for them? If I did so he
+might refuse or be unable to give it to them far away in the midst of a
+savage population aflame with the lust of war. As the incident of the
+morning showed, it was as much as he could do to protect myself,
+although the Zulus knew me for their friend. On the other hand no one
+who dwelt under Zikali’s blanket, to use the Kaffir idiom, would be
+touched, because he was looked on as half divine and therefore
+everything under it down to the rat in his thatch was sacred. Now
+Zikali by implication and Nombé with emphasis, had promised to
+safeguard these two. Surely, therefore, they would run less risk in the
+Black Kloof than here at Ulundi, if ever they got so far.
+
+All this went through my brain in an instant, with the result that I
+made up my mind to say nothing. As the issue proved, this was a
+terrible mistake, but who can always judge rightly? Had I spoken out it
+seems to me probable that Cetewayo would have granted my prayer and
+ordered that these two should be escorted out of Zululand before
+hostilities began, although of course they might have been murdered on
+the way. Also, for a reason that will become evident later, it is
+possible that there would never have been any hostilities. All I can
+plead is, that I acted for the best and Fate would have it so. Another
+moment and the chance was gone.
+
+The gate opened and a body-servant appeared announcing that one of the
+great captains with some of his officers waited to see the king.
+Cetewayo made a sign, whereon the servant called out something, and
+they entered, three or four of them, saluting loudly. Seeing me they
+stopped and stared, whereon Cetewayo shortly, but with much clearness,
+repeated to them and to an induna who accompanied them, what he had
+already said to me, namely that I was his guest, sent for by him that
+he might use me as a messenger if he thought fit. He added that the man
+who dared to speak a word against me, or even to look at me askance,
+should pay the price with his life, however high his station, and he
+commanded that the heralds should proclaim this his decree throughout
+Ulundi and the neighbouring kraals. Then he held out his hand to me in
+token of friendship, bidding me to “go softly” and come to see him
+whenever I wished, and dismissed me in charge of the induna, one of the
+captains and some soldiers.
+
+Within five minutes of reaching my hut I heard a loud-voiced crier
+proclaiming the order of the king and knew that I had no more to fear.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+THE VALLEY OF BONES
+
+
+The week that followed my interview with Cetewayo was indeed a
+miserable time for me. For myself, as I have said, I had no fear, for
+the king’s orders were strictly obeyed. Moreover, the tale of what had
+happened to the brute who wished to hunt me down in the cattle-kraal
+had travelled far and wide and none sought to share his fate. My hut
+was inviolate and well supplied with necessary food, as was my mare,
+and I could wander where I liked and talk with whom I would. I could
+even ride to exercise the horse, though this I did very sparingly and
+only in the immediate neighbourhood of the town for fear of exciting
+suspicion or meeting Zulus whom the king’s word had not reached. Indeed
+on these occasions I was always accompanied by a guard of swift-footed
+and armed soldiers sent “to protect me,” or more probably to kill me if
+I did anything that seemed suspicious.
+
+In the course of my rambles I met sundry natives whom I had known in
+the old days, some of them a long while ago. They all seemed glad to
+see me and were quite ready to talk of past times, but of the present
+they would say little or nothing, except that they were certain there
+would be war. Of Anscombe and Heda I could hear nothing, and indeed did
+not dare to make any direct inquiries concerning them, but several
+reliable men assured me that the last missionaries and traders having
+departed, there was not a white man, woman or child left in Zululand
+except myself. It was “all black” they said, referring to the colour of
+their people, as it had been before the time of Chaka. So I was forced
+to eat out my heart with anxiety in silence, hoping and praying that
+Zikali had played an honest part and sent them away safely.
+
+Why should he not have done so, seeing that it was my presence he had
+desired, not theirs? They were only taken, or rather snared, because
+they were with me and could not be separated, or so I believed at the
+time.
+
+One ray of comfort I did get. About the fifth day after my interview I
+saw Goza, who told me that the king’s messengers were back from the
+Black Kloof and had brought “a word” for me from Zikali himself. The
+word was—
+
+“Bid Goza say to Macumazahn that I was sorry not to see him to say
+good-bye, because that morning I slept heavily. Bid him say that I am
+glad he has seen the king, since for this purpose I sought his presence
+in Zululand. Bid him say that he is to fear nothing, and that if his
+heart is heavy about others whom he loves, he should make it light
+again, since the Spirits have them in their keeping as they have him,
+and never were they or he more safe than they are to-day.”
+
+Now I looked at Goza and asked if I could see this messenger. He
+replied, No, as he had already been despatched upon another errand.
+Then I asked him if the messenger had said anything else. He answered,
+Yes, one thing that he had forgotten, namely that the writing about
+blankets should now be in Natal. Then suddenly he changed the subject
+and asked me if I would like to accompany him to the Valley of Bones
+where he was ordered to inspect the huts which were being built for
+Zikali and his people. Of course I said I should, hoping, quite without
+result, that I might get something more out of him on the road.
+
+Now this town of Cetewayo’s stands, or rather stood, for it has long
+been burnt, on the slope of the hills to the north-east of the plains
+of Ulundi. Above it these hills grow steeper, and deep in the recesses
+of one of them is the Valley of Bones. There is nothing particularly
+imposing about the place; no towering cliffs or pillars of piled
+granite, as at the Black Kloof. It is just a vale cut out by water,
+bordered by steep slopes on either side, and a still steeper slope
+strown with large rocks at its end. Dotted here and there on these
+slopes grew tall aloes that from a little distance looked like
+scattered men, whereof the lower leaves were shrivelled and blackened
+by veld fires. Also there were a few euphorbias, grey, naked-looking
+things that end in points like fingers on a hand, and among them some
+sparse thorn trees, struggling to live in an inhospitable soil.
+
+The place has one peculiarity. Jutting into it from the hillside is a
+ridge or spur, sixty or seventy yards in length by perhaps twenty
+broad, that ends in a flat point of rock which stands about forty feet
+above the level of the rest of the little valley. On this ridge also
+grew tall aloes until near its extremity the soil ceased, or had been
+washed away from the water-worn core of rock.
+
+It was, and no doubt still is, a desolate-looking spot, at any rate for
+most of the day when owing to the shadow of the surrounding hills, it
+receives but little sun. Everything about it, especially when I was
+there in a time of rain, seemed dank and miserable, although the flat
+floor of the kloof was clothed with a growth of tall, coarse grass, and
+weeds that bore an evil-smelling flower. Perhaps some sense of
+appropriateness had caused the Zulu kings to choose this lonesome,
+deathly-looking gorge as one of their execution grounds. At any rate
+many had been slain here, for skulls and the larger human bones, some
+of them black with age, lay all about among the grass, as they had been
+scattered by hyenas and jackals. They were particularly thick beneath
+and around the table-like rock that I have mentioned.
+
+Goza told me that this was because the King’s Slayers made a custom of
+dragging the victim along the projecting tongue to the edge of this
+rock and hurling him, either dead or living, to the ground beneath; or,
+in the case of witches; driving them over after they had been blinded.
+
+Such was the spot that Zikali had selected to abide in during his visit
+to Ulundi. Certainly where privacy was an object it was well chosen,
+for, as Cetewayo had said and as Goza emphasized to me, it had the
+repute of being the most thoroughly haunted place in all Zululand, with
+the sole exception, perhaps, of the ridge opposite to Dingaan’s old
+kraal where once I shot the vultures for my life and those of my
+companions.[1] Even in the daytime people gave it a wide berth, and at
+night nothing would induce them to approach it, at any rate alone.
+
+ [1] See the book called _Marie,_ by H. Rider Haggard.
+
+
+Here to one side of and near the root of the tongue of land of which I
+have spoken, the huts that Zikali had demanded for himself and his
+company were being rapidly built, close to a spring of water, by a
+large body of men who laboured as though they wished to be done with
+their task. Also about half way up the donga, for really it was nothing
+more, at a distance of perhaps five and twenty paces from its flat
+point whence the condemned were hurled, a circular space of ground had
+been cleared and levelled which was large enough to accommodate fifty
+or sixty men. On this space, Goza told me, the King and the Council
+were to sit when they came to seek light from Zikali.
+
+In my heart I reflected that the light they were likely to get from him
+would be such as may be supposed to be thrown by hell fire. For be it
+remembered I knew what these people never seemed to understand, that
+Zikali was the most bitter of their enemies. To begin with, he was of
+Undwandwe blood, one of the people whom the great king Chaka had
+destroyed. Then this same Chaka had robbed him of his wives and
+murdered his children, in revenge for which he had plotted the slaying
+of Chaka, as he did that of his brothers, Umhlangana and Dingaan, the
+latter of whom he involved in a quarrel with the Boers. Subsequently he
+brought about the war between the princes Cetewayo and Umbelazi, in
+which I played a part.
+
+Now I was certain that he intended to bring about another war between
+the English and the Zulus, knowing well that in the end the latter
+would be destroyed, and with them the royal House of Senzangacona which
+he had sworn to level with the dust. Had he not told me as much years
+ago, and was he one to go back upon his word? Had he not used Mameena
+with her beauty and ambitions as his tool, and when she was of no
+further service to him, given her to death, as he had used scores of
+others and in due season given them to death? Was I not myself perhaps
+one of those tools destined to be thrown into the pit of doom when my
+turn came, though in what way I could help his plots was more than I
+could see, since he knew well that I should do my best to oppose him?
+Oh! I had half a mind to go to Cetewayo and tell him all I knew about
+Zikali, even if it involved the breaking of confidences.
+
+But stay! Even if I were believed, this far-seeing wizard held hostages
+for my good behaviour, and if I betrayed him what would happen to those
+hostages? He sent me messages saying that they were safe, suggesting
+that they had escaped to Natal. How was I to know that these were true?
+I was utterly bewildered; I could not guess why I had been beguiled
+into Zululand, and I dared not step either this way or that for fear
+lest I should fall into some pit dug by his cunning hands and, what was
+worse, drag down others with me.
+
+Moreover, was this man quite human, or perhaps an emissary of Satan
+upon earth who had knowledge denied to other men and a certain mastery
+over the Powers of Ill? Again I could not say. His term of life seemed
+to be extraordinarily prolonged, though none knew how old exactly he
+might be. Also he had a wonderful knowledge of what was passing in the
+minds of others, and by his arts, as I had experienced only the other
+day, could summon up apparitions or illusions before their eyes.
+Further, he was aware of events which had happened at a distance and
+could send or read dreams, since otherwise how did Nombé know what I
+had dreamt at Marnham’s house? Lastly he could foretell the future, as
+once he had done in my own case, prophecying that I should be injured
+by a buffalo with a split horn.
+
+Yet all of this might be nothing more than a mixture of keen
+observation, clever spying, trickery and mesmerism. I could not say
+which it was, nor can I with certainty to this hour.
+
+Such were the thoughts that passed through my mind as I walked back
+from the Vale of Bones by the side of the big-paunched Goza, whom I
+caught eyeing me from time to time as a curious crow eyes any object
+that has attracted his attention.
+
+“Goza,” I said at last, “do the Zulus really mean to fight the
+English?”
+
+He turned and pointed to a spot where the hills ran down into the great
+plain. Here two regiments were manoeuvring. One of these held the
+slopes of the hill and the other was attacking them from the plain, so
+fiercely that at a distance their onslaught looked like that of actual
+warfare.
+
+“That looks like fighting, does it not, Macumazahn?” he replied.
+
+“Yes, Goza, yet it may be but play.”
+
+“Quite so, Macumazahn. It may be fighting or it may be but play. Am I a
+prophet that I should be able to say which it is? Of that there is but
+one man in Zululand who knows the truth. It is he for whom the new huts
+are being built up yonder.”
+
+“You think he really knows, Goza?”
+
+“No, Macumazahn, I do not think, I am sure. He is the greatest of all
+wizards, as he was when my father held on to his mother’s apron. He
+pulls the strings and the Great-ones of the country dance. If he wishes
+war, there will be war. If he wishes peace, there will be peace.”
+
+“And which does he wish, Goza?”
+
+“I thought perhaps you could tell me that, Macumazahn, who, he says,
+are such an old friend of his; also why he chooses to sojourn in a dark
+hole among the dead instead of in the sunshine among the living, here
+at Ulundi.”
+
+“Well, I cannot, Goza, since the Opener of Roads does not open his
+heart to me but keeps his secrets to himself. For the rest, those who
+talk with the dead may prefer to dwell among the dead.”
+
+“Now as always you speak truth, Macumazahn,” said Goza, looking at me
+in a way which suggested to me that he believed I spoke anything but
+the truth.
+
+Indeed I am convinced he thought that I was in the council of Zikali
+and acquainted with his plans. Also I am sure he knew that I had not
+come to Zululand alone, the incident of the blankets, which I had
+promised to him a bribe to keep silence, showed it, and suspected that
+my companions were parties to some plot together with myself. And yet
+at the time I could not be quite sure, and therefore dared not ask
+anything concerning them lest thus I should reveal their existence and
+bring them to death.
+
+As a matter of fact I need not have been anxious on this point, since
+if Goza, who I may state, was a kind of secret service officer as well
+as a head messenger, knew, as I think probable, he had been commanded
+by Zikali to hold his tongue under penalty of a curse. Perhaps the same
+was true of the soldiers who had come with him to take me to Ulundi.
+The hint of Zikali was as powerful as the word of the king, since they,
+like thousands of others, believed that whereas Cetewayo could kill
+them, Zikali, like Satan, could blast their spirits as well as their
+bodies. But how was I to guess all these things at that time?
+
+During the next two days nothing happened, though I heard that there
+had been one if not two meetings of the Council at the King’s House
+during which the position of affairs was discussed. Cetewayo I did not
+see, although twice he sent messengers to me bringing gifts of food,
+who were charged to inquire whether I was well and happy and if any had
+offered me hurt or insult. To these I answered that I was well and
+unmolested but not happy, who grew lonesome, being but a solitary white
+man among so many thousands of the Zulus.
+
+On the third morning, that of the day of the full moon, Goza came and
+informed me that Zikali had arrived at the Valley of Bones before dawn.
+I asked him how he, who was so old and feeble, had walked so far. He
+answered that he had not walked, or so he understood, but had been
+carried in a litter, or rather in two litters, one for himself and one
+for his “spirit.” This staggered me even where Zikali was concerned,
+and I inquired what on earth Goza meant.
+
+“Macumazahn, how can I tell you who only know what I myself am told?”
+he exclaimed. “Such is the report that the Opener of Roads has made
+himself by messengers to the king. None have seen him, for he journeys
+only in the night. Moreover, when Zikali passes all men are blind and
+even women’s tongues grow dumb. Perchance by ‘his spirit’ he means his
+medicine or the witch-doctoress, Nombé, whom folks say he created,
+since none have seen her father or her mother, or heard who begat her;
+or perchance his snake is hid behind the mats of the second litter, if
+in truth there was one.”
+
+“It may be so,” I said, feeling that it was useless to pursue the
+matter. “Now, Goza, I would see Zikali and at once.”
+
+“That cannot be, Macumazahn, since he has given out that he will see no
+one, who rests after his journey, and the king has issued orders that
+any who attempt to approach the Valley of Bones shall die, even if they
+be of the royal blood. Yes, if so much as a dog dares to draw near that
+place, it must die. The soldiers who ring it round have killed one
+already, so strict are the orders, also a boy who went towards it
+searching for a calf, which I think a bad omen.”
+
+“Then I will send a message to him,” I persisted.
+
+“Do so,” mocked Goza. “Look, yonder sails a vulture. Ask it to take
+your message, for nothing else will. Be not foolish, Macumazahn, but
+have patience, for to-night you shall see the Opener of Roads when he
+attends the Council of the king in the Valley of Bones. This is the
+order of the king—that at the rising of the moon I lead you thither, so
+that you may be present at the Council in case he wishes to ask you any
+questions about the White People or to give you any message to the
+Government in Natal. Therefore at sunset I will come for you. Till
+then, farewell. I have business that cannot wait.”
+
+“Can I see the king?” I cried.
+
+“Not so, Macumazahn. All to-day he makes sacrifice to the spirits of
+his ancestors and must not be approached,” Goza called back as he
+departed.
+
+Availing myself of the permission of the king to go where I would, a
+little later in the day I walked out of the town towards the Valley of
+Bones in order to ascertain for myself whether what Goza had told me
+was true. So it proved, for about three hundred yards from the mouth of
+the valley, which at that distance looked like a black hole in the
+hills, I found soldiers stationed about ten paces apart in a great
+circle which ran right up the hillside and vanished over the crest.
+Strolling up to one of these, whose face I thought I knew, I asked him
+if he would let me pass to see my friend, the Opener of Roads.
+
+The man, who was something of a humourist replied—
+
+“Certainly if you wish, Macumazahn. That is to say, I will let your
+spirit pass, but to do this, if you come one step nearer I must first
+make a hole in you with my spear out of which it can fly.”
+
+I thanked him for his information and gave him some snuff, which he
+took gratefully, being bored by his long vigil. Then I asked him how
+many people the great witch-doctor had with him. He said he did not
+know, but he had seen a number of tall men come to the mouth of the
+donga to fetch food that had been placed there. Again I inquired if he
+had seen any women, whereon he replied none, Zikali being, he
+understood, too old to trouble himself about the other sex. Just then
+an officer, making his rounds, came up and looked at me so sternly that
+I thought it well to retreat. Evidently there was no chance of getting
+through that line.
+
+On my way back I walked as near the fence of the King’s House as I
+dared, and saw witch-doctors passing in and out in their hideous
+official panoply. This told me that here also Goza had spoken the
+truth—the king was performing magical ceremonies, which meant that it
+would be impossible to approach him. In every direction I met with
+failure. The Fates were against me; it lay over me like a spell. Indeed
+I grew superstitious and began to think that Zikali had bewitched me,
+as he was said to have the power to do. Well, perhaps he had, for the
+mere fact of finding myself opposed by this persistent wall of
+difficulties and silence convinced me that there was something behind
+it to be learned.
+
+I went back very dejected to my hut and talked to my mare which
+whinnied and rubbed its nose against me, for although it was well fed
+and looked after, the poor beast seemed as lonely as I was myself. No
+wonder, since like myself it was separated from all its kind and weary
+of inaction. After this I ate and smoked and finally dozed, no more,
+for whenever I tried to go to sleep I thought that I heard Zikali
+laughing at me, as mayhap he was doing yonder in his hut.
+
+At length that wearisome day drew towards its end. The sun began to
+sink, a huge red ball of fire, now and again veiled by clouds, for the
+sky was stormy. Its fierce rays, striking upon other clouds, peopled
+the enormous heavens with fantastic shapes of light which were thickest
+over the hills wherein was the Valley of Bones. To my strained mind
+these clouds looked like battling armies, figures of flame warring
+against figures of darkness. The darkness won; no, the light broke out
+again and conquered it. And see, there above them both squatted a
+strange black presence crowned with fire. It might have been that of
+Zikali magnified ten thousand times, and hark! it laughed with the low
+reverberating voice of distant thunder.
+
+Suddenly I felt that I was no longer alone and looking round, saw Goza
+at my side.
+
+“What do you see up there, Macumazahn, that you stare so hard?” he
+asked, pointing at the sky with his stick.
+
+“Impis fighting,” I answered briefly.
+
+“Then you must be a ‘heaven-doctor,’ Macumazahn, for I only see black
+and red clouds. Well, it is time to go to learn whether or no the impis
+will fight, for Zikali awaits us and the Council has started already.
+By the way, the king says that you will do well to put your pistol in
+your pocket in case any should seek to harm you in the dark.”
+
+“It is there. But, Goza, I pray you to protect me, since in the dark
+bullets fly wide, and if I began to shoot, one might hit you, Goza.”
+
+He smiled, making no answer, but I noticed that during the rest of that
+night he was careful to keep behind me as much as possible.
+
+Our way led us through the town where everybody seemed to be standing
+about doing nothing and speaking very little. There was a curious air
+of expectancy upon their faces. They knew that the crisis was at hand,
+that their nation’s fate hung upon the scales, and they watched my
+every look and movement as though in them they expected to read an
+omen. I too watched them out of the corners of my eyes, wondering
+whether I should escape from their savage company alive. If once the
+blood lust broke out among them, it seemed to me that I should have
+about as much chance as a chopped fox among a pack of hungry hounds.
+
+Once out of the town we saw no one until we came to the circle of
+guards which I have already mentioned, who stood there like an endless
+line of black statues. In answer to their challenge Goza gave some
+complicated password in which my name occurred, whereon they opened out
+and let us through. Then we marched on to the mouth of the kloof. The
+place was very dark, for now the sun was down in the west and the moon
+in the east was cut off from us by the hills and would not be visible
+here for half an hour or more. Presently I saw a spot of light. It was
+a small fire burning near the tongue of rock which I have described.
+
+At a distance, in front of the fire on the patch of prepared ground,
+squatted a number of men, between twenty and thirty of them, in a
+semicircle. They were wrapped up in karosses and blankets, and in their
+centre sat a large figure on a chair of wood.
+
+“The King and the Great Council,” whispered Goza.
+
+One of them looked round and saw us. At some sign from the king he
+rose, and against the fire I saw that he was the Prime Minister,
+Umnyamana. He came to me and, with a nod of recognition, conducted me
+some paces to the right where a euphorbia tree grew among the rank
+herbage. Here I found a stool placed ready on which I sat down, Goza,
+who of course was not of the Council, squatting at my side in the
+grass.
+
+Now I found that I was so situated that I could not well be seen from
+the fire, or even from the rock above it, while I, by moving my head a
+little, could see both quite clearly. After this as the last reflection
+from the sunk sun faded, the darkness increased until nothing remained
+visible except the fire and the massive outline of the rock behind. The
+silence was complete, for none of the Council spoke. They were so still
+that they might have been dead, so still that a beetle suddenly booming
+past me made me start as though it had been a bullet. The general
+impression was almost mesmeric. I felt as though I were going to sleep
+and yet my mind remained painfully awake, so that I was able to think
+things out.
+
+I understood clearly that the body of men to my left had come together
+to decide whether there should be peace or war; that there were
+divisions of opinion among them; that the king was ready to follow the
+party which should prove itself the strongest, but that the real voice
+of decision would speak from behind that fire. It was the case of the
+Delphic Oracle over again with a priest instead of a priestess, and
+what a priest!
+
+It was evident to me also that Zikali, who knew human nature, and
+especially savage human nature, had arranged all this with a view to
+scenic and indeed supernatural effect. Moreover, he had done it very
+well, since I knew myself that in this place and hour words and
+occurrences would affect me deeply at which I should have laughed in
+the sunlight and open plain. Already the Zulus were affected, for I
+could hear the teeth of some of them chattering, and Goza began to
+shiver at my side. He muttered that it was cold, and lied for the donga
+was extremely hot and stuffy.
+
+At length the silver radiance of the moon spread itself on the high
+curtain of the dark. Then the edge of her orb appeared above the hill
+and an arrow of white light fell into the little valley. It struck upon
+and about the jutting rock, revealing a misshapen, white-headed figure
+squatted between its base and the fire, the figure of Zikali.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+THE GREAT COUNCIL
+
+
+None had seen or heard him come, and though doubtless he had but crept
+round the rock and taken his place in the darkness, there appeared to
+be something mysterious about this sudden appearance of Zikali. So the
+Zulu nobles thought at any rate, for they uttered a low “Ow!” of fear
+and wonder.
+
+There he sat like a huge ape staring at the sky, for the firelight
+shone on his deep and burning eyes. The moonlight increased, but now
+and again it was broken by little clouds which caused strange shadows
+to appear about the rock. Some of these shadows looked as though veiled
+figures were approaching the wizard, bending over him and departing
+again, after giving him their message or counsel.
+
+“His Spirits visit him,” whispered Goza, but I made no answer.
+
+This went on for quite a long time, until the full round of the moon
+appeared above the hill indeed, and, for the while, the clouds had
+cleared away. Still Zikali sat silent and I, who was acquainted with
+the habits of this people, knew that I was witnessing a conflict
+between two they considered to be respectively a spiritual and an
+earthly king. It is my belief that unless he were first addressed,
+Zikali would have sat all night without opening his lips. Possibly
+Cetewayo would have done the same if the impatience of public opinion
+had allowed him. At any was rate it was he who gave way.
+
+“_Makosi_, master of many Spirits, on behalf of the Council and the
+People of the Zulus I, the King, greet you here in the place that you
+have chosen,” said Cetewayo.
+
+Zikali made no answer.
+
+The silence went on as before, till at length, after a pause and some
+whispering, Cetewayo repeated his salutation, adding—
+
+“Has age made you deaf, O Opener of Roads, that you cannot hear the
+voice of the King?”
+
+Then at last Zikali answered in his low voice that yet seemed to fill
+all the kloof—
+
+“Nay, Child of Senzangacona, age has not made me deaf, but my spirit in
+these latter days floats far from my body. It is like a bladder filled
+with air that a child holds by a string, and before I can speak I must
+draw it from the heavens to earth again. What did you say about the
+place that I have chosen? Well, what better place could I choose,
+seeing that it was here in this very Vale of Bones that I met the first
+king of the Zulus, Chaka the Wild Beast, who was your uncle? Why then
+should I not choose it to meet the last king of the Zulus?”
+
+Now I, listening, knew at once that this saying might be understood in
+two ways, namely that Cetewayo was the reigning king, or that he was
+the last king who would ever reign. But the Council interpreted it in
+the latter and worse sense, for I saw a quiver of fear go through them.
+
+“Why should I not choose it,” went on Zikali, “seeing also that this
+place is holy to me? Here it was, O Son of Panda, that Chaka brought my
+children to be killed and forced me, sitting where you sit, to watch
+their deaths. There on the rock above me they were killed, four of
+them, three sons and a daughter, and the slayers—they came to an evil
+end, those slayers, as did Chaka—laughed and cast them down from the
+rock before me. Yes, and Chaka laughed, and I too laughed, for had not
+the king the right to kill my children and to steal their mothers, and
+was I not glad that they should be taken from the world and gathered to
+that of Spirits whence they always talk to me, yes, even now? That is
+why I did not hear you at first, King, because they were talking to
+me.”
+
+He paused, turning one ear upwards, then continued in a new and tender
+voice, “What is it you say to me, Noma, my dear little Noma? Oh! I hear
+you, I hear you.”
+
+Now he shifted himself along the ground on his haunches some paces to
+the right, and began to search about, groping with his long fingers.
+“Where, where?” he muttered. “Oh, I understand, further under the root,
+a jackal buried it, did it? Pah! how hard is this soil. Ah! I have it,
+but look, Noma, a stone has cut my finger. I have it, I have it,” and
+from beneath the root of some fallen tree he drew out the skull of a
+child and, holding it in his right hand, softly rubbed the mould off it
+with his left.
+
+“Yes, Noma, it might be yours, it is of the right size, but how can I
+be sure? What is it you say? The teeth? Ah! now I remember. Only the
+day before you were taken I pulled out that front tooth, did I not, and
+beneath it was another that was strangely split in two. If this skull
+was yours, it will be there. Come to the fire, Noma, and let us look;
+the moonlight is faint, is it not?”
+
+Back to the fire he shifted himself, and bending towards the blaze,
+made an examination.
+
+“True, Noma, true! Here is the split tooth, white as when I saw it all
+those years ago. Oh! dear child of my body, dear child of my spirit,
+for we do not beget with the body alone, Noma, as you know better than
+I do to-day, I greet you,” and pressing the skull to his lips, he
+kissed it, then set it down in front of him between himself and the
+fire with the face part pointing to the king, and burst into one of his
+eerie and terrible laughs.
+
+A low moan went up from his audience, and I felt the skin of Goza, who
+had shrunk against me, break into a profuse sweat. Then suddenly
+Zikali’s voice changed once more and became hard and businesslike, if I
+may call it so, similar to that of other professional doctors.
+
+“You have sent for me, O King, as those who went before you have sent
+when great things were about to happen. What is the matter on which you
+would speak to me?”
+
+“You know well, Opener of Roads,” answered Cetewayo, rather shakily I
+thought. “The matter is one of peace or war. The English threaten me
+and my people and make great demands on me; amongst others that the
+army should be disbanded. I can set them all out if you will. If I
+refuse to do as they bid me, then within a few days they will invade
+Zululand; indeed their soldiers are already gathered at the drifts.”
+
+“It is not needful, King,” answered Zikali, “since I know what all
+know, neither more nor less. The winds whisper the demands of the white
+men, the birds sing them, the hyenas howl them at night. Let us see how
+the matter stands. When your father died Sompseu (Sir T. Shepstone),
+the great white chief, came from the English Government to name you
+king. This he could not do according to our law, since how can a
+stranger name the King of the Zulus? Therefore the Council of the
+Nation and the doctors—I was not among them, King—moved the spirit of
+Chaka the Lion into the body of Sompseu and made him as Chaka was and
+gave him power to name you to rule over the Zulus. So it came about
+that to the English Queen through the spirit of Chaka you swore certain
+things; that slaying for witchcraft should be abolished; that no man
+should die without fair and open trial, and other matters.”
+
+He paused a while, then went on, “These oaths you have broken, O King,
+as being of the blood you are and what you are, you must do.”
+
+Here there was disturbance among the Council and Cetewayo half rose
+from his seat, then sat down again. Zikali, gazing at the sky, waited
+till it had died away, then went on—
+
+“Do any question my words? If so, then let them ask of the white men
+whether they be true or no. Let them ask also of the spirits of those
+who have died for witchcraft, and of the spirits of the women who have
+been slain and whose bodies were laid at the cross-roads because they
+married the men they chose and not the soldiers to whom the king gave
+them.”
+
+“How can I ask the white men who are far away?” broke out Cetewayo,
+ignoring the rest.
+
+“Are the white men so far away, King? It is true that I see none and
+hear none, yet I seem to smell one of them close at hand.” Here he took
+up the skull which he had laid down and whispered to it. “Ah! I thank
+you, my child. It seems, King, that there is a white man here hidden in
+this kloof, he who is named Macumazahn, a good man and a truthful,
+known to many of us from of old, who can tell you what his people
+think, though he is not one of their indunas. If you question my words,
+ask him.”
+
+“We know what the white men think,” said Cetewayo, “so there is no need
+to ask Macumazahn to sing us an old song. The question is—what must the
+Zulus do? Must they swallow their spears and, ceasing to be a nation,
+become servants, or must they strike with them and drive the English
+into the sea, and after them the Boers?”
+
+“Tell me first, King, who dwell far away and alone, knowing little of
+what passes in the land of Life, what the Zulus desire to do. Before me
+sits the Great Council of the Nation. Let it speak.”
+
+Then one by one the members of the Council uttered their opinions in
+order of rank or seniority. I do not remember the names of all who were
+present, or what each of them said. I recall, however, that Sigananda,
+a very old chief—he must have been over ninety—spoke the first. He told
+them that he had been friend of Chaka and one of his captains, and had
+fought in most of his battles. That afterwards he had been a general of
+Dingaan’s until that king killed the Boers under Retief, when he left
+him and finally sided with Panda in the civil war in which Dingaan was
+killed with the help of the Boers. That he had been present at the
+battle of the Tugela, though he took no actual part in the fighting,
+and afterwards became a councillor of Panda’s and then of Cetewayo his
+son. It was a long and interesting historical recital covering the
+whole period of the Zulu monarchy which ended suddenly with these
+words—
+
+“I have noted, O King and Councillors, that whenever the black vulture
+of the Zulus was content to attack birds of his own feather, he has
+conquered. But when it has met the grey eagles of the white men, which
+come from over the sea, he has been conquered, and my heart tells me
+that as it was in the past, so it shall be in the future. Chaka was a
+friend of the English, so was Panda, and so has Cetewayo been until
+this hour. I say, therefore, let not the King tear the hand which fed
+him because it seems weak, lest it should grow strong and clutch him by
+the throat and choke him.”
+
+Next spoke Undabuko, Dabulamanzi and Magwenga, brothers of the king,
+who all favoured war, though the two last were guarded in their speech.
+After these came Uhamu, the king’s uncle—he who was said to be the son
+of a Spirit—who was strong for peace, urging that the king should
+submit to the demands of the English, making the best terms he could,
+that he “should bend like a reed before the storm, so that after the
+storm had swept by, he might stand up straight again, and with him all
+the other reeds of the people of the Zulus.”
+
+So, too, said Seketwayo, chief of the Umdhlalosi, and more whom I
+cannot recall, six or seven of them. But Usibebu and the induna
+Untshingwayo, who afterwards commanded at Isandhlwana, were for
+fighting, as were Sirayo, the husband of the two women who had been
+taken on English territory and killed, and Umbilini, the chief of Swazi
+blood whose surrender was demanded by Sir Bartle Frere and who
+afterwards commanded the Zulus in the battle at Ihlobane. Last of all
+spoke the Prime Minister, Umnyamana, who declared fiercely that if the
+Zulu buffalo hid itself in the swamp like a timid calf when the white
+bull challenged it on the hills, the spirits of Chaka and all his
+forefathers would thrust its head into the mud and choke it.
+
+When all had finished Cetewayo spoke, saying—
+
+“That is a bad council which has two voices, for to which of them must
+the Captain listen when the impis of the foe gather in front of him?
+Here I have sat while the moon climbs high and counted, and what do I
+find? That one half of you, men of wisdom and renown, say Yes, and that
+the other half of you, men of wisdom and renown, say No. Which then is
+it to be, Yes or No? Are we to fight the English, or are we to sit
+still?”
+
+“That is for the king to decide,” said a voice.
+
+“See what it is to be a king,” went on Cetewayo with passion. “If I
+declare for war and we win, shall I be greater than I am? If victory
+gives me more land, more subjects, more wives and more cattle, what is
+the use of these things to me who already have enough of all of them?
+And if defeat should take everything from me, even my life perhaps,
+then what shall I have gained? I will tell you—the curse of the Zulus
+upon my name from father to son for ever. They will say, ‘Cetewayo, son
+of Panda, pulled down a House that once was great. Because of some
+small matter he quarrelled with the English who were always the friends
+of our people, and brought the Zulus to the dust.’ Sintwangu, my
+messenger, who brought heavy words from the Queen’s _induna_ which we
+must answer with other words or with spears, says that the English
+soldiers in Natal are few, so few that we Zulus can swallow them like
+bits of meat and still be hungry. But are these all the soldiers of the
+English? I am not sure. You are one of that people, Macumazahn,” he
+added, turning his massive shape towards me, “tell us now, how many
+soldiers has your Queen?”
+
+“King,” I answered, “I do not know for certain. But if the Zulus can
+muster fifty thousand spears, the Queen, if there be need, can send
+against them ten times fifty thousand, and if she grows angry, another
+ten times fifty, every one armed with a rifle that will fire five
+bullets a minute, and to accompany the soldiers, hundreds of cannon
+whereof a single shot would give Ulundi to the flames. Out of the sea
+they will come, shipload after shipload, white men from where the sun
+sets and black men from where the sun rises, so many that Zululand
+would not hold them.”
+
+Now at these words, which I delivered as grandly as I could, something
+like a groan burst from the Council, though one man cried—
+
+“Do not listen to the white traitor, O King, who is sent here to turn
+our hearts to water with his lies.”
+
+“Macumazahn may lie to us,” went on Cetewayo, “though in the past none
+in the land have ever known him to lie, but he was not sent to do so,
+for I brought him here. For my part I do not believe that he lies. I
+believe that these English are as many as the pebbles in a river bed,
+and that to them Natal, yes, and all the Cape is but as a single,
+outlying cattle kraal, one cattle kraal out of a hundred. Did not
+Sompseu once tell us that they were countless, on that day when he came
+many years ago after the battle of the Tugela to name me to succeed my
+father Panda, the day when my faction, the Usutu, roared round him for
+hours like a river in flood, and he sat still like a rock in the centre
+of a river? Also I am minded of the words that Chaka said when Dingaan
+and Umbopa had stabbed him and he lay dying at the kraal Duguza, that
+although the dogs of his own House whom his hand fed, had eaten him up,
+he heard the sound of the running of the feet of a great white people
+that should stamp them and the Zulus flat.”
+
+He paused; and the silence was so intense that the crackling of
+Zikali’s fire, which kept on burning brightly although I saw no fuel
+added to it, sounded quite loud. Presently it was broken, first by a
+dog near at hand, howling horribly at the moon, and next by the hooting
+of a great owl that flitted across the donga, the shadow of its wide
+wings falling for a moment on the king.
+
+“Listen!” exclaimed Cetewayo, “a dog that howls! Methinks that it
+stands upon the roof of the House of Senzangacona. And an owl that
+hoots. Methinks that owl has its nest in the world of Spirits! Are
+these good omens, Councillors? I trow not. I say that I will not decide
+this matter of peace or war. If there is one of my own blood here who
+will do so, come, let him take my place and let me go away to my own
+lordship of Gikazi that I had when I was a prince before the witch
+Mameena who played with all men and loved but one”—here everybody
+turned and stared towards me, yes, even Zikali whom nothing else had
+seemed to move, till I wished that the ground would swallow me
+up—“caused the war between me and my brother Umbelazi whose blood earth
+will not swallow nor suns dry—”
+
+“How can that be, O King?” broke in Umnyamana the Prime Minister. “How
+can any of your race sit in your seat while you still live? Then indeed
+there would be war, war between tribe and tribe and Zulu and Zulu till
+none were left, and the white hyenas from Natal would come and chew our
+bones and with them the Boers that have passed the Vaal. See now. Why
+is this Nyanga (i.e. witch-doctor) here?” and he pointed to Zikali
+beyond the fire. “Why has the Opener of Roads been brought from the
+Black Kloof which he has not left for years? Is it not that he may give
+us counsel in our need and show us a sign that his counsel is good,
+whether it be for war or peace? Then when he has made divination and
+given the counsel and shown the sign, then, O King, do you speak the
+word of war or peace, and send it to the Queen by yonder white man, and
+by that word we, the people, will abide.”
+
+At this suggestion, which I had no doubt was made by some secret
+agreement between Umnyamana and Zikali, Cetewayo seemed to grasp.
+Perhaps this was because it postponed for a little while the dreadful
+moment of decision, or perhaps because he hoped that in the eyes of the
+nation it would shift the responsibility from his shoulders to those of
+the Spirits speaking through the lips of their prophet. At any rate he
+nodded and answered—
+
+“It is so. Let the Opener of Roads open us a road through the forests
+and the swamps and the rocks of doubt, danger and fear. Let him give us
+a sign that it is a good road on which we may safely travel, and let
+him tell us whether I shall live to walk that road and what I shall
+meet thereon. I promise him in return the greatest fee that ever yet
+was paid to a doctor in Zululand.”
+
+Now Zikali lifted his big head, shook his grey locks, and opening his
+wide mouth as though he expected manna to fall into it from the sky, he
+laughed out loud.
+
+“O-ho-ho,” he laughed, “Oho-ho-ho-o, it is worth while to have lived so
+long when life has brought me to such an hour as this. What is it that
+my ears hear? That I, the Indwande dwarf, I whom Chaka named
+‘The-Thing-that-never-should-have-been-born,’ I, one of the race
+conquered and despised by the Zulus, am here to speak a word which the
+Zulus dare not utter, which the King of the Zulus dares not utter.
+O-ho-ho-ho! And what does the King offer to me? A fee, a great fee for
+the word that shall paint the Zulus red with blood or white with the
+slime of shame. Nay, I take no fee that is the price of blood or shame.
+Before I speak that word unknown—for as yet my heart has not heard it,
+and what the heart has not heard the lips cannot shape—I ask but one
+thing. It is an oath that whatever follows on the word, while there is
+a Zulu left living in the world, I, the Voice of the Spirits, shall be
+safe from hurt or from reproach, I and those of my House and those over
+whom I throw my blanket, be they black or be they white. That is my
+fee, without which I am silent.”
+
+“_Izwa!_ We hear you. We swear it on behalf of the people,” said every
+councillor in the semi-circle in front of him; yes, and the king said
+it also, stretching out his hand.
+
+“Good,” said Zikali, “it is an oath, it is an oath, sworn here upon the
+bones of the dead. Evil-doers you call them, but I say to you that many
+of those who sit before me have more evil in their hearts than had
+those dead. Well, let it be proclaimed, O King, and with it this—that
+ill shall it go with him who breaks the oath, with his family, with his
+kraal and all with whom he has to do.
+
+“Now what is it you ask of me? First of all, counsel as to whether you
+should fight the English Queen, a matter on which you, the Great Ones,
+are evenly divided in opinion, as is the nation behind you. O King,
+Indunas, and Captains, who am I that I should judge of such a matter
+which is beyond my trade, a matter of the world above and of men’s
+bodies, not of the world below and of men’s spirits? Yet there was one
+who made the Zulu people out of nothing, as a potter fashions a vessel
+from clay, as a smith fashions an assegai out of the ore of the hills,
+yes, and tempers it with human blood.[1] Chaka the Lion, the Wild
+Beast, the King among Kings, the Conqueror. I knew Chaka as I knew his
+father, yes, and _his_ father. Others still living knew him also, say
+you, Sigananda there for instance,” and he pointed to the old chief who
+had spoken first. “Yes, Sigananda knew him as a boy knows a great man,
+as a soldier knows a general. But I knew his heart, aye, I shaped his
+heart, I was its thought. Had it not been for me he would never have
+been great. Then he wronged me”—here Zikali took up the skull which he
+said was that of his daughter, and stroked it—“and I left him.
+
+ [1] The old Zulu smiths dipped their choicest blades in the blood of
+ men.—A. Q.
+
+
+“He was not wise, he should have killed one whom he had wronged, but
+perhaps he knew that I could not be killed; perhaps he had tried and
+found that he was but throwing spears at the moon which fell back on
+his own head. I forget. It is so long ago, and what does it matter? At
+least I took away from him the prop of my wisdom, and he fell—to rise
+no more. And so it has been with others. So it has been with others.
+Yet while he was great I knew his heart who lived in his heart, and
+therefore I ask myself, had he been sitting where the King sits to-day,
+what would Chaka have done? I will tell you. If not only the English
+but the Boers also and with them the Pondos, the Basutos and all the
+tribes of Africa had threatened him, he would have fought them—yes, and
+set his heel upon their necks. Therefore, although I give no counsel
+upon such a matter, I say to you that the counsel of Chaka is—fight—and
+conquer. Hearken to it or pass it by—I care not which.”
+
+He paused and a loud “_Ow_” of wonder and admiration rose from his
+audience. Myself I nearly joined in it, for I thought this one of the
+cleverest bits of statecraft that ever I had heard of or seen. The old
+wizard had taken no responsibility and given no answer to the demand
+for advice. All this he had thrust on to the shoulders of a dead man,
+and that man one whose name was magical to every Zulu, the king whose
+memory they adored, the great General who had gorged them with victory
+and power. Speaking as Chaka, after a long period of peace, he urged
+them once more to lift their spears and know the joys of triumph,
+thereby making themselves the greatest nation in Southern Africa. From
+the moment I heard this cunning appeal, I know what the end would be;
+all the rest was but of minor and semi-personal interest. I knew also
+for the first time how truly great was Zikali and wondered what he
+might have become had Fortune set him in different circumstances among
+a civilized people.
+
+Now he was speaking again, and quickly before the impression died away.
+
+“Such is the word of Chaka spoken by me who was his secret councillor,
+the Councillor who was seldom seen, and never heard. Does not Sigananda
+yonder know the voice which amongst all those present echoes in his
+ears alone?”
+
+“I know it,” cried the old chief. Then with his eyes starting almost
+from his head, Sigananda leapt up and raising his hand, gave the royal
+salute, the Bayete, to the spirit of Chaka, as though the dead king
+stood before him.
+
+I think that most of those there thought that it did stand before him,
+for some of them also gave the Bayete and even Cetewayo raised his arm.
+
+Sigananda squatted down again and Zikali went on.
+
+“You have heard. This captain of the Lion knows his voice. So, that is
+done with. Now you ask of me something else—that I who am a doctor, the
+oldest of all the doctors and, it is thought—I know not—the wisest,
+should be able to answer. You ask of me—How shall this war prosper, if
+it is made—and what shall chance to the King during and after the war,
+and lastly you ask of me a sign. What I tell to you is true, is it not
+so?”
+
+“It is true,” answered the Council.
+
+“Asking is easy,” continued Zikali in a grumbling voice, “but answering
+is another matter. How can I answer without preparation, without the
+needful medicines also that I have not with me, who did not know what
+would be sought of me, who thought that my opinion was desired and no
+more? Go away now and return on the sixth night and I will tell you
+what I can do.”
+
+“Not so,” cried the king. “We refuse to go, for the matter is
+immediate. Speak at once, Opener of Roads, lest it should be said in
+the land that after all you are but an ancient cheat, a stick that
+snaps in two when it is leant on.”
+
+“Ancient cheat! I remember that is what Macumazahn yonder once told me
+I am, though afterwards—Perhaps he was right, for who in his heart
+knows whether or not he be a cheat, a cheat who deceives himself and
+through himself others. A stick that snaps in two when it is leant on!
+Some have thought me so and some have thought otherwise. Well, you
+would have answers which I know not how to give, being without medicine
+and in face of those who are quite ignorant and therefore cannot lend
+me their thoughts, as it sometimes happens that men do when workers of
+evil are sought out in the common fashion. For then, as you may have
+guessed, it is the evil-doer who himself tells the doctor of his crime,
+though he may not know that he is telling it. Yet there is another
+stone that I alone can throw, another plan that I alone can practise,
+and that not always. But of this I would not make use since it is
+terrible and might frighten you or even send you back to your huts
+raving so that your wives, yes, and the very dogs fled, from you.”
+
+He stopped and for the first time did something to his fire, for I saw
+his hands going backwards and forwards, as though he warmed them at the
+flames.
+
+At length an awed voice, I think it was that of Dabulamanzi, asked—
+
+“What is this plan, Inyanga? Let us hear that we may judge.”
+
+“The plan of calling one from the dead and hearkening to the voice of
+the dead. Is it your desire that I should draw water from this fount of
+wisdom, O King and Councillors?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+WAR
+
+
+Now men began to whisper together and Goza groaned at my side.
+
+“Rather would I look down a live lion’s throat than see the dead,” he
+murmured. But I, who was anxious to learn how far Zikali would carry
+his tricks, contemptuously told him to be silent.
+
+Presently the king called me to him and said—
+
+“Macumazahn, you white men are reported to know all things. Tell me
+now, is it possible for the dead to appear?”
+
+“I am not sure,” I answered doubtfully; “some say that it is and some
+say that it is not possible.”
+
+“Well,” said the king. “Have you ever seen one you knew in life after
+death?”
+
+“No,” I replied, “that is—yes. That is—I do not know. When you will
+tell me, King, where waking ends and sleep begins, then I will answer.”
+
+“Macumazahn,” he exclaimed, “just now I announced that you were no
+liar, who perceive that after all you are a liar, for how can you both
+have seen, and not seen, the dead? Indeed I remember that you lied long
+ago, when you gave it out that the witch Mameena was not your lover,
+and afterwards showed that she was by kissing her before all men, for
+who kisses a woman who is not his lover, or his mother? Return, since
+you will not tell me the truth.”
+
+So I went back to my stool, feeling very small and yet indignant, for
+how was it possible to be definite about ghosts, or to explain the
+exact facts of the Mameena myth which clung to me like a Wait-a-bit
+thorn.
+
+Then after a little consultation Cetewayo said—
+
+“It is our desire, O Opener of Roads, that you should draw wisdom from
+the fount of Death, if indeed you can do so. Now let any who are afraid
+depart and wait for us who are not afraid, alone and in silence at the
+mouth of the kloof.”
+
+At this some of the audience rose, but after hesitating a little, sat
+down again. Only Goza actually took a step forward, but on my remarking
+that he would probably meet the dead coming up that way, collapsed,
+muttering something about my pistol, for the fool seemed to think I
+could shoot a spirit.
+
+“If indeed I can do so,” repeated Zikali in a careless fashion. “That
+is to be proved, is it not? Perhaps, too, it may be better for every
+one of you if I fail than if I succeed. Of one thing I warn you, should
+the dead appear stir not, and above all touch not, for he who does
+either of these things will, I think, never live to look upon the sun
+again. But first let me try an easier fashion.”
+
+Then once again he took up the skull that he said had been his
+daughter’s, and whispered to it, only to lay it down presently.
+
+“It will not serve,” he said with a sigh and shaking his locks. “Noma
+tells me that she died a child, one who had no knowledge of war or
+matters of policy, and that in all these things of the world she still
+remains a child. She says that I must seek some one who thought much of
+them; one, too who still lives in the heart of a man who is present
+here, if that be possible, since from such a heart alone can the
+strength be drawn to enable the dead to appear and speak. Now let there
+be silence—Let there be silence, and woe to him that breaks it.”
+
+Silence there was indeed, and in it Zikali crouched himself down till
+his head almost rested on his knee, and seemed to go to sleep. He awoke
+again and chanted for half a minute or so in some language I could not
+understand. Then voices began to answer him, as it seemed to me from
+all over the kloof, also from the sky or rock above. Whether the effect
+was produced by ventriloquism or whether he had confederates posted at
+various points, I do not know.
+
+At any rate this lord of “multitudes of spirits” seemed to be engaged
+in conversation with some of them. What is more, the thing was
+extremely well done, since each voice differed from the other; also I
+seemed to recognize some of them, Dingaan’s for instance, and Panda’s,
+yes, and that of Umbelazi the Handsome, the brother of the king whose
+death I witnessed down by the Tugela.
+
+You will ask me what they said. I do not know. Either the words were
+confused or the events that followed have blotted them from my brain.
+All I remember is that each of them seemed to be speaking of the Zulus
+and their fate and to be very anxious to refer further discussion of
+the matter to some one else. In short they seemed to talk under
+protest, or that was my impression, although Goza, the only person with
+whom I had any subsequent debate upon the subject, appeared to have
+gathered one that was different, though what it was I do not recall.
+The only words that remained clear to me must, I thought, have come
+from the spirit of Chaka, or rather from Zikali or one of his myrmidons
+assuming that character. They were uttered in a deep full voice, spiced
+with mockery, and received by the wizard with _Sibonga_, or titles of
+praise, which I who am versed in Zulu history and idiom knew had only
+been given to the great king, and indeed since his death had become
+unlawful, not to be used. The words were—
+
+“What, Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born, do you think yourself a
+Thing-that-should-never-die, that you still sit beneath the moon and
+weave witchcrafts as of old? Often have I hunted for you in the
+Under-world who have an account to settle with you, as you have an
+account to settle with me. So, so, what does it matter since we must
+meet at last, even if you hide yourself at the back of the furthest
+star? Why do you bring me up to this place where I see some whom I
+would forget? Yes, they build bone on bone and taking the red earth,
+mould it into flesh and stand before me as last I saw them newly dead.
+Oh! your magic is good, Spell-weaver, and your hate is deep and your
+vengeance is keen. No, I have nothing to tell you to-day, who rule a
+greater people than the Zulus in another land. Who are these little men
+who sit before you? One of them has a look of Dingaan, my brother who
+slew me, yes, and wears his armlet. Is he the king? Answer not, for I
+do not care to know. Surely yonder withered thing is Sigananda. I know
+his eye and the _Iziqu_ on his breast. Yes, I gave it to him after the
+great battle with Zweede in which he killed five men. Does he remember
+it, I wonder? Greeting, Sigananda; old as you are you have still twenty
+and one years to live, and then we will talk of the battle with Zweede.
+Let me begone, this place burns my spirit, and in it there is a stench
+of mortal blood. Farewell, O Conqueror!”
+
+These were the words that I thought I heard Chaka say, though I daresay
+that I dreamt them. Indeed had it been otherwise, I mean had they
+really been spoken by Zikali, there would surely have been more in
+them, something that might have served his purpose, not mere talk which
+had all the inconsequence of a dream. Also no one else seemed to pay
+any particular attention to them, though this may have been because so
+many voices were sounding from different places at once, for as I have
+said, Zikali arranged his performance very well, as well as any medium
+could have done on a prepared stage in London.
+
+In a moment, as though at a signal, the voices died away. Then other
+things happened. To begin with I felt very faint, as though all the
+strength were being taken out of me. Some queer fancy got a hold of me.
+I don’t quite know what it was, but it had to do with the Bible story
+of Adam when he fell asleep and a rib was removed from him and made
+into a woman. I reflected that I felt as Adam must have done when he
+came out of his trance after this terrific operation, very weak and
+empty. Also, as it chanced, presently I saw Eve—or rather a woman.
+Looking at the fire in a kind of disembodied way, I perceived that
+dense smoke was rising from it, which smoke spread itself out like a
+fan. It thinned by degrees, and through the veil of smoke I perceived
+something else, namely, a woman very like one whom once I had known.
+There she stood, lightly clad enough, her fingers playing with the blue
+beads of her necklace, an inscrutable smile upon her face and her large
+eyes fixed on nothingness.
+
+Oh! Heaven, I knew her, or rather thought I did at the moment, for now
+I am almost sure that it was Nombé dressed, or undressed, for the part.
+That knowledge came with reflection, but then I could have sworn, being
+deceived by the uncertain light, that the long dead Mameena stood
+before us as she had seemed to stand before me in the hut of Zikali,
+radiating a kind of supernatural life and beauty.
+
+A little wind arose, shaking the dry leaves of the aloes in the kloof;
+I thought it whispered—_Hail, Mameena!_ Some of the older men, too,
+among them a few who had seen her die, in trembling voices murmured,
+“It is Mameena!” whereon Zikali scowled at them and they grew silent.
+
+As for the figure it stood there patient and unmoved, like one who has
+all time at its disposal, playing with the blue beads. I heard them
+tinkle against each other, which proves that it was human, for how
+could a wraith cause beads to tinkle, although it is true that
+Christmas-story ghosts are said to clank their chains. Her eyes roved
+idly and without interest over the semi-circle of terrified men before
+her. Then by degrees they fixed themselves upon the tree behind which I
+was crouching, whereon Goza sank paralyzed to the ground. She
+contemplated this tree for a while that seemed to me interminable; it
+reminded me of a setter pointing game it winded but could not see, for
+her whole frame grew intent and alert. She ceased playing with the
+beads and stretched out her slender hand towards me. Her lips moved.
+She spoke in a sweet, slow voice, saying—
+
+“O Watcher-by-Night, is it thus you greet her to whom you have given
+strength to stand once more beneath the moon? Come hither and tell me,
+have you no kiss for one from whom you parted with a kiss?”
+
+I heard. Without doubt the voice was the very voice of Mameena (so well
+had Nombé been instructed). Still I determined not to obey it, who
+would not be made a public laughing-stock for a second time in my life.
+Also I confess this jesting with the dead seemed to me somewhat unholy,
+and not on any account would I take a part in it.
+
+All the company turned and stared at me, even Goza lifted his head and
+stared, but I sat still and contemplated the beauties of the night.
+
+“If it is the spirit of Mameena, he will come,” whispered Cetewayo to
+Umnyamana.
+
+“Yes, yes,” answered the Prime Minister, “for the rope of his love will
+draw him. He who has once kissed Mameena, _must_ kiss her again when
+she asks.”
+
+Hearing this I grew furiously indignant and was about to break into
+explanations, when to my horror I found myself rising from that stool.
+I tried to cling to it, but, as it only came into the air with me, let
+it go.
+
+“Hold me, Goza,” I muttered, and he like a good fellow clutched me by
+the ankle, whereon I promptly kicked him in the mouth, at least my foot
+kicked him, not my will. Now I was walking towards that Shape—shadow or
+woman—like a man in his sleep, and as I came she stretched out her arms
+and smiled oh! as sweetly as an angel, though I felt quite sure that
+she was nothing of the sort.
+
+Now I stood opposite to her alongside the fire of which the smoke smelt
+like roses at the dawn, and she seemed to bend towards me. With shame
+and humiliation I perceived that in another moment those arms would be
+about me. But somehow they never touched me; I lost sight of them in
+the rose-scented smoke, only the sweet, slow voice which I could have
+sworn was that of Mameena, murmured in my ear—well, words known to her
+and me alone that I had never breathed to any living being, though of
+course I am aware now that they must also have been known to somebody
+else.
+
+“Do you doubt me any longer?” went on the murmuring. “Say, am I Nombé
+now? Or—or am I in truth that Mameena, whose kiss thrills your lips and
+soul? Hearken, Macumazahn, for the time is short. In the rout of the
+great battle that shall be, do not fly with the white men, but set your
+face towards Ulundi. One who was your friend will guard you, and
+whoever dies, no harm shall come to you now that the fire which burns
+in my heart has set all Zululand aflame. Hearken once more. Hans, the
+little yellow man who was named Light-in-Darkness, he who died among
+the Kendah people, sends you salutations and gives you praise. He bids
+me tell you that now of his own accord he renders to me, Mameena, the
+royal salute, because royal I must ever be; because also he and I who
+are so far apart are yet one in the love that is our life.”
+
+The smoke blew into my face, causing me to reel back. Cetewayo caught
+me by the arm, saying—
+
+“Tell us, are the lips of the dead witch warm or cold?”
+
+“I do not know,” I groaned, “for I never touched her.”
+
+“How he lies! Oh! how he lies even about what our eyes saw,” said
+Cetewayo reflectively as I blundered past him back to my seat, on which
+I sank half swooning. When I got my wits again the figure that
+pretended to be Mameena was speaking, I suppose in answer to some
+question of Zikali’s which I had not heard. It said—
+
+“O Lord of the Spirits, you have called me from the land of Spirits to
+make reply as to two matters which have not yet happened upon the
+earth. These replies I will give but no others, since the mortal
+strength that I have borrowed returns whence it came. The first matter
+is, if there be war between the White and Black, what will happen in
+that war? I see a plain ringed round with hills and on it a
+strange-shaped mount. I see a great battle; I see the white men go down
+like corn before a tempest; I see the spears of the _impis_ redden; I
+see the white soldiers lie like leaves cut from a tree by frost. They
+are dead, all dead, save a handful that have fled away. I hear the
+_ingoma_ of victory sung here at Ulundi. It is finished.
+
+“The second matter is—what shall chance to the king? I see him tossed
+on the Black Water; I see him in a land full of houses, talking with a
+royal woman and her councillors. There, too, he conquers, for they
+offer him tribute of many gifts. I see him here, back here in Zululand,
+and hear him greeted with the royal salute. Last of all I see him dead,
+as men must die, and hear the voice of Zikali and the mourning of the
+women of his house. It is finished. Farewell, King Cetewayo, I pass to
+tell Panda, your father, how it fares with you. When last we parted did
+I not prophesy to you that we should meet again at the bottom of a
+gulf? Was it this gulf, think you, or another? One day you shall learn.
+Farewell, or fare ill, as it may happen!”
+
+Once more the smoke spread out like a fan. When it thinned and drew
+together again, the Shape was gone.
+
+Now I thought that the Zulus would be so impressed by this very queer
+exhibition, that they would seek no more supernatural guidance, but
+make up their minds for war at once. This, however, was just what they
+did not do. As it happened, among the assembled chiefs, was one who
+himself had a great repute as a witch-doctor, and therefore burned with
+jealousy of Zikali who appeared to be able to do things that he had
+never even attempted. This man leapt up and declared that all which
+they had seemed to hear and see was but cunning trickery, carried out
+after long preparation by Zikali and his confederates. The voices, he
+said, came from persons placed in certain spots, or sometimes were
+produced by Zikali himself. As for the vision, it was not that of a
+spirit but of a real woman, in proof of which he called attention to
+certain anatomical details of the figure. Finally, with much sense, he
+pointed out that the Council would be mad to come to any decision upon
+such evidence, or to give faith to prophecies, whereof the truth or
+falsity could only be known in the future.
+
+Now a fierce debate broke out, the war party maintaining that the
+manifestations were genuine, the peace party that they were a fraud. In
+the end, as neither side would give way and as Zikali, when appealed
+to, sat silent as a stone, refusing any explanation, the king said—
+
+“Must we sit here talking, talking, till daylight? There is but one man
+who can know the truth, that is Macumazahn. Let him deny it as he will,
+he was the lover of this Mameena while she was alive, for with my own
+eyes I saw him kiss her before she killed herself. It is certain,
+therefore, that he knows if the woman we seemed to see was Mameena or
+another, since there are things which a man never forgets. I propose,
+therefore, that we should question him and form our own judgment of his
+answer.”
+
+This advice, which seemed to promise a road out of a blind ally, met
+with instant acceptance.
+
+“Let it be so,” they cried with one voice, and in another minute I was
+once more conducted from behind my tree and set down upon the stool in
+front of the Council, with my back to the fire and Zikali, “that his
+eyes might not charm me.”
+
+“Now, Watcher-by-Night,” said Cetewayo, “although you have lied to us
+in a certain matter, of this we do not think much, since it is one upon
+which both men and women always lie, as every judge will know.
+Therefore we still believe you to be an honest man, as your dealings
+have proved for many years. As an honest man, therefore, we beg you to
+give us a true answer to a plain question. Was the Shape we saw before
+us just now a woman or a spirit, and if a spirit, was it the ghost of
+Mameena, the beautiful witch who died near this place nearly the
+quarter of a hundred years ago, she whom you loved, or who loved you,
+which is just the same thing, since a man always loves a woman who
+loves him, or thinks that he does?”
+
+Now after reflection I replied in these words and as conscientiously as
+I could—
+
+“King and Councillors, I do not know if what we all saw was a ghost or
+a living person, but, as I do not believe in ghosts, or at any rate
+that they come back to the world on such errands, I conclude that it
+was a living person. Still it may have been neither, but only a mere
+picture produced before us by the arts of Zikali. So much for the first
+question. Your second is—was this spirit or woman or shadow, that of
+her whom I remember meeting in Zululand many years ago? King and
+Councillors, I can only say that it was very like her. Still one
+handsome young woman often greatly resembles another of the same age
+and colouring. Further, the moon gives an uncertain light, especially
+when it is tempered by smoke from a fire. Lastly, memory plays strange
+tricks with all of us, as you will know if you try to think of the face
+of any one who has been dead for more than twenty years. For the rest,
+the voice seemed similar, the beads and ornaments seemed similar, and
+the figure repeated to me certain words which I thought I alone had
+heard come from the lips of her who is dead. Also she gave me a strange
+message from another who is dead, referring to a matter which I
+believed was known only to me and that other. Yet Zikali is very clever
+and may have learned these things in some way unguessed by me, and what
+he has learned, others may have learned also. King and Councillors, I
+do not think that what we saw was the spirit of Mameena. I think it a
+woman not unlike to her who had been taught her lesson. I have nothing
+more to say, and therefore I pray you not to ask me any further
+questions about Mameena of whose name I grow weary.”
+
+At this point Zikali seemed to wake out of his indifference, or his
+torpor, for he looked up and said darkly—
+
+“It is strange that the cleverest are always those who first fall into
+the trap. They go along, gazing at the stars at night, and forget the
+pit which they themselves have dug in the morning. _O-ho-ho! Oho-ho!_”
+
+Now the wrangling broke out afresh. The peace party pointed
+triumphantly to the fact that I, the white man who ought to know, put
+no faith in this apparition, which was therefore without doubt a fraud.
+The war party on the other hand declared that I was deceiving them for
+reasons of my own, one of which would be that I did not wish to see the
+Zulus eat up my people. So fierce grew the debate that I thought it
+would end in blows and perhaps in an attack on myself or Zikali who all
+the while sat quite careless and unmoved, staring at the moon. At
+length Cetewayo shouted for silence, spitting, as was his habit when
+angry.
+
+“Make an end,” he cried, “lest I cause some of you to grow quiet for
+ever,” whereon the recriminations ceased. “Opener of Roads,” he went
+on, “many of those who are present think like Macumazahn here, that you
+are but an old cheat, though whether or no I be one of these I will not
+say. They demand a sign of you that none can dispute, and I demand it
+also before I speak the word of peace or war. Give us then that sign or
+begone to whence you came and show your face no more at Ulundi.”
+
+“What sign does the Council require, Son of Panda?” asked Zikali
+quietly. “Let them agree on one together and tell me now at once, for I
+who am old grow weary and would sleep. Then if it can be given I will
+give it; and if I cannot give it, I will get me back to my own house
+and show my face no more at Ulundi, who do not desire to listen again
+to fools who babble like contending waters round a stone and yet never
+stir the stone because they run two ways at once.”
+
+Now the Councillors stared at each other, for none knew what sign to
+ask. At length old Sigananda said—
+
+“O King, it is well known that the Black One who went before you had a
+certain little assegai handled with the royal red wood, which drank the
+blood of many. It was with this assegai that Mopo his servant, who
+vanished from the land after the death of Dingaan, let out the life of
+the Black One at the kraal Duguza, but what became of it afterwards
+none have heard for certain. Some say that it was buried with the Black
+One, some that Mopo stole it. Others that Dingaan and Umhlagana burned
+it. Still a saying rose like a wind in the land that when that spear
+shall fall from heaven at the feet of the king who reigns in the place
+of the Black One, then the Zulus shall make their last great war and
+win a victory of which all the world shall hear. Now let the Opener of
+Roads give us this sign of the falling of the Black One’s spear and I
+shall be content.”
+
+“Would you know the spear if it fell?” asked Cetewayo.
+
+“I should know it, O King, who have often held it in my hand. The end
+of the haft is gnawed, for when he was angry the Black One used to bite
+it. Also a thumb’s length from the blade is a black mark made with hot
+iron. Once the Black One made a bet with one of his captains that at a
+distance of ten paces he would throw the spear deeper into the body of
+a chief whom he wished to kill, than the captain could. The captain
+threw first, for I saw him with my eyes, and the spear sank to that
+place on the shaft where the mark is, for the Black One burned it
+there. Then the Black One threw and the spear went through the body of
+the chief who, as he died, called to him that he too should know the
+feel of it in his heart, as indeed he did.”
+
+I think that Cetewayo was about to assent to this suggestion, since he
+who desired peace believed it impossible that Zikali should suddenly
+cause this identical spear to fall from heaven. But Umnyamana, the
+Prime Induna, interposed hurriedly—
+
+“It is not enough, O King. Zikali may have stolen the spear, for he was
+living and at the kraal Duguza at that time. Also he may have put about
+the prophecy whereof Sigananda speaks, or at least so men would say.
+Let him give us a greater sign than this that all may be content, so
+that whether we make war or peace it may be with a single mind. Now it
+is known that we Zulus have a guardian spirit who watches over us from
+the skies, she who is called Nomkubulwana, or by some the
+Inkosazana-y-Zulu, the Princess of Heaven. It is known also that this
+Princess, who is white of skin and ruddy-haired, appears always before
+great things happen in our land. Thus she appeared before the Black One
+died. Also she appeared to a number of children before the battle of
+the Tugela. It is said, too, that but lately she appeared to a woman
+near the coast and warned her to cross the Tugela because there would
+be war, though this woman cannot now be found. Let the Opener of Roads
+call down Nomkubulwana before our eyes from heaven and we will admit,
+every man of us, that this is a sign which cannot be questioned.”
+
+“And if he does this thing, which I hold no doctor in the world can do,
+what shall it signify?” asked Cetewayo.
+
+“O King,” answered Umnyamana, “if he does so, it shall signify war and
+victory. If he does not do so, it shall signify peace, and we will bow
+our heads before the _Amalungwana basi bodwe_” (i.e., “the little
+English,” used as a term of derision).
+
+“Do all agree?” asked Cetewayo.
+
+“We agree,” answered every man, stretching out his hand.
+
+“Then, Opener of Roads, it stands thus: If you can call Nomkubulwana,
+should there be such a spirit, to appear before our eyes, the Council
+will take it as a sign that the Heavens direct us to fight the
+English.”
+
+So spoke Cetewayo, and I noted a tone of triumph in his voice, for his
+heart shrank from this war, and he was certain that Zikali could do
+nothing of the sort. Still the opinion of the nation, or rather of the
+army, was so strong in favour of it that he feared lest his refusal
+might bring about his deposition, if not his death. From this dilemma
+the supernatural test suggested by the Prime Minister and approved by
+the Council that represented the various tribes of people, seemed to
+offer a path of escape. So I read the situation, as I think rightly.
+
+Upon hearing these words for the first time that night Zikali seemed to
+grow disturbed.
+
+“What do my ears hear?” he exclaimed excitedly. “Am I the _Umkulukulu_,
+the Great-Great (i.e., God) himself, that it should be asked of me to
+draw the Princess of Heaven from beyond the stars, she who comes and
+goes like the wind, but like the wind cannot be commanded? Do they hear
+that if she will not come to my beckoning, then the great Zulu people
+must put a yoke upon their shoulders and be as slaves? Surely the King
+must have been listening to the doctrines of those English teachers who
+wear a white ribbon tied about their necks, and tell us of a god who
+suffered himself to be nailed to a cross of wood, rather than make war
+upon his foes, one whom they call the Prince of Peace. Times have
+changed indeed since the days of the Black One. Yes, generals have
+become like women; the captains of the _impis_ are set to milk the
+cows. Well, what have I to do with all this? What does it matter to me
+who am so very old that only my head remains above the level of the
+earth, the rest of me being buried in the grave, who am not even a Zulu
+to boot, but a Dwandwe, one of the despised Dwandwe whom the Zulus
+mocked and conquered?
+
+“Hearken to me, Spirits of the House of Senzangacona”—here he addressed
+about a dozen of Cetewayo’s ancestors by name, going back for many
+generations. “Hearken to me, O Princess of Heaven, appointed by the
+Great-Great to be the guardian of the Zulu race. It is asked that you
+should appear, should it be your wish to signify to these your children
+that they must stand upon their feet and resist the white men who
+already gather upon their borders. And should it be your wish that they
+should lay down their spears and go home to sleep with their wives and
+hoe the gardens while the white men count the cattle and set each to
+his work upon the roads, then that you should not appear. Do what you
+will, O Spirits of the House of Senzangacona, do what you will, O
+Princess of Heaven. What does it matter to the
+Thing-that-never-should-have-been-born, who soon will be as though he
+never had been born, whether the House of Senzangacona and the Zulu
+people stand or fall?
+
+“I, the old doctor, was summoned here to give counsel. I gave counsel,
+but it passed over the heads of these wise ones like a shadow of which
+none took note. I was asked to prophesy of what would chance if war
+came. I called the dead from their graves; they came in voices, and one
+of them put on the flesh again and spoke from the lips of flesh. The
+white man to whom she spoke denied her who had been his love, and the
+wise ones said that she was a cheat, yes, a doll that I had dressed up
+to deceive them. This spirit that had put on flesh, told of what would
+chance in the war, if war there were, and what would chance to the
+King, but they mock at the prophecy and now they demand a sign. Come
+then, Nomkubulwana, and give them the sign if you will and let there be
+war. Or stay away and give them no sign if you will, and let there be
+peace. It is nought to me, nought to the
+Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born.”
+
+Thus he rambled on, as it occurred to me who watched and listened,
+talking against time. For I observed that while he spoke a cloud was
+passing over the face of the moon, and that when he ceased speaking it
+was quite obscured by this cloud, so that the Vale of Bones was plunged
+in a deep twilight that was almost darkness. Further, in a nervous kind
+of way, he did something more to his wizard’s fire which again caused
+it to throw out a fan of smoke that hid him and the execution rock in
+front of which he sat.
+
+The cloud floated by and the moon came out as though from an eclipse;
+the smoke of the fire, too, thinned by degrees. As it melted and the
+light grew again, I became aware that something was materializing, or
+had appeared on the point of the rock above us. A few seconds later, to
+my wonder and amazement, I perceived that this something was the
+spirit-like form of a white woman which stood quite still upon the very
+point of the rock. She was clad in some garment of gleaming white cut
+low upon her breast, that may have been of linen, but from the way it
+shone, suggested that it was of glittering feathers, egrets’ for
+instance. Her ruddy hair was outspread, and in it, too, something
+glittered, like mica or jewels. Her feet and milk-hued arms were bare
+and poised in her right hand was a little spear.
+
+Nor did I see alone, since a moan of fear and worship went up from the
+Councillors. Then they grew silent and stared and stared.
+
+Suddenly Zikali lifted his head and looked at them through the thin
+flame of the fire which made his eyes shine like those of a tiger or of
+a cornered baboon.
+
+“At what do you gaze so hard, King and Councillors?” he asked. “I see
+nothing. At what then do you gaze so hard?”
+
+“On the rock above you stands a white spirit in her glory. It is the
+Inkosazana herself,” muttered Cetewayo.
+
+“Has she come then?” mocked the old wizard. “Nay, surely it is but a
+dream, or another of my tricks; some black woman painted white that I
+have smuggled here in my medicine bag, or rolled up in the blanket on
+my back. How can I prove to you that this is not another cheat like to
+that of the spirit of Mameena whom the white man, her lover, did not
+know again? Go near to her you must not, even if you could, seeing that
+if by chance she should _not_ be a cheat, you would die, every man of
+you, for woe to him whom Nomkubulwana touches. How then, how? Ah! I
+have it. Doubtless in his pocket Macumazahn yonder hides a little gun,
+Macumazahn who with such a gun can cut a reed in two at thirty paces,
+or shave the hair from the chin of a man, as is well known in the land.
+Let him then take his little gun and shoot at that which you say stands
+upon the rock. If it be a black woman painted white, doubtless she will
+fall down dead, as so many have fallen from that rock. But if it be the
+Princess of Heaven, then the bullet will pass through her or turn aside
+and she will take no harm, though whether Macumazahn will take any harm
+is more than I can say.”
+
+Now when they heard this many remained silent, but some of the peace
+party began to clamour that I should be ordered to shoot at the
+apparition. At length Cetewayo seemed to give way to this pressure. I
+say seemed, because I think he wished to give way. Whether or not a
+spirit stood before him, he knew no more than the rest, but he did know
+that unless the vision were proved to be mortal he would be driven into
+war with the English. Therefore he took the only chance that remained
+to him.
+
+“Macumazahn,” he said, “I know you have your pistol on you, for only
+the other day you brought it into my presence, and through light and
+darkness you nurse it as a mother does her firstborn. Now since the
+Opener of Roads desires it, I command you to fire at that which seems
+to stand above us. If it be a mortal woman, she is a cheat and deserves
+to die. If it be a spirit from heaven it can take no harm. Nor can you
+take harm who only do that which you must.”
+
+“Woman or spirit, I will not shoot, King,” I answered.
+
+“Is it so? What! do you defy me, White Man? Do so if you will, but
+learn that then your bones shall whiten here in this Vale of Bones.
+Yes, you shall be the first of the English to go below,” and turning,
+he whispered something to two of the Councillors.
+
+Now I saw that I must either obey or die. For a moment my mind grew
+confused in face of this awful alternative. I did not believe that I
+saw a spirit. I believed that what stood above me was Nombé cunningly
+tricked out with some native pigments which at that distance and in
+that light made her look like a white woman. For oddly enough at that
+time the truth did not occur to me, perhaps because I was too
+surprised. Well, if it were Nombé, she deserved to be shot for playing
+such a trick, and what is more her death, by revealing the fraud of
+Zikali, would perhaps avert a great war. But then why did he make the
+suggestion that I should be commanded to fire at this figure? Slowly I
+drew out my pistol and brought it to the full cock, for it was loaded.
+
+“I will obey, King,” I said, “to save myself from being murdered. But
+on your head be all that may follow from this deed.”
+
+Then it was for the first time that a new idea struck me so clearly
+that I believe it was conveyed direct from Zikali’s brain to my own. _I
+might shoot, but there was no need for me to hit._ After that
+everything grew plain.
+
+“King,” I said, “if yonder be a mortal, she is about to die. Only a
+spirit can escape my aim. Watch now the centre of her forehead, for
+there the bullet will strike!”
+
+I lifted the pistol and appeared to cover the figure with much care. As
+I did so, even from that distance I thought I saw a look of terror in
+its eyes. Then I fired, with a little jerk of the wrist sending the
+ball a good yard above her head.
+
+“She is unharmed,” cried a voice. “Macumazahn missed her.”
+
+“Macumazahn does not miss,” I replied loftily. “If that at which he
+aimed is unharmed, it is because it cannot be hit.”
+
+“_O-ho-o!_” laughed Zikali, “the White Man who does not know the taste
+of his own love’s lips, says that he has fired at that which cannot be
+hit. Let him try again. No, let him choose another target. The Spirit
+is the Spirit, but he who summoned her may still be a cheat. There is
+another bullet in your little gun, White Man; see if it can pierce the
+heart of Zikali, that the King and Council may learn whether he be a
+true prophet, the greatest of all the prophets that ever was, or
+whether he be but a common cheat.”
+
+Now a sudden rage filled me against this old rascal. I remembered how
+he had brought Mameena to her death, when he thought that it would
+serve him, and since then filled the land with stories concerning her
+and me, which met me whatever way I turned. I remembered that for years
+he had plotted to bring about the destruction of the Zulus, and to
+further his dark ends, was now engaged in causing a fearful war which
+would cost the lives of thousands. I remembered that he had trapped me
+into Zululand and then handed me over to Cetewayo, separating me from
+my friends who were in my charge, and for aught I knew, giving them to
+death. Surely the world would be well rid of him.
+
+“Have your will,” I shouted and covered him with the pistol.
+
+Then there came into my mind a certain saying—“Judge not that ye be not
+judged.” Who and what was I that I should dare to arraign and pass
+sentence upon this man who after all had suffered many wrongs? As I was
+about to fire I caught sight of some bright object flashing towards the
+king from above, and instantaneously shifted my aim and pressed the
+trigger. The thing, whatever it might be, flew in two. One part of it
+fell upon Zikali, the other part travelled on and struck Cetewayo upon
+the knee.
+
+There followed a great confusion and a cry of “The king is stabbed!” I
+ran forward to look and saw the blade of a little assegai lying on the
+ground and on Cetewayo’s knee a slight cut from which blood trickled.
+
+“It is nothing,” I said, “a scratch, no more, though had not the spear
+been stopped in its course it might have been otherwise.”
+
+“Yes,” cried Zikali, “but what was it that caused the cut? Take this,
+Sigananda, and tell me what it may be,” and he threw towards him a
+piece of red wood.
+
+Sigananda looked at it. “It is the haft of the Black One’s spear,” he
+exclaimed, “which the bullet of Macumazahn has severed from the blade.”
+
+“Aye,” said Zikali, “and the blade has drawn the blood of the Black
+One’s child. Read me this omen, Sigananda; or ask it of her who stands
+above you.”
+
+Now all looked to the rock, but it was empty. The figure had vanished.
+
+“Your word, King,” said Zikali. “Is it for peace or war?”
+
+Cetewayo looked at the assegai, looked at the blood trickling from his
+knee, looked at the faces of the councillors.
+
+“Blood calls for blood,” he moaned. “My word is—_War!_”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+KAATJE BRINGS NEWS
+
+
+Zikali burst into one of his peals of laughter, so unholy that it
+caused the blood in me to run cold.
+
+“The King’s word is _war_,” he cried. “Let Nomkubulwana take that word
+back to heaven. Let Macumazahn take it to the White Men. Let the
+captains cry it to the regiments and let the world grow red. The King
+has chosen, though mayhap, had I been he, I should have chosen
+otherwise; yet what am I but a hollow reed stuck in the ground up which
+the spirits speak to men? It is finished, and I, too, am finished for a
+while. Farewell, O King! Where shall we meet again, I wonder? On the
+earth or under it? Farewell, Macumazahn, I know where we shall meet,
+though you do not. O King, I return to my own place, I pray you to
+command that none come near me or trouble me with words, for I am
+spent.”
+
+“It is commanded,” said Cetewayo.
+
+As he spoke the fire went out mysteriously, and the wizard rose and
+hobbled off at a surprising pace round the corner of the projecting
+rock.
+
+“Stay!” I called, “I would speak with you;” but although I am sure he
+heard me, he did not stop or look round.
+
+I sprang up to follow him, but at some sign from Cetewayo two _indunas_
+barred my way.
+
+“Did you not hear the King’s command, White Man?” one of them asked
+coldly, and the tone of his question told me that war having been
+declared, I was now looked upon as a foe. I was about to answer sharply
+when Cetewayo himself addressed me.
+
+“Macumazahn,” he said, “you are now my enemy, like all your people, and
+from sunrise to-morrow morning your safe-conduct here ends, for if you
+are found at Ulundi two hours after that time, it will be lawful for
+any man to kill you. Yet as you are still my guest, I will give you an
+escort to the borders of the land. Moreover, you shall take a message
+from me to the Queen’s officers and captains. It is—that I will send an
+answer to their demands upon the point of an assegai. Yet add this,
+that not I but the English, to whom I have always been a friend, sought
+this war. If Sompseu had suffered me to fight the Boers as I wished to
+do, it would never have come about. But he threw the Queen’s blanket
+over the Transvaal and stood upon it, and now he declares that lands
+which were always the property of the Zulus, belong to the Boers.
+Therefore I take back all the promises which I made to him when he came
+hither to call me King in the Queen’s name, and no more do I call him
+my father. As for the disbanding of my _impis_, let the English disband
+them if they can. I have spoken.”
+
+“And I have heard,” I answered, “and will deliver your words
+faithfully, though I hold, King, that they come from the lips of one
+whom the Heavens have made mad.”
+
+At this bold speech some of the Councillors started up with threatening
+gestures. Cetewayo waved them back and answered quietly, “Perhaps it
+was the Queen of Heaven who stood on yonder rock who made me mad. Or
+perhaps she made me wise, as being the Spirit of our people she should
+surely do. That is a question which the future will decide, and if ever
+we should meet after it is decided, we will talk it over. Now, _hamba
+gachle!_ (go in peace).”
+
+“I hear the king and I will go, but first I would speak with Zikali.”
+
+“Then, White Man, you must wait till this war is finished or till you
+meet him in the Land of Spirits. Goza, lead Macumazahn back to his hut
+and set a guard about it. At the dawn a company of soldiers will be
+waiting with orders to take him to the border. You will go with him and
+answer for his safety with your life. Let him be well treated on the
+road as my messenger.”
+
+Then Cetewayo rose and stood while all present gave him the royal
+salute, after which he walked away down the kloof. I remained for a
+moment, making pretence to examine the blade of the little assegai that
+had been thrown by the figure on the rock, which I had picked from the
+ground. This historical piece of iron which I have no doubt is the same
+that Chaka always carried, wherewith, too, he is said to have killed
+his mother, Nandie, by the way I still possess, for I slipped it into
+my pocket and none tried to take it from me.
+
+Really, however, I was wondering whether I could in any way gain access
+to Zikali, a problem that was settled for me by a sharp request to move
+on, uttered in a tone which admitted of no further argument.
+
+Well, I trudged back to my hut in the company of Goza, who was so
+overcome by all the wonders he had seen that he could scarcely speak.
+Indeed, when I asked him what he thought of the figure that had
+appeared upon the rock, he replied petulantly that it was not given to
+him to know whence spirits came or of what stuff they were made, which
+showed me that he at any rate believed in its supernatural origin and
+that it had appeared to direct the Zulus to make war. This was all I
+wanted to find out, so I said nothing more, but gave up my mind to
+thought of my own position and difficulties.
+
+Here I was, ordered on pain of death to depart from Ulundi at the dawn.
+And yet how could I obey without seeing Zikali and learning from him
+what had happened to Anscombe and Heda, or at any rate without
+communicating with him? Once more only did I break silence, offering to
+give Goza a gun if he would take a message from me to the great wizard.
+But with a shake of his big head, he answered that to do so would mean
+death, and guns were of no good to a dead man since, as I had shown
+myself that night, they had no power to shoot a spirit.
+
+This closed the business on which I need not have troubled to enter,
+since an answer to all my questionings was at hand.
+
+We reached the hut where Goza gave me over to the guard of soldiers,
+telling their officer that none were to be permitted to enter it save
+myself and that I was not to be permitted to come out of it until he,
+Goza, came to fetch me a little before the dawn.
+
+The officer asked if any one else was to be permitted to come out, a
+question that surprised me, though vaguely, for I was thinking of other
+things. Then Goza departed, remarking that he hoped I should sleep
+better than he would, who “felt spirits in his bones and did not wish
+to kiss them as I seemed to like to do.” I replied facetiously,
+thinking of the bottle of brandy, that ere long I meant to feel them in
+my stomach, whereat he shook his head again with the air of one whom
+nothing connected with me could surprise, and vanished.
+
+I crawled into the hut and put the board over the bee-hole-like
+entrance behind me. Then I began to hunt for the matches in my pocket
+and pricked my finger with the point of Chaka’s historical assegai.
+While I was sucking it to my amazement I heard the sound of some one
+breathing on the further side of the hut. At first I thought of calling
+the guard, but on reflection found the matches and lit the candle,
+which stood by the blankets that served me as a bed. As soon as it
+burned up I looked towards the sound, and to my horror perceived the
+figure of a sleeping woman, which frightened me so much that I nearly
+dropped the candle.
+
+To tell the truth, so obsessed was I with Zikali and his ghosts that
+for a few moments it occurred to me that this might be the Shape with
+which I had talked an hour or two before. I mean that which had seemed
+to resemble the long-dead lady Mameena, or rather the person made up to
+her likeness, come here to continue our conversation. At any rate I was
+sure, and rightly, that here was more of the handiwork of Zikali who
+wished to put me in some dreadful position for reasons of his own.
+
+Pulling myself together I advanced upon the lady, only to find myself
+no wiser, since she was totally covered by a kaross. Now what was to be
+done? To escape, of which of course I had thought at once, was
+impossible since it meant an assegai in my ribs. To call to the guard
+for help seemed indiscreet, for who knew what those fools might say? To
+kick or shake her would undoubtedly be rude and, if it chanced to be
+the person who had played Mameena, would certainly provoke remarks that
+I should not care to face. There seemed to be only one resource, to sit
+down and wait till she woke up.
+
+This I did for quite a long time, till at last the absurdity of the
+position and, I will admit, my own curiosity overcame me, especially as
+I was very tired and wanted to go to sleep. So advancing most gingerly,
+I turned down the kaross from over the head of the sleeping woman, much
+wondering whom I should see, for what man is there that a veiled woman
+does not interest? Indeed, does not half the interest of woman lie in
+the fact that her nature is veiled from man, in short a mystery which
+he is always seeking to solve at his peril, and I might add, never
+succeeds in solving?
+
+Well, I turned down that kaross and next instant stepped back amazed
+and, to tell the truth, somewhat disappointed, for there, with her
+mouth open, lay no wondrous and spiritual Mameena, but the stout,
+earthly and most prosaic—Kaatje!
+
+“Confound the woman!” thought I to myself. “What is she doing here?”
+
+Then I remembered how wrong it was to give way to a sense of romantic
+disappointment at such a time, though as a matter of fact it is always
+in a moment of crisis or of strained nerves that we are most open to
+the insidious advances of romance. Also that there was no one on earth,
+or beyond it, whom I ought more greatly to have rejoiced to see. I had
+left Kaatje with Anscombe and Heda; therefore Kaatje could tell me what
+had become of them. And at this thought my heart sank—why was she here
+in this most inappropriate meeting-place, alone? Feeling that these
+were questions which must be answered at once, I prodded Kaatje in the
+ribs with my toe until, after a good deal of prodding, she awoke, sat
+up and yawned, revealing an excellent set of teeth in her cavernous,
+quarter-cast mouth. Then perceiving a man she opened that mouth even
+wider, as I thought with the idea of screaming for help. But here I was
+first with her, for before a sound could issue I had filled it full
+with the corner of the kaross, exclaiming in Dutch as I did so—
+
+“Idiot of a woman, do you not know the Heer Quatermain when you see
+him?”
+
+“Oh! Baas,” she answered, “I thought you were some wicked Zulu come to
+do me a mischief.” Then she burst into tears and sobs which I could not
+stop for at least three minutes.
+
+“Be quiet, you fat fool!” I cried exasperated, “and tell me, where are
+your mistress and the Heer Anscombe?”
+
+“I don’t know, Baas, but I hope in heaven” (Kaatje was some kind of a
+Christian), she replied between her sobs.
+
+“In heaven! What do you mean?” I asked, horrified.
+
+“I mean, Baas, that I hope they are in heaven, because when last I saw
+them they were both dead, and dead people must be either in heaven or
+hell, and heaven, they say, is better than hell.”
+
+“_Dead!_ Where did you see them dead?”
+
+“In that Black Kloof, Baas, some days after you left us and went away.
+The old baboon man who is called Zikali gave us leave through the
+witch-girl, Nombé, to go also. So the Baas Anscombe set to work to
+inspan the horses, the Missie Heda helping him, while I packed the
+things. When I had nearly finished Nombé came, smiling like a cat that
+has caught two mice, and beckoned to me to follow her. I went and saw
+the cart inspanned with the four horses all looking as though they were
+asleep, for their heads hung down. Then after she had stared at me for
+a long while Nombé led me past the horses into the shadow of the
+overhanging cliff. There I saw my mistress and the Baas Anscombe lying
+side by side quite dead.”
+
+“How do you know that they were dead?” I gasped. “What had killed
+them?”
+
+“I know that they were dead because they _were_ dead, Baas. Their
+mouths and eyes were open and they lay upon their backs with their arms
+stretched out. The witch-girl, Nombé, said some Kaffirs had come and
+strangled them and then gone away again, or so I understood who cannot
+speak Zulu so very well. Who the Kaffirs were or why they came she did
+not say.”
+
+“Then what did you do?” I asked.
+
+I ran back to the hut, Baas, fearing lest I should be strangled also,
+and wept there till I grew hungry. When I came out of it again they
+were gone. Nombé showed me a place under a tree where the earth was
+disturbed. She said that they were buried there by order of her master,
+Zikali. I don’t know what became of the horses or the cart.”
+
+“And what happened to you afterwards?”
+
+“Baas, I was kept for several days, I cannot remember how many, and
+only allowed out within the fence round the huts. Nombé came to see me
+once, bringing this,” and she produced a package sewn up in a skin.
+“She said that I was to give it to you with a message that those whom
+you loved were quite safe with One who is greater than any in the land,
+and therefore that you must not grieve for them whose troubles were
+over. I think it was two nights after this that four Zulus came, two
+men and two women, and led me away, as I thought to kill me. But they
+did not kill me; indeed they were very kind to me, although when I
+spoke to them they pretended not to understand. They took me a long
+journey, travelling for the most part in the dark and sleeping in the
+day. This evening when the sun set they brought me through a Kaffir
+town and thrust me into the hut where I am without speaking to any one.
+Here, being very tired, I went to sleep, and that is all.”
+
+And quite enough too, thought I to myself. Then I put her through a
+cross-examination, but Kaatje was a stupid woman although a good and
+faithful servant, and all her terrible experiences had not sharpened
+her intelligence. Indeed, when I pressed her she grew utterly confused,
+began to cry, thereby taking refuge in the last impregnable female
+fortification, and snivelled out that she could not bear to talk of her
+dear mistress any more. So I gave it up, and two minutes later she was
+literally snoring, being very tired, poor thing.
+
+Now I tried to think matters out as well as this disturbance would
+allow, for nothing hinders thought so much as snores. But what was the
+use of thinking? There was her story to take or to leave, and evidently
+the honest creature believed what she said. Further, how could she be
+deceived on such a point? She swore that she had seen Anscombe and Heda
+dead and afterwards had seen their graves.
+
+Moreover, there was confirmation in Nombé’s message which could not
+well have been invented, that spoke of their being well in the charge
+of a “Great One,” a term by which the Zulus designate God, with all
+their troubles finished. The reason and manner of their end were left
+unrevealed. Zikali might have murdered them for his own purposes, or
+the Zulus might have killed them in obedience to the king’s order that
+no white people in the land were to be allowed to live. Or perhaps the
+Basutos from Sekukuni’s country, with whom the Zulus had some
+understanding, had followed and done them to death; indeed the
+strangling sounded more Basuto than Zulu—if they were really strangled.
+
+Almost overcome though I was, I bethought me of the package and opened
+it, only to find another apparent proof of their end, for it contained
+Heda’s jewels as I had found them in the bag in the safe; also a spare
+gold watch belonging to Anscombe with his coat-of-arms engraved upon
+it. That which he wore was of silver and no doubt was buried with him,
+since for superstitious reasons the natives would not have touched
+anything on his person after death. This seemed to me to settle the
+matter, presumptively at any rate, since to show that robbery was not
+the cause of their murder, their most valuable possessions which were
+not upon their persons had been sent to me, their friend.
+
+So this was the end of all my efforts to secure the safety and
+well-being of that most unlucky pair. I wept when I thought of it there
+in the darkness of the hut, for the candle had burned out, and going on
+to my knees, put up an earnest prayer for the welfare of their souls;
+also that I might be forgiven my folly in leading them into such
+danger. And yet I did it for the best, trying to judge wisely in the
+light of such experience of the world as I possessed.
+
+Now alas! when I am old I have come to the conclusion that those things
+which one tries to do for the best one generally does wrong, because
+nearly always there is some tricky fate at hand to mar them, which in
+this instance was named Zikali. The fact is, I suppose, that man who
+thinks himself a free agent, can scarcely be thus called, at any rate
+so far as immediate results are concerned. But that is a dangerous
+doctrine about which I will say no more, for I daresay that he is
+engaged in weaving a great life-pattern of which he only sees the
+tiniest piece.
+
+One thing comforted me a little. If these two were dead I could now
+leave Zululand without qualms. Of course I was obliged to leave in any
+case, or die, but somehow that fact would not have eased my conscience.
+Indeed I think that had I believed they still lived, in this way or in
+that I should have tried not to leave, because I should have thought it
+for the best to stay to help them, whereby in all human probability I
+should have brought about my own death without helping them at all.
+Well, it had fallen out otherwise and there was an end. Now I could
+only hope that they had gone to some place where there are no more
+troubles, even if, at the worst, it were a place of rest too deep for
+dreams.
+
+Musing thus at last I dozed off, for I was so tired that I think I
+should have slept although execution awaited me at the dawn instead of
+another journey. I did not sleep well because of that snoring female on
+the other side of the hut whose presence outraged my sense of propriety
+and caused me to be invaded by prophetic dreams of the talk that would
+ensue among those scandalmongering Zulus. Yes, it was of this I
+dreamed, not of the great dangers that threatened me or of the terrible
+loss of my friends, perhaps because to many men, of whom I suppose I am
+one, the fear of scandal or of being the object of public notice, is
+more than the fear of danger or the smart of sorrow.
+
+So the night wore away, till at length I woke to see the gleam of dawn
+penetrating the smoke-hole and dimly illuminating the recumbent form of
+Kaatje, which to me looked most unattractive. Presently I heard a
+discreet tapping on the doorboard of the hut which I at once removed,
+wriggling swiftly through the hole, careless in my misery as to whether
+I met an assegai the other side of it or not. Without a guard of eight
+soldiers was standing, and with them Goza, who asked me if I were ready
+to start.
+
+“Quite,” I answered, “as soon as I have saddled my horse,” which by the
+way had been led up to the hut.
+
+Very soon this was done, for I brought out most of my few belongings
+with me and the bag of jewels was in my pocket. Then it was that the
+officer of the guard, a thin and melancholy-looking person, said in a
+hollow voice, addressing himself to Goza—
+
+“The orders are that the White Man’s wife is to go with him. Where is
+she?”
+
+“Where a man’s wife should be, in his hut I suppose,” answered Goza
+sleepily.
+
+Rage filled me at the words. Seldom do I remember being so angry.
+
+“Yes,” I said, “if you mean that Half-cast whom someone has thrust upon
+me, she is in there. So if she is to come with us, perhaps you will get
+her out.”
+
+Thus adjured the melancholy-looking captain, who was named Indudu,
+perhaps because he or his father had longed to the Dudu regiment,
+crawled into the hut, whence presently emerged sounds not unlike those
+which once I heard when a _ringhals_ cobra followed a hare that I had
+wounded into a hole, a muffled sound of struggling and terror. These
+ended in the sudden and violent appearance of Kaatje’s fat and
+dishevelled form, followed by that of the snakelike Indudu.
+
+Seeing me standing there before a bevy of armed Zulus, she promptly
+fell upon my neck with a cry for help, for the silly woman thought she
+was going to be killed by them. Gripping me as an octopus grips its
+prey, she proceeded to faint, dragging me to my knees beneath the
+weight of eleven stone of solid flesh.
+
+“Ah!” said one of the Zulus not unkindly, “she is much afraid for her
+husband whom she loves.”
+
+Well, I disentangled myself somehow, and seizing what I took to be a
+gourd of water in that dim light, poured it over her head, only to
+discover too late that it was not water but clotted milk. However the
+result was the same, for presently she sat up, made a dreadful-looking
+object by this liberal application of curds and whey, whereon I
+explained matters to her to the best of my power. The end of it was
+that after Indudu and Goza had wiped her down with tufts of thatch
+dragged from the hut and I had collected her gear with the rest of my
+own, we set her on the horse straddlewise, and started, the objects of
+much interest among such Zulus as were already abroad.
+
+At the gate of the town there was a delay which made me nervous, since
+in such a case as mine delay might always mean a death-warrant. I knew
+that it was quite possible Cetewayo had changed, or been persuaded to
+change his mind and issue a command that I should be killed as one who
+had seen and knew too much. Indeed this fear was my constant companion
+during all the long journey to the Drift of the Tugela, causing me to
+look askance at every man we met or who overtook us, lest he should
+prove to be a messenger of doom.
+
+Nor were these doubts groundless, for as I learned in the after days,
+the Prime Minister, Umnyamana, and others had urged Cetewayo strongly
+to kill me, and what we were waiting for at the gate were his final
+orders on the subject. However, in this matter, as in more that I could
+mention, the king played the part of a man of honour, and although he
+seemed to hesitate for reasons of policy, never had any intention of
+allowing me to be harmed. On the contrary the command brought was that
+any one who harmed Macumazahn, the king’s guest and messenger, should
+die with all his House.
+
+Whilst we tarried a number of women gathered round us whose
+conversation I could not help overhearing. One of them said to another—
+
+“Look at the white man, Watcher-by-Night, who can knock a fly off an
+ox’s horn with a bullet from further away than we could see it. He it
+was who loved and was loved by the witch Mameena, whose beauty is still
+famous in the land. They say she killed herself for his sake, because
+she declared that she would never live to grow old and ugly, so that he
+turned away from her. My mother told me all about it only last night.”
+
+Then you have a liar for a mother, thought I to myself, for to
+contradict such a one openly would have been undignified.
+
+“Is it so?” asked one of her friends, deeply interested. “Then the lady
+Mameena must have had a strange taste in men, for this one is an ugly
+little fellow with hair like the grey ash of stubble and a wrinkled
+face of the colour of a flayed skin that has lain unstretched in the
+sun. However, I have been told that witches always love those who look
+unnatural.”
+
+“Yes,” said Number one, “but you see now that he is old he has to be
+satisfied with a different sort of wife. She is not beautiful, is she,
+although she has dipped her head in milk to make herself look white?”
+
+So it went on till at length a runner arrived and whispered something
+to Indudu who saluted, showing me that it was a royal message, and
+ordered us to move. Of this I was glad, for had I stopped there much
+longer, I think I should have personally assaulted those gossiping
+female idiots.
+
+Of our journey through Zululand there is nothing particular to say. We
+saw but few people, since most of the men had been called up to the
+army, and many of the kraals seemed to be deserted by the women and
+children who perhaps were hidden away with the cattle. Once, however,
+we met an impi about five thousand strong, that seemed to cover the
+hillside like a herd of game. It consisted of the Nodwengu and the
+Nokenke regiments, both of which afterwards fought at Isandhlwana. Some
+of their captains with a small guard came to see who we were, fine,
+fierce-looking men. They stared at me curiously, and with one of them,
+whom I knew, I had a little talk. He said that I was the last white man
+in Zululand and that I was lucky to be alive, for soon these, and he
+pointed to the hordes of warriors who were streaming past, would eat up
+the English to “the last bone.” I answered that this remained to be
+seen, as the English were also great eaters, whereat he laughed,
+replying, that it was true that the white men had already taken the
+first bite—a very little one, from which I gathered that some small
+engagement had happened.
+
+“Well, farewell, Macumazahn,” he said, as he turned to go, “I hope that
+we shall meet in the battle, for I want to see if you can run as well
+as you can shoot.”
+
+This roused my temper and I answered him—
+
+“I hope for your sake that we shall not meet, for if we do I promise
+that before I run I will show you what you never saw before, the
+gateway of the world of Spirits.”
+
+I mention this conversation because by some strange chance it happened
+at Isandhlwana that I killed this man, who was named Simpofu.
+
+During all those days of trudging through hot suns and thunderstorms,
+for I had to give up the mare to Kaatje who was too fat to walk, or
+said she was, I was literally haunted by thoughts of my murdered
+friends. Heaven knows how bitterly I reproached myself for having
+brought them into Zululand. It seemed so terribly sad that these young
+people who loved each other and had so bright a future before them,
+should have escaped from a tragic past merely to be overwhelmed by such
+a fate. Again and again I questioned that lump Kaatje as to the details
+of their end and of all that went before and followed after the murder.
+
+But it was quite useless; indeed, as time went on she seemed to become
+more nebulous on the point as though a picture were fading from her
+mind. But as to one thing she was always quite clear, that she had seen
+them dead and had seen their new-made grave. This she swore “by God in
+Heaven,” completing the oath with an outburst of tears in a way that
+would have carried conviction to any jury, as it did to me.
+
+And after all, what was more likely in the circumstances? Zikali had
+killed them, or caused them to be killed; or possibly they were killed
+in spite of him in obedience to the express, or general, order of the
+king, if the deed was not done by the Basutos. And yet an idea occurred
+to me. How about the woman on the rock that the Zulus thought was their
+Princess of the Heavens? Obviously this must be nonsense, since no such
+deity existed, therefore the person must either have been a white woman
+or one painted up to resemble a white woman; seen from a distance in
+moonlight it was impossible to say which. Now, if it were a white
+woman, she might, from her shape and height and the colour of her hair,
+be Heda herself. Yet it seemed incredible that Heda, whom Kaatje had
+seen dead some days before, could be masquerading in such a part and
+make no sign of recognition to me, even when I covered her with my
+pistol, whereas that Nombé would play it was likely enough.
+
+Only then Nombé must be something of a quick-change artist since but a
+little while before she was beyond doubt personating the dead Mameena.
+If it were not so I must have been suffering from illusions, for
+certainly I seemed to see some one who looked like Mameena, and only
+Zikali, and through him Nombé, had sufficient knowledge to enable her
+to fill that role with such success. Perhaps the whole business was an
+illusion, though if so Zikali’s powers must be great indeed. But then
+how about the assegai that Nomkubulwana, or rather her effigy, had
+seemed to hold and throw, whereof the blade was at present in my
+saddle-bag. That at any rate was tangible and real, though of course
+there was nothing to prove that it had really been Chaka’s famous
+weapon.
+
+Another thing that tormented me was my failure to see Zikali. I felt as
+though I had committed a crime in leaving Zululand without doing this
+and hearing from his own lips—well, whatever he chose to tell me. I
+forget if I said that while we were waiting at the gate where those
+silly women talked so much nonsense about Mameena and Kaatje, that I
+made another effort through Goza to get into touch with the wizard, but
+quite without avail. Goza only answered what he said before, that if I
+wished to die at once I had better take ten steps towards the Valley of
+Bones, whence, he added parenthetically, the Opener of Roads had
+already departed on his homeward journey. This might or might not be
+true; at any rate I could find no possible way of coming face to face
+with him, or even of getting a message to his ear. No, I was not to
+blame; I had done all I could, and yet in my heart I felt guilty. But
+then, as cynics would, say, failure is guilt.
+
+At length we came to the ford of the Tugela, and as fortunately the
+water was just low enough, bade farewell to our escort before crossing
+to the Natal side. My parting with Goza was quite touching, for we felt
+that it partook of the nature of a deathbed adieu, which indeed it did.
+I told him and the others that I hoped their ends be easy, and that
+whether they met them by bullets or by bayonet thrusts, the wounds
+would prove quickly mortal so that they might not linger in discomfort
+or pain. Recognizing my kind thought for their true welfare they
+thanked me for it, though with no enthusiasm. Indudu, however, filled
+with the spirit of repartee, or rather of “tu quoque”, said in his
+melancholy fashion that if he and I came face to face in war, he would
+be sure to remember my words and to cut me up in the best style, since
+he could not bear to think of me languishing on a bed of sickness
+without my wife Kaatje to nurse me (they knew I was touchy about
+Kaatje). Then we shook hands and parted. Kaatje, hung round with
+paraphernalia like the White Knight in “Alice through the
+Looking-glass,” clinging to a cooking-pot and weeping tears of terror,
+faced the foaming flood upon the mare, while I grasped its tail.
+
+When we were as I judged out of assegai shot, I turned, with the water
+up to my armpits, and shouted some valedictory words.
+
+“Tell your king,” I said, “that he is the greatest fool in the world to
+fight the English, since it will bring his country to destruction and
+himself to disgrace and death, as at last, in the words of your
+proverb, ‘the swimmer goes down with the stream.’”
+
+Here, as it happened, I slipped off the stone on which I was standing
+and nearly went down with the stream myself.
+
+Emerging with my mouth full of muddy water I waited till they had done
+laughing and continued—
+
+“Tell that old rogue, Zikali, that I know he has murdered my friends
+and that when we meet again he and all who were in the plot shall pay
+for it with their lives.”
+
+Now an irritated Zulu flung an assegai, and as the range proved to be
+shorter than I thought, for it went through Kaatje’s dress, causing her
+to scream with alarm, I ceased from eloquence, and we struggled on to
+the further bank, where at length we were safe.
+
+Thus ended this unlucky trip of mine to Zululand.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+ISANDHLWANA
+
+
+We had crossed the Tugela by what is known as the Middle Drift. A mile
+or so on the further side of it I was challenged by a young fellow in
+charge of some mounted natives, and found that I had stumbled into what
+was known as No. 2 Column, which consisted of a rocket battery, three
+battalions of the Native Contingent and some troops of mounted natives,
+all under the command of Colonel Durnford, R.E.
+
+After explanations I was taken to this officer’s head-quarter tent. He
+was a tall, nervous-looking man with a fair, handsome face and long
+side-whiskers. One of his arms, I remember, was supported by a sling. I
+think it had been injured in some Kaffir fighting. When I was
+introduced to him he was very busy, having, I understood from some one
+on his staff, just received orders to “operate against Matshana.”
+
+Learning that I had come from Zululand and was acquainted with the
+Zulus, he at once began to cross-examine me about Matshana, a chief of
+whom he seemed to know very little indeed. I told him what I could,
+which was not much, and before I could give him any information of real
+importance, was shown out and most hospitably entertained at luncheon,
+a meal of which I partook with gratitude in some garments that I had
+borrowed from one of the officers, while my own were set in the sun to
+dry. Well can I recall how much I enjoyed the first whisky and soda
+that I had tasted since I left “the Temple,” and the good English food
+by which it was accompanied.
+
+Presently I remembered Kaatje, whom I had left outside with some native
+women, and went to see what had happened to her. I found her finishing
+a hearty meal and engaged in conversation with a young gentleman who
+was writing in a notebook. Afterwards I discovered that he was a
+newspaper correspondent. What she told him and what he imagined, I do
+not know, but I may as well state the results at once. Within a few
+days there appeared in one of the Natal papers and, for aught I know,
+all over the earth, an announcement that Mr. Allan Quatermain, a
+well-known hunter in Zululand, after many adventures, had escaped from
+that country, “together with his favourite native wife, the only
+survivor of his extensive domestic establishment.” Then followed some
+wild details as to the murder of my other wives by a Zulu wizard called
+“Road Mender, or Sick Ass” (i.e., Opener of Roads, or Zikali), and so
+on.
+
+I was furious and interviewed the editor, a mild and apologetic little
+man, who assured me that the despatch was printed exactly as it had
+been received, as though that bettered the case. After this I commenced
+an action for libel, but as I was absent through circumstances over
+which I had no control when it came on for trial, the case was
+dismissed. I suppose the truth was that they mixed me up with a certain
+well-known white man in Zululand, who had a large “domestic
+establishment,” but however this may be, it was a long while before I
+heard the last of that “favourite native wife.”
+
+Later in the day I and Kaatje, who stuck to me like a burr, departed
+from the camp.
+
+The rest of our journey was uneventful, except for more
+misunderstandings about Kaatje, one of which, wherein a clergyman was
+concerned, was too painful to relate. At last we reached Maritzburg,
+where I deposited Kaatje in a boarding-house kept by another half-cast,
+and with a sigh of relief betook myself to the _Plough Hotel_, which
+was a long way off her.
+
+Subsequently she obtained a place as a cook at Howick, and for a while
+I saw her no more.
+
+At Maritzburg, as in duty bound, I called upon various persons in
+authority and delivered Cetewayo’s message, leaving out all Zikali’s
+witchcraft which would have sounded absurd. It did not produce much
+impression as, hostilities having already occurred, it was superfluous.
+Also no one was inclined to pay attention to the words of one who was
+neither an official nor a military officer, but a mere hunter supposed
+to have brought a native wife out of Zululand.
+
+I did, however, report the murder of Anscombe and Heda, though in such
+times this caused no excitement, especially as they were not known to
+the officials concerned with such matters. Indeed the occurrence never
+so much as got into the papers, any more than did the deaths of Rodd
+and Marnham on the borders of Sekukuni’s country. When people are
+expecting to be massacred themselves, they do not trouble about the
+past killing of others far away. Lastly, I posted Marnham’s will to the
+Pretoria bank, advising them that they had better keep it safely until
+some claim arose, and deposited Heda’s jewels and valuables in another
+branch of the same bank in Maritzburg with a sealed statement as to how
+they came into my possession.
+
+These things done, I found it necessary to turn myself to the eternal
+problem of earning my living. I am a very rich man now as I write these
+reminiscences here in Yorkshire—King Solomon’s mines made me that—but
+up to the time of my journey to Kukuana Land with my friends, Curtis
+and Good, although plenty of money passed through my hands on one
+occasion and another, little of it ever seemed to stick. In this way or
+that it was lost or melted; also I was not born one to make the best of
+his opportunities in the way of acquiring wealth. Perhaps this was good
+for me, since if I had gained the cash early I should not have met with
+the experiences, and during our few transitory years, experience is of
+more real value than cash. It may prepare us for other things beyond,
+whereas the mere possession of a bank balance can prepare us for
+nothing in a land where gold ceases to be an object of worship as it is
+here. Yet wealth is our god, not knowledge or wisdom, a fact which
+shows that the real essence of Christianity has not yet permeated human
+morals. It just runs over their surface, no more, and for every eye
+that is turned towards the divine Vision, a thousand are fixed night
+and day upon Mammon’s glittering image.
+
+Now I owned certain wagons and oxen, and just then the demand for these
+was keen. So I hired them out to the military authorities for service
+in the war, and incidentally myself with them. I drove what I
+considered a splendid bargain with an officer who wrote as many letters
+after his name as a Governor-General, but was really something quite
+humble. At least I thought it splendid until outside his tent I met a
+certain transport rider of my acquaintance whom I had always looked
+upon as a perfect fool, who told me that not half an hour before he had
+got twenty per cent. more for unsalted oxen and very rickety wagons.
+However, it did not matter much in the end as the whole outfit was lost
+at Isandhlwana, and owing to the lack of some formality which I had
+overlooked, I never recovered more than a tithe of their value. I think
+it was that I neglected to claim within a certain specified time.
+
+At last my wagons were laden with ammunition and other Government goods
+and I trekked over awful roads to Helpmakaar, a place on the Highlands
+not far from Rorke’s Drift where No. 3 Column was stationed. Here we
+were delayed awhile, I and my wagons having moved to a ford of the
+Buffalo, together with many others. It was during this time that I
+ventured to make very urgent representations to certain highly placed
+officers, I will not mention which, as to the necessity of laagering,
+that is, forming fortified camps, as soon as Zululand was entered,
+since from my intimate knowledge of its people I was sure that they
+would attack in force. These warnings of mine were received with the
+most perfect politeness and offers of gin to drink, which all transport
+riders were supposed to love, but in effect were treated with the
+contempt that they were held to deserve. The subject is painful and one
+on which I will not dwell. Why should I complain when I know that
+cautions from notable persons such as Sir Melmoth Osborn, and J. J.
+Uys, a member of one of the old Dutch fighting families, met with a
+like fate.
+
+By the way it was while I was waiting on the banks of the river that I
+came across an old friend of mine, a Zulu named Magepa, with whom I had
+fought at the battle of the Tugela. A few days later this man performed
+an extraordinary feat in saving his grandchild from death by his great
+swiftness in running, whereof I have preserved a note somewhere or
+other.
+
+Ultimately on January 11 we received our marching orders and crossed
+the river by the drift, the general scheme of the campaign being that
+the various columns were to converge upon Ulundi. The roads, if so they
+can be called, were in such a fearful state that it took us ten days to
+cover as many miles. At length we trekked over a stony nek about five
+hundred yards in width. To the right of us was a stony eminence and to
+our left, its sheer brown cliffs of rock rising like the walls of some
+cyclopean fortress, the strange, abrupt mount of Isandhlwana, which
+reminded me of a huge lion crouching above the hill-encircled plain
+beyond. At the foot of this isolated mount, whereof the aspect somehow
+filled me with alarm, we camped on the night of January 21, taking no
+precautions against attack by way of laagering the wagons. Indeed the
+last thing that seemed to occur to those in command was that there
+would be serious fighting; men marched forward to their deaths as
+though they were going on a shooting-party, or to a picnic. I even saw
+cricketing bats and wickets occupying some of the scanty space upon the
+wagons.
+
+Now I am not going to set out all the military details that preceded
+the massacre of Isandhlwana, for these are written in history. It is
+enough to say that on the night of January 21, Major Dartnell, who was
+in command of the Natal Mounted Police and had been sent out to
+reconnoitre the country beyond Isandhlwana, reported a strong force of
+Zulus in front of us. Thereon Lord Chelmsford, the General-in-Chief,
+moved out from the camp at dawn to his support, taking with him six
+companies of the 24th regiment, together with four guns and the mounted
+infantry. There were left in the camp two guns and about eight hundred
+white and nine hundred native troops, also some transport riders such
+as myself and a number of miscellaneous camp-followers. I saw him go
+from between the curtains of one of my wagons where I had made my bed
+on the top of a pile of baggage. Indeed I had already dressed myself at
+the time, for that night I slept very ill because I knew our danger,
+and my heart was heavy with fear.
+
+About ten o’clock in the morning Colonel Durnford, whom I have
+mentioned already, rode up with five hundred Natal Zulus, about half of
+whom were mounted, and two rocket tubes which, of course, were worked
+by white men. This was after a patrol had reported that they had come
+into touch with some Zulus on the left front, who retired before them.
+As a matter of fact these Zulus were foraging in the mealie fields,
+since owing to the drought food was very scarce in Zululand that year
+and the regiments were hungry. I happened to see the meeting between
+Colonel Pulleine, a short, stout man who was then in command of the
+camp, and Colonel Durnford who, as his senior officer, took it over
+from him, and heard Colonel Pulleine say that his orders were “to
+defend the camp,” but what else passed between them I do not know.
+
+Presently Colonel Durnford saw and recognized me.
+
+“Do you think the Zulus will attack us, Mr. Quatermain?” he said.
+
+“I don’t think so, Sir,” I answered, “as it is the day of the new moon
+which they hold unlucky. But to-morrow it may be different.”
+
+Then he gave certain orders, dispatching Captain George Shepstone with
+a body of mounted natives along the ridge to the left, where presently
+they came in contact with the Zulus about three miles away, and making
+other dispositions. A little later he moved out to the front with a
+strong escort, followed by the rocket battery, which ultimately
+advanced to a small conical hill on the left front, round which it
+passed, never to return again.
+
+Just before he started Colonel Durnford, seeing me still standing
+there, asked me if I would like to accompany him, adding that as I knew
+the Zulus so well I might be useful. I answered, Certainly, and called
+to my head driver, a man named Jan, to bring me my mare, the same that
+I had ridden out of Zululand, while I slipped into the wagon and, in
+addition to the beltful that I wore, filled all my available pockets
+with cartridges for my double-barrelled Express rifle.
+
+As I mounted I gave Jan certain directions about the wagon and oxen, to
+which he listened, and then to my astonishment held out his hand to me,
+saying—
+
+“Good-bye, Baas. You have been a kind master to me and I thank you.”
+
+“Why do you say that?” I asked.
+
+“Because, Baas, all the Kaffirs declare that the great Zulu _impi_ will
+be on to us in an hour or two and eat up every man. I can’t tell how
+they know it, but so they swear.”
+
+“Nonsense,” I answered, “it is the day of new moon when the Zulus don’t
+fight. Still if anything of the sort should happen, you and the other
+boys had better slip away to Natal, since the Government must pay for
+the wagons and oxen.”
+
+This I said half joking, but it was a lucky jest for Jan and the rest
+of my servants, since they interpreted it in earnest and with the
+exception of one of them who went back to get a gun, got off before the
+Zulu horn closed round the camp, and crossed the river in safety.
+
+Next moment I was cantering away after Colonel Durnford, whom I caught
+up about a quarter of a mile from the camp.
+
+Now of course I did not see all of the terrible battle that followed
+and can only tell of that part of it in which I had a share. Colonel
+Durnford rode out about three and a half miles to the left front, I
+really don’t quite know why, for already we were hearing firing on the
+top of the Nqutu Hills almost behind us, where Captain Shepstone was
+engaging the Zulus, or so I believe. Suddenly we met a trooper of the
+Natal Carabineers whose name was Whitelaw, who had been out scouting.
+He reported that an enormous _impi_ was just ahead of us seated in an
+_umkumbi_, or semi-circle, as is the fashion of the Zulus before they
+charge. At least some of them, he said, were so seated, but others were
+already advancing.
+
+Presently these appeared over the crest of the hill, ten thousand of
+them I should say, and amongst them I recognized the shields of the
+Nodwengu, the Dududu, the Nokenke and the Ingoba-makosi regiments. Now
+there was nothing to be done except retreat, for the _impi_ was
+attacking in earnest. The General Untshingwayo, together with Undabuko,
+Cetewayo’s brother, and the chief Usibebu who commanded the scouts, had
+agreed not to fight this day for the reason I have given, because it
+was that of the new moon, but circumstances had forced their hand and
+the regiments could no longer be restrained. So to the number of twenty
+thousand or more, say one-third of the total Zulu army, they hurled
+themselves upon the little English force that, owing to lack of
+generalship, was scattered here and there over a wide front and had no
+fortified base upon which to withdraw.
+
+We fell back to a donga which we held for a little while, and then as
+we saw that there we should presently be overwhelmed, withdrew
+gradually for another two miles or so, keeping off the Zulus by our
+fire. In so doing we came upon the remains of the rocket battery near
+the foot of the conical hill I have mentioned, which had been destroyed
+by some regiment that passed behind us in its rush on the camp. There
+lay all the soldiers dead, assegaied through and through, and I noticed
+that one young fellow who had been shot through the head, still held a
+rocket in his hands.
+
+Now somewhat behind and perhaps half a mile to the right of this hill a
+long, shallow donga runs across the Isandhlwana plain. This we gained,
+and being there reinforced by about fifty of the Natal Carabineers
+under Captain Bradstreet, held it for a long while, keeping off the
+Zulus by our terrible fire which cut down scores of them every time
+they attempted to advance. At this spot I alone killed from twelve to
+fifteen of them, for if the big bullet from my Express rifle struck a
+man, he did not live. Messengers were sent back to the camp for more
+ammunition, but none arrived, Heaven knows why. My own belief is that
+the reserve cartridges were packed away in boxes and could not be got
+at. At last our supply began to run short, so there was nothing to be
+done except retreat upon the camp which was perhaps half a mile behind
+us.
+
+Taking advantage of a pause in the Zulu advance which had lain down
+while waiting for reserves, Colonel Durnford ordered a retirement that
+was carried out very well. Up to that time we had lost only quite a few
+men, for the Zulu fire was wild and high and they had not been able to
+get at us with the assegai. As we rode towards the mount I observed
+that firing was going on in all directions, especially on the nek that
+connected it with the Nqutu range where Captain Shepstone and his
+mounted Basutos were wiped out while trying to hold back the Zulu right
+horn. The guns, too, were firing heavily and doing great execution.
+
+After this all grew confused. Colonel Durnford gave orders to certain
+officers who came up to him, Captain Essex was one and Lieutenant
+Cochrane another. Then his force made for their wagons to get more
+ammunition. I kept near to the Colonel and a while later found myself
+with him and a large, mixed body of men a little to the right of the
+nek which we had crossed in our advance from the river. Not long
+afterwards there was a cry of “The Zulus are getting round us!” and
+looking to the left I saw them pouring in hundreds across the ridge
+that joins Isandhlwana Mountain to the Nqutu Range. Also they were
+advancing straight on to the camp.
+
+Then the rout began. Already the native auxiliaries were slipping away
+and now the others followed. Of course this battle was but a small
+affair, yet I think that few have been more terrible, at any rate in
+modern times. The aspect of those plumed and shielded Zulus as they
+charged, shouting their war-cries and waving their spears, was awesome.
+They were mown down in hundreds by the Martini fire, but still they
+came on, and I knew that the game was up. A maddened horde of
+fugitives, mostly natives, began to flow past us over the nek, making
+for what was afterwards called Fugitives’ Drift, nine miles away, and
+with them went white soldiers, some mounted, some on foot. Mingled with
+all these people, following them, on either side of them, rushed Zulus,
+stabbing as they ran. Other groups of soldiers formed themselves into
+rough squares, on which the savage warriors broke like water on a rock.
+By degrees ammunition ran out; only the bayonet remained. Still the
+Zulus could not break those squares. So they took another counsel.
+Withdrawing a few paces beyond the reach of the bayonets, they
+overwhelmed the soldiers by throwing assegais, then rushed in and
+finished them.
+
+This was what happened to us, among whom were men of the 24th, Natal
+Carabineers and Mounted Police. Some had dismounted, but I sat on my
+horse, which stood quite still, I think from fright, and fired away so
+long as I had any ammunition. With my very last cartridge I killed the
+Captain Indudu who had been in charge of the escort that conducted me
+to the Tugela. He had caught sight of me and called out—
+
+“Now, Macumazahn, I will cut you up nicely as I promised.”
+
+He got no further in his speech, for at that moment I sent an Express
+bullet through him and his tall, melancholy figure doubled up and
+collapsed.
+
+All this while Colonel Durnford had been behaving as a British officer
+should do. Scorning to attempt flight, whenever I looked round I caught
+sight of his tall form, easy to recognize by the long fair moustaches
+and his arm in a sling, moving to and fro encouraging us to stand firm
+and die like men. Then suddenly I saw a Kaffir, who carried a big old
+smooth-bore gun, aim at him from a distance of about twenty yards, and
+fire. He went down, as I believe dead, and that was the end of a very
+gallant officer and gentleman whose military memory has in my opinion
+been most unjustly attacked. The real blame for that disaster does not
+rest upon the shoulders of either Colonel Durnford or Colonel Pulleine.
+
+After this things grew very awful. Some fled, but the most stood and
+died where they were. Oddly enough during all this time I was never
+touched. Men fell to my right and left and in front of me; bullets and
+assegais whizzed past me, yet I remained quite unhurt. It was as though
+some Power protected me, which no doubt it did.
+
+At length when nearly all had fallen and I had nothing left to defend
+myself with except my revolver, I made up my mind that it was time to
+go. My first impulse was to ride for the river nine miles away. Looking
+behind me I saw that the rough road was full of Zulus hunting down
+those who tried to escape. Still I thought I would try it, when
+suddenly there flashed across my brain the saying of whoever it was
+that personated Mameena in the Valley of Bones, to the effect that in
+the great rout of the battle I was not to join the flying but to set my
+face towards Ulundi and that if I did so I should be protected and no
+harm would come to me. I knew that all this prophecy was but a vain
+thing fondly imagined, although it was true that the battle and the
+rout had come. And yet I acted on it—why Heaven knows alone.
+
+Setting the spurs to my horse I galloped off past Isandhlwana Mount, on
+the southern slopes of which a body of the 24th were still fighting
+their last fight, and heading for the Nqutu Range. The plain was full
+of Zulus, reserves running up; also to the right of me the Ulundi and
+Gikazi divisions were streaming forward. These, or some of them, formed
+the left horn of the impi, but owing to the unprepared nature of the
+Zulu battle, for it must always be remembered that they did not mean to
+fight that day, their advance had been delayed until it was too late
+for them entirely to enclose the camp. Thus the road, if it can so be
+called, to Fugitives’ Drift was left open for a while, and by it some
+effected their escape. It was this horn, or part of it, that afterwards
+moved on and attacked Rorke’s Drift, with results disastrous to itself.
+
+For some hundreds of yards I rode on thus recklessly, because
+recklessness seemed my only chance. Thrice I met bodies of Zulus, but
+on each occasion they scattered before me, calling out words that I
+could not catch. It was as though they were frightened of something
+they saw about me. Perhaps they thought that I was mad to ride thus
+among them. Indeed I must have looked mad, or perhaps there was
+something else. At any rate I believed that I was going to win right
+through them when an accident happened.
+
+A bullet struck my mare somewhere in the back. I don’t know where it
+came from, but as I saw no Zulu shoot, I think it must have been one
+fired by a soldier who was still fighting on the slopes of the mount.
+The effect of it was to make the poor beast quite ungovernable. Round
+she wheeled and galloped at headlong speed back towards the peak,
+leaping over dead and dying and breaking through the living as she
+went. In two minutes we were rushing up its northern flank, which
+seemed to be quite untenanted, towards the sheer brown cliff which rose
+above it, for the fighting was in progress on the other side. Suddenly
+at the foot of this cliff the mare stopped, shivered and sank down
+dead, probably from internal bleeding.
+
+I looked about me desperately. To attempt the plain on foot meant
+death. What then was I to do? Glancing at the cliff I saw that there
+was a gully in it worn by thousands of years of rainfall, in which grew
+scanty bushes. Into this I ran, and finding it practicable though
+difficult, began to climb upwards, quite unnoticed by the Zulus who
+were all employed upon the further side. The end of it was that I
+reached the very crest of the mount, a patch of bare, brown rock,
+except at one spot on its southern front where there was a little
+hollow in which at this rainy season of the year herbage and ferns grew
+in the accumulated soil, also a few stunted, aloe-like plants.
+
+Into this patch I crept, having first slaked my thirst from a little
+pool of rain water that lay in a cup-like depression of the rock, which
+tasted more delicious than any nectar, and seemed to give me new life.
+Then covering myself as well as I could with grasses and dried leaves
+from the aloe plants, I lay still.
+
+Now I was right on the brink of the cliff and had the best view of the
+Isandhlwana plain and the surrounding country that can be imagined.
+From my lofty eyrie some hundreds of feet in the air, I could see
+everything that happened beneath. Thus I witnessed the destruction of
+the last of the soldiers on the slopes below. They made a gallant end,
+so gallant that I was proud to be of the same blood with them. One fine
+young fellow escaped up the peak and reached a plateau about fifty feet
+beneath me. He was followed by a number of Zulus, but took refuge in a
+little cave whence he shot three or four of them; then his cartridges
+were exhausted and I heard the savages speaking in praise of him—dead.
+I think he was the last to die on the field of Isandhlwana.
+
+The looting of the camp began; it was a terrible scene. The oxen and
+those of the horses that could be caught were driven away, except
+certain of the former which were harnessed to the guns and some of the
+wagons and, as I afterwards learned, taken to Ulundi in proof of
+victory. Then the slain were stripped and Kaffirs appeared wearing the
+red coats of the soldiers and carrying their rifles. The stores were
+broken into and all the spirits drunk. Even the medical drugs were
+swallowed by these ignorant men, with the result that I saw some of
+them reeling about in agony and others fall down and go to sleep.
+
+An hour or two later an officer who came from the direction in which
+the General had marched, cantered right into the camp where the tents
+were still standing and even the flag was flying. I longed to be able
+to warn him, but could not. He rode up to the headquarters marquee,
+whence suddenly issued a Zulu waving a great spear. I saw the officer
+pull up his horse, remain for a moment as though indecisive, then turn
+and gallop madly away, quite unharmed, though one or two assegais were
+thrown and many shots fired at him. After this considerable movements
+of the Zulus went on, of which the net result was, that they evacuated
+the place.
+
+Now I hoped that I might escape, but it was not to be, since on every
+side numbers of them crept up Isandhlwana Mountain and hid behind rocks
+or among the tall grasses, evidently for purposes of observation.
+Moreover some captains arrived on the little plateau where was the cave
+in which the soldier had been killed, and camped there. At least at
+sundown they unrolled their mats and ate, though they lighted no fire.
+
+The darkness fell and in it escape for me from that guarded place was
+impossible, since I could not see where to set my feet and one false
+step on the steep rock would have meant my death. From the direction of
+Rorke’s Drift I could hear continuous firing; evidently some great
+fight was going on there, I wondered vaguely—with what result. A little
+later also I heard the distant tramp of horses and the roll of gun
+wheels. The captains below heard it too and said one to another that it
+was the English soldiers returning, who had marched out of the camp at
+dawn. They debated one with another whether it would be possible to
+collect a force to fall upon them, but abandoned the idea because the
+regiments who had fought that day were now at a distance and too tired,
+and the others had rushed forward with orders to attack the white men
+on and beyond the river.
+
+So they lay still and listened, and I too lay still and listened, for
+on that cloudy, moonless night I could see nothing. I heard smothered
+words of command. I heard the force halt because it could not travel
+further in the gloom. Then they lay down, the living among the dead,
+wondering doubtless if they themselves would not soon be dead, as of
+course must have happened had the Zulu generalship been better, for if
+even five thousand men had been available to attack at dawn not one of
+them could have escaped. But Providence ordained it otherwise. Some
+were taken and the others left.
+
+About an hour before daylight I heard them stirring again, and when its
+first gleams came all of them had vanished over the nek of slaughter,
+with what thoughts in their hearts, I wondered, and to what fate. The
+captains on the plateau beneath had gone also, and so had the circle of
+guards upon the slopes of the mount, for I saw these depart through the
+grey mist. As the light gathered, however, I observed bodies of men
+collecting on the nek, or rather on both neks, which made it impossible
+for me to do what I had hoped, and run to overtake the English troops.
+From these I was utterly cut off. Nor could I remain longer without
+food on my point of rock, especially as I was sure that soon some Zulus
+would climb there to use it as an outlook post. So while I was still
+more or less hidden by the mist and morning shadows, I climbed down it
+by the same road that I had climbed up, and thus reached the plain. Not
+a living man, white or black, was to be seen, only the dead, only the
+dead. I was the last Englishman to stand upon the plain of Isandhlwana
+for weeks or rather months to come.
+
+Of all my experiences this was, I think, the strangest, after that
+night of hell, to find myself alone upon this field of death, staring
+everywhere at the distorted faces which on the previous morn I had seen
+so full of life. Yet my physical needs asserted themselves. I was very
+hungry, who for twenty-four hours had eaten nothing, faint with hunger
+indeed. I passed a provision wagon that had been looted by the Zulus.
+Tins of bully beef lay about, also, among a wreck of broken glass, some
+bottles of Bass’s beer which had escaped their notice. I found an
+assegai, cleaned it in the ground which it needed, and opening one of
+the tins, lay down in a tuft of grass by a dead man, or rather between
+him and some Zulus whom he had killed, and devoured its contents. Also
+I knocked the tops off a couple of the beer bottles and drank my fill.
+While I was doing this a large rough dog with a silver-mounted collar
+on its neck, I think of the sort that is called an Airedale terrier,
+came up to me whining. At first I thought it was an hyena, but
+discovering my mistake, threw it some bits of meat which it ate
+greedily. Doubtless it had belonged to some dead officer, though there
+was no name on the collar. The poor beast, which I named Lost, at once
+attached itself to me, and here I may say that I kept it till its
+death, which occurred of jaundice at Durban not long before I started
+on my journey to King Solomon’s Mines. No man ever had a more faithful
+friend and companion.
+
+When I had eaten and drunk I looked about me, wondering what I should
+do. Fifty yards away I saw a stout Basuto pony still saddled and
+bridled, although the saddle was twisted out of its proper position,
+which was cropping the grass as well as it could with the bit in its
+mouth. Advancing gently I caught it without trouble, and led it back to
+the plundered wagon. Evidently from the marks upon the saddlery it had
+belonged to Captain Shepstone’s force of mounted natives.
+
+Here I filled the large saddlebags made of buckskin with tins of beef,
+a couple more bottles of beer and a packet of _tandstickor_ matches
+which I was fortunate enough to find. Also I took the Martini rifle
+from a dead soldier, together with a score or so of cartridges that
+remained in his belt, for apparently he must have been killed rather
+early in the fight.
+
+Thus equipped I mounted the pony and once more bethought me of escaping
+to Natal. A look towards the nek cured me of that idea, for coming over
+it I saw the plumed heads of a whole horde of warriors. Doubtless these
+were returning from the unsuccessful attack on Rorke’s Drift, though of
+that I knew nothing at the time. So whistling to the dog I bore to the
+left for the Nqutu Hills, riding as fast as the rough ground would
+allow, and in half an hour was out of sight of that accursed plain.
+
+One more thing too I did. On its confines I came across a group of dead
+Zulus who appeared to have been killed by a shell. Dismounting I took
+the headdress of one of them and put it on, for I forgot to say that I
+had lost my hat. It was made of a band of otterskin from which rose
+large tufts of the black feathers of the finch which the natives call
+_sakabula_. Also I tied his kilt of white oxtails about my middle,
+precautions to which I have little doubt I owe my life, since from a
+distance they made me look like a Kaffir mounted on a captured pony.
+
+Then I started on again, whither I knew not.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+ALLAN AWAKES
+
+
+Now I have no intention of setting down all the details of that
+dreadful journey through Zululand, even if I could recall them, which,
+for a reason to be stated, I cannot do. I remember that at first I
+thought of proceeding to Ulundi with some wild idea of throwing myself
+on the mercy of Cetewayo under pretence that I brought him a message
+from Natal. Within a couple of hours, however, from the top of a hill I
+saw ahead of me an _impi_ and with it captured wagons, which was
+evidently heading for the king’s kraal. So as I knew what kind of a
+greeting these warriors would give me, I bore away in another direction
+with the hope of reaching the border by a circuitous route. In this too
+I had no luck, since presently I caught sight of outposts stationed
+upon rocks, which doubtless belonged to another _impi_ or regiment.
+Indeed one soldier, thinking from my dress that I also was a Zulu,
+called to me for news from about half a mile away, in that peculiar
+carrying voice which Kaffirs can command. I shouted back something
+about victory and that the white men were wiped out, then put an end to
+the conversation by vanishing into a patch of dense bush.
+
+It is a fact that after this I have only the dimmest recollection of
+what happened. I remember off-saddling at night on several occasions. I
+remember being very hungry because all the food was eaten and the dog,
+Lost, catching a bush buck fawn, some of which I partially cooked on a
+fire of dead wood, and devoured. Next I remember—I suppose this was a
+day or two later—riding at night in a thunderstorm and a particularly
+brilliant flash of lightning which revealed scenery that seemed to be
+familiar to me, after which came a shock and total unconsciousness.
+
+At length my mind returned to me. It was reborn very slowly and with
+horrible convulsions, out of the womb of death and terror. I saw blood
+flowing round me in rivers, I heard the cries of triumph and of agony.
+I saw myself standing, the sole survivor, on a grey field of death, and
+the utter loneliness of it ate into my soul, so that with all its
+strength it prayed that it might be numbered in this harvest. But oh!
+it was so strong, that soul which could not, would not die or fly away.
+So strong, that then, for the first time, I understood its immortality
+and that it could _never_ die. This everlasting thing still clung for a
+while to the body of its humiliation, the mass of clay and nerves and
+appetites which it was doomed to animate, and yet knew its own
+separateness and eternal individuality. Striving to be free of earth,
+still it seemed to walk the earth, a spirit and a shadow, aware of the
+hatefulness of that to which it was chained, as we might imagine some
+lovely butterfly to be that is fated by nature to suck its strength
+from carrion, and remains unable to soar away into the clean air of
+heaven.
+
+Something touched my hand and I reflected dreamily that if I had been
+still alive, for in a way I believed that I was dead, I should have
+thought it was a dog’s tongue. With a great effort I lifted my arm,
+opened my eyes and looked at the hand against the light, for there was
+light, to see it was so thin that this light shone through between the
+bones. Then I let it fall again, and lo! it rested on the head of a dog
+which went on licking it.
+
+A dog! What dog? Now I remembered; one that I had found on the field of
+Isandhlwana. Then I must be still alive. The thought made me cry, for I
+could feel the tears run down my cheeks, not with joy but with sorrow.
+I did not wish to go on living. Life was too full of struggle and of
+bloodshed and bereavement and fear and all horrible things. I was
+prepared to exchange my part in it just for rest, for the blessing of
+deep, unending sleep in which no more dreams could come, no more cups
+of joy could be held to thirsting lips, only to be snatched away.
+
+I heard something shuffling towards me at which the dog growled, then
+seemed to slink away as though it were afraid. I opened my eyes again,
+looked, and closed them once more in terror, for what I saw suggested
+that perhaps I was dead after all and had reached that hell which a
+certain class of earnest Christian promises to us as the reward of the
+failings that Nature and those who begat us have handed on to us as a
+birth doom. It was something unnatural, grey-headed, terrific—doubtless
+a devil come to torment me in the inquisition vaults of Hades. Yet I
+had known the like when I was alive. How had it been called? I
+remembered, “The-thing-that-never-should-have-been-born.” Hark! It was
+speaking in that full deep voice which was unlike to any other.
+
+“Greeting, Macumazahn,” it said. “I see that you have come back from
+among the dead with whom you have been dwelling for a moon and more. It
+is not wise of you, Macumazahn, yet I am glad who have matched my skill
+against Death and won, for now you will have much to tell me about his
+kingdom.”
+
+So it was Zikali—Zikali who had butchered my friends.
+
+“Away from me, murderer!” I said faintly, “and let me die, or kill me
+as you did the others.”
+
+He laughed, but very softly, not in his usual terrific fashion,
+repeating the word “murderer” two or three times. Then with his great
+hand he lifted my head gently as a woman might, saying—
+
+“Look before you, Macumazahn.”
+
+I looked and saw that I was in some kind of a cave. Outside the sun was
+setting and against its brightness I perceived two figures, a white man
+and a white woman who were walking hand in hand and gazing into each
+other’s eyes. They were Anscombe and Heda passing the mouth of the
+cave.
+
+“Behold the murdered, O Macumazahn, dealer of hard words.”
+
+“It is only a trick,” I murmured. “Kaatje saw them dead and buried.”
+
+“Yes, yes, I forgot. The fat fool-woman saw them dead and buried. Well,
+sometimes the dead come to life again and for good purpose, as you
+should know, Macumazahn, who followed the counsel of a certain Mameena
+and wandered here instead of rushing onto the Zulu spears.”
+
+I tried to think the thing out and could not, so only asked—
+
+“How did I come? What happened to me?”
+
+“I think the sun smote you first who had no covering on your head and
+the lightning smote you afterwards. Yet all the while that reason had
+left you, One led your horse and after the Heavens had tried to kill
+you and failed, perhaps because my magic was too strong for them, One
+sent that beast which you found, yes, sent it here to lead us to where
+you lay. There you were discovered and brought hither. Now sleep lest
+you should go further than even I can fetch you back again.”
+
+He held his hands above my head, seeming to grow in stature till his
+white hair touched the roof of the cave, and in an instant I fancied
+that I was falling away, deep, deep into a gulf of nothingness.
+
+There followed another period of dreaming, in which dreams I seemed to
+meet all sorts of people, dead and living, especially Lady Ragnall, a
+friend of mine with whom I had been concerned in a very strange
+adventure among the Kendah people[1] and with whom in days to come I
+was destined to be concerned again, although of course I knew nothing
+of this, in a still stranger adventure of what I may call a spiritual
+order, which I may or may not try to reduce to writing. It seemed to me
+that I was constantly dining with her _tête-à-tête_ and that she told
+me all sorts of queer things between the courses. Doubtless these
+illusions occurred when I was fed.
+
+ [1] See the book called _The Ivory Child._—EDITOR.
+
+
+At length I woke up again, feeling much stronger, and saw the dog,
+Lost, watching me with its great tender eyes—oh! they talk of the eyes
+of women, but are they ever as beautiful as those of a loving dog? It
+lay by my low bed-stead, a rough affair fashioned of poles and strung
+with rimpis or strings of raw hide, and by it, stroking its head, sat
+the witch-doctoress, Nombé. I remember how pleasing she looked, a
+perfect type of the eternal feminine with her graceful, rounded shape
+and her continual, mysterious smile which suggested so much more than
+any mortal woman has to give.
+
+“Good-day to you, Macumazahn,” she said in her gentle voice, “you have
+gone through much since last we met on the night before Goza took you
+away to Ulundi.”
+
+Now remembering all, I was filled with indignation against this little
+humbug.
+
+“The last time we met, Nombé,” I said, “was when you played the part of
+a woman who is dead in the Vale of Bones by the king’s kraal.”
+
+She regarded me with a kindly commiseration, and answered, shaking her
+head—
+
+“You have been very ill, Macumazahn, and your spirit still tricks you.
+I played the part of no woman in any valley by the king’s kraal, nor
+were my eyes rejoiced with the sight of you there or elsewhere till
+they brought you to this place, so changed that I should scarcely have
+known you.”
+
+“You little liar!” I said rudely.
+
+“Do the white people always name those liars who tell them true things
+they cannot understand?” she inquired with a sweet innocence. Then
+without waiting for an answer, she patted my hand as though I were a
+fretful child and gave me some soup in a gourd, saying, “Drink it, it
+is good. The lady Heddana made it herself in the white man’s fashion.”
+
+I drank the soup, which _was_ very good, and as I handed back the
+gourd, answered—
+
+“Kaatje has told me that the lady Heddana is dead. Can the dead make
+soup?”
+
+She considered the point while she threw some bits of meat out of the
+bottom of the gourd to the dog, Lost, then replied—
+
+“I do not know, Macumazahn, or indeed whether the dead eat as we do.
+Next time my Spirit visits me I will make inquiry and tell you the
+answer. But I do know that it is very strange that you, who always turn
+your back upon the truth, are so ready to accept falsehoods. Why should
+you believe that the lady Heddana is dead just because Kaatje told you
+so, when I who am still alive had sworn to you that I would protect her
+with my life? Nay, speak no more now. To-morrow if you are well enough
+you shall see and judge for yourself.”
+
+She drew up the kaross over me, again patted my hand in her motherly
+fashion and departed, still smiling, after which I went to sleep again,
+so dreamlessly that I think there was some native soporific in that
+soup.
+
+On the following day two of Zikali’s servants who did the rougher work
+of my sick room, if I may so call it, arrived and said that they were
+going to carry me out of the cave for a while, if that were my will. I
+who longed to breathe the fresh air again, said that it was very much
+my will, whereon they grasped the rough bedstead which I have described
+by either end and very carefully bore me down the cave and through its
+narrow entrance, where they set the bedstead in the shadow of the
+overhanging rock without. When I had recovered a little, for even that
+short journey tired me, I looked about me and perceived that as I had
+expected, I was in the Black Kloof, for there in front of me were the
+very huts which we had occupied on our arrival from Swazi-Land.
+
+I lay a while drawing in the sweet air which to me was like a draught
+of nectar, and wondering whether I were not still in a dream. For
+instance, I wondered if I had truly seen the figures of Anscombe and
+Heda pass the mouth of the cave, on that day when I awoke, or if these
+were but another of Zikali’s illusions imprinted on my weakened mind by
+his will power. For of what he and Nombé told me I believed nothing.
+Thus marvelling I fell into a doze and in my doze heard whisperings. I
+opened my eyes and lo! there before me stood Anscombe and Heda. It was
+she who spoke the first, for I was tongue-tied; I could not open my
+lips.
+
+“Dear Mr. Quatermain, dear Mr. Quatermain!” she murmured in her sweet
+voice, then paused.
+
+Now at last words came to me. “I thought you were both dead,” I said.
+“Tell me, are you really alive?”
+
+She bent down and kissed my brow, while Anscombe took my hand.
+
+“Now you know,” she answered. “We are both of us alive and well.”
+
+“Thank God!” I exclaimed. “Kaatje swore that she saw you dead and
+buried.”
+
+“One sees strange things in the Black Kloof,” replied Anscombe speaking
+for the first time, “and much has happened to us since we were parted,
+to which you are not strong enough to listen now. When you are better,
+then we will tell you all. So grow well as soon as you can.”
+
+After this I think I fainted, for when I came to myself again I was
+back in the cave.
+
+Another ten days or so went by before I could even leave my bed, for my
+recovery was very slow. Indeed for weeks I could scarcely walk at all,
+and six whole months passed before I really got my strength again and
+became as I used to be. During those days I often saw Anscombe and
+Heda, but only for a few minutes at a time. Also occasionally Zikali
+would visit me, speaking a little, generally about past history, or
+something of the sort, but never of the war, and go away. At length one
+day he said to me—
+
+“Macumazahn, now I am sure you are going to live, a matter as to which
+I was doubtful, even after you seemed to recover. For, Macumazahn, you
+have endured three shocks, of which to-day I am not afraid to talk to
+you. First there was that of the battle of Isandhlwana where you were
+the last white man left alive.”
+
+“How do you know that, Zikali?” I asked.
+
+“It does not matter. I do know. Did you not ride through the Zulus who
+parted this way and that before you, shouting what you could not
+understand? One of them you may remember even saluted with his spear.”
+
+“I did, Zikali. Tell me, why did they behave thus, and what did they
+shout?”
+
+“I shall not tell you, Macumazahn. Think over it for the rest of your
+life and conclude what you choose; it will not be so wonderful as the
+truth. At least they did so, as a certain doll I dressed up yonder in
+the Vale of Bones told you they would, she whose advice you followed in
+riding towards Ulundi instead of back to the river where you would have
+met your death, like so many others of the white people.”
+
+“Who was that doll, Zikali?”
+
+“Nay, ask me not. Perhaps it was Nombé, perhaps another. I have
+forgotten. I am very old and my memory begins to play me strange
+tricks. Still I recollect that she was a good doll, so like a dead
+woman called Mameena that I could scarcely have known them apart. Ah!
+that was a great game I played in the Vale of Bones, was it not,
+Macumazahn?”
+
+“Yes, Zikali, yet I do not understand why it was played.”
+
+“Being so young you still have the impatience of youth, Macumazahn,
+although your hair grows white. Wait a while and you will understand
+all. Well, you lay that night on the topmost rock of Isandhlwana, and
+there you saw and heard strange things. You heard the rest of the white
+soldiers come and lie down to rest among their dead brothers, and
+depart again unharmed. Oh! what fools are these Zulu generals nowadays.
+They send out an _impi_ to attack men behind walls, spears against
+rifles, and are defeated. Had they kept that _impi_ to fall on the rest
+of the English when they walked into the trap, not a man of your people
+would have been left alive. Would that have happened in the time of
+Chaka?”
+
+“I think not, Zikali. Still I am glad that it did happen.”
+
+“I think not too, Macumazahn, but small men, small wit. Also like you I
+am glad that it did not happen, since it is the Zulus I hate, not the
+English who have now learned a lesson and will not be caught again. Oh!
+many a captain in Zululand is to-day flat as a pricked bladder, and
+even their victory, as they call it, cost them dear. For, mind you,
+Macumazahn, for every white man they killed two of them died. So, so!
+In the morning you left the hill—do not look astonished, Macumazahn.
+Perhaps those captains on the rock beneath you let you go for their own
+purposes, or because they were commanded, for though weak I can still
+lift a stone or two, Macumazahn, and afterwards told me all about it.
+Then you found yourself alone among the dead, like the last man in the
+world, Macumazahn, and that dog at your side, also a horse came to you.
+Perhaps I sent them, perhaps it was a chance. Who knows? Not I myself,
+for as I have said, my memory has grown so bad. That was your first
+shock, Macumazahn, the shock of standing alone among the dead like the
+last man in the world. You felt it, did you not?”
+
+“As I hope I shall never feel anything again. It nearly drove me mad,”
+I answered.
+
+“Very nearly indeed, though I have felt worse things and only laughed,
+as I would tell you, had I the time. Well, then the sun struck you, for
+at this season of the year it is very hot in those valleys for a white
+man with no covering to his head, and you went quite mad, though
+fortunately the dog and the horse remained as Heaven had made them.
+That was the second shock. Then the storm burst and the lightning fell.
+It ran down the rifle that you still carried, Macumazahn. I will show
+it to you and you will see that its stock is shattered. Perhaps I
+turned the flash aside, for I am a great thunder-herd, or perhaps it
+was One mightier than I. That was the third shock, Macumazahn. Then you
+were found, still living—how, the white man, your friend, will tell
+you. But you should cherish that dog of yours, Macumazahn, for many a
+man might have served you worse. And being strong, though small, or
+perhaps because you still have work left to do in the world before you
+leave it for a while, you have lived through all these things and will
+in time recover, though not yet.”
+
+“I hope so, Zikali, though on the whole I am not sure that I wish to
+recover.”
+
+“Yes, you do, Macumazahn, because the religion of you white men makes
+you fear death and what may come after it. You think of what you call
+your sins and are afraid lest you should be tortured because of them,
+not understanding that the spirit must be judged not by what the flesh
+has done but by what the spirit desired to do, by _will_ not by _deed,_
+Macumazahn. The evil man is he who wishes to do evil, not he who wishes
+to do good and falls now and again into evil. Oh! I have hearkened to
+your white teachers and I know, I know.”
+
+“Then by your own standard you are evil, Zikali, since you wished to
+bring about war, and not in vain.”
+
+“Oho! Macumazahn, you think that, do you, who cannot understand that
+what seems to be evil is often good. I wished to bring about war and
+brought it about, and maybe what bred the wish was all that I have
+suffered in the past. But say you, who have seen what the Zulu Power
+means, who have seen men, women and children killed by the thousand to
+feed that Power, and who have seen, too, what the English Power means,
+is it evil that I should wish to destroy the House of the Zulu kings
+that the English House may take its place and that in a time to come
+the Black people may be free?”
+
+“You are clever, Zikali, but it is of your own wrongs that you think.
+How about that skull which you kissed in the Vale of Bones?”
+
+“Mayhap, Macumazahn, but my wrongs are the wrongs of a nation,
+therefore I think of the nation, and at least I do not fear death like
+you white men. Now hearken. Presently your friends will tell you a
+story. The lady Heddana will tell you how I made use of her for a
+certain purpose, for which purpose indeed I drew the three of you into
+Zululand, because without her I could not have brought about this war
+into which Cetewayo did not wish to enter. When you have heard that
+story, do not judge me too hardly, Macumazahn, who had a great end to
+gain.”
+
+“Yet whatever the story may be, I do judge you hardly, Zikali, who
+tormented me with a false tale, causing the woman Kaatje to lie to me
+and swear that she saw these two dead before her—how I know not.”
+
+“She did not lie to you, Macumazahn. Has not such a one as I the power
+to make a fat fool think that she saw what she did not see? As to how!
+How did I make you think in yonder hut of mine that you saw what you
+did not see—perhaps.”
+
+“But why did you mock me in this fashion, Zikali?”
+
+“Truly, Macumazahn, you are blind as a bat in sunlight. When your
+friends have told you the story, you will understand why. Yet I admit
+to you that things went wrong. You should have heard that tale _before_
+Cetewayo brought you to the Vale of Bones. But the fool-woman delayed
+and blundered, and when she reached Ulundi the gates were shut against
+her as a spy, and not opened till too late, so that you only found her
+when you returned from the Council. I knew this, and that was why I
+dared to bid you fire at that which stood upon the rock. Had you heard
+Kaatje’s tale you might have aimed straight, as also you would have
+certainly shot straight at me, out of revenge for the deaths of those
+you loved, Macumazahn, though whether you could have killed me before
+all the game is played is another matter. As it was, I was sure that
+you would not pierce the heart of one who _might_ be a certain white
+woman, sure also that you would not pierce my heart whose death _might_
+bring about her death and that of another.”
+
+“You are very subtle, Zikali,” I said in astonishment.
+
+“So you hold because I am very simple, who understand the spirit of
+man—and some other things. For the rest, had you not believed that
+these two were dead, you would never have left Zululand. You would have
+tried to escape to get to them and have been killed. Is it not so?”
+
+“Yes, I think I should have tried, Zikali. But why did you keep them
+prisoner?”
+
+“For the same reason that I still keep them—and you—to hold them back a
+while from the world of ghosts. Had I sent them away after that night
+of the declaration of war, they would have been killed before they had
+gone an hour’s journey. Oh! I am not so bad as you think, Macumazahn,
+and I never break my word. Now I have done.”
+
+“How goes the war?” I asked as he shuffled to his feet.
+
+“As it must go, very ill for the Zulus. They have driven back the white
+men who gather strength from over the Black Water and will come on
+presently and wipe them out. Umnyamana would have had Cetewayo invade
+Natal and sweep it clean, as of course he should have done. But I sent
+him word that if he did so Nomkubulwana, yes, she and no other, had
+told me that all the spirits would be against him, and he hearkened.
+When next you think me wicked, remember that, Macumazahn. Now it is but
+a matter of time, and here you must bide till all is finished. That
+will be good for you who need rest, though the other two find it
+wearisome. Still for them it is good also to watch the fruit ripen on
+their tree of love. It will be the sweeter when they eat it,
+Macumazahn, and teach them how to live together. _Oho! Oho-ho!_” and he
+shambled off.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+HEDA’S TALE
+
+
+That evening when I was lying on my bed outside the cave, I heard the
+tale of Anscombe and Heda. Up to a certain point he told it, then she
+went on with the story.
+
+“On the morning after our arrival at this place, Allan,” said Anscombe,
+“I woke up to find you gone from the hut. As you did not come back I
+concluded that you were with Zikali, and walked about looking for you.
+Then food was brought to us and Heda and I breakfasted together, after
+which we went to where we heard the horses neighing and found that
+yours was gone. Returning, much frightened, we met Nombé, who gave me
+your note which explained everything, and we inquired of her why this
+had been done and what was to become of us. She smiled and answered
+that we had better ask the first question of the king and the second of
+her master Zikali, and in the meanwhile be at peace since we were quite
+safe.
+
+“I tried to see Zikali but could not. Then I went to inspan the horses
+with the idea of following you, only to find that they were gone.
+Indeed I have not seen them from that day to this. Next we thought of
+starting on foot, for we were quite desperate. But Nombé intervened and
+told us that if we ventured out of the Black Kloof we should be killed.
+In short we were prisoners.
+
+“This went on for some days, during which we were well treated but
+could not succeed in seeing Zikali. At length one morning he sent for
+us and we were taken to the enclosure in front of his hut, Kaatje
+coming with us as interpreter. For a while he sat still, looking very
+grim and terrible. Then he said—
+
+“‘White Chief and Lady, you think ill of me because Macumazahn has gone
+and you are kept prisoners here, and before all is done you will think
+worse. Yet I counsel you to trust me since everything that happens is
+for your good.’
+
+“At this point Heda, who, as you know, talked Zulu fairly well, though
+not so well as she does now, broke in, and said some very angry things
+to him.”
+
+“Yes,” interrupted Heda. “I told him that he was a liar and I believed
+that he had murdered you and meant to murder us.”
+
+“He listened stonily,” continued Anscombe, “and answered, ‘I perceive,
+Lady Heddana, that you understand enough of our tongue to enable me to
+talk to you; therefore I will send away this half-breed woman, since
+what I have to say is secret.’
+
+“Then he called servants by clapping his hands and ordered them to
+remove Kaatje, which was done.
+
+“‘Now, Lady Heddana,’ he said, speaking very slowly so that Heda might
+interpret to me and repeating his words whenever she did not
+understand, ‘I have a proposal to make to you. For my own ends it is
+necessary that you should play a part and appear before the king and
+the Council as the goddess of this land who is called the Chieftainess
+of Heaven, which goddess is always seen as a white woman. Therefore you
+must travel with me to Ulundi and there do those things which I shall
+tell you.’
+
+“‘And if I refuse to play this trick,’ said Heda, ‘what then?’
+
+“‘Then, Lady Heddana, this white lord whom you love and who is to be
+your husband will—die—and after he is dead you must still do what I
+desire of you, or—die also.’
+
+“‘Would he come with me to Ulundi?’ asked Heda.
+
+“‘Not so, Lady. He would stay here under guard, but quite safe, and you
+will be brought back to him, safe. Choose now, with death on the one
+hand and safety on the other. I would sleep a little. Talk the matter
+over in your own tongue and when it is settled awaken me again,’ and he
+shut his eyes and appeared to go to sleep.
+
+“So we discussed the situation, if you can call it discussion when we
+were both nearly mad. Heda wished to go. I begged her to let me be
+killed rather than trust herself into the hands of this old villain.
+She pointed out that even if I were killed, which she admitted might
+not happen, she would still be in his hands whence she could only
+escape by her own death, whereas if she went there was a chance that we
+might both continue to live, and that after all death was easy to find.
+So in the end I gave way and we woke up Zikali and told him so.
+
+“He seemed pleased and spoke to us gently, saying, ‘I was sure that
+wisdom dwelt behind those bright eyes of yours, Lady, and again I
+promise you that neither you nor the lord your lover shall come to any
+harm. Also that in payment I and my child, Nombé, will protect you even
+with our lives, and further, that I will bring back your friend,
+Macumazahn, to you, though not yet. Now go and be happy together. Nombé
+will tell the lady Heddana when she is to start. Of all this say
+nothing on your peril to the woman Kaatje, since if you do, it will be
+necessary that she should be made silent. Indeed, lest she should learn
+something, to-morrow I shall send her on to await you at Ulundi,
+therefore be not surprised if you see her go, and take no heed of aught
+she may say in going. Nombé, my child, will fill her place as servant
+to the lady Heddana and sleep with her at night that she may not be
+lonely or afraid.’
+
+“Then he clapped his hands again and servants came and conducted us
+back to the huts. And now, Allan, Heda will go on with the story.”
+
+“Well, Mr. Quatermain,” she said, “nothing more happened that day which
+we spent with bursting hearts. Kaatje did not question us as to what
+the witch-doctor had said after she was sent away. Indeed I noticed
+that she was growing very stupid and drowsy, like a person who has been
+drugged, as I daresay she was, and would insist upon beginning to pack
+up the things in a foolish kind of way, muttering something about our
+trekking on the following day. The night passed as usual, Kaatje
+sleeping very heavily by my side and snoring so much” (here I groaned
+sympathetically) “that I could get little rest. On the next morning
+after breakfast as the huts were very hot, Nombé suggested that we
+should sit under the shadow of the overhanging rock, just where we are
+now. Accordingly we went, and being tired out with all our troubles and
+bad nights, I fell into a doze, and so, I think, did Maurice, Nombé
+sitting near to us and singing all the while, a very queer kind of
+song.
+
+“Presently, through my doze as it were, I saw Kaatje approaching. Nombé
+went to meet her, still singing, and taking her hand, led her to the
+cart, where they seemed to talk to the horses, which surprised me as
+there were no horses. Then she brought her round the cart and pointed
+to us, still singing. Now Kaatje began to weep and throw her hands
+about, while Nombé patted her on the shoulder. I tried to speak to her
+but could not. My tongue was tied, why I don’t know, but I suppose
+because I was really asleep, and Maurice also was asleep and did not
+wake at all.”
+
+“Yes,” said Anscombe, “I remember nothing of all this business.”
+
+“After a while Kaatje went away, still weeping, and then I fell asleep
+in earnest and did not wake until the sun was going down, when I roused
+Maurice and we both went back to the hut, where I found that Nombé had
+cooked our evening meal. I looked for Kaatje, but could not find her.
+Also in searching through my things I missed the bag of jewels. I
+called to Nombé and asked where Kaatje was, whereon she smiled and said
+that she had gone away, taking the bag with her. This pained me, for I
+had always found Kaatje quite honest—”
+
+“Which she is,” I remarked, “for those jewels are now in a bank at
+Maritzburg.”
+
+Heda nodded and went on, “I am glad to hear it; indeed, remembering
+what Zikali had said, I never really suspected her of being a thief,
+but thought it was all part of some plan. After this things went on as
+before, except that Nombé took Kaatje’s place and was with me day and
+night. Of Kaatje’s disappearance she would say nothing. Zikali we did
+not see.
+
+“On the third evening after the vanishing of Kaatje, Nombé came and
+said that I must make ready for a journey, and while she spoke men
+arrived with a litter that had grass mats hung round it. Nombé brought
+out my long cape and put it over me, also a kind of veil of white stuff
+which she threw over my head, so as to hide my face. I think it was
+made out of one of our travelling mosquito nets. Then she said I must
+say good-bye to Maurice for a while. There was a scene as you may
+imagine. He grew angry and said that he would come with me, whereon
+armed men appeared, six of them, and pushed him away with the handles
+of their spears. In another minute I was lifted into the litter which
+Nombé entered with me, and so we were parted, wondering if we should
+ever see each other more. At the mouth of the kloof I saw another
+litter surrounded by a number of Zulus, which Nombé said contained
+Zikali.
+
+“We travelled all that night and two succeeding nights, resting during
+the day in deserted kraals that appeared to have been made ready for
+us. It was a strange journey, for although the armed men flitted about
+us, neither they nor the bearers ever spoke, nor did I see Zikali, or
+indeed any one else. Only Nombé comforted me from time to time, telling
+me there was nothing to fear. Towards dawn on the third night we
+travelled over some hills and I was put into a new hut and told that my
+journey was done as we had reached a place near Ulundi.
+
+“I slept most of the following day, but after I had eaten towards
+evening, Zikali crept into the hut, just as a great toad might do, and
+squatted down in front of me.
+
+“‘Lady,’ he said, ‘listen. To-night, perhaps one hour after sundown,
+perhaps two, perhaps three, Nombé will lead you, dressed in a certain
+fashion, from this hut. See now, outside of it there is a tongue of
+rock up which you may climb unnoted by the little path that runs
+between those big stones. Look,’ and he showed me the place through the
+door-hole. ‘The path ends on a flat boulder at the end of the rock.
+There you will take your stand, holding in your right hand a little
+assegai which will be given to you. Nombé will not accompany you to the
+rock, but she will crouch between the stones at the head of the path
+and perhaps from time to time whisper to you what to do. Thus when she
+tells you, you must throw the little spear into the air, so that it
+falls among a number of men gathered in debate who will be seated about
+twenty paces from the rock. For the rest you are to stand quite still,
+saying nothing and showing no alarm whatever you may hear or see. Among
+the men before you may be your friend, Macumazahn, but you must not
+appear to recognize him, and if he speaks to you, you must make no
+answer. Even if he should seem to shoot at you, do not be afraid. Do
+you understand? If so, repeat what I have told you.’ I obeyed him and
+asked what would happen if I did not do these things, or some of them.
+
+“He answered, ‘You will be killed, Nombé will be killed, the lord
+Mauriti your lover will be killed, and your friend Macumazahn will be
+killed. Perhaps even I shall be killed and we will talk the matter over
+in the land of ghosts.’
+
+“On hearing this I said I would do my best to carry out his orders, and
+after making me repeat them once more, he went away. Later, Nombé
+dressed me up as you saw me, Mr. Quatermain, put some glittering powder
+into my hair and touched me beneath the eyes with a dark kind of
+pigment. Also she gave me the little spear and made me practise
+standing quite still with it raised in my right hand, telling me that
+when I heard her say the word 'Throw,’ I was to cast it into the air.
+Then the moon rose and we heard men talking at a distance. At last some
+one came to the hut and whispered to Nombé, who led me out to the
+little path between the rocks.
+
+“This must have been nearly two hours after I heard the men begin to
+talk—”
+
+“Excuse me,” I interrupted, “but where was Nombé all those two hours?”
+
+“With me. She never left my side, Mr. Quatermain, and while I was on
+the rock she was crouched within three paces of me between two big
+stones at the mouth of the path.”
+
+“Indeed,” I replied faintly, “this is very interesting. Please
+continue—but one word, how was Nombé dressed? Did she wear a necklace
+of blue beads?”
+
+“Just as she always is, or rather less so, for she had nothing on
+except her moocha, and certainly no blue beads. But why do you ask?”
+
+“From curiosity merely. I mean, I will tell you afterwards, pray go
+on.”
+
+“Well, I stepped forward on to the rock and at first saw nothing,
+because at that moment the moon was hid by a cloud; indeed Nombé had
+waited for the cloud to pass over its face, before she thrust me
+forward. Also some smoke from a fire below was rising straight in front
+of me. Presently the cloud passed, the smoke thinned, and I saw the
+circle of those savage men seated beneath, and in their centre a great
+chief wearing a leopard’s skin cloak who I guessed was the king. You I
+did not see, Mr. Quatermain, because you were behind a tree, yet I felt
+that you were there, a friend among all those foes. I stood still, as I
+had been taught to do, and heard the murmur of astonishment and caught
+the gleam of the moonlight from the white feathers that were sewn upon
+my robe.
+
+“Then I heard also the voice of Zikali speaking from beneath. He called
+on you to come out to shoot at me, and the man whom I took to be the
+king, ordered you to obey. You appeared from behind the tree, and I was
+certain from the look upon your face that at that distance you did not
+know who I was in my strange and glittering raiment. You lifted the
+pistol and I was terribly afraid, for I had seen you shoot with it
+before on the verandah of the Temple and knew well that you do not
+miss. Very nearly I screamed out to you, but remembered and was silent,
+thinking that after all it did not much matter if I died, except for
+the sake of Maurice here. Also by now I guessed that I was being used
+to deceive those men before me into some terrible act, and that if I
+died, at least they would be undeceived.
+
+“I thought that an age passed between the time you pointed the pistol
+and I saw the flash for which I was waiting.”
+
+“You need not have waited, Heda,” I interposed, “for if I had really
+aimed at you you would never have seen that flash, at least so it is
+said. I too guessed enough to shoot above you, although at the time I
+did not know that it was you on the rock; indeed I thought it was Nombé
+painted up.”
+
+“Yes, I heard the bullet sing over me. Then I heard the voice of Zikali
+challenging you to shoot him, and to tell the truth, hoped that you
+would do so. Just before you fired for the second time, Nombé whispered
+to me—‘Throw’ and I threw the little red-handled spear into the air.
+Then as the pistol went off Nombé whispered—‘Come.’ I slipped away down
+the path and back with her into the hut, where she kissed me and said
+that I had done well indeed, after which she took off my strange robe
+and helped me to put on my own dress.
+
+“That is all I know, except that some hours later I was awakened from
+sleep and put into the litter where I went to sleep again, for what I
+had gone through tired me very much. I need not trouble you with the
+rest, for we journeyed here in the same way that we had journeyed to
+Ulundi—by night. I did not see Zikali, but in answer to my questions,
+Nombé told me that the Zulus had declared war against the English. What
+part in the business I had played, she would not tell me, and I do not
+know to this hour, but I am sure that it was a great one.
+
+“So we came back to the Black Kloof, where I found Maurice quite well,
+and now he had better go on with the tale, for if I begin to tell you
+of our meeting I shall become foolish.”
+
+“There isn’t much more to tell,” said Anscombe, “except about yourself.
+While Heda was away I was kept a prisoner and watched day and night by
+Zikali’s people who would not let me stir a yard, but otherwise treated
+me kindly. Then one day at sunrise, or shortly after it, Heda
+re-appeared and told me all this story, for the end of which, as you
+may imagine, I thanked God.
+
+“After that we just lived on here, happily enough since we were
+together, until one day Nombé told us that there had been a great
+battle in which the Zulus had wiped out the English, killing hundreds
+and hundreds of them, although for every soldier that they killed, they
+had lost two. Of course this made us very sad, especially as we were
+afraid you might be with our troops. We asked Nombé if you were present
+at the battle. She answered that she would inquire of her Spirit and
+went through some very strange performances with ashes and knuckle
+bones, after which she announced that you had been in the battle but
+were alive and coming this way with a dog that had silver on it. We
+laughed at her, saying that she could not possibly know anything of the
+sort, also that dogs as a rule did not carry silver. Whereon she only
+smiled and said—‘Wait.’
+
+“I think it was three days later that one night towards dawn I was
+awakened by hearing a dog barking outside my hut, as though it wished
+to call attention to its presence. It barked so persistently and in a
+way so unlike a Kaffir dog, that at length about dawn I went out of the
+hut to see what was the matter. There, standing a few yards away
+surrounded by some of Zikali’s people, I saw Lost and knew at once that
+it was an English Airedale, for I have had several of the breed. It
+looked very tired and frightened, and while I was wondering whence on
+earth it could have come, I noticed that it had a silver-mounted collar
+and remembered Nombé and her talk about you and a dog that carried
+silver on it. From that moment, Allan, I was certain that you were
+somewhere near, especially as the beast ran up to me—it would take no
+notice of the Kaffirs—and kept looking towards the mouth of the kloof,
+as though it wished me to follow it. Just then Nombé arrived, and on
+seeing the dog looked at me oddly.
+
+“‘I have a message for you from my master, Mauriti,’ she said to me
+through Heda, who by now had arrived upon the scene, having also been
+aroused by Lost’s barking. ‘It is that if you wish to take a walk with
+a strange dog you can do so, and bring back anything you may find.’”
+
+“The end of it was that after we had fed Lost with milk and meat, I and
+six of Zikali’s men started down the kloof, Lost going ahead of us and
+now and again running back and whining. At the mouth of the kloof it
+led us over a hill and down into a bush-veld valley where the thorns
+grew very thick. When we had gone along the valley for about two miles,
+one of the Kaffirs saw a Basuto pony still saddled, and caught it. The
+dog went on past the pony to a tree that had been shattered by
+lightning, and there within a few yards of the tree we found you lying
+senseless, Allan, or, as I thought at first, dead, and by your side a
+Martini rifle of which the stock also seemed to have been broken by
+lightning.
+
+“Well, we put you on a shield and carried you here, meeting no one, and
+that is all the story, Allan.”
+
+He stopped and we stared at each other. Then I called Lost and patted
+its head, and the dear beast licked my hand as though it understood
+that it was being thanked.
+
+“A strange tale,” I said, “but God Almighty has put much wisdom into
+His creatures of which we know nothing. Let us thank Him,” and in our
+hearts we did.
+
+Thus was I rescued from death by the intelligence and fidelity of a
+four-footed creature. Doubtless in my semi-conscious state that
+resulted from shock, weariness and sun-stroke, I had all the while
+headed sub-consciously and without any definite object for the Black
+Kloof. When I was within a few miles of it I was stunned by the
+lightning which ran down the rifle to the ground, though not actually
+struck. Then the dog, which had escaped, played its part, wandering
+about the country to find help for me, and so I was saved.
+
+Now of the long months that followed I have little to tell. They were
+not unhappy in their way, for week by week I felt myself growing
+stronger, though very slowly. There was a path, steep, difficult and
+secret, which could be gained through one of the caves in the
+precipice, not that in which I slept. This path ran up a water-cut
+kloof through a patch of thorns to a flat tableland that was part of
+the Ceza stronghold. By it, when I had gained sufficient strength,
+sometimes we used to climb to the plateau, and there take exercise. It
+was an agreeable change from the stifling atmosphere of the Black
+Kloof. The days were very dull, for we were as much out of the world as
+though we had been marooned on a desert island. Still from time to time
+we heard of the progress of the war through Nombé, for Zikali I saw but
+seldom.
+
+She told of disasters to the English, of the death of a great young
+Chief who was deserted by his companions and died fighting
+bravely—afterwards I discovered that this was the Prince Imperial of
+France—of the advance of our armies, of defeats inflicted upon
+Cetewayo’s impis, and finally of the destruction of the Zulus on the
+battlefield of Ulundi, where they hurled themselves by thousands upon
+the British square, to be swept away by case-shot and the hail of
+bullets. This battle, by the way, the Zulus call, not Ulundi or
+Nodwengu, for it was fought in front of Panda’s old kraal of that name,
+but Ocwecweni, which means—“the fight of the sheet-iron fortress.” I
+suppose they give it this name because the hedge of bayonets, flashing
+in the sunlight, reminded them of sheet-iron. Or it may be because
+these proved as impenetrable as would have done walls of iron. At any
+rate they dashed their naked bodies against the storm of lead and fell
+in heaps, only about a dozen of our men being killed, as the little
+graveyard in the centre of the square entrenchment, about which still
+lie the empty cartridge cases, records to-day.
+
+There, then, on that plain perished the Zulu kingdom which was built up
+by Chaka.
+
+Now it was after this event that I saw Zikali and begged him to let us
+go. I found him triumphant and yet strangely disturbed and, as I
+thought, more apprehensive than I had ever seen him.
+
+“So, Zikali,” I said, “if what I hear is true, you have had your way
+and destroyed the Zulu people. Now you should be happy.”
+
+“Is man ever happy, Macumazahn, when he has gained that which he sought
+for years? The two out there sigh and are sad because they cannot be
+married after their own white fashion, though what there is to keep
+them apart I do not know. Well, in time they will be married, only to
+find that they are not so happy as they thought they would be. Oh! a
+day will come when they will talk to each other and say—‘Those moons
+which we spent waiting together in the Black Kloof were the true moons
+of sweetness, for then we had something to gain; now we have gained
+all—and what is it?’
+
+“So it is with me, Macumazahn. Since the Zulus under Chaka killed out
+my people, the Ndwandwe, year by year I have plotted and waited to see
+them wedded to the assegai. Now it has come about. You white men have
+stamped them flat upon the plain of Ulundi; they are no more a nation.
+And yet I am not happy, for after all it was the House of Senzangacona
+and not the people of the Zulus, that harmed me and mine, and Cetewayo
+still lives. While the queen bee remains there may be a hive again.
+While an ember still glows in the dead ashes, the forest may yet be
+fired. Perhaps when Cetewayo is dead, then I shall be happy. Only his
+death and mine are set by Fate as close together as two sister grains
+of corn upon the cob.”
+
+I turned the subject, again asking his leave to depart to Natal or to
+join the English army.
+
+“You cannot go yet,” he answered sternly, “so trouble me no more. The
+land is full of wandering bands of Zulus who would kill you and your
+blood would be on my head. Moreover, if they saw a white woman who had
+sheltered with me, might they not guess something? To dress a doll for
+the part of the Inkosazana-y-Zulu is the greatest crime in the world,
+Macumazahn, and what would happen to the Opener of Roads and all his
+House if it were even breathed that he had dressed that doll and thus
+brought about the war which ruined them? When Cetewayo is killed and
+the dead are buried and peace falls upon the land, the peace of death,
+then you shall go, Macumazahn, and not before.”
+
+“At least, Zikali, send a message to the captains of the English army
+and tell them that we are here.”
+
+“Send a message to the hyenas and tell them where the carcase is; send
+a message to the hunters and tell them where the buck Zikali crouches
+on its form! Hearken, Macumazahn, if you do this, or even urge me again
+to do it, neither you nor your friends shall ever leave the Black
+Kloof. I have spoken.”
+
+Then understanding that the case was hopeless, I left him and he
+glowered after me, for fear had made him cruel. He had won the long
+game and success had turned to ashes in his mouth. Or rather, he had
+not won—yet—since his war was against the House of Senzangacona from
+which he and his tribe had suffered cruel wrong. To pull it down he
+must pull down the Zulu nation; it was like burning a city to destroy a
+compromising letter. He had burnt the city, but the letter still
+remained intact and might be produced in evidence against him. In other
+words Cetewayo yet lived. Therefore his vengeance remained quite
+unslaked and his danger was as great, or perhaps greater than it had
+ever been before. For was he not the prophet who by producing the
+Princess of Heaven, the traditional goddess of the Zulus, before the
+eyes of the king and Council, had caused them to decide for war? And
+supposing it were so much as breathed that this spirit which they
+seemed to see, had been but a trick and a fraud, what then? He would be
+tortured to death if his dupes had time, or torn limb from limb if they
+had not, that is if he could die like other men—a matter as to which
+personally I had no doubts.
+
+Shortly after I left Zikali Heda and I ate our evening meal together.
+Anscombe, as it chanced, had gone by the secret path to the tableland
+of which I have spoken, where he amused himself, as of course we were
+not allowed to fire a gun, by catching partridges, with the help of an
+ingenious system of grass nets which he had invented. There were
+springs on this tableland that formed little pools of water, at which
+the partridges, also occasionally guineafowl and bush pheasants, came
+to drink at sunrise and sunset. Here it was that he set his nets and
+retired to work them at those hours by means of strings that he pulled
+from hiding-places. So Heda and I were alone.
+
+I told her of my ill success with Zikali, at which she was much
+disappointed. Then by an afterthought I suggested that perhaps she
+might try to do something in the way of getting a message through to
+the English camp at Ulundi, or elsewhere, by help of the
+witch-doctoress, Nombé, adding that I would speak to her myself had I
+not observed that I seemed to be out of favour with her of late. Heda
+shook her head and answered that she thought it would be useless to
+try, also too dangerous. Remembering Zikali’s threat, on reflection I
+agreed with her.
+
+“Tell me, Mr. Quatermain,” she added, “is it possible for one woman to
+be in love with another?”
+
+I stared at her and replied that I did not understand what she meant,
+since women, so far as I had observed them, were generally in love
+either with a man or with themselves, perhaps more often with the
+latter than the former. Rather a cheap joke I admit, with just enough
+truth in it to make it acceptable—in the Black Kloof.
+
+“So I thought,” she answered, “but really Nombé behaves in a most
+peculiar way. As you know she took a fancy to me from the beginning,
+perhaps because she had never had any other woman with whom to
+associate, having, so far as I can make out, been brought up here among
+men from a child. Indeed, her story is that she was one of twins and
+therefore as the younger, was exposed to die according to the Zulu
+superstition. Zikali, however, or a servant of his who knew what was
+happening, rescued and reared her, so practically I am the only female
+with whom she has ever been intimate. At any rate her affection for me
+has grown and grown until, although it seems ungrateful to say so, it
+has become something of a nuisance. She has told me again and again
+that she would die to protect me, and that if by chance anything
+happened to me, she would kill herself and follow me into another
+world. She is continually making divinations about my future, and as
+these, in which she entirely believes, always show me as living without
+her, she is much distressed and at times bursts into tears.”
+
+“Hysteria! It is very common among the Zulu women, and especially those
+of them who practise magic arts,” I answered.
+
+“Perhaps, but as it results in the most intense jealousy, Nombé’s
+hysteria is awkward. For instance, she is horribly jealous of Maurice.”
+
+“The instincts of a chaperone developed early,” I suggested again.
+
+“That won’t quite do, Mr. Quatermain,” answered Heda with a laugh,
+“since she is even more jealous of you. With reference to Maurice, she
+explains frankly that if we marry she might, as she puts it, ‘continue
+to sit outside the hut,’ but that in your case you live ‘in my head,’
+where she cannot come between you and me.”
+
+“Mad,” I remarked, “quite mad. Still madness has to be dealt with in
+this world like other things, and Nombé, being an abnormal person, may
+suffer from abnormal ideas. It just amounts to this; she has conceived
+a passionate devotion to you, at which I am sure neither Maurice nor I
+can wonder.”
+
+“Are those the kind of compliments you used to pay in your youth, Mr.
+Quatermain? I expect so, and now that you are old you cannot stop them.
+Well, I thank you all the same, because perhaps you mean what you say.
+But what is to be done about Nombé? Hush! here she comes. I will leave
+you to reason with her, if you get the chance,” and she departed in a
+hurry.
+
+Nombé arrived, and something in her aspect told me that I was going to
+get the chance. Her eternal smile was almost gone and her dark,
+beautiful eyes flashed ominously. Still she began by asking in a mild
+voice whether the lady Heddana had eaten her supper with appetite. It
+will be observed that she was not interested in my appetite or whether
+enough was left for Anscombe when he returned. I replied that so far as
+I noted she had consumed about half a partridge, with other things.
+
+“I am glad,” said Nombé, “since I was not here to attend upon her,
+having been summoned to speak with the Master.”
+
+Then she sat down and looked at me like a thunder storm.
+
+“I nursed you when you were so ill, Macumazahn,” she began, “but now I
+learn that for the milk with which I fed you, you would force me to
+drink bitter water that will poison me.”
+
+I replied I was well aware that without her nursing I should long ago
+have been dead, which was what caused me to love her like my own
+daughter. But would she kindly explain? This she did at once.
+
+“You have been plotting to take away from me the lady Heddana who to me
+is as mother and sister and child. It is useless to lie to me, for the
+Master has told me all; moreover, I knew it for myself, both through my
+Spirit and because I had watched you.”
+
+“I have no intention of lying to you, Nombé, about this or any other
+matter, though I think that sometimes in the past you have lied to me.
+Tell me, do you expect the Inkosi Mauriti, the lady Heddana and myself
+to pass the rest of our lives in the Black Kloof, when they wish to get
+married and go across the Black Water to where their home will be, and
+I wish to attend to my affairs?”
+
+“I do not know what I expect, Macumazahn, but I do know that never
+while I live will I be parted from the lady Heddana. At last I have
+found some one to love, and you and the other would steal her away from
+me.”
+
+I studied her for a while, then asked—
+
+“Why do you not marry, Nombé, and have a husband, and children to
+love?”
+
+“Marry?” she replied. “I am married to my Spirit which does not dwell
+beneath the sun, and my children are not of earth; moreover, all men
+are hateful to me,” and her eyes added, “especially you.”
+
+“That is a calf with a dog’s head,” I replied in the words of the
+native proverb, meaning that she said what was not natural. “Well,
+Nombé, if you are so fond of the lady Heddana, you had better arrange
+with her and the Inkosi Mauriti to go away with them.”
+
+“You know well I cannot, Macumazahn. I am tied to my Master by ropes
+that are stronger than iron, and if I attempted to break them my Spirit
+would wither and I should wither with it.”
+
+“Dear me! what a dreadful business. That is what comes of taking to
+magic. Well, Nombé, I am afraid I have nothing to suggest, nor, to tell
+you the truth, can I see what I have to do with the matter.”
+
+Then she sprang up in a rage, saying—
+
+“I understand that not only will you give me no help, but that you also
+mock at me, Macumazahn. Moreover, as it is with you, so it is with
+Mauriti, who pretends to love my lady so much, though I love her more
+with my little finger than he does with all his body and what he calls
+his soul. Yes, he too mocks at me. Now if you were both dead,” she
+added with sudden venom, “my lady would not wish to go away. Be careful
+lest a spell should fall upon you, Macumazahn,” and without more words
+she turned and went.
+
+At first I was inclined to laugh; the whole thing seemed so absurd. On
+reflection, however, I perceived that in reality it was very serious to
+people situated as we were. This woman was a savage; more, a mystic
+savage of considerable powers of mind—a formidable combination. Also
+there were no restraints upon her, since public opinion had as little
+authority in the Black Kloof as the Queen’s Writ. Lastly, it was not
+unknown for women to conceive these violent affections which, if
+thwarted, filled them with something like madness. Thus I remembered a
+very terrible occurrence of my youth which resulted in the death of one
+who was most dear to me. I will not dwell on it, but this, too, was the
+work of a passionate creature, woman I can scarcely call her, who
+thought she was being robbed of one whom she adored.
+
+The end of it was that I did not enjoy my pipe that night, though
+luckily Anscombe returned after a successful evening’s netting, about
+which he was so full of talk that there was no need for me to say much.
+So I put off any discussion of the problem until the morrow.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+THE KING VISITS ZIKALI
+
+
+Next morning, as a result of my cogitations, I went to see Zikali. I
+was admitted after a good deal of trouble and delay, for although his
+retinue was limited and, with the exception of Nombé, entirely male,
+this old prophet kept a kind of semi-state and was about as difficult
+to approach as a European monarch. I found him crouching over a fire in
+his hut, since at this season of the year even in that hot place the
+air was chilly until midday.
+
+“What is it, Macumazahn?” he asked. “As to your going away, have
+patience. I learn that he who was King of the Zulus is in full flight,
+with the white men tracking him like a wounded buck. When the buck is
+caught and killed, then you can go.”
+
+“It is about Nombé,” I answered, and told him all the story, which did
+not seem to surprise him at all.
+
+“Now see, Macumazahn,” he said, taking some snuff, “how hard it is to
+dam up the stream of nature. This child, Nombé, is of my blood, one
+whom I saved from death in a strange way, not because she was of my
+blood but that I might make an experiment with her. Women, as you who
+are wise and have seen much will know, are in truth superior to men,
+though, because they are weaker in body, men have the upper hand of
+them and think themselves their masters, a state they are forced to
+accept because they must live and cannot defend themselves. Yet their
+brains are keener, as an assegai is keener than a hoe; they are more in
+touch with the hidden things that shape out fate for people and for
+nations; they are more faithful and more patient, and by instinct if
+not by reason, more far-seeing, or at least the best of them are so,
+and by their best, like men, they should be judged. Yet this is the
+hole in their shield. When they love they become the slaves of love,
+and for love’s sake all else is brought to naught, and for this reason
+they cannot be trusted. With men, as you know, this is otherwise. They,
+too, love, by Nature’s law, but always behind there is something
+greater than love, although often they do not understand what that may
+be. To be powerful, therefore, a woman must be one who does not love
+too much. If she cannot love at all, then she is hated and has no
+power, but she must not love too much.
+
+“Once I thought that I had found such a woman; she was named Mameena,
+whom all men worshipped and who played with all men, as I played with
+her. But what was the end of it? Just as things were going very well
+she learned to love too much some man of strange notions, who would
+have thwarted me and brought everything to nothing, and therefore I had
+to kill her, for which I was sorry.”
+
+Here he paused to take some more snuff, watching me over the spoon as
+he drew it up his great nostrils, but as I said nothing, went on—
+
+“Now after Mameena was dead I bethought me that I would rear up a woman
+who could still love but should never love a man and therefore never
+become mad or foolish, because I believed that it was only man who in
+taking her heart from woman, would take her wits also. This child,
+Nombé, came to my hand, and as I thought, so I did. Never mind how I
+did it, by medicine perhaps, by magic perhaps, by watering her pride
+and making it grow tall perhaps, or by all three. At least it was done,
+and this I know of Nombé, she will never care for any man except as a
+woman may care for a brother.
+
+“But now see what happens. She, the wise, the instructed, the
+man-despiser, meets a woman of another race who is sweet and good, and
+learns to love her, not as maids and mothers love, but as one loves the
+Spirit that she worships. Yes, yes, to her she is a goddess to be
+worshipped, one whom she desires to serve with all her heart and
+strength, to bow down before, making offerings, and at the end to
+follow into death. So it comes about that this Nombé, whose mind I
+thought to make as the wings of a bird floating on the air while it
+searches for its prey, has become even madder than other women. It is a
+disappointment to me, Macumazahn.”
+
+“It may be a disappointment to you, Zikali, and all that you say is
+very interesting. But to us it is a danger. Tell me, will you command
+Nombé to cease from her folly?”
+
+“Will I forbid the mist to rise, or the wind to blow, or the lightning
+to strike? As she is, she is. Her heart is filled with black jealousy
+of Mauriti and of you, as a butcher’s gourd is filled with blood, for
+she is not one who desires that her goddess should have other
+worshippers; she would keep her for herself alone.”
+
+“Then in this way or in that the gourd must be emptied, Zikali, lest we
+should be forced to drink from it and that black blood should poison
+us.”
+
+“How, unless it be broken, Macumazahn? If Heddana departs and leaves
+her, she will go mad, and accompany her she cannot, for her Spirit
+dwells here,” and he tapped his own breast. “It would pull her back
+again and she would become a great trouble to me, for then that Spirit
+of hers would not suffer me to sleep, with its continual startings in
+search of what it had lost, and its returnings empty-handed. Well, have
+no fear, for at the worst the bowl can be broken and the blood poured
+upon the earth, as I have broken finer bowls than this before; had I
+all the bits of them they would make a heap so high, Macumazahn!” and
+he held out his hand on a level with his head, a gesture that made my
+back creep. “I will tell her this and it may keep her quiet for a
+while. Of poison you need not be afraid, since unlike mine, her Spirit
+hates it. Poison is not one of its weapons as it is with mine. But of
+spells, beware, for her Spirit has some which are very powerful.”
+
+Now I jumped up, filled with indignation, saying—
+
+“I do not believe in Nombé’s spells, and in any case how am I to guard
+against them?”
+
+“If you do not believe there is no need to guard, and if you do
+believe, then it is for you to find out how to guard, Macumazahn. Oh! I
+could tell you the story of a white teacher who did not believe and
+would not guard—but never mind, never mind. Good-bye, Macumazahn, I
+will speak with Nombé. Ask her for a lock of her hair to wear upon your
+heart after she has enchanted it. The charm is good against spells.
+O-ho—Oho-o! What fools we are, white and black together! That is what
+Cetewayo is thinking to-day.”
+
+After this Nombé became much more agreeable. That is to say she was
+very polite, her smile was more fixed and her eyes more unfathomable
+than ever. Evidently Zikali had spoken to her and she had listened. Yet
+to tell the truth my distrust of this handsome young woman grew deeper
+day by day. I recognized that there was a great gulf between her and
+the normal, that she was a creature fashioned by Zikali who had trained
+her as a gardener trains a tree, nay, who had done more, who had
+grafted some foreign growth of exotic and unnatural spiritualism on to
+her primitive nature. The nature remained the same, but the graft or
+grafts bore strange flowers and fruit, unholy flowers and poisonous
+fruit. Therefore she was not to blame—sometimes I wonder whether in
+this curious world, could one see their past and their future, anybody
+is to blame for anything—but this did not make her the less dangerous.
+
+Some talks I had with her only increased my apprehensions, for I found
+that in a way she had no conscience. Life, she told me, was but a
+dream, and all its laws as evolved by man were but illusions. The real
+life was elsewhere. There was the distant lake on which the flower of
+our true existence floated. Without this unseen lake of supernatural
+water the flower could not float; indeed there would be no flower.
+Moreover, the flower did not matter; sometimes it would have this shape
+and colour, sometimes that. It was but a thing destined to grow and
+bloom and rot, and during its day to be ugly or to be beautiful, to
+smell sweet or ill, as it might chance, and ultimately to be absorbed
+back into the general water of Life.
+
+I pointed out to her that all flowers had roots which grew in soil.
+Looking at an orchid-like plant that crept along the bough of a tree,
+she answered that this was not true as some grew upon air. But however
+this might be, the soil, or the moisture in the air, was distilled from
+thousands of other flower lives that had flourished in their day and
+been forgotten. It did not matter when they died or how many other
+flowers they choked that they might live. Yet each flower had its own
+spirit which always had been and always would be.
+
+I asked her of the end and the object of that spirit. She answered
+darkly that she did not know and if she did, would not say, but that
+these were very dreadful.
+
+Such were some of her vague and figurative assertions which I only
+record to indicate their uncomfortable and indeed but half human
+nature. I forgot to add that she declared that every flower or life had
+a twin flower or life, which in each successive growth it was bound to
+find and bloom beside, or wither to the root and spring again and that
+ultimately these two would become one, and as one flourish eternally.
+Of all of which I understood and understand little, except that she had
+grasped the elements of some truth which she could not express in clear
+and definite language.
+
+One day I was seated in Zikali’s hut whither by permission I had come
+to ask the latest news, when suddenly Nombé appeared and crouched down
+before him.
+
+“Who gave you leave to enter here, and what is your business?” he asked
+angrily.
+
+“Home of Spirits,” she replied in a humble voice, “be not angry with
+your servant. Necessity gave me leave, and my business is to tell you
+that strangers approach.”
+
+“Who are they that dare to enter the Black Kloof unannounced?”
+
+“Cetewayo the King is one of them, the others I do not know, but they
+are many, armed all of them. They approach your gate; before a man can
+count two hundred they will be here.”
+
+“Where are the white chief and the lady Heddana?” asked Zikali.
+
+“By good fortune they have gone by the secret path to the tableland and
+will not be back till sunset. They wished to be alone, so I did not
+accompany them, and Macumazahn here said that he was too weary to do
+so.” (This was true. Also like Nombé I thought that they wished to be
+alone.)
+
+“Good. Go, tell the king that I knew of his coming and am awaiting him.
+Bid my servants kill the ox which is in the kraal, the fat ox that they
+thought is sick and therefore fit food for a sick king,” he added
+bitterly.
+
+She glided away like a startled snake. Then Zikali turned to me and
+said swiftly—
+
+“Macumazahn, you are in great danger. If you are found here you will be
+killed, and so will the others whom I will send to warn not to return
+till this king has gone away. Go at once to join them. No, it is too
+late, I hear the Zulus come. Take that kaross, cover yourself with it
+and lie among the baskets and beerpots here near the entrance of the
+hut in the deepest of the shadows, so that if any enter, perchance you
+will not be found. I too am in danger who shall be held to account for
+all that has happened. Perhaps they will kill me, if I can be killed.
+If so, get away with the others as best you can. Nombé will tell you
+where your horses are hidden. In that case let Heddana take Nombé with
+her, for when I am dead she will go, and shake her off in Natal if she
+troubles her. Whatever chances, remember, Macumazahn, that I have done
+my best to keep my word to you and to protect you and your friends. Now
+I go to look on this pricked bladder who was once a king.”
+
+He scrambled from the hut with slow, toad-like motions, while I with
+motions that were anything but slow, grabbed the grey catskin kaross
+and ensconced myself among the beerpots and mats in such a position
+that my head, over which I set a three-legged carved stool of Zikali’s
+own cutting, was but a few inches to the left of the door-hole and
+therefore in the deepest of the shadows. Thence by stretching out my
+neck a little, I could see through the hole, also hear all that passed
+outside. Unless a deliberate search of the hut should be made I was
+fairly safe from observation, even if it were entered by strangers. One
+fear I had, however, it was lest the dog Lost should get into the place
+and smell me out. I had left him tied to the centre pole in my own hut,
+because he hated Zikali and always growled at him. But suppose he
+gnawed through the cord, or any one let him loose!
+
+Scarcely had Zikali seated himself in his accustomed place before the
+hut, than the gate of the outer fence opened and approaching through it
+I saw forty or fifty fierce and way-worn men. In front of them, riding
+on a tired horse that was led by a servant, was Cetewayo himself. He
+was assisted to dismount, or rather threw his great bulk into the arms
+that were waiting to receive him.
+
+Then after some words with his following and with one of Zikali’s
+people, followed by three or four indunas and leaning on the arm of
+Umnyamana, the Prime Minister, he entered the enclosure, the rest
+remaining without. Zikali, who sat as though asleep, suddenly appeared
+to wake up and perceive him. Struggling to his feet he lifted his right
+arm and gave the royal salute of Bayete, and with it titles of praise,
+such as “Black One!” “Elephant!” “Earth-Shaker!” “Conqueror!” “Eater-up
+of the White men!” “Child of the Wild Beast (Chaka) whose teeth are
+sharper than the Wild Beast’s ever were!” and so on, until Cetewayo,
+growing impatient, cried out—
+
+“Be silent, Wizard. Is this a time for fine words? Do you not know my
+case that you offend my ears with them? Give us food to eat if you have
+it, after which I would speak with you alone. Be swift also; here I may
+not stay for long, since the white dogs are at my heels.”
+
+“I knew that you were coming, O King, to honour my poor house with a
+visit,” said Zikali slowly, “and therefore the ox is already killed and
+the meat will soon be on the fire. Meanwhile drink a sup of beer, and
+rest.”
+
+He clapped his hands, whereon Nombé and some servants appeared with
+pots of beer, of which, after Zikali had tasted it to show that it was
+not poisoned, the king and his people drank thirstily. Then it was
+taken to those outside.
+
+“What is this that my ears hear?” asked Zikali when Nombé and the
+others had gone, “that the White Dogs are on the spoor of the Black
+Bull?”
+
+Cetewayo nodded heavily, and answered—
+
+“My impis were broken to pieces on the plain of Ulundi; the cowards ran
+from the bullets as children run from bees. My kraals are burnt and I,
+the King, with but a faithful remnant fly for my life. The prophecy of
+the Black One has come true. The people of the Zulus are stamped flat
+beneath the feet of the great White People.”
+
+“I remember that prophecy, O King. Mopo told it to me within an hour of
+the death of the Black One when he gave me the little red-handled
+assegai that he snatched from the Black One’s hand to do the deed. It
+makes me almost young again to think of it, although even then I was
+old,” replied Zikali in a dreamy voice like one who speaks to himself.
+
+Hearing him from under my kaross I bethought me that he had really
+grown old at last, who for the moment evidently forgot the part which
+this very assegai had played a few months before in the Vale of Bones.
+Well, even the greatest masters make such slips at times when their
+minds are full of other things. But if Zikali forgot, Cetewayo and his
+councillors remembered, as I could see by the look of quick
+intelligence that flashed from face to face.
+
+“So! Mopo the murderer, he who vanished from the land after the death
+of my uncle Dingaan, gave you the little red assegai, did he, Opener of
+Roads! And but a few months ago that assegai, which old Sigananda knew
+again, thrown by the hand of the Inkosazana-y-Zulu, drew blood from my
+body after the white man, Macumazahn, had severed its shaft with his
+bullet. Now tell me, Opener of Roads, how did it pass from your keeping
+into that of the spirit Nomkubulwana?”
+
+At this question I distinctly saw a shiver shake the frame of Zikali
+who realized too late the terrible mistake he had made. Yet as only the
+great can do, he retrieved and even triumphed over his error.
+
+“Oho-ho!” he laughed, “who am I that I can tell how such things happen?
+Do you not know, O King, that the Spirits leave what they will and take
+what they will, whether it be but a blade of grass, or the life of a
+man”—here he looked at Cetewayo—“or even of a people? Sometimes they
+take the shadow and sometimes the substance, since spirit or matter,
+all is theirs. As for the little assegai, I lost it years ago. I
+remember that the last time I saw it was in the hands of a woman named
+Mameena to whom I showed it as a strange and bloody thing. After her
+death I found that it was gone, so doubtless she took it with her to
+the Under-world and there gave it to the Queen Nomkubulwana, with whom
+you may remember this Mameena returned from that Under-world yonder in
+the Bones.”
+
+“It may be so,” said Cetewayo sullenly, “yet it was no spirit iron that
+cut my thigh, but what do I know of the ways of Spirits? Wizard, I
+would speak with you in your hut alone where no ear can hear us.”
+
+“My hut is the King’s,” answered Zikali, “yet let the King remember
+that those Spirits of which he does not know the ways, can always hear,
+yes, even the thoughts of men, and on them do judgment.”
+
+“Fear not,” said Cetewayo, “amongst many other things I remember this
+also.”
+
+Then Zikali turned and crept into the hut, whispering as he passed me—
+
+“Lie silent for your life.” And Cetewayo having bidden his retinue to
+depart outside the fence and await him there, followed after him.
+
+They sat them down on either side of the smouldering fire and stared at
+each other through the thin smoke there in the gloom of the hut. By
+turning my head that the foot of the king had brushed as he passed, I
+could watch them both. Cetewayo spoke the first in a hoarse, slow
+voice, saying—
+
+“Wizard, I am in danger of my life and I have come to you who know all
+the secrets of this land, that you may tell me in what place I may hide
+where the white men cannot find me. It must be told into my ear alone,
+since I dare not trust the matter to any other, at any rate until I
+must. They are traitors every man of them, yes, even those who seem to
+be most faithful. The fallen man has no friends, least of all if he
+chances to be a king. Only the dead will keep his counsel. Tell me of
+the place I need.”
+
+“Dingaan, who was before you, once asked this same thing of me, O King,
+when he was flying from Panda your father, and the Boers. I gave him
+advice that he did not take, but sought a refuge of his own upon a
+certain Ghost-mountain. What happened to him there that Mopo, of whom
+you spoke a while ago, can tell you if he still lives.”[1]
+
+ [1] See _Nada the Lily._—EDITOR.
+
+
+“Surely you are an ill-omened night-bird who thus croak to me
+continually of the death of kings,” broke in Cetewayo with suppressed
+rage. Then calming himself with an effort added, “Tell me now, where
+shall I hide?”
+
+“Would you know, King? Then hearken. On the south slope of the Ingome
+Range west of the Ibululwana River, on the outskirts of the great
+forest, there is a kloof whereof the entrance, which only one man can
+pass at a time, is covered by a thicket of thorns and marked by a black
+rock shaped like a great toad with an open mouth, or, as some say, like
+myself, 'The-Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born.’ Near to this rock
+dwells an old woman, blind of one eye and lacking a hand, which the
+Black One cut off shortly before his death, because when he killed her
+father, she saw the future and prophesied a like death to him, although
+then she was but a child. This woman is of our company, being a
+witch-doctoress. I will send a Spirit to her, if you so will it, to
+warn her to watch for you and your company, O King, and show you the
+mouth of the kloof, where are some old huts and water. There you will
+never be found unless you are betrayed.”
+
+“Who can betray me when none know whither I am going?” asked Cetewayo.
+“Send the Spirit, send it at once, that this one-armed witch may make
+ready.”
+
+“What is the hurry, King, seeing that the forest is far away? Yet be it
+as you will. Keep silence now, lest evil should befall you.”
+
+Then of a sudden Zikali seemed to go off into one of his trances. His
+form grew rigid, his eyes closed, his face became fixed as though in
+death, and foam appeared upon his lips. He was a dreadful sight to look
+on, there in the gloomy hut.
+
+Cetewayo watched him and shivered. Then he opened his blanket and I
+perceived that fastened about him by a loop of hide in such a fashion
+that it could be drawn out in a moment, was the blade of a broad
+assegai, the shaft of which was shortened to about six inches. His hand
+grasped this shaft, and I understood that he was contemplating the
+murder of Zikali. Then it seemed to me that he changed his mind and
+that his lips shaped the words—“Not yet,” though whether he really
+spoke them I do not know. At least he withdrew his hand and closed the
+blanket.
+
+Slowly Zikali opened his eyes, staring at the roof of the hut, whence
+came a curious sound as of squeaking bats. He looked like a dead man
+coming to life again. For a few moments he turned up his ear as though
+he listened to the squealing, then said—
+
+“It is well. The Spirit that I summoned has visited her of our company
+who is named One-hand and returned with the answer. Did you not hear it
+speaking in the thatch, O King?”
+
+“I heard something, Wizard,” answered Cetewayo in an awed voice. “I
+thought it was a bat.”
+
+“A bat it is, O King, one with wide wings and swift. This bat says that
+my sister, One-hand, will meet you on the third day from now at this
+hour on the further side of the ford of the Ibululwana, where three
+milk-trees grow together on a knoll. She will be sitting under the
+centre milk-tree and will wait for two hours, no more, to show you the
+secret entrance to the kloof.”
+
+“The road is rough and long, I shall have to hurry when worn out with
+travelling,” said Cetewayo.
+
+“That is so, O King. Therefore my counsel is that you begin the journey
+as soon as possible, especially as I seem to hear the baying of the
+white dogs not far away.”
+
+“By Chaka’s head! I will not,” growled Cetewayo, “who thought to sleep
+here in peace this night.”
+
+“As the King wills. All that I have is the King’s. Only then One-hand
+will not be waiting and some other place of hiding must be found, since
+this is known to me only and to her; also that Spirit which I sent will
+make no second journey, nor can I travel to show it to the King.”
+
+“Yes, Wizard, it is known to you and to myself. Methinks it would be
+better were it known to me alone. I have a spoonful of snuff to share
+(i.e., a bone to pick) with you, Wizard. It would seem that you set my
+feet and those of the Zulu people upon a false road, yonder in the Vale
+of Bones, causing me to declare war upon the white men and thereby
+bringing us all to ruin.”
+
+“Mayhap my memory grows bad, O King, for I do not remember that I did
+these things. I remember that the spirit of a certain Mameena whom I
+called up from the dead, prophesied victory to the King, which victory
+has been his. Also it prophesied other victories to the King in a far
+land across the water, which victories doubtless shall be his in due
+season; for myself I gave no ‘counsel to the King or to his indunas and
+generals.’”
+
+“You lie, Wizard,” exclaimed Cetewayo hoarsely. “Did you not summon the
+shape of the Princess of Heaven to be the sign of war, and did she not
+hold in her hand that assegai of the Black One which you have told me
+was in your keeping? How did it pass from your keeping into the hand of
+a spirit?”
+
+“As to that matter I have spoken, O King. For the rest, is Nomkubulwana
+my servant to come and go at my bidding?”
+
+“I think so,” said Cetewayo coldly. “I think also that you who know the
+place where I purpose to hide, would do well to forget it. Surely you
+have lived too long, O Opener of Roads, and done enough evil to the
+House of Senzangacona, which you ever hated.”
+
+So he spoke, and once more I saw his hand steal towards the spearhead
+which was hidden beneath the blanket that he wore.
+
+Zikali saw it also and laughed. “Oho!” he laughed, “forgetting all my
+warnings, and that the day of my death will be his own, the King thinks
+to kill me because I am old and feeble and alone and unarmed. He thinks
+to kill me as the Black One thought, as Dingaan thought, as even Panda
+thought, yet I live on to this day. Well, I bear no malice since it is
+natural that the King should wish to kill one who knows the secret of
+where he would hide himself for his own life’s sake. That spearhead
+which the King is fingering is sharp, so sharp that my bare breast
+cannot turn its edge. I must find me a shield! I must find me a shield!
+Fire, you are not yet dead. Awake, make smoke to be my shield!” and he
+waved his long, monkey-like arms over the embers, from which instantly
+there sprang up a reek of thin white smoke that appeared to take a
+vague and indefinite shape which suggested the shadow of a man; for to
+me it seemed a nebulous and wavering shadow, no more.
+
+“What are you staring at, O King?” went on Zikali in a fierce and
+thrilling voice. “Who is it that you see? Who has the fire sent to be
+my shield? Ghosts are so thick here that I do not know. I cannot tell
+one of them from the other. Who is it? Who, who of all that you have
+slain and who therefore are your foes?”
+
+“Umbelazi, my brother,” groaned Cetewayo. “My brother Umbelazi stands
+before me with spear raised; he whom I brought to his death at the
+battle of the Tugela. His eyes flame upon me, his spear is raised to
+strike. He speaks words I cannot understand. Protect me, O Wizard! Lord
+of Spirits, protect me from the spirit of Umbelazi.”
+
+Zikali laughed wildly and continued to wave his arms above the fire
+from which smoke poured ever more densely, till the hut was full of it.
+
+When it cleared away again Cetewayo was gone!
+
+“Saw you ever the like of that?” said Zikali, addressing the kaross
+under which I was sweltering. “Tell me, Macumazahn.”
+
+“Yes,” I answered, thrusting out my head as a tortoise does, “when in
+this very hut you seemed to produce the shape, also out of smoke, I
+think, of one whom I used to know. Say, how do you do it, Zikali?”
+
+“Do it. Who knows? Perchance I do nothing. Perchance I think and you
+fools see, no more. Or perchance the spirits of the dead who are so
+near to us, come at my call and take themselves bodies out of the
+charmed smoke of my fire. You white men are wise, answer your own
+question, Macumazahn. At least that smoke or that ghost saved me from a
+spear thrust in the heart, wherewith Cetewayo was minded to pay me for
+showing him a hiding-place which he desired should be secret to himself
+alone. Well, well, I can pay as well as Cetewayo and my count is
+longer. Now lie you still, Macumazahn, for I go out to watch. He will
+not bide long in this place which he deems haunted and ill-omened. He
+will be gone ere sunset, that is within an hour, and sleep elsewhere.”
+
+Then he crept from the hut and presently, though I could see nothing,
+for now the gate of the fence was shut, I heard voices debating and
+finally that of Cetewayo say angrily—
+
+“Have done! It is my will. You can eat your food outside of this place
+which is bewitched; the girl will show us where are the huts of which
+the wizard speaks.”
+
+A few minutes later Zikali crept back into the hut, laughing to
+himself.
+
+“All is safe,” he said, “and you can come out of your hole, old jackal.
+He who calls himself a king is gone, taking with him those whom he
+thinks faithful, most of whom are but waiting a chance to betray him.
+What did I say, a king? Nay, in all Africa there is no slave so humble
+or so wretched as this broken man. Oh! feather by feather I have
+plucked my fowl and by and by I shall cut his throat. You will be
+there, Macumazahn, you will be there.”
+
+“I trust not,” I answered as I mopped my brow. “We have been near
+enough to throat-cutting this afternoon to last me a long while. Where
+has the king gone?”
+
+“Not far, Macumazahn. I have sent Nombé to guide him to the huts in the
+little dip five spear throws to the right of the mouth of the kloof
+where live the old herdsman and his people who guard my cattle. He and
+all the rest are away with the cattle that are hidden in the Ceza
+Forest out of reach of the white men, so the huts are empty. Oh! now I
+read what you are thinking. I do not mean that he should be taken
+there. It is too near my house and the king still has friends.”
+
+“Why did you send Nombé?” I asked.
+
+“Because he would have no other guide, who does not trust my men. He
+means to keep her with him for some days and then let her go, and thus
+she will be out of mischief. Meanwhile you and your friends can depart
+untroubled by her fancies, and join the white men who are near.
+Tomorrow you shall start.”
+
+“That is good,” I said with a sigh of relief. Then an idea struck me
+and I added, “I suppose no harm will come to Nombé, who might be
+thought to know too much?”
+
+“I hope not,” he replied indifferently, “but that is a matter for her
+Spirit to decide. Now go, Macumazahn, for I am weary.”
+
+I also was weary after my prolonged seclusion under that very hot skin
+rug. For be it remembered I was not yet strong again, and although this
+was not the real reason why I had stopped behind when the others went
+to the plateau, I still grew easily tired. My real reason was that of
+Nombé—that I thought they preferred to be alone. I looked about me and
+saw with relief that Cetewayo and every man of his retinue were really
+gone. They had not even waited to eat the ox that had been killed for
+them, but had carried off the meat with other provisions to their
+sleeping-place outside the kloof. Having made sure of this I went to my
+hut and loosed Lost that fortunately enough had been unable to gnaw
+through the thick buffalo-hide riem with which I had fastened him to
+the pole.
+
+He greeted me with rapture as though we had been parted for years. Had
+he belonged to Ulysses himself he could not have been more joyful. When
+one is despondent and lonesome, how grateful is the whole-hearted
+welcome of a dog which, we are sometimes tempted to think, is the only
+creature that really cares for us in the world. Every other living
+thing has side interests of its own, but that of a dog is centred in
+its master, though it is true that it also dreams affectionately of
+dinner and rabbits.
+
+Then with Lost at my feet I sat outside the hut smoking and waiting for
+the return of Anscombe and Heda. Presently I caught sight of them in
+the gloaming. Their arms were around one another, and in some
+remarkable way they had managed to dispose their heads, forgetting that
+the sky was still light behind them, in such fashion that it was
+difficult to tell one from the other. I reflected that it was a good
+thing that at last we were escaping from this confounded kloof and
+country for one where they could marry and make an end, and became
+afflicted with a sneezing fit.
+
+Heda asked where Nombé was and why supper was not ready, for Nombé
+played the part of cook and parlourmaid combined. I told her something
+of what had happened, whereon Heda, who did not appreciate its
+importance in the least, remarked that she, Nombé, might as well have
+put on the pot before she went and done sundry other things which I
+forget. Ultimately we got something to eat and turned in, Heda
+grumbling a little because she must sleep alone, for she had grown used
+to the company of the ever-watchful Nombé, who made her bed across the
+door-hole of the hut.
+
+Anscombe was soon lost in dreams, if he did dream, but I could not
+sleep well that night. I was fearful of I knew not what, and so, I
+think, was Lost, for he fidgeted and kept poking me with his nose. At
+last, I think it must have been about two hours after midnight, he
+began to growl. I could hear nothing, although my ears are sharp, but
+as he went on growling I crept to the door-hole and drew aside the
+board. Lost slipped out and vanished, while I waited, listening.
+Presently I thought I heard a soft foot-fall and a whisper, also that I
+saw the shape of a woman which reminded me of Nombé, shown faintly by
+the starlight. It vanished in a moment and Lost returned wagging his
+tail, as he might well have done if it were Nombé who was attached to
+the dog. As nothing further happened I went back to bed, reflecting
+that I was probably mistaken, since Nombé had been sent away for some
+days by Zikali and would scarcely dare to return at once, even if she
+could do so.
+
+Shortly before daylight Lost began to growl again in a subdued and
+thunderous fashion. This time I got up and dressed myself more or less.
+Then I went out. The dawn was just breaking and by its light I saw a
+strange scene. About fifty yards away in the narrow nek that ran over
+some boulders to the site of our huts, stood what seemed to be the
+goddess Nomkubulwana as I had seen her on the point of rock in the Vale
+of Bones. She wore the same radiant dress and in the dim glow had all
+the appearance of a white woman. I stood amazed, thinking that I
+dreamt, when from round the bend emerged a number of Zulus, creeping
+forward stealthily with raised spears.
+
+They caught sight of the supernatural figure which barred their road,
+halted and whispered to each other. Then they turned to fly, but before
+they went one of them, as it seemed to me through sheer terror, hurled
+his assegai at the figure which remained still and unmoved.
+
+In thirty seconds they were gone; in sixty their footsteps had died
+away. Then the figure wheeled slowly round and by the strengthening
+light I perceived that a spear transfixed its breast.
+
+As it sank to the ground I ran up to it. It was Nombé with her face and
+arms whitened and her life-blood running down the glittering feather
+robe.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+THE MADNESS OF NOMBÉ
+
+
+The dog reached Nombé first and began to lick her face, its tongue
+removing patches of the white which had not had time to dry. She was
+lying, her back supported by one of the boulders. With her left hand
+she patted the dog’s head feebly and with her right drew out the
+assegai from her body, letting it fall upon the ground. Recognizing me
+she smiled in her usual mysterious fashion and said—
+
+“All is well, Macumazahn, all is very well. I have deserved to die and
+I do not die in vain.”
+
+“Don’t talk, let me see your wound,” I exclaimed.
+
+She opened her robe and pointed; it was quite a small gash beneath the
+breast from which blood ebbed slowly.
+
+“Let it be, Macumazahn,” she said. “I am bleeding inside and it is
+mortal. But I shall not die yet. Listen to me while I have my mind.
+Yesterday when Mauriti and Heddana went up to the plain I wished to go
+with them because I had news that Zulus were wandering everywhere and
+thought that I might be able to protect my mistress from danger.
+Mauriti spoke to me roughly, telling me that I was not wanted. Of that
+I thought little, for to such words I am accustomed from him; moreover,
+they are to be forgiven to a man in love. But it did not end there, for
+my lady Heddana also pierced me with her tongue, which hurt more than
+this spear thrust does, Macumazahn, for I could see that her speech had
+been prepared and that she took this chance to throw it at me. She said
+that I did not know where I should sit; that I was a thorn beneath her
+nail, and that whenever she wished to talk with Mauriti, or with you,
+Macumazahn, I was ever there with my ear open like the mouth of a
+gourd. She commanded me in future to come only when I was called; all
+of which things I am sure Mauriti had taught her, who in herself is too
+gentle even to think them—unless you taught her, Macumazahn.”
+
+I shook my head and she went on—
+
+“No, it was not you who also are too gentle, and having suffered
+yourself, can feel for those who suffer, which Mauriti who has never
+suffered cannot do. Still, you too thought me a trouble, one that
+sticks in the flesh like a hooked thorn, or a tick from the grass, and
+cannot be unfastened. You spoke to the Master about it and he spoke to
+me.”
+
+This time I nodded in assent.
+
+“I do not blame you, Macumazahn; indeed now I see that you were wise,
+for what right has a poor black doctoress to seek the love, or even to
+look upon the face of the great white lady whom for a little while Fate
+has caused to walk upon the same path with her? But yesterday I forgot
+that, Macumazahn, for you see we are all of us, not one self, but many
+selves, and each self has its times of rule. Nombé alive and well was
+one woman, Nombé dying is another, and doubtless Nombé dead will be a
+third, unless, as she prays, she should sleep for ever.
+
+“Macumazahn, those words of Heddana’s were to me what gall is to sweet
+milk. My blood clotted and my heart turned sour. It was not against her
+that I was angry, because that can never happen, but against Mauriti
+and against you. My Spirit whispered in my ear. It said, ‘If Mauriti
+and Macumazahn were dead the lady Heddana would be left alone in a
+strange land. Then she would learn to rest upon you as upon a stick,
+and learn to love the stick on which she rested, though it be so rough
+and homely.’ But how can I kill them, I asked of my Spirit, and myself
+escape death?
+
+“‘Poison is forbidden to you by the pact between us,’ answered my
+Spirit, ‘yet I will show you a way, who am bound to serve you in all
+things good or ill.’
+
+“Then we nodded to each other in my breast, Macumazahn, and I waited
+for what should happen who knew that my Spirit would not lie. Yes, I
+waited for a chance to kill you both, forgetting, as the wicked forget
+in their madness, that even if I were not found out, soon or late
+Heddana would guess the truth and then, even if she had learned to love
+me a thousand times more than she ever could, would come to hate me as
+a mother hates a snake that has slain her child. Or even if she never
+learned or guessed in life, after death she would learn and hunt me and
+spit on me from world to world as a traitoress and a murderer, one who
+has sinned past pardon.”
+
+Here she seemed to grow faint and I turned to seek for help. But she
+caught hold of my coat and said—
+
+“Hear me out, Macumazahn, or I will run after you till I fall and die.”
+
+So thinking it best, I stayed and she went on—
+
+“My Spirit, which must be an evil one since Zikali gave it me when I
+was made a doctoress, dealt truly with me, for presently the king and
+his people came. Moreover, my Spirit brought it about that the king
+would have no other guide but me to lead him to the kraal where he
+slept last night, and I went as though unwillingly. At the kraal the
+king sent for me and questioned me in a dark hut, pretending to be
+alone, but I who am a doctoress knew that two other men were in that
+hut, taking note of all my words. He asked me of the Inkosazana-y-Zulu
+who appeared in the Vale of Bones and of the little assegai she held in
+her hand, and of the magic of the Opener of Roads, and many other
+things. I said that I knew nothing of the Inkosazana, but that without
+doubt my Master was a great magician. He did not believe me. He
+threatened that I should be tortured very horribly and was about to
+call his servants to torment me till I told the truth. Then my Spirit
+spoke in my heart saying, ‘Now the door is open to you, as I promised.
+Tell the king of the two white men whom the Master hides, and he will
+send to kill them, leaving the lady Heddana and you alone together.’ So
+I pretended to be afraid and told him, whereon he laughed and answered—
+
+“‘For your sake I am glad, girl, that you have spoken the truth;
+besides it is useless to torture a witch, since then the spirit in her
+only vomits lies.’
+
+“Next he called aloud and a man came, who it was I could not see in the
+dark. The king commanded him to take me to one of the other huts and
+tie me up there to the roof-pole. The man obeyed, but he did not tie me
+up; he only blocked the hut with the door-board, and sat with me there
+in the dark alone.
+
+“Now I grew cunning and began to talk with him, spreading a net of
+sweet words, as the fowler spreads a net for cranes from which he would
+tear the crests. Soon by his talk I found out that the king and his
+people knew more than I guessed. Macumazahn, they had seen the cart
+which still stands under the overhanging rock by the mouth of the cave.
+I asked him if that were all, pretending that the cart belonged to my
+Master, to whom it had been brought from the field of Isandhlwana, that
+he might be drawn about in it, who was too weak to walk.
+
+“The man said that if I would kiss him he would tell me everything. I
+bade him tell me first, swearing that then I would kiss him. Yes,
+Macumazahn, I, whom no man’s lips have ever touched, fell as low as
+this. So he grew foolish and told me. He told me that they had also
+seen a kappje such as white women wear, hanging on the hut fence, and I
+remembered that after washing the headdress of my mistress I had set it
+there to dry in the sun. He told me also that the King suspected that
+she who wore that kappje was she who had played the part of the
+Inkosazana in the Vale of Bones. I asked him what the king would do
+about the matter, at the same time denying that there was any white
+woman in the Black Kloof. He said that at dawn the king would send and
+kill these foreign rats, whom the Opener of Roads kept in the thatch of
+his hut. Now he drew near and asked his pay. I gave it to him—with a
+knife-point, Macumazahn. Oh! that was a good thrust. He never spoke
+again. Then I slipped away, for all the others were asleep, and was
+here a little after midnight.”
+
+“I thought I saw you, Nombé,” I said, “but was not sure, so I did
+nothing.”
+
+She smiled and answered—
+
+“Ah! I was afraid that the Watcher-by-Night would be watching by night;
+also the dog ran up to me, but he knew me and I sent him back again.
+Now while I was coming home, thoughts entered my heart. I saw, as one
+sees by a lightning flash, all that I had done. The king and his people
+were not sure that the Master was hiding white folk here and would
+never have sent back to kill them on the chance. I had made them sure,
+as indeed, being mad, I meant to do. Moreover, in throwing spears at
+the kites I had killed my own dove, since it was on the false
+Inkosazana who had caused them to declare war and brought the land to
+ruin, that they wished to be avenged, and perchance on him who taught
+her her part, not on one or two wandering white men. I saw that when
+Cetewayo’s people came, and there were many more of them outside,
+several hundreds I think, they would shave the whole head and burn the
+whole tree. Every one in the kloof would be killed.
+
+“How could I undo the knot that I had tied and stamp out the fire that
+I had lit? That was the question. I bethought me of coming to you, but
+without arms how could you help? I bethought me of going to the Master,
+but I was ashamed. Also, what could he do with but a few servants, for
+the most of his people are away with the cattle? He is too weak to
+climb the steep path to the plain above, nor was there time to gather
+folk to carry him. Lastly, even if there were time which there was not,
+and we went thither they would track us out and kill us. For the rest I
+did not care, nor for myself, but that the lady Heddana should be
+butchered who was more to me than a hundred lives, and through my
+treachery—ah! for that I cared.
+
+“I called on my Spirit to help me, but it would not come. My Spirit was
+dead in me because now I would do good and not ill. Yet another Spirit
+came, that of one Mameena whom once you knew. She came angrily, like a
+storm, and I shrank before her. She said, ‘Vile witch, you have plotted
+to murder Macumazahn, and for that you shall answer to me before
+another sun has set over this earth of yours. Now you seek a way of
+escape from your own wickedness. Well, it can be had, but at a price.’
+
+“‘What price, O Lady of Death?’ I asked.
+
+“‘The price of your own life, Witch.’
+
+“I laughed into that ghost face of hers and said—
+
+“‘Is this all? Be swift and show me the way, O Lady of Death, and
+afterwards we will balance our account.’
+
+“Then she whispered into the ear of my heart and was gone. I ran on,
+for the dawn was near. I whitened myself with lime, I put on the
+glittering cloak and powdered my hair with the sparkling earth. I took
+a little stick in my hand since I could find no spear and had no time
+to search, and just as day began to break, I crept out and stood in the
+bend of the path. The slayers came, twelve or so of them, but behind
+were many more. They saw the Inkosazana-y-Zulu barring their way and
+were much afraid. They fled, but out of his fright one of them threw a
+spear which went home, as I knew it would. He watched to see if I
+should fall, but I would not fall. Then he fled faster than the rest,
+knowing himself accursed who had lifted steel against the Queen of
+Heaven, and oh! I am glad, I am glad!”
+
+She ceased, exhausted, yet with a great exultation in her beautiful
+eyes; indeed at that moment she looked a most triumphant creature. I
+stared at her, thrilled through and through. She had been wicked, no
+doubt, but how splendid was her end; and, thank Heaven! she was
+troubled with no thought of what might befall her after that end,
+although I was sure she believed that she would live again to face
+Mameena.
+
+I knew not what to do. I did not like to leave her, especially as no
+earthly power could help her case, since slowly but quite surely she
+was bleeding to death from an internal wound. By now the sun was up and
+Zikali’s people were about. One of them appeared suddenly and saw, then
+with a howl of terror turned to fly away.
+
+“Fool! Fool!” I cried, “go summon the lady Heddana and the Inkosi
+Mauriti. Bid them come swiftly if they would see the doctoress Nombé
+before she dies.”
+
+The man leapt off like a buck, and within a few minutes I saw Heda and
+Anscombe running towards us, half dressed, and went to meet them.
+
+“What is it?” she gasped.
+
+“I have only time to tell you this,” I answered. “Nombé is dying. She
+gave her life to save you, how I will explain afterwards. The assegai
+that pierced her was meant for your heart. Go, thank her, and bid her
+farewell. Anscombe, stop back with me.”
+
+We stood still and watched from a little distance. Heda knelt down and
+put her arms about Nombé. They whispered together into each other’s
+ears. Then they kissed.
+
+It was at this moment that Zikali appeared, leaning on two of his
+servants. By some occult art or instinct he seemed to know all that had
+happened, and oh! he looked terrible. He crouched down in front of the
+dying woman and, toadlike, spat his venom at her.
+
+“You lost your Spirit, did you?” he said. “Well, it came back to me
+laden with the black honey of your treachery, to me, its home, as a bee
+comes to its hive. It has told me everything, and well for you, Witch,
+it is that you are dying. But think not that you shall escape me there
+in the world below, for thither I will follow you. Curses on you,
+traitress, who would have betrayed me and brought all my plans to
+naught. Ow! in a day to come I will pay you back a full harvest for
+this seed of shame that you have sown.”
+
+She opened her eyes and looked at him, then answered quite softly—
+
+“I think your chain is broken, O Zikali, no more my master. I think
+that love has cut your chain in two and I fear you never more. Keep the
+spirit you lent to me; it is yours, but the rest of me is my own, and
+in the house of my heart another comes to dwell.”
+
+Then once more she stretched out her arms towards Heda and murmuring,
+“Sister, forget me not, Sister, who will await you for a thousand
+years,” she passed away.
+
+It was a good ending to a bad business, and I confess I felt glad when
+it was finished. Only afterwards I regretted very much that I had not
+found an opportunity to ask her whether or no she had masqueraded as
+Mameena in the Valley of Bones. Now it is too late.
+
+We buried poor Nombé decently in her own little hut where she used to
+practise her incantations. Zikali and his people wished apparently to
+throw her to the vultures for some secret reason that had to do with
+their superstitions. But Heda, who, now that Nombé was dead, developed
+a great affection for her not unmixed with a certain amount of
+compunction for which really she had no cause, withstood him to his
+face and insisted upon a decent interment. So she was laid to earth
+still plastered with the white pigment and wrapped in the bloodstained
+feather robe. I may add that on the following morning one of Zikali’s
+servants informed me solemnly that because of this she had been seen
+during the night riding up and down the rocks on a baboon as Zulu
+umtagati are supposed to do. I have small doubt that as soon as we were
+gone they dug her up again and threw her to the vultures and the
+jackals according to their first intention.
+
+On this day we at length escaped from the Black Kloof, and in our own
+cart, for during the night our horses arrived mysteriously from
+somewhere, in good condition though rather wild. I went to say good-bye
+to Zikali, who said little, except that we should meet once more after
+many moons. Anscombe and Heda he would not see at all, but only sent
+them a message, to the effect that he hoped they would think kindly of
+him through the long years to come, since he had kept his promise and
+preserved them safe through many dangers. I might have answered that he
+had first of all put them into the dangers, but considered it wise to
+hold my tongue. I think, however, that he guessed my thought, if one
+can talk of guessing in connection with Zikali, for he said that they
+had no reason to thank him, since if he had served their turn they had
+served his, adding—
+
+“It will be strange in the times to be for the lady Heddana to remember
+that it was she and no other who crumpled up the Zulus like a
+frostbitten winter reed, since had she not appeared upon the rock in
+the Valley of Bones, there would have been no war.”
+
+“She did not do this, you did it, Zikali,” I said, “making her your
+tool through love and fear.”
+
+“Nay, Macumazahn, I did not do it; it was done by what you call God and
+I call Fate in whose hand I am the tool. Well, say to the lady Heddana
+that in payment I will hold back the ghost of Nombé from haunting her,
+if I can. Say also that if I had not brought her and her lover to
+Zululand they would have been killed.”
+
+So we went from that hateful kloof which I have never seen since and
+hope I shall never see again, two of Zikali’s men escorting us until we
+got into touch with white people. To these we said as little as
+possible. I think they believed that we were only premature tourists
+who had made a dash into Zululand to visit some of the battlefields.
+Indeed none of us ever reported our strange adventures, and after my
+experience with Kaatje we were particularly careful to say nothing in
+the hearing of any gentleman connected with the Press. But as a matter
+of fact there were so many people moving about and such a continual
+coming and going of soldiers and their belongings, that after we had
+managed to buy some decent clothes, which we did at the little town of
+Newcastle, nobody paid any attention to us.
+
+On our way to Maritzburg one amusing thing did happen. We met Kaatje!
+It was about sunset that we were driving up a steep hill not far from
+Howick. At least I was driving, but Anscombe and Heda were walking
+about a hundred yards ahead of the cart, when suddenly Kaatje appeared
+over a rise and came face to face with them while taking an evening
+stroll, or as I concluded afterwards, making some journey. She saw, she
+stared, she uttered one wild yell, and suddenly bundled over the edge
+of the road. Never would I have believed that such a fat woman could
+have run so fast. In a minute she was down the slope and had vanished
+into a dense kloof where, as night was closing in and we were very
+tired, it was impossible for us to follow her. Nor did subsequent
+inquiry in Howick tell us where she was living or whence she came, for
+some months before she had left the place she had taken there as a
+cook.
+
+Such was the end of Kaatje so far as we were concerned. Doubtless to
+her dying day she remained, or will remain, a firm believer in ghosts.
+
+Anscombe and Heda were married at Maritzburg as soon as the necessary
+formalities had been completed. I could not attend the ceremony, which
+was a disappointment to me and I hope to them, but unfortunately I had
+a return of my illness and was laid up for a week. Perhaps this was
+owing to the hot sun that struck me on the neck one afternoon coming
+down the Town Hill where I was obliged to hang on to the rear of the
+cart because the brakes had given out. However I was able to send Heda
+a wedding gift in the shape of her jewels and money that I recovered
+from the bank, which she had never expected to see again; also to
+arrange everything about her property.
+
+They went down to Durban for their honeymoon and, some convenient
+opportunity arising, sailed thence for England. I received an
+affectionate letter from them both, which I still treasure, thanking me
+very much for all I had done for them, that after all was little
+enough. Also Anscombe enclosed a blank cheque, begging me to fill it in
+for whatever sum I considered he was indebted to me on the balance of
+account. I thought this very kind of him and a great mark of
+confidence, but the cheque remained blank.
+
+I never saw either of them again, and though I believe that they are
+both living, for the most part abroad—in Hungary I think—I do not
+suppose that I ever shall. When I came to England some years later
+after King Solomon’s mines had made me rich, I wrote Anscombe a letter.
+He never answered it, which hurt me at the time. Afterwards I
+remembered that in their fine position it was very natural that they
+should not wish to renew acquaintance with an individual who had so
+intimate a knowledge of certain incidents that they probably regarded
+as hateful, such as the deaths of Marnham and Dr. Rodd, and all the
+surrounding circumstances. If so, I daresay that they were wise, but of
+course it may have been only carelessness. It is so easy for busy and
+fashionable folk not to answer a rather troublesome letter, or to
+forget to put that answer in the post. Or, indeed, the letter may never
+have reached them—such things often go astray, especially when people
+live abroad. At any rate, perhaps through my own fault, we have drifted
+apart. I daresay they believe that I am dead, or not to be found
+somewhere in Africa. However, I always think of them with affection,
+for Anscombe was one of the best travelling companions I ever had, and
+his wife a most charming girl, and wonder whether Zikali’s prophecy
+about their children will come true. Good luck go with them!
+
+As it chances, since then I passed the place where the Temple stood,
+though at a little distance. I had the curiosity, however, at some
+inconvenience, to ride round and examine the spot. I suppose that Heda
+had sold the property, for a back-veld Boer, who was absent at the
+time, had turned what used to be Rodd’s hospital into his house. Close
+by, grim and gaunt, stood the burnt-out marble walls of the Temple. The
+verandah was still roofed over, and standing on the spot whence I had
+shot the pistol out of Rodd’s hand, I was filled with many memories.
+
+I could trace the whole plan of the building and visited that part of
+it which had been Marnham’s room. The iron safe that stood in the
+corner had been taken away, but the legs of the bedstead remained. Also
+not far from it, overgrown with running plants, was a little heap which
+I took to be the ashes of his desk, for bits of burnt wood protruded. I
+grubbed among them with my foot and riding crop and presently came
+across the remains of a charred human skull. Then I departed in a
+hurry.
+
+My way took me through the Yellow-wood grove, past the horns of the
+blue wildebeeste which still lay there, past that mud-hole also into
+which Rodd had fallen dead. Here, however, I made no more search, who
+had seen enough of bones. To this day I do not know whether he still
+lies beneath the slimy ooze, or was removed and buried.
+
+Also I saw the site of our wagon camp where the Basutos attacked us.
+But I will have done with these reminiscences which induce melancholy,
+though really there is no reason why they should.
+
+Tout lasse, tout casse, tout passe—everything wears out, everything
+crumbles, everything vanishes—in the words of the French proverb that
+my friend Sir Henry Curtis is so fond of quoting, that at last I wrote
+it down in my pocket-book, only to remember afterwards that when I was
+a boy I had heard it from the lips of an old scamp of a Frenchman, of
+the name of Leblanc, who once gave me and another lessons in the Gallic
+tongue. But of him I have already written in _Marie,_ which is the
+first chapter in the Book of the fall of the Zulus. That headed _Child
+of Storm_ is the second. These pages form the third and last.
+
+Ah! indeed, tout lasse, tout casse, tout passe!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+THE KRAAL JAZI
+
+
+Now I shall pass over all the Zulu record of the next four years, since
+after all it has nothing to do with my tale and I do not pretend to be
+writing a history.
+
+Sir Garnet Wolseley set up his Kilkenny cat Government in Zululand, or
+the Home Government did it for him, I do not know which. In place of
+one king, thirteen chiefs were erected who got to work to cut the
+throats of each other and of the people.
+
+As I expected would be the case, Zikali informed the military
+authorities of the secret hiding-place in the Ingome Forest where he
+suggested to Cetewayo that he should refuge. The ex-king was duly
+captured there and taken first to the Cape and then to England, where,
+after the disgrace of poor Sir Bartle Frere, an agitation had been set
+on foot on his behalf. Here he saw the Queen and her ministers, once
+more conquering, as it had been prophesied that he would by her who
+wore the shape of Mameena at the memorable scene in the Valley of Bones
+when I was present. Often I have thought of him dressed in a black coat
+and seated in that villa in Melbury Road in the suburb of London which
+I understand is populated by artists. A strange contrast truly to the
+savage prince receiving the salute of triumph after the Battle of the
+Tugela in which he won the kingship, or to the royal monarch to whose
+presence I had been summoned at Ulundi. However, he was brought back to
+Zululand again by a British man-of-war, re-installed to a limited
+chieftainship by Sir Theophilus Shepstone, and freed from the
+strangling embrace of the black coat.
+
+Then of course there was more fighting, as every one knew would happen,
+except the British Colonial Office; indeed all Zululand ran with blood.
+For in England Cetewayo and his rights, or wrongs, had, like the Boers
+and their rights, or wrongs, become a matter of Party politics to which
+everything else must give way. Often I wonder whether Party politics
+will not in the end prove the ruin of the British Empire. Well, thank
+Heaven, I shall not live to learn.
+
+So Cetewayo came back and fought and was defeated by those who once had
+been his subjects. Now for the last scene, that is all with which I
+need concern myself.
+
+At the beginning of February, 1884, business took me to Zululand; it
+had to do with a deal in cattle and blankets. As I was returning
+towards the Tugela who should I meet but friend Goza, he who had
+escorted me from the Black Kloof to Ulundi before the outbreak of war,
+and who afterwards escorted me and that unutterable nuisance, Kaatje,
+out of the country. At first I thought that we came together by
+accident, or perhaps that he had journeyed a little way to thank me for
+the blankets which I had sent to him, remembering my ancient promise,
+but afterwards I changed my opinion on this point.
+
+Well, we talked over many matters, the war, the disasters that had
+befallen Zululand, and so forth. Especially did we talk of that night
+in the Valley of Bones and the things we had seen there side by side. I
+asked him if the people still believed in the Inkosazana-y-Zulu who
+then appeared in the moonlight on the rock. He answered that some did
+and some did not. For his part, he added, looking at me fixedly, he did
+not, since it was rumoured that Zikali had dressed up a white woman to
+play the part of the Spirit. Yet he could not be sure of the matter,
+since it was also said that when some of Cetewayo’s people went to kill
+this white woman in the Black Kloof, Nomkubulwana, the Princess of
+Heaven herself, rose before them and frightened them away.
+
+I remarked that this was very strange, and then quite casually asked
+him whom Zikali had dressed up to play the part of the dead Mameena
+upon that same occasion, since this was a point upon which I always
+thirsted for definite intelligence. He stared at me and replied that I
+ought to be able to answer my own question, since I had been much
+nearer to her who looked like Mameena than any one else, so near indeed
+that all present distinctly saw her kiss me, as it was well known she
+had liked to do while still alive. I replied indignantly that they saw
+wrong and repeated my question. Then he answered straight out—
+
+“O Macumazahn, we Zulus believe that what we saw on that night was not
+Nombé or another dressed up, but the spirit of the witch Mameena
+itself. We believe it because we could see the light of Zikali’s fire
+through her, not always, but sometimes; also because all that she said
+has come true, though everything is not yet finished.”
+
+I could get no more out of him about the matter, for when I tried to
+speak of it again, he turned the subject, telling me of his wonderful
+escapes during the war. Presently he rose to go and said casually—
+
+“Surely I grow old in these times of trouble, Macumazahn, for thoughts
+slip through my head like water through the fingers. Almost I had
+forgotten what I wished to say to you. The other day I met Zikali, the
+Opener of Roads. He told me that you were in Zululand and that I should
+meet you—he did not say where, only that when I did meet you, I was to
+give you a message. This was the message—that when on your way to Natal
+you came to the kraal Jazi, you would find him there; also another whom
+you used to know, and must be sure not to go away without seeing him,
+since that was about to happen in which you must take your part.”
+
+“Zikali!” I exclaimed. “I have heard nothing of him since the war. I
+thought that by now he was certainly dead.”
+
+“Oh! no, Macumazahn, he is certainly not dead, but just the same as
+ever. Indeed it is believed that he and no other has kept all this
+broth of trouble on the boil, some say for Cetewayo’s sake, and some
+say because he wishes to destroy Cetewayo. But what do I know of such
+matters who only desire to live in peace under whatever chief the
+English Queen sends to us, as she has a right to do having conquered us
+in war? When you meet the Opener of Roads at the kraal Jazi, ask him,
+Macumazahn.”
+
+“Where the devil is the kraal Jazi?” I inquired with irritation. “I
+never heard of such a place.”
+
+“Nor did I, therefore I cannot tell you, Macumazahn. For aught I can
+say it may be down beneath where dead men go. But wherever it is there
+certainly you will meet the Opener of Roads. Now farewell, Macumazahn.
+If it should chance that we never look into each other’s eyes again, I
+am sure you will think of me sometimes, as I shall of you, and of all
+that we have seen together, especially on that night in the Vale of
+Bones when the ghost of the witch Mameena prophesied to us and kissed
+you before us all. She must have been very beautiful, Macumazahn, as
+indeed I have heard from those who remember her, and I don’t wonder
+that you loved her so much. Still for my part I had rather be kissed by
+a living woman than by one who is dead, though doubtless it is best to
+be kissed by none at all. Again, farewell, and be sure to tell the
+Opener of Roads that I gave you his message, lest he should lay some
+evil charm upon me, who have seen enough evil of late.”
+
+Thus talking Goza departed. I never saw him again, and do not know if
+he is dead or alive. Well, he was a kindly old fellow, if no hero.
+
+I had almost forgotten the incident of this meeting when a while later
+I found myself in the neighbourhood of the beautiful but semi-tropical
+place called Eshowe, which since those days has become the official
+home of the British Resident in Zululand. Indeed, although the house
+was not then finished, if it had been begun, Sir Melmoth Osborn already
+had an office there. I wished to see him in order to give him some
+rather important information, but when I reached a kraal of about fifty
+huts some five hundred yards from the site of the present Residency, my
+wagon stuck fast in the boggy ground. While I was trying to get it out
+a quiet-faced Zulu, whose name, I remember, was Umnikwa, informed me
+that Malimati, that is Sir Melmoth Osborn’s native name, was somewhere
+at a little distance from Eshowe, too far away for me to get to him
+that night. I answered, Very well, I would sleep where I was, and asked
+the name of the kraal.
+
+He replied, Jazi, at which I started, but only said that it was a
+strange name, seeing that it meant “Finished,” or “Finished with joy.”
+Umnikwa answered, Yes, but that it had been so called because the chief
+Umfokaki, or The Stranger, who married a sister of the king, was killed
+at this kraal by his brother, Gundane, or the Bat. I remarked that it
+was an ill-omened kind of name, to which the man replied, Yes, and
+likely to become more so, since the King Cetewayo who had been
+sheltering there “beneath the armpit” of Malimati, the white lord, for
+some months, lay in it dying. I asked him of what he was dying, and he
+replied that he did not know, but that doubtless the father of the
+witch-doctors, named Zikali, the Opener of Roads, would be able to tell
+me, as he was attending on Cetewayo.
+
+“He has sent me to bid you to come at once, O Macumazahn,” he added
+casually, “having had news that you were arriving here.”
+
+Showing no surprise, I answered that I would come, although goodness
+knows I was surprised enough, and leaving my servants to get my wagon
+out of the bog, I walked into the kraal with the messenger. He took me
+to a large hut placed within a fence about the gate of which some women
+were gathered, who all looked very anxious and disturbed. Among them I
+saw Dabuko the king’s brother, whom I knew slightly. He greeted me and
+told me that Cetewayo was at the point of death within the hut, but
+like Umnikwa, professed ignorance of the cause of his illness.
+
+For a long while, over an hour I should think, I sat there outside the
+hut, or walked to and fro. Until darkness came I could occupy myself
+with contemplating the scenery of the encircling hills, which is among
+the most beautiful in Zululand with its swelling contours and rich
+colouring. But after it had set in only my thoughts remained, and these
+I found depressing.
+
+At length I made up my mind that I would go away, for after all what
+had I to do with this business of the death of Cetewayo, if in truth he
+was dying? I wished to see no more of Cetewayo of whom all my
+recollections were terrific or sorrowful. I rose to depart, when
+suddenly a woman emerged from the hut. I could not see who she was or
+even what she was like, because of the gloom; also for the reason that
+she had the corner of her blanket thrown over her face as though she
+wished to keep it hidden. For a moment she stopped opposite to me and
+said—
+
+“The king who is sick desires to see you, Macumazahn.” Then she pointed
+to the door-hole of the hut and vanished, shutting the gate of the
+fence behind her. Curiosity overcame me and I crawled into the hut,
+pushing aside the door-board in order to do so and setting it up again
+when I was through.
+
+Inside burned a single candle fixed in the neck of a bottle, faintly
+illuminating that big and gloomy place. By its feeble light I saw a low
+bedstead on the left of the entrance and lying on it a man half covered
+by a blanket in whom I recognized Cetewayo. His face was shrunken and
+distorted with pain, and his great bulk seemed less, but still without
+doubt it was Cetewayo.
+
+“Greeting, Macumazahn,” he said feebly, “you find me in evil case, but
+I heard that you were here and thought that I should like to see you
+before I die, because I know that you are honest and will report my
+words faithfully. I wish you to tell the white men that my heart never
+really was against them; they have always been the friends of my heart,
+but others forced me down a road I did not wish to travel, of which now
+I have come to the end.”
+
+“What is the matter with you, King?” I asked.
+
+“I do not know, Macumazahn, but I have been sick for some days. The
+Opener of Roads who came to doctor me, because my wives believed those
+white medicine-men wished me dead, says that I have been poisoned and
+must die. If you had been here at first you might perhaps have given me
+some medicine. But now it is too late,” he added with a groan.
+
+“Who then poisoned you, King?”
+
+“I cannot tell you, Macumazahn. Perhaps my enemies, perhaps my
+brothers, perhaps my wives. All wish to have done with me, and the
+Great One, who is no longer wanted, is soon dead. Be thankful,
+Macumazahn, that you never were a king, for sad is the lot of kings.”
+
+“Where, then, is the Opener of Roads?” I asked.
+
+“He was here a little while ago. Perhaps he has gone out to take the
+King’s head” (i.e., to announce his death) “to Malimati and the white
+men,” he answered in a faint voice.
+
+Just then I heard a shuffling noise proceeding from that part of the
+hut where the shadow was deepest, and looking, saw an emaciated arm
+projected into the circle of the light. It was followed by another arm,
+then by a vast head covered with long white hair that trailed upon the
+ground, then by a big, misshapen body, so wasted that it looked like a
+skeleton covered with corrugated black skin. Slowly, like a chameleon
+climbing a bough, the thing crept forward, and I knew it for Zikali. He
+reached the side of the bed and squatted down in his toad-like fashion,
+then, again like a chameleon, without moving his head turned his deep
+and glowing eyes towards me.
+
+“Hail, O Macumazahn,” he said in his low voice. “Did I not promise you
+long ago that you should be with me at the last, and are you not with
+me and another?”
+
+“It seems so, Zikali,” I answered. “But why do you not send for the
+white doctors to cure the king?”
+
+“All the doctors, white and black, in the whole world cannot cure him,
+Macumazahn. The Spirits call him and he dies. At his call I came fast
+and far, but even I cannot cure him—although because of him I myself
+must die.”
+
+“Why?” I asked.
+
+“Look at me, Macumazahn, and say if I am one who should travel. Well,
+all come to their end at last, even the
+'Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born.’”
+
+Cetewayo lifted his head and looked at him, then said heavily—
+
+“Perchance it would have been better for our House if that end had been
+sooner. Now that I lie dying many sayings concerning you come into my
+mind that I had forgotten. Moreover, Opener of Roads, I never sent for
+you, whoever may have done so, and it was not until after you came here
+that the great pain seized me. How did it happen,” he went on with
+gathering force, “that the white men caught me in the secret place
+where you told me I should hide? Who pointed out that hidden hole to
+the white men? But what does it matter now?”
+
+“Nothing at all, O Son of Panda,” answered Zikali, “even less than it
+matters how I escaped the spear-head hidden in your robe, yonder in my
+hut in the Black Kloof where, had it not been for a certain spirit that
+stood between you and me, you would have murdered me. Tell me, Son of
+Panda, during these last three days have you thought at all of your
+brother Umbelazi, and of certain other brethren of yours whom you
+killed at the battle of the Tugela, when the white man here led the
+charge of the Amawombe against your regiments and ate up three of
+them?”
+
+Cetewayo groaned but said nothing. I think he had become too faint to
+speak.
+
+“Listen, Son of Panda,” went on Zikali in an intense and hissing voice.
+“Many, many years ago, before Senzangacona, your grandfather, saw the
+light—who knows how long before—a man was born of high blood in the
+Dwandwe tribe, which man was a dwarf. Chaka the Black One conquered the
+Dwandwe, but this man of high blood was spared because he was a dwarf,
+an abortion, to whom Chaka gave the name of the
+'Thing-that-never-should-have-been-born,’ keeping him about him to be a
+mock in times of peace and safety, and because he was wise and learned
+in magic, to be a counsellor in times of trouble. Moreover, Chaka
+killed this man’s wives and children for his sport, save one whom he
+kept to be his ‘sister.’
+
+“Therefore for the sake of his people and his butchered wives and
+children, this wizard swore an oath of vengeance against Chaka and all
+his House. Working beneath the ground like a rat, he undermined the
+throne of Chaka and brought him to his death by the spears of his
+brethren and of Mopo his servant, whom Chaka had wronged. Still working
+in the dark like a rat, he caused Dingaan, who stabbed Chaka, to murder
+the Boer Retief and his people, and thus called down upon his head the
+vengeance of the Whites, and afterwards brought Dingaan to his death.
+Then Panda, your father, arose, and his life this
+'Thing-that-never-should-have-been-born’ spared because once Panda had
+done him a kindness. Only through the witch Mameena he brought sorrow
+on him, causing war to arise between his children, one of whom was
+named Cetewayo.
+
+“Then this Cetewayo ruled, first with his father Panda and afterwards
+in his place, and trouble arose between him and the English. Son of
+Panda, you will remember that this Cetewayo was in doubt whether to
+fight the English and demanded a sign of the
+Thing-that-never-should-have-been-born. He gave the sign, causing the
+Inkosazana-y-Zulu, the Princess of Heaven, to appear before him and
+thereby lifting the spear of War. Son of Panda, you know how that war
+went, how this Cetewayo was defeated and came to the
+‘Thing-that-never-should-have-been-born’ like a hunted hyena, to learn
+of a hole where he might hide. You know, too, how he strove to murder
+the poor old doctor who showed him such a hole; how he was taken
+prisoner and sent across the water and afterwards set up again in the
+land that had learned to hate him, to bring its children to death by
+thousands. And you know how at last he took refuge beneath the wing of
+the white chief, here in the kraal Jazi, and lived, spat upon, an
+outcast, until at length he fell sick, as such men are apt to do, and
+the Thing-that-never-should-have-been-born was sent for to doctor him.
+And you know also how he lies dying, within him an agony as though he
+had swallowed a red hot spear, and before him a great blackness peopled
+by the ghosts of those whom he has slain, and of his forefathers whose
+House he has pulled down and burned.”
+
+Zikali ceased, and thrusting his hideous head to within an inch or two
+of that of the dying man, he glowered at him with his fierce and fiery
+eyes. Then he began to whisper into the king’s ear, who quivered at his
+words, as the victim quivers beneath the torturer’s looks.
+
+At that moment the end of the candle fell into the bottle which was of
+clear white glass, and there burned for a little while dully before it
+went out. Never shall I forget the scene illumined by its blue and
+ghastly light. The dying man lying on the low couch, rocking his head
+to and fro; the wizard bending over him like some grey vampire bat
+sucking the life-blood from his helpless throat. The terror in the eyes
+of the one, the insatiable hate in the eyes of the other. Oh! it was
+awful!
+
+“Macumazahn,” gasped Cetewayo in a rattling whisper, “help me,
+Macumazahn. I say that I am poisoned by this Zikali, who hates me. Oh!
+drive away the ghosts! Drive them away!”
+
+I looked at him and at his tormentor squatted by him like a mocking
+fiend, and as I looked the candle went out.
+
+Then my nerve broke, the cold sweat poured from my face and I fled from
+the hut as a man might from a scene in hell, followed by the low
+mocking laugh of Zikali.
+
+Outside the women and others were gathered in the gloom. I told them to
+go to the king, who was dying, and blundered up the slope to search for
+some white man. No one was to be found, but a Kaffir messenger by the
+office told me that Malimati was still away and had been sent for. So I
+returned to my wagon and lay down in it exhausted, for what more could
+I do?
+
+It was a rough night. Thunder muttered and rain fell in driving gusts.
+I dozed off, only to be awakened by a sound of wailing. Then I knew
+that the king was dead, for this was the Isililo, the cry of mourning.
+I wondered whether the murderers—for that he was poisoned I had no
+doubt—were among those who wailed.
+
+Towards dawn the storm rolled off and the night grew serene and clear,
+for a waning moon was shining in the sky. The heat of that stifling
+place oppressed me; my blood seemed to be afire. I knew that there was
+a stream in a gorge about half a mile away, for it had been pointed out
+to me. I longed for a swim in cool water, who, to tell truth, had found
+none for some days, and bethought me that I would bathe in this stream
+before I trekked from that hateful spot, for to me it had become
+hateful. Calling my driver, who was awake and talking with the
+voorloopers, for they knew what was passing at the kraal and were
+alarmed, I told them to get the oxen ready to start as I would be back
+presently. Then I set off for the stream and, after a longish walk,
+scrambled down a steep ravine to its banks, following a path made by
+Kaffir women going to draw water. Arrived there at last I found that it
+was in flood and rising rapidly, at least so I judged from the sound,
+for in that deep, tree-hung place the light was too faint to allow me
+to see anything. So I sat down waiting for the dawn and wishing that I
+had not come because of the mosquitoes.
+
+At length it broke and the mists lifted, showing that the spot was one
+of great beauty. Opposite to me was a waterfall twenty or thirty feet
+high, over which the torrent rushed into a black pool below. Everywhere
+grew tall ferns and beyond these graceful trees, from whose leaves hung
+raindrops. In the centre of the stream on the edge of the fall was a
+rock not a dozen feet away from me, round which the water foamed.
+Something was squatted on this rock, at first I could not see what
+because of the mist, but thought that it was a grey-headed baboon, or
+some other animal, and regretted that I had not brought a gun with me.
+Presently I became aware that it must be a man, for, in a chanting
+voice, it began to speak or pray in Zulu, and hidden behind a flowering
+bush, I could hear the words. They were to this effect—
+
+“O my Spirit, here where thou foundest me when I was young, hundreds of
+years ago” (he said hundreds, but I suppose he meant tens), “I come
+back to thee. In this pool I dived and beneath the waters found thee,
+my Snake, and thou didst wind thyself about my body and about my heart”
+(here I understood that the speaker was alluding to his initiation as a
+witch-doctor which generally includes, or used to include, the finding
+of a snake in a river that coils itself about the neophyte). “About my
+body and in my heart thou hast dwelt from that sun to this, giving me
+wisdom and good and evil counsel, and that which thou hast counselled,
+I have done. Now I return thee whence thou camest, there to await me in
+the new birth.
+
+“O Spirits of my fathers, toiling through many years I have avenged you
+on the House of Senzangacona, and never again will there be a king of
+the Zulus, for the last of them lies dead by my hand. O my murdered
+wives and my children, I have offered up to you a mighty sacrifice, a
+sacrifice of thousands upon thousands.
+
+“O Umkulu-kulu, Great One of the heavens, who sentest me to earth, I
+have done thy work upon the earth and bring back to thee thy harvest of
+the seed that thou hast sown, a blood-red harvest, O Umkulu-kulu. Be
+still, be still, my Snake, the sun arises, and soon, soon shalt thou
+rest in the water that wast thine from the beginning of the world!”
+
+The voice ceased, and presently a spear of light piercing the mists,
+lit upon the speaker. It was Zikali and about him was wound a great
+yellow-bellied snake, of which the black head with flickering tongue
+waved above his head and seemed from time to time to lick him on the
+brow. (I suppose it had come to him from the water, for its skin
+glittered as though with wet.) He stood up on tottering feet, staring
+at the red eye of the rising sun, then crying, _“Finished, finished
+with joy!”_ with a loud and dreadful laughter, he plunged into the
+foaming pool beneath.
+
+Such was the end of Zikali the Wizard, Opener of Roads, the
+“Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born,” and such was the vengeance
+that he worked upon the great House of Senzangacona, bringing it to
+naught and with it the nation of the Zulus.
+
+
+
+
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