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diff --git a/1724-0.txt b/1724-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fdefaef --- /dev/null +++ b/1724-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12605 @@ +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. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FINISHED *** + +***** This file should be named 1724-0.txt or 1724-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/2/1724/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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