Nada the Lily

DEDICATION

Sompseu:

For I will call you by the name that for fifty years has been honoured

by every tribe between Zambesi and Cape Agulbas,—I greet you!

Sompseu, my father, I have written a book that tells of men and matters

of which you know the most of any who still look upon the light;

therefore, I set your name within that book and, such as it is, I offer

it to you.

If you knew not Chaka, you and he have seen the same suns shine, you

knew his brother Panda and his captains, and perhaps even that very

Mopo who tells this tale, his servant, who slew him with the Princes.

You have seen the circle of the witch-doctors and the unconquerable

Zulu impis rushing to war; you have crowned their kings and shared

their counsels, and with your son’s blood you have expiated a

statesman’s error and a general’s fault.

Sompseu, a song has been sung in my ears of how first you mastered this

people of the Zulu. Is it not true, my father, that for long hours you

sat silent and alone, while three thousand warriors shouted for your

life? And when they grew weary, did you not stand and say, pointing

towards the ocean: “Kill me if you wish, men of Cetywayo, but I tell

you that for every drop of my blood a hundred avengers shall rise from

yonder sea!”

Then, so it was told me, the regiments turned staring towards the Black

Water, as though the day of Ulundi had already come and they saw the

white slayers creeping across the plains.

Thus, Sompseu, your name became great among the people of the Zulu, as

already it was great among many another tribe, and their nobles did you

homage, and they gave you the _Bayéte_, the royal salute, declaring by

the mouth of their Council that in you dwelt the spirit of Chaka.

Many years have gone by since then, and now you are old, my father. It

is many years even since I was a boy, and followed you when you went up

among the Boers and took their country for the Queen.

Why did you do this, my father? I will answer, who know the truth. You

did it because, had it not been done, the Zulus would have stamped out

the Boers. Were not Cetywayo’s impis gathered against the land, and was

it not because it became the Queen’s land that at your word he sent

them murmuring to their kraals?[1] To save bloodshed you annexed the

country beyond the Vaal. Perhaps it had been better to leave it, since

“Death chooses for himself,” and after all there was killing—of our own

people, and with the killing, shame. But in those days we did not guess

what we should live to see, and of Majuba we thought only as a little

hill!

Enemies have borne false witness against you on this matter, Sompseu,

you who never erred except through over kindness. Yet what does that

avail? When you have “gone beyond” it will be forgotten, since the

sting of ingratitude passes and lies must wither like the winter veldt.

Only your name will not be forgotten; as it was heard in life so it

shall be heard in story, and I pray that, however humbly, mine may pass

down with it. Chance has taken me by another path, and I must leave the

ways of action that I love and bury myself in books, but the old days

and friends are in my mind, nor while I have memory shall I forget them

and you.

Therefore, though it be for the last time, from far across the seas I

speak to you, and lifting my hand I give your “Sibonga”[2] and that

royal salute, to which, now that its kings are gone and the “People of

Heaven” are no more a nation, with Her Majesty you are alone entitled:—

_Bayéte!_ Baba, Nkosi ya makosi!

Ngonyama! Indhlovu ai pendulwa!

Wen’ o wa vela wasi pata!

Wen’ o wa hlul’ izizwe zonke za patwa nguive!

Wa geina nge la Mabun’ o wa ba hlul’ u yedwa!

Umsizi we zintandane e ziblupekayo!

Si ya kuleka Baba!

_Bayéte_, T’ Sompseu![3]

and farewell!

H. RIDER HAGGARD.

To Sir Theophilus Shepstone, K.C.M.G., Natal.

13 _September_, 1891.

[1] “I thank my father Sompseu for his message. I am glad that he has

sent it, because the Dutch have tired me out, and I intended to fight

them once and once only, and to drive them over the Vaal. Kabana, you

see my impis are gathered. It was to fight the Dutch I called them

together; now I send them back to their homes.” —Message from Cetywayo

to Sir. T. Shepstone, April, 1877.

[2] Titles of praise.

[3] _Bayéte_, Father, Chief of Chiefs!

Lion! Elephant that is not turned!

You who nursed us from of old!

You who overshadowed all peoples and took charge of them,

And ended by mastering the Boers with your single strength!

Help of the fatherless when in trouble!

Salutation to you, Father!

_Bayéte_, O Sompseu!

PREFACE

The writer of this romance has been encouraged to his task by a purpose

somewhat beyond that of setting out a wild tale of savage life. When he

was yet a lad,—now some seventeen years ago,—fortune took him to South

Africa. There he was thrown in with men who, for thirty or forty years,

had been intimately acquainted with the Zulu people, with their

history, their heroes, and their customs. From these he heard many

tales and traditions, some of which, perhaps, are rarely told nowadays,

and in time to come may cease to be told altogether. Then the Zulus

were still a nation; now that nation has been destroyed, and the chief

aim of its white rulers is to root out the warlike spirit for which it

was remarkable, and to replace it by a spirit of peaceful progress. The

Zulu military organisation, perhaps the most wonderful that the world

has seen, is already a thing of the past; it perished at Ulundi. It was

Chaka who invented that organisation, building it up from the smallest

beginnings. When he appeared at the commencement of this century, it

was as the ruler of a single small tribe; when he fell, in the year

1828, beneath the assegais of his brothers, Umhlangana and Dingaan, and

of his servant, Mopo or Umbopo, as he is called also, all south-eastern

Africa was at his feet, and in his march to power he had slaughtered

more than a million human beings. An attempt has been made in these

pages to set out the true character of this colossal genius and most

evil man,—a Napoleon and a Tiberius in one,—and also that of his

brother and successor, Dingaan, so no more need be said of them here.

The author’s aim, moreover, has been to convey, in a narrative form,

some idea of the remarkable spirit which animated these kings and their

subjects, and to make accessible, in a popular shape, incidents of

history which are now, for the most part, only to be found in a few

scarce works of reference, rarely consulted, except by students. It

will be obvious that such a task has presented difficulties, since he

who undertakes it must for a time forget his civilisation, and think

with the mind and speak with the voice of a Zulu of the old regime. All

the horrors perpetrated by the Zulu tyrants cannot be published in this

polite age of melanite and torpedoes; their details have, therefore,

been suppressed. Still much remains, and those who think it wrong that

massacre and fighting should be written of,—except by special

correspondents,—or that the sufferings of mankind beneath one of the

world’s most cruel tyrannies should form the groundwork of romance, may

be invited to leave this book unread. Most, indeed nearly all, of the

historical incidents here recorded are substantially true. Thus, it is

said that Chaka did actually kill his mother, Unandi, for the reason

given, and destroy an entire tribe in the Tatiyana cleft, and that he

prophesied of the coming of the white man after receiving his death

wounds. Of the incident of the Missionary and the furnace of logs, it

is impossible to speak so certainly. It came to the writer from the

lips of an old traveller in “the Zulu”; but he cannot discover any

confirmation of it. Still, these kings undoubtedly put their soldiers

to many tests of equal severity. Umbopo, or Mopo, as he is named in

this tale, actually lived. After he had stabbed Chaka, he rose to great

eminence. Then he disappears from the scene, but it is not accurately

known whether he also went “the way of the assegai,” or perhaps, as is

here suggested, came to live near Stanger under the name of Zweete. The

fate of the two lovers at the mouth of the cave is a true Zulu tale,

which has been considerably varied to suit the purposes of this

romance. The late Mr. Leslie, who died in 1874, tells it in his book

“Among the Zulus and Amatongas.” “I heard a story the other day,” he

says, “which, if the power of writing fiction were possessed by me, I

might have worked up into a first-class sensational novel.” It is the

story that has been woven into the plot of this book. To him also the

writer is indebted for the artifice by which Umslopogaas obtained

admission to the Swazi stronghold; it was told to Mr. Leslie by the

Zulu who performed the feat and thereby won a wife. Also the writer’s

thanks are due to his friends, Mr. F. B. Fynney,[1] late Zulu border

agent, for much information given to him in bygone years by word of

mouth, and more recently through his pamphlet “Zululand and the Zulus,”

and to Mr. John Bird, formerly treasurer to the Government of Natal,

whose compilation, “The Annals of Natal,” is invaluable to all who

would study the early history of that colony and of Zululand.

[1] I grieve to state that I must now say the late Mr. F. B. Fynney.

As for the wilder and more romantic incidents of this story, such as

the hunting of Umslopogaas and Galazi with the wolves, or rather with

the hyaenas,—for there are no true wolves in Zululand,—the author can

only say that they seem to him of a sort that might well have been

mythically connected with the names of those heroes. Similar beliefs

and traditions are common in the records of primitive peoples. The club

“Watcher of the Fords,” or, to give its Zulu name, U-nothlola-mazibuko,

is an historical weapon, chronicled by Bishop Callaway. It was once

owned by a certain Undhlebekazizwa. He was an arbitrary person, for “no

matter what was discussed in our village, he would bring it to a

conclusion with a stick.” But he made a good end; for when the Zulu

soldiers attacked him, he killed no less than twenty of them with the

Watcher, and the spears stuck in him “as thick as reeds in a morass.”

This man’s strength was so great that he could kill a leopard “like a

fly,” with his hands only, much as Umslopogaas slew the traitor in this

story.

Perhaps it may be allowable to add a few words about the Zulu

mysticism, magic, and superstition, to which there is some allusion in

this romance. It has been little if at all exaggerated. Thus the writer

well remembers hearing a legend how the Guardian Spirit of the Ama-Zulu

was seen riding down the storm. Here is what Mr. Fynney says of her in

the pamphlet to which reference has been made: “The natives have a

spirit which they call Nomkubulwana, or the Inkosazana-ye-Zulu (the

Princess of Heaven). She is said to be robed in white, and to take the

form of a young maiden, in fact an angel. She is said to appear to some

chosen person, to whom she imparts some revelation; but, whatever that

revelation may be, it is kept a profound secret from outsiders. I

remember that, just before the Zulu war, Nomkubulwana appeared,

revealing something or other which had a great effect throughout the

land, and I know that the Zulus were quite impressed that some calamity

was about to befall them. One of the ominous signs was that fire is

said to have descended from heaven, and ignited the grass over the

graves of the former kings of Zululand. ... On another occasion

Nomkubulwana appeared to some one in Zululand, the result of that visit

being, that the native women buried their young children up to their

heads in sand, deserting them for the time being, going away weeping,

but returning at nightfall to unearth the little ones again.”

For this divine personage there is, therefore, authority, and the same

may be said of most of the supernatural matters spoken of in these

pages. The exact spiritual position held in the Zulu mind by the

Umkulunkulu,—the Old—Old,—the Great—Great,—the Lord of Heavens,—is a

more vexed question, and for its proper consideration the reader must

be referred to Bishop Callaway’s work, the “Religious System of the

Amazulu.” Briefly, Umkulunkulu’s character seems to vary from the idea

of an ancestral spirit, or the spirit of an ancestor, to that of a god.

In the case of an able and highly intelligent person like the Mopo of

this story, the ideal would probably not be a low one; therefore he is

made to speak of Umkulunkulu as the Great Spirit, or God.

It only remains to the writer to express his regret that this story is

not more varied in its hue. It would have been desirable to introduce

some gayer and more happy incidents. But it has not been possible. It

is believed that the picture given of the times is a faithful one,

though it may be open to correction in some of its details. At the

least, the aged man who tells the tale of his wrongs and vengeance

could not be expected to treat his subject in an optimistic or even in

a cheerful vein.

NADA THE LILY

INTRODUCTION

Some years since—it was during the winter before the Zulu War—a White

Man was travelling through Natal. His name does not matter, for he

plays no part in this story. With him were two wagons laden with goods,

which he was transporting to Pretoria. The weather was cold and there

was little or no grass for the oxen, which made the journey difficult;

but he had been tempted to it by the high rates of transport that

prevailed at that season of the year, which would remunerate him for

any probable loss he might suffer in cattle. So he pushed along on his

journey, and all went well until he had passed the little town of

Stanger, once the site of Duguza, the kraal of Chaka, the first Zulu

king and the uncle of Cetywayo. The night after he left Stanger the air

turned bitterly cold, heavy grey clouds filled the sky, and hid the

light of the stars.

“Now if I were not in Natal, I should say that there was a heavy fall

of snow coming,” said the White Man to himself. “I have often seen the

sky look like that in Scotland before snow.” Then he reflected that

there had been no deep snow in Natal for years, and, having drunk a

“tot” of squareface and smoked his pipe, he went to bed beneath the

after-tent of his larger wagon.

During the night he was awakened by a sense of bitter cold and the low

moaning of the oxen that were tied to the trek-tow, every ox in its

place. He thrust his head through the curtain of the tent and looked

out. The earth was white with snow, and the air was full of it, swept

along by a cutting wind.

Now he sprang up, huddling on his clothes and as he did so calling to

the Kaffirs who slept beneath the wagons. Presently they awoke from the

stupor which already was beginning to overcome them, and crept out,

shivering with cold and wrapped from head to foot in blankets.

“Quick! you boys,” he said to them in Zulu; “quick! Would you see the

cattle die of the snow and wind? Loose the oxen from the trek-tows and

drive them in between the wagons; they will give them some shelter.”

And lighting a lantern he sprang out into the snow.

At last it was done—no easy task, for the numbed hands of the Kaffirs

could scarcely loosen the frozen reins. The wagons were outspanned side

by side with a space between them, and into this space the mob of

thirty-six oxen was driven and there secured by reims tied crosswise

from the front and hind wheels of the wagons. Then the White Man crept

back to his bed, and the shivering natives, fortified with gin, or

squareface, as it is called locally, took refuge on the second wagon,

drawing a tent-sail over them.

For awhile there was silence, save for the moaning of the huddled and

restless cattle.

“If the snow goes on I shall lose my oxen,” he said to himself; “they

can never bear this cold.”

Hardly had the words passed his lips when the wagon shook; there was a

sound of breaking reims and trampling hoofs. Once more he looked out.

The oxen had “skrecked” in a mob. There they were, running away into

the night and the snow, seeking to find shelter from the cold. In a

minute they had vanished utterly. There was nothing to be done, except

wait for the morning.

At last it came, revealing a landscape blind with snow. Such search as

could be made told them nothing. The oxen had gone, and their spoor was

obliterated by the fresh-fallen flakes. The White Man called a council

of his Kaffir servants. “What was to be done?” he asked.

One said this thing, one that, but all agreed that they must wait to

act until the snow melted.

“Or till we freeze, you whose mothers were fools!” said the White Man,

who was in the worst of tempers, for had he not lost four hundred

pounds’ worth of oxen?

Then a Zulu spoke, who hitherto had remained silent. He was the driver

of the first wagon.

“My father,” he said to the White Man, “this is my word. The oxen are

lost in the snow. No man knows whither they have gone, or whether they

live or are now but hides and bones. Yet at the kraal yonder,” and he

pointed to some huts about two miles away on the hillside, “lives a

witch doctor named Zweete. He is old—very old—but he has wisdom, and he

can tell you where the oxen are if any man may, my father.”

“Stuff!” answered the White Man. “Still, as the kraal cannot be colder

than this wagon, we will go and ask Zweete. Bring a bottle of

squareface and some snuff with you for presents.”

An hour later he stood in the hut of Zweete. Before him was a very

ancient man, a mere bag of bones, with sightless eyes, and one hand—his

left—white and shrivelled.

“What do you seek of Zweete, my white father?” asked the old man in a

thin voice. “You do not believe in me and my wisdom; why should I help

you? Yet I will do it, though it is against your law, and you do wrong

to ask me,—yes, to show you that there is truth in us Zulu doctors, I

will help you. My father, I know what you seek. You seek to know where

your oxen have run for shelter from the cold! Is it not so?”

“It is so, Doctor,” answered the White Man. “You have long ears.”

“Yes, my white father, I have long ears, though they say that I grow

deaf. I have keen eyes also, and yet I cannot see your face. Let me

hearken! Let me look!”

For awhile he was silent, rocking himself to and fro, then he spoke:

“You have a farm, White Man, down near Pine Town, is it not? Ah! I

thought so—and an hour’s ride from your farm lives a Boer with four

fingers only on his right hand. There is a kloof on the Boer’s farm

where mimosa-trees grow. There, in the kloof, you shall find your

oxen—yes, five days’ journey from here you will find them all. I say

all, my father, except three only—the big black Africander ox, the

little red Zulu ox with one horn, and the speckled ox. You shall not

find these, for they have died in the snow. Send, and you will find the

others. No, no! I ask no fee! I do not work wonders for reward. Why

should I? I am rich.”

Now the White Man scoffed. But in the end, so great is the power of

superstition, he sent. And here it may be stated that on the eleventh

day of his sojourn at the kraal of Zweete, those whom he sent returned

with the oxen, except the three only. After that he scoffed no more.

Those eleven days he spent in a hut of the old man’s kraal, and every

afternoon he came and talked with him, sitting far into the night.

On the third day he asked Zweete how it was that his left hand was

white and shrivelled, and who were Umslopogaas and Nada, of whom he had

let fall some words. Then the old man told him the tale that is set out

here. Day by day he told some of it till it was finished. It is not all

written in these pages, for portions may have been forgotten, or put

aside as irrelevant. Neither has it been possible for the writer of it

to render the full force of the Zulu idiom nor to convey a picture of

the teller. For, in truth, he acted rather than told his story. Was the

death of a warrior in question, he stabbed with his stick, showing how

the blow fell and where; did the story grow sorrowful, he groaned, or

even wept. Moreover, he had many voices, one for each of the actors in

his tale. This man, ancient and withered, seemed to live again in the

far past. It was the past that spoke to his listener, telling of deeds

long forgotten, of deeds that are no more known.

Yet as he best may, the White Man has set down the substance of the

story of Zweete in the spirit in which Zweete told it. And because the

history of Nada the Lily and of those with whom her life was

intertwined moved him strangely, and in many ways, he has done more, he

has printed it that others may judge of it.

And now his part is played. Let him who was named Zweete, but who had

another name, take up the story.

CHAPTER I.

THE BOY CHAKA PROPHESIES

You ask me, my father, to tell you the tale of the youth of

Umslopogaas, holder of the iron Chieftainess, the axe Groan-maker, who

was named Bulalio the Slaughterer, and of his love for Nada, the most

beautiful of Zulu women. It is long; but you are here for many nights,

and, if I live to tell it, it shall be told. Strengthen your heart, my

father, for I have much to say that is sorrowful, and even now, when I

think of Nada the tears creep through the horn that shuts out my old

eyes from light.

Do you know who I am, my father? You do not know. You think that I am

an old, old witch-doctor named Zweete. So men have thought for many

years, but that is not my name. Few have known it, for I have kept it

locked in my breast, lest, though I live now under the law of the White

Man, and the Great Queen is my chieftainess, an assegai still might

find this heart did any know my name.

Look at this hand, my father—no, not that which is withered with fire;

look on this right hand of mine. You see it, though I who am blind

cannot. But still, within me, I see it as it was once. Ay! I see it red

and strong—red with the blood of two kings. Listen, my father; bend

your ear to me and listen. I am Mopo—ah! I felt you start; you start as

the regiment of the Bees started when Mopo walked before their ranks,

and from the assegai in his hand the blood of Chaka[1] dropped slowly

to the earth. I am Mopo who slew Chaka the king. I killed him with

Dingaan and Umhlangana the princes; but the wound was mine that his

life crept out of, and but for me he would never have been slain. I

killed him with the princes, but Dingaan, I and one other slew alone.

[1] The Zulu Napoleon, one of the greatest geniuses and most wicked

men who ever lived. He was killed in the year 1828, having slaughtered

more than a million human beings.—ED.

What do you say? “Dingaan died by the Tongola.”

Yes, yes, he died, but not there; he died on the Ghost Mountain; he

lies in the breast of the old Stone Witch who sits aloft forever

waiting for the world to perish. But I also was on the Ghost Mountain.

In those days my feet still could travel fast, and vengeance would not

let me sleep. I travelled by day, and by night I found him. I and

another, we killed him—ah! ah!

Why do I tell you this? What has it to do with the loves of Umslopogaas

and Nada the Lily? I will tell you. I stabbed Chaka for the sake of my

sister, Baleka, the mother of Umslopogaas, and because he had murdered

my wives and children. I and Umslopogaas slew Dingaan for the sake of

Nada, who was my daughter.

There are great names in the story, my father. Yes, many have heard the

names: when the Impis roared them out as they charged in battle, I have

felt the mountains shake and seen the waters quiver in their sound. But

where are they now? Silence has them, and the white men write them down

in books. I opened the gates of distance for the holders of the names.

They passed through and they are gone beyond. I cut the strings that

tied them to the world. They fell off. Ha! ha! They fell off! Perhaps

they are falling still, perhaps they creep about their desolate kraals

in the skins of snakes. I wish I knew the snakes that I might crush

them with my heel. Yonder, beneath us, at the burying-place of kings,

there is a hole. In that hole lie the bones of Chaka, the king who died

for Baleka. Far away in Zululand there is a cleft upon the Ghost

Mountain. At the foot of that cleft lie the bones of Dingaan, the king

who died for Nada. It was far to fall and he was heavy; those bones of

his are broken into little pieces. I went to see them when the vultures

and the jackals had done their work. And then I laughed three times and

came here to die.

All that is long ago, and I have not died; though I wish to die and

follow the road that Nada trod. Perhaps I have lived to tell you this

tale, my father, that you may repeat it to the white men if you will.

How old am I? Nay, I do not know. Very, very old. Had Chaka lived he

would have been as old as I.[2] None are living whom I knew when I was

a boy. I am so old that I must hasten. The grass withers, and the

winter comes. Yes, while I speak the winter nips my heart. Well, I am

ready to sleep in the cold, and perhaps I shall awake again in the

spring.

[2] This would have made him nearly a hundred years old, an age rarely

attained by a native. The writer remembers talking to an aged Zulu

woman, however, who told him that she was married when Chaka was

king.—ED.

Before the Zulus were a people—for I will begin at the beginning—I was

born of the Langeni tribe. We were not a large tribe; afterwards, all

our able-bodied men numbered one full regiment in Chaka’s army, perhaps

there were between two and three thousand of them, but they were brave.

Now they are all dead, and their women and children with them,—that

people is no more. It is gone like last month’s moon; how it went I

will tell you by-and-bye.

Our tribe lived in a beautiful open country; the Boers, whom we call

the Amaboona, are there now, they tell me. My father, Makedama, was

chief of the tribe, and his kraal was built on the crest of a hill, but

I was not the son of his head wife. One evening, when I was still

little, standing as high as a man’s elbow only, I went out with my

mother below the cattle kraal to see the cows driven in. My mother was

very fond of these cows, and there was one with a white face that would

follow her about. She carried my little sister Baleka riding on her

hip; Baleka was a baby then. We walked till we met the lads driving in

the cows. My mother called the white-faced cow and gave it mealie

leaves which she had brought with her. Then the boys went on with the

cattle, but the white-faced cow stopped by my mother. She said that she

would bring it to the kraal when she came home. My mother sat down on

the grass and nursed her baby, while I played round her, and the cow

grazed. Presently we saw a woman walking towards us across the plain.

She walked like one who is tired. On her back was a bundle of mats, and

she led by the hand a boy of about my own age, but bigger and stronger

than I was. We waited a long while, till at last the woman came up to

us and sank down on the veldt, for she was very weary. We saw by the

way her hair was dressed that she was not of our tribe.

“Greeting to you!” said the woman.

“Good-morrow!” answered my mother. “What do you seek?”

“Food, and a hut to sleep in,” said the woman. “I have travelled far.”

“How are you named?—and what is your people?” asked my mother.

“My name is Unandi: I am the wife of Senzangacona, of the Zulu tribe,”

said the stranger.

Now there had been war between our people and the Zulu people, and

Senzangacona had killed some of our warriors and taken many of our

cattle. So, when my mother heard the speech of Unandi she sprang up in

anger.

“You dare to come here and ask me for food and shelter, wife of a dog

of a Zulu!” she cried; “begone, or I will call the girls to whip you

out of our country.”

The woman, who was very handsome, waited till my mother had finished

her angry words; then she looked up and spoke slowly, “There is a cow

by you with milk dropping from its udder; will you not even give me and

my boy a gourd of milk?” And she took a gourd from her bundle and held

it towards us.

“I will not,” said my mother.

“We are thirsty with long travel; will you not, then, give us a cup of

water? We have found none for many hours.”

“I will not, wife of a dog; go and seek water for yourself.”

The woman’s eyes filled with tears, but the boy folded his arms on his

breast and scowled. He was a very handsome boy, with bright black eyes,

but when he scowled his eyes were like the sky before a thunderstorm.

“Mother,” he said, “we are not wanted here any more than we were wanted

yonder,” and he nodded towards the country where the Zulu people lived.

“Let us be going to Dingiswayo; the Umtetwa people will protect us.”

“Yes, let us be going, my son,” answered Unandi; “but the path is long,

we are weary and shall fall by the way.”

I heard, and something pulled at my heart; I was sorry for the woman

and her boy, they looked so tired. Then, without saying anything to my

mother, I snatched the gourd and ran with it to a little donga that was

hard by, for I knew that there was a spring. Presently I came back with

the gourd full of water. My mother wanted to catch me, for she was very

angry, but I ran past her and gave the gourd to the boy. Then my mother

ceased trying to interfere, only she beat the woman with her tongue all

the while, saying that evil had come to our kraals from her husband,

and she felt in her heart that more evil would come upon us from her

son. Her _Ehlosé_[3] told her so. Ah! my father, her _Ehlosé_ told her

true. If the woman Unandi and her child had died that day on the veldt,

the gardens of my people would not now be a wilderness, and their bones

would not lie in the great gulley that is near U’Cetywayo’s kraal.

[3] Guardian spirit.—ED.

While my mother talked I and the cow with the white face stood still

and watched, and the baby Baleka cried aloud. The boy, Unandi’s son,

having taken the gourd, did not offer the water to his mother. He drank

two-thirds of it himself; I think that he would have drunk it all had

not his thirst been slaked; but when he had done he gave what was left

to his mother, and she finished it. Then he took the gourd again, and

came forward, holding it in one hand; in the other he carried a short

stick.

“What is your name, boy?” he said to me as a big rich man speaks to one

who is little and poor.

“Mopo is my name,” I answered.

“And what is the name of your people?”

I told him the name of my tribe, the Langeni tribe.

“Very well, Mopo; now I will tell you my name. My name is Chaka, son of

Senzangacona, and my people are called the Amazulu. And I will tell you

something more. I am little to-day, and my people are a small people.

But I shall grow big, so big that my head will be lost in the clouds;

you will look up and you shall not see it. My face will blind you; it

will be bright like the sun; and my people will grow great with me;

they shall eat up the whole world. And when I am big and my people are

big, and we have stamped the earth flat as far as men can travel, then

I will remember your tribe—the tribe of the Langeni, who would not give

me and my mother a cup of milk when we were weary. You see this gourd;

for every drop it can hold the blood of a man shall flow—the blood of

one of your men. But because you gave me the water I will spare you,

Mopo, and you only, and make you great under me. You shall grow fat in

my shadow. You alone I will never harm, however you sin against me;

this I swear. But for that woman,” and he pointed to my mother, “let

her make haste and die, so that I do not need to teach her what a long

time death can take to come. I have spoken.” And he ground his teeth

and shook his stick towards us.

My mother stood silent awhile. Then she gasped out: “The little liar!

He speaks like a man, does he? The calf lows like a bull. I will teach

him another note—the brat of an evil prophet!” And putting down Baleka,

she ran at the boy.

Chaka stood quite still till she was near; then suddenly he lifted the

stick in his hand, and hit her so hard on the head that she fell down.

After that he laughed, turned, and went away with his mother Unandi.

These, my father, were the first words I heard Chaka speak, and they

were words of prophecy, and they came true. The last words I heard him

speak were words of prophecy also, and I think that they will come

true. Even now they are coming true. In the one he told how the Zulu

people should rise. And say, have they not risen? In the other he told

how they should fall; and they did fall. Do not the white men gather

themselves together even now against U’Cetywayo, as vultures gather

round a dying ox? The Zulus are not what they were to stand against

them. Yes, yes, they will come true, and mine is the song of a people

that is doomed.

But of these other words I will speak in their place.

I went to my mother. Presently she raised herself from the ground and

sat up with her hands over her face. The blood from the wound the stick

had made ran down her face on to her breast, and I wiped it away with

grass. She sat for a long while thus, while the child cried, the cow

lowed to be milked, and I wiped up the blood with the grass. At last

she took her hands away and spoke to me.

“Mopo, my son,” she said, “I have dreamed a dream. I dreamed that I saw

the boy Chaka who struck me: he was grown like a giant. He stalked

across the mountains and the veldt, his eyes blazed like the lightning,

and in his hand he shook a little assegai that was red with blood. He

caught up people after people in his hands and tore them, he stamped

their kraals flat with his feet. Before him was the green of summer,

behind him the land was black as when the fires have eaten the grass. I

saw our people, Mopo; they were many and fat, their hearts laughed, the

men were brave, the girls were fair; I counted their children by the

hundreds. I saw them again, Mopo. They were bones, white bones,

thousands of bones tumbled together in a rocky place, and he, Chaka,

stood over the bones and laughed till the earth shook. Then, Mopo, in

my dream, I saw you grown a man. You alone were left of our people. You

crept up behind the giant Chaka, and with you came others, great men of

a royal look. You stabbed him with a little spear, and he fell down and

grew small again; he fell down and cursed you. But you cried in his ear

a name—the name of Baleka, your sister—and he died. Let us go home,

Mopo, let us go home; the darkness falls.”

So we rose and went home. But I held my peace, for I was afraid, very

much afraid.

CHAPTER II.

MOPO IS IN TROUBLE

Now, I must tell how my mother did what the boy Chaka had told her, and

died quickly. For where his stick had struck her on the forehead there

came a sore that would not be healed, and in the sore grew an abscess,

and the abscess ate inwards till it came to the brain. Then my mother

fell down and died, and I cried very much, for I loved her, and it was

dreadful to see her cold and stiff, with not a word to say however

loudly I called to her. Well, they buried my mother, and she was soon

forgotten. I only remembered her, nobody else did—not even Baleka, for

she was too little—and as for my father he took another young wife and

was content. After that I was unhappy, for my brothers did not love me,

because I was much cleverer than they, and had greater skill with the

assegai, and was swifter in running; so they poisoned the mind of my

father against me and he treated me badly. But Baleka and I loved each

other, for we were both lonely, and she clung to me like a creeper to

the only tree in a plain, and though I was young, I learned this: that

to be wise is to be strong, for though he who holds the assegai kills,

yet he whose mind directs the battle is greater than he who kills. Now

I saw that the witch-finders and the medicine-men were feared in the

land, and that everybody looked up to them, so that, even when they had

only a stick in their hands, ten men armed with spears would fly before

them. Therefore I determined that I should be a witch-doctor, for they

alone can kill those whom they hate with a word. So I learned the arts

of the medicine-men. I made sacrifices, I fasted in the veldt alone, I

did all those things of which you have heard, and I learned much; for

there is wisdom in our magic as well as lies—and you know it, my

father, else you had not come here to ask me about your lost oxen.

So things went on till I was twenty years of age—a man full grown. By

now I had mastered all I could learn by myself, so I joined myself on

to the chief medicine-man of our tribe, who was named Noma. He was old,

had one eye only, and was very clever. Of him I learned some tricks and

more wisdom, but at last he grew jealous of me and set a trap to catch

me. As it chanced, a rich man of a neighbouring tribe had lost some

cattle, and came with gifts to Noma praying him to smell them out. Noma

tried and could not find them; his vision failed him. Then the headman

grew angry and demanded back his gifts; but Noma would not give up that

which he once had held, and hot words passed. The headman said that he

would kill Noma; Noma said that he would bewitch the headman.

“Peace,” I said, for I feared that blood would be shed. “Peace, and let

me see if my snake will tell me where the cattle are.”

“You are nothing but a boy,” answered the headman. “Can a boy have

wisdom?”

“That shall soon be known,” I said, taking the bones in my hand.[1]

[1] The Kafir witch-doctors use the knuckle-bones of animals in their

magic rites, throwing them something as we throw dice.—ED.

“Leave the bones alone!” screamed Noma. “We will ask nothing more of

our snakes for the good of this son of a dog.”

“He shall throw the bones,” answered the headman. “If you try to stop

him, I will let sunshine through you with my assegai.” And he lifted

his spear.

Then I made haste to begin; I threw the bones. The headman sat on the

ground before me and answered my questions. You know of these matters,

my father—how sometimes the witch-doctor has knowledge of where the

lost things are, for our ears are long, and sometimes his _Ehlosé_

tells him, as but the other day it told me of your oxen. Well, in this

case, my snake stood up. I knew nothing of the man’s cattle, but my

Spirit was with me and soon I saw them all, and told them to him one by

one, their colour, their age—everything. I told him, too, where they

were, and how one of them had fallen into a stream and lay there on its

back drowned, with its forefoot caught in a forked root. As my _Ehlosé_

told me so I told the headman.

Now, the man was pleased, and said that if my sight was good, and he

found the cattle, the gifts should be taken from Noma and given to me;

and he asked the people who were sitting round, and there were many, if

this was not just. “Yes, yes,” they said, it was just, and they would

see that it was done. But Noma sat still and looked at me evilly. He

knew that I had made a true divination, and he was very angry. It was a

big matter: the herd of cattle were many, and, if they were found where

I had said, then all men would think me the greater wizard. Now it was

late, and the moon had not yet risen, therefore the headman said that

he would sleep that night in our kraal, and at the first light would go

with me to the spot where I said the cattle were. After that he went

away.

I too went into my hut and lay down to sleep. Suddenly I awoke, feeling

a weight upon my breast. I tried to start up, but something cold

pricked my throat. I fell back again and looked. The door of the hut

was open, the moon lay low on the sky like a ball of fire far away. I

could see it through the door, and its light crept into the hut. It

fell upon the face of Noma the witch-doctor. He was seated across me,

glaring at me with his one eye, and in his hand was a knife. It was

that which I had felt prick my throat.

“You whelp whom I have bred up to tear me!” he hissed into my ear, “you

dared to divine where I failed, did you? Very well, now I will show you

how I serve such puppies. First, I will pierce through the root of your

tongue, so that you cannot squeal, then I will cut you to pieces

slowly, bit by bit, and in the morning I will tell the people that the

spirits did it because you lied. Next, I will take off your arms and

legs. Yes, yes, I will make you like a stick! Then I will”—and he began

driving in the knife under my chin.

“Mercy, my uncle,” I said, for I was frightened and the knife hurt.

“Have mercy, and I will do whatever you wish!”

“Will you do this?” he asked, still pricking me with the knife. “Will

you get up, go to find the dog’s cattle and drive them to a certain

place, and hide them there?” And he named a secret valley that was

known to very few. “If you do that, I will spare you and give you three

of the cows. If you refuse or play me false, then, by my father’s

spirit, I will find a way to kill you!”

“Certainly I will do it, my uncle,” I answered. “Why did you not trust

me before? Had I known that you wanted to keep the cattle, I would

never have smelt them out. I only did so fearing lest you should lose

the presents.”

“You are not so wicked as I thought,” he growled. “Get up, then, and do

my bidding. You can be back here two hours after dawn.”

So I got up, thinking all the while whether I should try to spring on

him. But I was without arms, and he had the knife; also if, by chance,

I prevailed and killed him, it would have been thought that I had

murdered him, and I should have tasted the assegai. So I made another

plan. I would go and find the cattle in the valley where I had smelt

them out, but I would not bring them to the secret hiding-place. No; I

would drive them straight to the kraal, and denounce Noma before the

chief, my father, and all the people. But I was young in those days,

and did not know the heart of Noma. He had not been a witch-doctor till

he grew old for nothing. Oh! he was evil!—he was cunning as a jackal,

and fierce like a lion. He had planted me by him like a tree, but he

meant to keep me clipped like a bush. Now I had grown tall and

overshadowed him; therefore he would root me up.

I went to the corner of my hut, Noma watching me all the while, and

took a kerrie and my small shield. Then I started through the

moonlight. Till I was past the kraal I glided along quietly as a

shadow. After that, I began to run, singing to myself as I went, to

frighten away the ghosts, my father.

For an hour I travelled swiftly over the plain, till I came to the

hillside where the bush began. Here it was very dark under the shade of

the trees, and I sang louder than ever. At last I found the little

buffalo path I sought, and turned along it. Presently I came to an open

place, where the moonlight crept in between the trees. I knelt down and

looked. Yes! my snake had not lied to me; there was the spoor of the

cattle. Then I went on gladly till I reached a dell through which the

water ran softly, sometimes whispering and sometimes talking out loud.

Here the trail of the cattle was broad: they had broken down the ferns

with their feet and trampled the grass. Presently I came to a pool. I

knew it—it was the pool my snake had shown me. And there at the edge of

the pool floated the drowned ox, its foot caught in a forked root. All

was just as I had seen it in my heart.

I stepped forward and looked round. My eye caught something; it was the

faint grey light of the dawn glinted on the cattle’s horns. As I

looked, one of them snorted, rose and shook the dew from his hide. He

seemed big as an elephant in the mist and twilight.

Then I collected them all—there were seventeen—and drove them before me

down the narrow path back towards the kraal. Now the daylight came

quickly, and the sun had been up an hour when I reached the spot where

I must turn if I wished to hide the cattle in the secret place, as Noma

had bid me. But I would not do this. No, I would go on to the kraal

with them, and tell all men that Noma was a thief. Still, I sat down

and rested awhile, for I was tired. As I sat, I heard a noise, and

looked up. There, over the slope of the rise, came a crowd of men, and

leading them was Noma, and by his side the headman who owned the

cattle. I rose and stood still, wondering; but as I stood, they ran

towards me shouting and waving sticks and spears.

“There he is!” screamed Noma. “There he is!—the clever boy whom I have

brought up to bring shame on me. What did I tell you? Did I not tell

you that he was a thief? Yes—yes! I know your tricks, Mopo, my child!

See! he is stealing the cattle! He knew where they were all the time,

and now he is taking them away to hide them. They would be useful to

buy a wife with, would they not, my clever boy?” And he made a rush at

me, with his stick lifted, and after him came the headman, grunting

with rage.

I understood now, my father. My heart went mad in me, everything began

to swim round, a red cloth seemed to lift itself up and down before my

eyes. I have always seen it thus when I was forced to fight. I screamed

out one word only, “Liar!” and ran to meet him. On came Noma. He struck

at me with his stick, but I caught the blow upon my little shield, and

hit back. Wow! I did hit! The skull of Noma met my kerrie, and down he

fell dead at my feet. I yelled again, and rushed on at the headman. He

threw an assegai, but it missed me, and next second I hit him too. He

got up his shield, but I knocked it down upon his head, and over he

rolled senseless. Whether he lived or died I do not know, my father;

but his head being of the thickest, I think it likely that he lived.

Then, while the people stood astonished, I turned and fled like the

wind. They turned too, and ran after me, throwing spears at me and

trying to cut me off. But none of them could catch me—no, not one. I

went like the wind; I went like a buck when the dogs wake it from

sleep; and presently the sound of their chase grew fainter and fainter,

till at last I was out of sight and alone.

CHAPTER III.

MOPO VENTURES HOME

I threw myself down on the grass and panted till my breath came back;

then I went and hid in a patch of reeds down by a swamp. All day long I

lay there thinking. What was I to do? Now I was a jackal without a

hole. If I went back to my people, certainly they would kill me, whom

they thought a thief. My blood would be given for Noma’s, and that I

did not wish, though my heart was sad. Then there came into my mind the

thought of Chaka, the boy to whom I had given the cup of water long

ago. I had heard of him: his name was known in the land; already the

air was big with it; the very trees and grass spoke it. The words he

had said and the vision that my mother had seen were beginning to come

true. By the help of the Umtetwas he had taken the place of his father

Senzangacona; he had driven out the tribe of the Amaquabe; now he made

war on Zweete, chief of the Endwande, and he had sworn that he would

stamp the Endwande flat, so that nobody could find them any more. Now I

remembered how this Chaka promised that he would make me great, and

that I should grow fat in his shadow; and I thought to myself that I

would arise and go to him. Perhaps he would kill me; well, what did it

matter? Certainly I should be killed if I stayed here. Yes, I would go.

But now my heart pulled another way. There was but one whom I loved in

the world—it was my sister Baleka. My father had betrothed her to the

chief of a neighbouring tribe, but I knew that this marriage was

against her wish. Perhaps my sister would run away with me if I could

get near her to tell her that I was going. I would try—yes, I would

try.

I waited till the darkness came down, then I rose from my bed of weeds

and crept like a jackal towards the kraal. In the mealie gardens I

stopped awhile, for I was very hungry, and filled myself with the

half-ripe mealies. Then I went on till I came to the kraal. Some of my

people were seated outside of a hut, talking together over a fire. I

crept near, silently as a snake, and hid behind a little bush. I knew

that they could not see me outside the ring of the firelight, and I

wanted to hear what they said. As I guessed, they were talking of me

and called me many names. They said that I should bring ill-luck on the

tribe by having killed so great a witch-doctor as Noma; also that the

people of the headman would demand payment for the assault on him. I

learned, moreover, that my father had ordered out all the men of the

tribe to hunt for me on the morrow and to kill me wherever they found

me. “Ah!” I thought, “you may hunt, but you will bring nothing home to

the pot.” Just then a dog that was lying by the fire got up and began

to sniff the air. I could not see what dog it was—indeed, I had

forgotten all about the dogs when I drew near the kraal; that is what

comes of want of experience, my father. The dog sniffed and sniffed,

then he began to growl, looking always my way, and I grew afraid.

“What is the dog growling at?” said one man to another. “Go and see.”

But the other man was taking snuff and did not like to move. “Let the

dog go and see for himself,” he answered, sneezing, “what is the good

of keeping a dog if you have to catch the thief?”

“Go on, then,” said the first man to the dog. And he ran forward,

barking. Then I saw him: it was my own dog, Koos, a very good dog.

Presently, as I lay not knowing what to do, he smelt my smell, stopped

barking, and running round the bush he found me and began to lick my

face. “Be quiet, Koos!” I whispered to him. And he lay down by my side.

“Where has that dog gone now?” said the first man. “Is he bewitched,

that he stops barking suddenly and does not come back?”

“We will see,” said the other, rising, a spear in his hand.

Now once more I was terribly afraid, for I thought that they would

catch me, or I must run for my life again. But as I sprang up to run, a

big black snake glided between the men and went off towards the huts.

They jumped aside in a great fright, then all of them turned to follow

the snake, saying that this was what the dog was barking at. That was

my good _Ehlosé_, my father, which without any doubt took the shape of

a snake to save my life.

When they had gone I crept off the other way, and Koos followed me. At

first I thought that I would kill him, lest he should betray me; but

when I called to him to knock him on the head with my kerrie, he sat

down upon the ground wagging his tail, and seemed to smile in my face,

and I could not do it. So I thought that I would take my chance, and we

went on together. This was my purpose: first to creep into my own hut

and get my assegais and a skin blanket, then to gain speech with

Baleka. My hut, I thought, would be empty, for nobody sleeps there

except myself, and the huts of Noma were some paces away to the right.

I came to the reed fence that surrounded the huts. Nobody was to be

seen at the gate, which was not shut with thorns as usual. It was my

duty to close it, and I had not been there to do so. Then, bidding the

dog lie down outside, I stepped through boldly, reached the door of my

hut, and listened. It was empty; there was not even a breath to be

heard. So I crept in and began to search for my assegais, my

water-gourd, and my wood pillow, which was so nicely carved that I did

not like to leave it. Soon I found them. Then I felt about for my skin

rug, and as I did so my hand touched something cold. I started, and

felt again. It was a man’s face—the face of a dead man, of Noma, whom I

had killed and who had been laid in my hut to await burial. Oh! then I

was frightened, for Noma dead and in the dark was worse than Noma

alive. I made ready to fly, when suddenly I heard the voices of women

talking outside the door of the hut. I knew the voices; they were those

of Noma’s two wives, and one of them said she was coming in to watch by

her husband’s body. Now I was in a trap indeed, for before I could do

anything I saw the light go out of a hole in the hut, and knew by the

sound of a fat woman puffing as she bent herself up that Noma’s first

wife was coming through it. Presently she was in, and, squatting by the

side of the corpse in such a fashion that I could not get to the door,

she began to make lamentations and to call down curses on me. Ah! she

did not know that I was listening. I too squatted by Noma’s head, and

grew quick-witted in my fear. Now that the woman was there I was not so

much afraid of the dead man, and I remembered, too, that he had been a

great cheat; so I thought I would make him cheat for the last time. I

placed my hands beneath his shoulders and pushed him up so that he sat

upon the ground. The woman heard the noise and made a sound in her

throat.

“Will you not be quiet, you old hag?” I said in Noma’s voice. “Can you

not let me be at peace, even now when I am dead?”

She heard, and, falling backwards in fear, drew in her breath to shriek

aloud.

“What! will you also dare to shriek?” I said again in Noma’s voice;

“then I must teach you silence.” And I tumbled him over on to the top

of her.

Then her senses left her, and whether she ever found them again I do

not know. At least she grew quiet for that time. For me, I snatched up

the rug—afterwards I found it was Noma’s best kaross, made by Basutos

of chosen cat-skins, and worth three oxen—and I fled, followed by Koos.

Now the kraal of the chief, my father, Makedama, was two hundred paces

away, and I must go thither, for there Baleka slept. Also I dared not

enter by the gate, because a man was always on guard there. So I cut my

way through the reed fence with my assegai and crept to the hut where

Baleka was with some of her half-sisters. I knew on which side of the

hut it was her custom to lie, and where her head would be. So I lay

down on my side and gently, very gently, began to bore a hole in the

grass covering of the hut. It took a long while, for the thatch was

thick, but at last I was nearly through it. Then I stopped, for it came

into my mind that Baleka might have changed her place, and that I might

wake the wrong girl. I almost gave it over, thinking that I would fly

alone, when suddenly I heard a girl wake and begin to cry on the other

side of the thatch. “Ah,” I thought, “that is Baleka, who weeps for her

brother!” So I put my lips where the thatch was thinnest and

whispered:—

“Baleka, my sister! Baleka, do not weep! I, Mopo, am here. Say not a

word, but rise. Come out of the hut, bringing your skin blanket.”

Now Baleka was very clever: she did not shriek, as most girls would

have done. No; she understood, and, after waiting awhile, she rose and

crept from the hut, her blanket in her hand.

“Why are you here, Mopo?” she whispered, as we met. “Surely you will be

killed!”

“Hush!” I said. And then I told her of the plan which I had made. “Will

you come with me?” I said, when I had done, “or will you creep back

into the hut and bid me farewell?”

She thought awhile, then she said, “No, my brother, I will come, for I

love you alone among our people, though I believe that this will be the

end of it—that you will lead me to my death.”

I did not think much of her words at the time, but afterwards they came

back to me. So we slipped away together, followed by the dog Koos, and

soon we were running over the veldt with our faces set towards the

country of the Zulu tribe.

CHAPTER IV.

THE FLIGHT OF MOPO AND BALEKA

All the rest of that night we journeyed, till even the dog was tired.

Then we hid in a mealie field for the day, as we were afraid of being

seen. Towards the afternoon we heard voices, and, looking through the

stems of the mealies, we saw a party of my father’s men pass searching

for us. They went on to a neighbouring kraal to ask if we had been

seen, and after that we saw them no more for awhile. At night we

travelled again; but, as fate would have it, we were met by an old

woman, who looked oddly at us but said nothing. After that we pushed on

day and night, for we knew that the old woman would tell the pursuers

if she met them; and so indeed it came about. On the third evening we

reached some mealie gardens, and saw that they had been trampled down.

Among the broken mealies we found the body of a very old man, as full

of assegai wounds as a porcupine with quills. We wondered at this, and

went on a little way. Then we saw that the kraal to which the gardens

belonged was burnt down. We crept up to it, and—ah! it was a sad sight

for us to see! Afterwards we became used to such sights. All about us

lay the bodies of dead people, scores of them—old men, young men,

women, children, little babies at the breast—there they lay among the

burnt huts, pierced with assegai wounds. Red was the earth with their

blood, and red they looked in the red light of the setting sun. It was

as though all the land had been smeared with the bloody hand of the

Great Spirit, of the Umkulunkulu. Baleka saw it and began to cry; she

was weary, poor girl, and we had found little to eat, only grass and

green corn.

“An enemy has been here,” I said, and as I spoke I thought that I heard

a groan from the other side of a broken reed hedge. I went and looked.

There lay a young woman: she was badly wounded, but still alive, my

father. A little way from her lay a man dead, and before him several

other men of another tribe: he had died fighting. In front of the woman

were the bodies of three children; another, a little one, lay on her

body. I looked at the woman, and, as I looked, she groaned again,

opened her eyes and saw me, and that I had a spear in my hand.

“Kill me quickly!” she said. “Have you not tortured me enough?”

I said that I was a stranger and did not want to kill her.

“Then bring me water,” she said; “there is a spring there behind the

kraal.”

I called to Baleka to come to the woman, and went with my gourd to the

spring. There were bodies in it, but I dragged them out, and when the

water had cleared a little I filled the gourd and brought it back to

the woman. She drank deep, and her strength came back a little—the

water gave her life.

“How did you come to this?” I asked.

“It was an impi of Chaka, Chief of the Zulus, that ate us up,” she

answered. “They burst upon as at dawn this morning while we were asleep

in our huts. Yes, I woke up to hear the sound of killing. I was

sleeping by my husband, with him who lies there, and the children. We

all ran out. My husband had a spear and shield. He was a brave man.

See! he died bravely: he killed three of the Zulu devils before he

himself was dead. Then they caught me, and killed my children, and

stabbed me till they thought that I was dead. Afterwards, they went

away. I don’t know why they came, but I think it was because our chief

would not send men to help Chaka against Zweete.”

She stopped, gave a great cry, and died.

My sister wept at the sight, and I too was stirred by it. “Ah!” I

thought to myself, “the Great Spirit must be evil. If he is not evil

such things would not happen.” That is how I thought then, my father;

now I think differently. I know that we had not found out the path of

the Great Spirit, that is all. I was a chicken in those days, my

father; afterwards I got used to such sights. They did not stir me any

more, not one whit. But then in the days of Chaka the rivers ran

blood—yes, we had to look at the water to see if it was clean before we

drank. People learned how to die then and not make a noise about it.

What does it matter? They would have been dead now anyway. It does not

matter; nothing matters, except being born. That is a mistake, my

father.

We stopped at the kraal that night, but we could not sleep, for we

heard the _Itongo_, the ghosts of the dead people, moving about and

calling to each other. It was natural that they should do so; men were

looking for their wives, and mothers for their children. But we were

afraid that they might be angry with us for being there, so we clung

together and trembled in each other’s arms. Koos also trembled, and

from time to time he howled loudly. But they did not seem to see us,

and towards morning their cries grew fainter.

When the first light came we rose and picked our way through the dead

down to the plain. Now we had an easy road to follow to Chaka’s kraal,

for there was the spoor of the impi and of the cattle which they had

stolen, and sometimes we came to the body of a warrior who had been

killed because his wounds prevented him from marching farther. But now

I was doubtful whether it was wise for us to go to Chaka, for after

what we had seen I grew afraid lest he should kill us. Still, we had

nowhere to turn, so I said that we would walk along till something

happened. Now we grew faint with hunger and weariness, and Baleka said

that we had better sit down and die, for then there would be no more

trouble. So we sat down by a spring. But I did not wish to die yet,

though Baleka was right, and it would have been well to do so. As we

sat, the dog Koos went to a bush that was near, and presently I heard

him spring at something and the sound of struggling. I ran to the

bush—he had caught hold of a duiker buck, as big as himself, that was

asleep in it. Then I drove my spear into the buck and shouted for joy,

for here was food. When the buck was dead I skinned him, and we took

bits of the flesh, washed them in the water, and ate them, for we had

no fire to cook them with. It is not nice to eat uncooked flesh, but we

were so hungry that we did not mind, and the food refreshed us. When we

had eaten what we could, we rose and washed ourselves at the spring;

but, as we washed, Baleka looked up and gave a cry of fear. For there,

on the crest of the hill, about ten spear-throws away, was a party of

six armed men, people of my own tribe—children of my father

Makedama—who still pursued us to take us or kill us. They saw us—they

raised a shout, and began to run. We too sprang up and ran—ran like

bucks, for fear had touched our feet.

Now the land lay thus. Before us the ground was open and sloped down to

the banks of the White Umfolozi, which twisted through the plain like a

great and shining snake. On the other side the ground rose again, and

we did not know what was beyond, but we thought that in this direction

lay the kraal of Chaka. We ran for the river—where else were we to run?

And after us came the warriors. They gained on us; they were strong,

and they were angry because they had come so far. Run as we would,

still they gained. Now we neared the banks of the river; it was full

and wide. Above us the waters ran angrily, breaking into swirls of

white where they passed over sunken rocks; below was a rapid, in which

none might live; between the two a deep pool, where the water was quiet

but the stream strong.

“Ah! my brother, what shall we do?” gasped Baleka.

“There is this to choose,” I answered; “perish on the spears of our

people or try the river.”

“Easier to die by water than on iron,” she answered.

“Good!” I said. “Now may our snakes look towards us and the spirits of

our fathers be with us! At the least we can swim.” And I led her to the

head of the pool. We threw away our blankets—everything except an

assegai, which I held in my teeth—and we plunged in, wading as far as

we could. Now we were up to our breasts; now we had lost the earth and

were swimming towards the middle of the river, the dog Koos leading the

way.

Then it was that the soldiers appeared upon the bank. “Ah! little

people,” one cried, “you swim, do you? Well, you will drown; and if you

do not drown we know a ford, and we will catch you and kill you—yes! if

we must run over the edge of the world after you we will catch you.”

And he hurled an assegai after us, which fell between us like a flash

of light.

While he spoke we swam hard, and now we were in the current. It swept

us downwards, but still we made way, for we could swim well. It was

just this: if we could reach the bank before we were swept into the

rapids we were safe; if not, then—good-night! Now we were near the

other side, but, alas! we were also near the lip of the foaming water.

We strained, we struggled. Baleka was a brave girl, and she swam

bravely; but the water pushed her down below me, and I could do nothing

to help her. I got my foot upon the rock and looked round. There she

was, and eight paces from her the broken water boiled. I could not go

back. I was too weak, and it seemed that she must perish. But the dog

Koos saw. He swam towards her, barking, then turned round, heading for

the shore. She grasped him by the tail with her right hand. Then he put

out his strength—he was very strong. She too struck out with her feet

and left hand, and slowly—very slowly—drew near. Then I stretched out

the handle of my assegai towards her. She caught it with her left hand.

Already her feet were over the brink of the rapids, but I pulled and

Koos pulled, and we brought her safe into the shallows, and from the

shallows to the bank, and there she fell gasping.

Now when the soldiers on the other bank saw that we had crossed, they

shouted threats at us, then ran away down the bank.

“Arise, Baleka!” I said: “they have gone to see a ford.”

“Ah, let me die!” she answered.

But I forced her to rise, and after awhile she got her breath again,

and we walked on as fast as we could up the long rise. For two hours we

walked, or more, till at last we came to the crest of the rise, and

there, far away, we saw a large kraal.

“Keep heart,” I said. “See, there is the kraal of Chaka.”

“Yes, brother,” she answered, “but what waits us there? Death is behind

us and before us—we are in the middle of death.”

Presently we came to a path that ran to the kraal from the ford of the

Umfolozi. It was by it that the Impi had travelled. We followed the

path till at last we were but half an hour’s journey from the kraal.

Then we looked back, and lo! there behind us were the pursuers—five of

them—one had drowned in crossing the river.

Again we ran, but now we were weak, and they gained upon us. Then once

more I thought of the dog. He was fierce and would tear any one on whom

I set him. I called him and told him what to do, though I knew that it

would be his death. He understood, and flew towards the soldiers

growling, his hair standing up on his spine. They tried to kill him

with spears and kerries, but he jumped round them, biting at them, and

kept them back. At last a man hit him, and he sprang up and seized the

man by the throat. There he clung, man and dog rolling over and over

together, till the end of it was that they both died. Ah! he was a dog!

We do not see such dogs nowadays. His father was a Boer hound, the

first that came into the country. That dog once killed a leopard all by

himself. Well, this was the end of Koos!

Meanwhile, we had been running. Now we were but three hundred paces

from the gate of the kraal, and there was something going on inside it;

that we could see from the noise and the dust. The four soldiers,

leaving the dead dog and the dying man, came after us swiftly. I saw

that they must catch us before we reached the gate, for now Baleka

could go but slowly. Then a thought came into my head. I had brought

her here, I would save her life if I could. Should she reach the kraal

without me, Chaka would not kill a girl who was so young and fair.

“Run on, Baleka! run on!” I said, dropping behind. Now she was almost

blind with weariness and terror, and, not seeing my purpose, staggered

towards the gate of the kraal. But I sat down on the veldt to get my

breath again, for I was about to fight four men till I was killed. My

heart beat and the blood drummed in my ears, but when they drew near

and I rose—the assegai in my hand—once more the red cloth seemed to go

up and down before my eyes, and all fear left me.

The men were running, two and two, with the length of a spear throw

between them. But of the first pair one was five or six paces in front

of the other. This man shouted out loud and charged me, shield and

spear up. Now I had no shield—nothing but the assegai; but I was crafty

and he was overbold. On he came. I stood waiting for him till he drew

back the spear to stab me. Then suddenly I dropped to my knees and

thrust upward with all my strength, beneath the rim of his shield, and

he also thrust, but over me, his spear only cutting the flesh of my

shoulder—see! here is its scar; yes, to this day. And my assegai? Ah!

it went home; it ran through and through his middle. He rolled over and

over on the plain. The dust hid him; only I was now weaponless, for the

haft of my spear—it was but a light throwing assegai—broke in two,

leaving nothing but a little bit of stick in my hand. And the other one

was upon me. Then in the darkness I saw a light. I fell on to my hands

and knees and flung myself over sideways. My body struck the legs of

the man who was about to stab me, lifting his feet from beneath him.

Down he came heavily. Before he had touched the ground I was off it.

His spear had fallen from his hand. I stooped, seized it, and as he

rose I stabbed him through the back. It was all done in the shake of a

leaf, my father; in the shake of a leaf he also was dead. Then I ran,

for I had no stomach for the other two; my valour was gone.

About a hundred paces from me Baleka was staggering along with her arms

out like one who has drunk too much beer. By the time I caught her she

was some forty paces from the gate of the kraal. But then her strength

left her altogether. Yes! there she fell senseless, and I stood by her.

And there, too, I should have been killed, had not this chanced, since

the other two men, having stayed one instant by their dead fellows,

came on against me mad with rage. For at that moment the gate of the

kraal opened, and through it ran a party of soldiers dragging a

prisoner by the arms. After them walked a great man, who wore a leopard

skin on his shoulders, and was laughing, and with him were five or six

ringed councillors, and after them again came a company of warriors.

The soldiers saw that killing was going on, and ran up just as the

slayers reached us.

“Who are you?” they cried, “who dare to kill at the gate of the

Elephant’s kraal? Here the Elephant kills alone.”

“We are of the children of Makedama,” they answered, “and we follow

these evildoers who have done wickedness and murder in our kraal. See!

but now two of us are dead at their hands, and others lie dead along

the road. Suffer that we slay them.”

“Ask that of the Elephant,” said the soldiers; “ask too that he suffer

you should not be slain.”

Just then the tall chief saw blood and heard words. He stalked up; and

he was a great man to look at, though still quite young in years. For

he was taller by a head than any round him, and his chest was big as

the chests of two; his face was fierce and beautiful, and when he grew

angry his eye flashed like a smitten brand.

“Who are these that dare to stir up dust at the gates of my kraal?” he

asked, frowning.

“O Chaka, O Elephant!” answered the captain of the soldiers, bending

himself double before him, “the men say that these are evildoers and

that they pursue them to kill them.”

“Good!” he answered. “Let them slay the evildoers.”

“O great chief! thanks be to thee, great chief!” said those men of my

people who sought to kill us.

“I hear you,” he answered, then spoke once more to the captain. “And

when they have slain the evildoers, let themselves be blinded and

turned loose to seek their way home, because they have dared to lift a

spear within the Zulu gates. Now praise on, my children!” And he

laughed, while the soldiers murmured, “_Ou!_ he is wise, he is great,

his justice is bright and terrible like the sun!”

But the two men of my people cried out in fear, for they did not seek

such justice as this.

“Cut out their tongues also,” said Chaka. “What? shall the land of the

Zulus suffer such a noise? Never! lest the cattle miscarry. To it, ye

black ones! There lies the girl. She is asleep and helpless. Kill her!

What? you hesitate? Nay, then, if you will have time for thought, I

give it. Take these men, smear them with honey, and pin them over

ant-heaps; by to-morrow’s sun they will know their own minds. But first

kill these two hunted jackals,” and he pointed to Baleka and myself.

“They seem tired and doubtless they long for sleep.”

Then for the first time I spoke, for the soldiers drew near to slay us.

“O Chaka,” I cried, “I am Mopo, and this is my sister Baleka.”

I stopped, and a great shout of laughter went up from all who stood

round.

“Very well, Mopo and thy sister Baleka,” said Chaka, grimly.

“Good-morning to you, Mopo and Baleka—also, good-night!”

“O Chaka,” I broke in, “I am Mopo, son of Makedama of the Langeni

tribe. It was I who gave thee a gourd of water many years ago, when we

were both little. Then thou badest me come to thee when thou hadst

grown great, vowing that thou wouldst protect me and never do me harm.

So I have come, bringing my sister with me; and now, I pray thee, do

not eat up the words of long ago.”

As I spoke, Chaka’s face changed, and he listened earnestly, as a man

who holds his hand behind his ear. “Those are no liars,” he said.

“Welcome, Mopo! Thou shalt be a dog in my hut, and feed from my hand.

But of thy sister I said nothing. Why, then, should she not be slain

when I swore vengeance against all thy tribe, save thee alone?”

“Because she is too fair to slay, O Chief!” I answered, boldly; “also

because I love her, and ask her life as a boon!”

“Turn the girl over,” said Chaka. And they did so, showing her face.

“Again thou speakest no lie, son of Makedama,” said the chief. “I grant

thee the boon. She also shall lie in my hut, and be of the number of my

‘sisters.’ Now tell me thy tale, speaking only the truth.”

So I sat down and told him all. Nor did he grow weary of listening.

But, when I had done, he said but one thing—that he would that the dog

Koos had not been killed; since, if he had still been alive, he would

have set him on the hut of my father Makedama, and made him chief over

the Langeni.

Then he spoke to the captain of the soldiers. “I take back my words,”

he said. “Let not these men of the Langeni be mutilated. One shall die

and the other shall go free. Here,” and he pointed to the man whom we

had seen led out of the kraal-gate, “here, Mopo, we have a man who has

proved himself a coward. Yesterday a kraal of wizards yonder was eaten

up by my order—perhaps you two saw it as you travelled. This man and

three others attacked a soldier of that kraal who defended his wife and

children. The man fought well—he slew three of my people. Then this dog

was afraid to meet him face to face. He killed him with a throwing

assegai, and afterwards he stabbed the woman. That is nothing; but he

should have fought the husband hand to hand. Now I will do him honour.

He shall fight to the death with one of these pigs from thy sty,” and

he pointed with his spear to the men of my father’s kraal, “and the one

who survives shall be run down as they tried to run you down. I will

send back the other pig to the sty with a message. Choose, children of

Makedama, which of you will live.”

Now the two men of my tribe were brothers, and loved one another, and

each of them was willing to die that the other might go free.

Therefore, both of them stepped forward, saying that they would fight

the Zulu.

“What, is there honour among pigs?” said Chaka. “Then I will settle it.

See this assegai? I throw it into the air; if the blade falls uppermost

the tall man shall go free; if the shaft falls uppermost, then life is

to the short one, so!” And he sent the little spear whirling round and

round in the air. Every eye watched it as it wheeled and fell. The haft

struck the ground first.

“Come hither, thou,” said Chaka to the tall brother. “Hasten back to

the kraal of Makedama, and say to him, Thus says Chaka, the Lion of the

Zulu-ka-Malandela, ‘Years ago thy tribe refused me milk. To-day the dog

of thy son Mopo howls upon the roof of thy hut.’ Begone!”[1]

[1] Among the Zulus it is a very bad omen for a dog to climb the roof

of a hut. The saying conveyed a threat to be appreciated by every

Zulu.—ED.

The man turned, shook his brother by the hand, and went, bearing the

words of evil omen.

Then Chaka called to the Zulu and the last of those who had followed us

to kill us, bidding them fight. So, when they had praised the prince

they fought fiercely, and the end of it was that the man of my people

conquered the Zulu. But as soon as he had found his breath again he was

set to run for his life, and after him ran five chosen men.

Still, it came about that he outran them, doubling like a hare, and got

away safely. Nor was Chaka angry at this; for I think that he bade the

men who hunted him to make speed slowly. There was only one good thing

in the cruel heart of Chaka, that he would always save the life of a

brave man if he could do so without making his word nothing. And for my

part, I was glad to think that the man of my people had conquered him

who murdered the children of the dying woman that we found at the kraal

beyond the river.

CHAPTER V.

MOPO BECOMES THE KING’S DOCTOR

These, then, my father, were the events that ended in the coming of me,

Mopo, and of my sister Baleka to the kraal of Chaka, the Lion of the

Zulu. Now you may ask why have I kept you so long with this tale, which

is as are other tales of our people. But that shall be seen, for from

these matters, as a tree from a seed, grew the birth of Umslopogaas

Bulalio, Umslopogaas the Slaughterer, and Nada the Beautiful, of whose

love my story has to tell. For Nada was my daughter, and Umslopogaas,

though few knew it, was none other than the son of Chaka, born of my

sister Baleka.

Now when Baleka recovered from the weariness of our flight, and had her

beauty again, Chaka took her to wife, numbering her among his women,

whom he named his “sisters.” And me Chaka took to be one of his

doctors, of his _izinyanga_ of medicine, and he was so well pleased

with my medicine that in the end I became his head doctor. Now this was

a great post, in which, during the course of years, I grew fat in

cattle and in wives; but also it was one of much danger. For when I

rose strong and well in the morning, I could never know but that at

night I should sleep stiff and red. Many were the doctors whom Chaka

slew; doctored they never so well, they were killed at last. For a day

would surely come when the king felt ill in his body or heavy in his

mind, and then to the assegai or the torment with the wizard who had

doctored him! Yet I escaped, because of the power of my medicine, and

also because of that oath which Chaka had sworn to me as a child. So it

came about that where the king went there I went with him. I slept near

his hut, I sat behind him at council, in the battle I was ever at his

side.

Ah! the battle! the battle! In those days we knew how to fight, my

father! In those days the vultures would follow our impis by thousands,

the hyenas would steal along our path in packs, and none went empty

away. Never may I forget the first fight I stood in at the side of

Chaka. It was just after the king had built his great kraal on the

south bank of the Umhlatuze. Then it was that the chief Zwide attacked

his rival Chaka for the third time and Chaka moved out to meet him with

ten full regiments,[1] now for the first time armed with the short

stabbing-spear.

[1] About 30,000 men.—ED.

The ground lay thus: On a long, low hill in front of our impi were

massed the regiments of Zwide; there were seventeen of them; the earth

was black with their number; their plumes filled the air like snow. We,

too, were on a hill, and between us lay a valley down which there ran a

little stream. All night our fires shone out across the valley; all

night the songs of soldiers echoed down the hills. Then the grey

dawning came, the oxen lowed to the light, the regiments arose from

their bed of spears; they sprang up and shook the dew from hair and

shield—yes! they arose! the glad to die! The impi assumed its array

regiment by regiment. There was the breast of spears, there were the

horns of spears, they were numberless as the stars, and like the stars

they shone. The morning breeze came up and fanned them, their plumes

bent in the breeze; like a plain of seeding grass they bent, the plumes

of the soldiers ripe for the assegai. Up over the shoulder of the hill

came the sun of Slaughter; it glowed red upon the red shields, red grew

the place of killing; the white plumes of the chiefs were dipped in the

blood of heaven. They knew it; they saw the omen of death, and, ah!

they laughed in the joy of the waking of battle. What was death? Was it

not well to die on the spear? What was death? Was it not well to die

for the king? Death was the arms of Victory. Victory would be their

bride that night, and oh! her breast is fair.

Hark! the war-song, the Ingomo, the music of which has the power to

drive men mad, rose far away to the left, and was thrown along from

regiment to regiment—a rolling ball of sound—

We are the king’s kine, bred to be butchered,

You, too, are one of us!

We are the Zulu, children of the Lion,

What! did you tremble?

Suddenly Chaka was seen stalking through the ranks, followed by his

captains, his indunas, and by me. He walked along like a great buck;

death was in his eyes, and like a buck he sniffed the air, scenting the

air of slaughter. He lifted his assegai, and a silence fell; only the

sound of chanting still rolled along the hills.

“Where are the children of Zwide?” he shouted, and his voice was like

the voice of a bull.

“Yonder, father,” answered the regiments. And every spear pointed

across the valley.

“They do not come,” he shouted again. “Shall we then sit here till we

grow old?”

“No, father,” they answered. “Begin! begin!”

“Let the Umkandhlu regiment come forward!” he shouted a third time, and

as he spoke the black shields of the Umkandhlu leaped from the ranks of

the impi.

“Go, my children!” cried Chaka. “There is the foe. Go and return no

more!”

“We hear you, father!” they answered with one voice, and moved down the

slope like a countless herd of game with horns of steel.

Now they crossed the stream, and now Zwide awoke. A murmur went through

his companies; lines of light played above his spears.

_Ou!_ they are coming! _Ou!_ they have met! Hearken to the thunder of

the shields! Hearken to the song of battle!

To and fro they swing. The Umkandhlu gives way—it flies! They pour back

across the stream—half of them; the rest are dead. A howl of rage goes

up from the host, only Chaka smiles.

“Open up! open up!” he cries. “Make room for the Umkandhlu _girls!_”

And with hanging heads they pass us.

Now he whispers a word to the indunas. The indunas run; they whisper to

Menziwa the general and to the captains; then two regiments rush down

the hill, two more run to the right, and yet another two to the left.

But Chaka stays on the hill with the three that are left. Again comes

the roar of the meeting shields. Ah! these are men: they fight, they do

not run. Regiment after regiment pours upon them, but still they stand.

They fall by hundreds and by thousands, but no man shows his back, and

on each man there lie two dead. _Wow!_ my father, of those two

regiments not one escaped. They were but boys, but they were the

children of Chaka. Menziwa was buried beneath the heaps of his

warriors. Now there are no such men.

They are all dead and quiet. Chaka still holds his hand! He looks to

the north and to the south. See! spears are shining among the trees.

Now the horns of our host close upon the flanks of the foe. They slay

and are slain, but the men of Zwide are many and brave, and the battle

turns against us.

Then again Chaka speaks a word. The captains hear, the soldiers stretch

out their necks to listen.

It has come at last. “_Charge! Children of the Zulu!_”

There is a roar, a thunder of feet, a flashing of spears, a bending of

plumes, and, like a river that has burst its banks, like storm-clouds

before the gale, we sweep down upon friend and foe. They form up to

meet us; the stream is passed; our wounded rise upon their haunches and

wave us on. We trample them down. What matter? They can fight no more.

Then we meet Zwide rushing to greet us, as bull meets bull. _Ou!_ my

father, I know no more. Everything grows red. That fight! that fight!

We swept them away. When it was done there was nothing to be seen, but

the hillside was black and red. Few fled; few were left to fly. We

passed over them like fire; we ate them up. Presently we paused,

looking for the foe. All were dead. The host of Zwide was no more. Then

we mustered. Ten regiments had looked upon the morning sun; three

regiments saw the sun sink; the rest had gone where no suns shine.

Such were our battles in the days of Chaka!

You ask of the Umkandhlu regiment which fled. I will tell you. When we

reached our kraal once more, Chaka summoned that regiment and mustered

it. He spoke to them gently, gently. He thanked them for their service.

He said it was natural that “_girls_” should faint at the sight of

blood and turn to seek their kraals. Yet he had bid them come back no

more and they had come back! What then was there now left for him to

do? And he covered his face with his blanket. Then the soldiers killed

them all, nearly two thousand of them—killed them with taunts and

jeers.

That is how we dealt with cowards in those days, my father. After that,

one Zulu was a match for five of any other tribe. If ten came against

him, still he did not turn his back. “Fight and fall, but fly not,”

that was our watchword. Never again while Chaka lived did a conquered

force pass the gates of the king’s kraal.

That fight was but one war out of many. With every moon a fresh impi

started to wash its spears, and came back few and thin, but with

victory and countless cattle. Tribe after tribe went down before us.

Those of them who escaped the assegai were enrolled into fresh

regiments, and thus, though men died by thousands every month, yet the

army grew. Soon there were no other chiefs left. Umsuduka fell, and

after him Mancengeza. Umzilikazi was driven north; Matiwane was stamped

flat. Then we poured into this land of Natal. When we entered, its

people could not be numbered. When we left, here and there a man might

be found in a hole in the earth—that was all. Men, women, and children,

we wiped them out; the land was clean of them. Next came the turn of

U’Faku, chief of the Amapondos. Ah! where is U’Faku now?

And so it went on and on, till even the Zulus were weary of war and the

sharpest assegais grew blunt.

CHAPTER VI.

THE BIRTH OF UMSLOPOGAAS

This was the rule of the life of Chaka, that he would have no children,

though he had many wives. Every child born to him by his “sisters” was

put away at once.

“What, Mopo,” he said to me, “shall I rear up children to put me to the

assegai when they grow great? They call me tyrant. Say, how do those

chiefs die whom men name tyrants? They die at the hands of those whom

they have bred. Nay, Mopo, I will rule for my life, and when I join the

spirits of my fathers let the strongest take my power and my place!”

Now it chanced that shortly after Chaka had spoken thus, my sister

Baleka, the king’s wife, fell in labour; and on that same day my wife

Macropha was brought to bed of twins, and this but eight days after my

second wife, Anadi, had given birth to a son. You ask, my father, how I

came to be married, seeing that Chaka forbade marriage to all his

soldiers till they were in middle life and had put the man’s ring upon

their heads. It was a boon he granted me as _inyanga_ of medicine,

saying it was well that a doctor should know the sicknesses of women

and learn how to cure their evil tempers. As though, my father, that

were possible!

When the king heard that Baleka was sick he did not kill her outright,

because he loved her a little, but he sent for me, commanding me to

attend her, and when the child was born to cause its body to be brought

to him, according to custom, so that he might be sure that it was dead.

I bent to the earth before him, and went to do his bidding with a heavy

heart, for was not Baleka my sister? and would not her child be of my

own blood? Still, it must be so, for Chaka’s whisper was as the shout

of other kings, and, if we dared to disobey, then our lives and the

lives of all in our kraals would answer for it. Better that an infant

should die than that we should become food for jackals. Presently I

came to the _Emposeni_, the place of the king’s wives, and declared the

king’s word to the soldiers on guard. They lowered their assegais and

let me pass, and I entered the hut of Baleka. In it were others of the

king’s wives, but when they saw me they rose and went away, for it was

not lawful that they should stay where I was. Thus I was left alone

with my sister.

For awhile she lay silent, and I did not speak, though I saw by the

heaving of her breast that she was weeping.

“Hush, little one!” I said at length; “your sorrow will soon be done.”

“Nay,” she answered, lifting her head, “it will be but begun. Oh, cruel

man! I know the reason of your coming. You come to murder the babe that

shall be born of me.”

“It is the king’s word, woman.”

“It is the king’s word, and what is the king’s word? Have I, then,

naught to say in this matter?”

“It is the king’s child, woman.”

“It is the king’s child, and it is not also my child? Must my babe be

dragged from my breast and be strangled, and by you, Mopo? Have I not

loved you, Mopo? Did I not flee with you from our people and the

vengeance of our father? Do you know that not two moons gone the king

was wroth with you because he fell sick, and would have caused you to

be slain had I not pleaded for you and called his oath to mind? And

thus you pay me: you come to kill my child, my first-born child!”

“It is the king’s word, woman,” I answered sternly; but my heart was

split in two within me.

Then Baleka said no more, but, turning her face to the wall of the hut,

she wept and groaned bitterly.

Now, as she wept I heard a stir without the hut, and the light in the

doorway was darkened. A woman entered alone. I looked round to see who

it was, then fell upon the ground in salutation, for before me was

Unandi, mother of the king, who was named “Mother of the Heavens,” that

same lady to whom my mother had refused the milk.

“Hail, Mother of the Heavens!” I said.

“Greeting, Mopo,” she answered. “Say, why does Baleka weep? Is it

because the sorrow of women is upon her?”

“Ask of her, great chieftainess,” I said.

Then Baleka spoke: “I weep, mother of a king, because this man, who is

my brother, has come from him who is my lord and thy son, to murder

that which shall be born of me. O thou whose breasts have given suck,

plead for me! Thy son was not slain at birth.”

“Perhaps it were well if he had been so slain, Baleka,” said Unandi;

“then had many another man lived to look upon the sun who is now dead.”

“At the least, as an infant he was good and gentle, and thou mightest

love him, Mother of the Zulu.”

“Never, Baleka! As a babe he bit my breast and tore my hair; as the man

is so was the babe.”

“Yet may his child be otherwise, Mother of the Heavens! Think, thou

hast no grandson to comfort thee in thy age. Wilt thou, then, see all

thy stock wither? The king, our lord, lives in war. He too may die, and

what then?”

“Then the root of Senzangacona is still green. Has the king no

brothers?”

“They are not of thy flesh, mother. What? thou dost not hearken! Then

as a woman to woman I plead with thee. Save my child or slay me with my

child!”

Now the heart of Unandi grew gentle, and she was moved to tears.

“How may this be done, Mopo?” she said. “The king must see the dead

infant, and if he suspect, and even reeds have ears, you know the heart

of Chaka and where we shall lie to-morrow.”

“Are there then no other new-born babes in Zululand?” said Baleka,

sitting up and speaking in a whisper like the hiss of a snake. “Listen,

Mopo! Is not your wife also in labour? Now hear me, Mother of the

Heavens, and, my brother, hear me also. Do not think to play with me in

this matter. I will save my child or you twain will perish with it. For

I will tell the king that you came to me, the two of you, and whispered

plots into my ear—plots to save the child and kill the king. Now

choose, and swiftly!”

She sank bank, there was silence, and we looked one upon another. Then

Unandi spoke.

“Give me your hand, Mopo, and swear that you will be faithful to me in

this secret, as I swear to you. A day may come when this child who has

not seen the light rules as king in Zululand, and then in reward you

shall be the greatest of the people, the king’s voice, whisperer in the

king’s ear. But if you break your oath, then beware, for I shall not

die alone!”

“I swear, Mother of the Heavens,” I answered.

“It is well, son of Makedama.”

“It is well, my brother,” said Baleka. “Now go and do that which must

be done swiftly, for my sorrow is upon me. Go, knowing that if you fail

I will be pitiless, for I will bring you to your death, yes, even if my

own death is the price!”

So I went. “Whither do you go?” asked the guard at the gate.

“I go to bring my medicines, men of the king,” I answered.

So I said; but, oh! my heart was heavy, and this was my plan—to fly far

from Zululand. I could not, and I dared not do this thing. What? should

I kill my own child that its life might be given for the life of the

babe of Baleka? And should I lift up my will against the will of the

king, saving the child to look upon the sun which he had doomed to

darkness? Nay, I would fly, leaving all, and seek out some far tribe

where I might begin to live again. Here I could not live; here in the

shadow of Chaka was nothing but death.

I reached my own huts, there to find that my wife Macropha was

delivered of twins. I sent away all in the hut except my other wife,

Anadi, she who eight days gone had borne me a son. The second of the

twins was born; it was a boy, born dead. The first was a girl, she who

lived to be Nada the Beautiful, Nada the Lily. Then a thought came into

my heart. Here was a path to run on.

“Give me the boy,” I said to Anadi. “He is not dead. Give him to me

that I may take him outside the kraal and wake him to life by my

medicine.”

“It is of no use—the child is dead,” said Anadi.

“Give him to me, woman!” I said fiercely. And she gave me the body.

Then I took him and wrapped him up in my bundle of medicines, and

outside of all I rolled a mat of plaited grass.

“Suffer none to enter the hut till I return,” I said; “and speak no

word of the child that seems to be dead. If you allow any to enter, or

if you speak a word, then my medicine will not work and the babe will

be dead indeed.”

So I went, leaving the women wondering, for it is not our custom to

save both when twins are born; but I ran swiftly to the gates of the

_Emposeni_.

“I bring the medicines, men of the king!” I said to the guards.

“Pass in,” they answered.

I passed through the gates and into the hut of Baleka. Unandi was alone

in the hut with my sister.

“The child is born,” said the mother of the king. “Look at him, Mopo,

son of Makedama!”

I looked. He was a great child with large black eyes like the eyes of

Chaka the king; and Unandi, too, looked at me. “Where is it?” she

whispered.

I loosed the mat and drew the dead child from the medicines, glancing

round fearfully as I did so.

“Give me the living babe,” I whispered back.

They gave it to me and I took of a drug that I knew and rubbed it on

the tongue of the child. Now this drug has the power to make the tongue

it touches dumb for awhile. Then I wrapped up the child in my medicines

and again bound the mat about the bundle. But round the throat of the

still-born babe I tied a string of fibre as though I had strangled it,

and wrapped it loosely in a piece of matting.

Now for the first time I spoke to Baleka: “Woman,” I said, “and thou

also, Mother of the Heavens, I have done your wish, but know that

before all is finished this deed shall bring about the death of many.

Be secret as the grave, for the grave yawns for you both.”

I went again, bearing the mat containing the dead child in my right

hand. But the bundle of medicines that held the living one I fastened

across my shoulders. I passed out of the _Emposeni_, and, as I went, I

held up the bundle in my right hand to the guards, showing them that

which was in it, but saying nothing.

“It is good,” they said, nodding.

But now ill-fortune found me, for just outside the _Emposeni_ I met

three of the king’s messengers.

“Greeting, son of Makedama!” they said. “The king summons you to the

_Intunkulu_”—that is the royal house, my father.

“Good!” I answered. “I will come now; but first I would run to my own

place to see how it goes with Macropha, my wife. Here is that which the

king seeks,” and I showed them the dead child. “Take it to him if you

will.”

“That is not the king’s command, Mopo,” they answered. “His word is

that you should stand before him at once.”

Now my heart turned to water in my breast. Kings have many ears. Could

he have heard? And how dared I go before the Lion bearing his living

child hidden on my back? Yet to waver was to be lost, to show fear was

to be lost, to disobey was to be lost.

“Good! I come,” I answered. And we walked to the gate of the

_Intunkulu_.

It was sundown. Chaka was sitting in the little courtyard in front of

his hut. I went down on my knees before him and gave the royal salute,

_Bayéte_, and so I stayed.

“Rise, son of Makedama!” he said.

“I cannot rise, Lion of the Zulu,” I answered, “I cannot rise, having

royal blood on my hands, till the king has pardoned me.”

“Where is it?” he asked.

I pointed to the mat in my hand.

“Let me look at it.”

Then I undid the mat, and he looked on the child, and laughed aloud.

“He might have been a king,” he said, as he bade a councillor take it

away. “Mopo, thou hast slain one who might have been a king. Art thou

not afraid?”

“No, Black One,” I answered, “the child is killed by order of one who

is a king.”

“Sit down, and let us talk,” said Chaka, for his mood was idle.

“To-morrow thou shalt have five oxen for this deed; thou shalt choose

them from the royal herd.”

“The king is good; he sees that my belt is drawn tight; he satisfies my

hunger. Will the king suffer that I go? My wife is in labour and I

would visit her.”

“Nay, stay awhile; say how it is with Baleka, my sister and thine?”

“It is well.”

“Did she weep when you took the babe from her?”

“Nay, she wept not. She said, ‘My lord’s will is my will.’”

“Good! Had she wept she had been slain also. Who was with her?”

“The Mother of the Heavens.”

The brow of Chaka darkened. “Unandi, my mother, what did she there? By

myself I swear, though she is my mother—if I thought”—and he ceased.

There was a silence, then he spoke again. “Say, what is in that mat?”

and he pointed with his little assegai at the bundle on my shoulders.

“Medicine, king.”

“Thou dost carry enough to doctor an impi. Undo the mat and let me look

at it.”

“Now, my father, I tell you that the marrow melted in my bones with

terror, for if I undid the mat I feared he must see the child and

then—”

“It is _tagati_, it is bewitched, O king. It is not wise to look on

medicine.”

“Open!” he answered angrily. “What? may I not look at that which I am

forced to swallow—I, who am the first of doctors?”

“Death is the king’s medicine,” I answered, lifting the bundle, and

laying it as far from him in the shadow of the fence as I dared. Then I

bent over it, slowly undoing the rimpis with which it was tied, while

the sweat of terror ran down my face blinding me like tears. What would

I do if he saw the child? What if the child awoke and cried? I would

snatch the assegai from his hand and stab him! Yes, I would kill the

king and then kill myself! Now the mat was unrolled. Inside were the

brown leaves and roots of medicine; beneath them was the senseless babe

wrapped in dead moss.

“Ugly stuff,” said the king, taking snuff. “Now see, Mopo, what a good

aim I have! This for thy medicine!” And he lifted his assegai to throw

it through the bundle. But as he threw, my snake put it into the king’s

heart to sneeze, and thus it came to pass that the assegai only pierced

the outer leaves of the medicine, and did not touch the child.

“May the heavens bless the king!” I said, according to custom.

“Thanks to thee, Mopo, it is a good omen,” he answered. “And now,

begone! Take my advice: kill thy children, as I kill mine, lest they

live to worry thee. The whelps of lions are best drowned.”

I did up the bundle fast—fast, though my hands trembled. Oh! what if

the child should wake and cry. It was done; I rose and saluted the

king. Then I doubled myself up and passed from before him. Scarcely was

I outside the gates of the _Intunkulu_ when the infant began to squeak

in the bundle. If it had been one minute before!

“What,” said a soldier, as I passed, “have you got a puppy hidden under

your moocha,[1] Mopo?”

[1] Girdle composed of skin and tails of oxen.-ED.

I made no answer, but hurried on till I came to my huts. I entered;

there were my two wives alone.

“I have recovered the child, women,” I said, as I undid the bundle.

Anadi took him and looked at him.

“The boy seems bigger than he was,” she said.

“The breath of life has come into him and puffed him out,” I answered.

“His eyes are not as his eyes were,” she said again. “Now they are big

and black, like the eyes of the king.”

“My spirit looked upon his eyes and made them beautiful,” I answered.

“This child has a birth-mark on his thigh,” she said a third time.

“That which I gave you had no mark.”

“I laid my medicine there,” I answered.

“It is not the same child,” she said sullenly. “It is a changeling who

will lay ill-luck at our doors.”

Then I rose up in my rage and cursed her heavily, for I saw that if she

was not stopped this woman’s tongue would bring us all to ruin.

“Peace, witch!” I cried. “How dare you to speak thus from a lying

heart? Do you wish to draw down a curse upon our roof? Would you make

us all food for the king’s spear? Say such words again, and you shall

sit within the circle—the _Ingomboco_ shall know you for a witch!”

So I stormed on, threatening to bring her to death, till at length she

grew fearful, and fell at my feet praying for mercy and forgiveness.

But I was much afraid because of this woman’s tongue, and not without

reason.

CHAPTER VII.

UMSLOPOGAAS ANSWERS THE KING

Now the years went on, and this matter slept. Nothing more was heard of

it, but still it only slept; and, my father, I feared greatly for the

hour when it should awake. For the secret was known by two

women—Unandi, Mother of the Heavens, and Baleka, my sister, wife of the

king; and by two more—Macropha and Anadi, my wives—it was guessed at.

How, then, should it remain a secret forever? Moreover, it came about

that Unandi and Baleka could not restrain their fondness for this child

who was called my son and named Umslopogaas, but who was the son of

Chaka, the king, and of Baleka, and the grandson of Unandi. So it

happened that very often one or the other of them would come into my

hut, making pretence to visit my wives, and take the boy upon her lap

and fondle it. In vain did I pray them to forbear. Love pulled at their

heart-strings more heavily than my words, and still they came. This was

the end of it—that Chaka saw the child sitting on the knee of Unandi,

his mother.

“What does my mother with that brat of thine, Mopo?” he asked of me.

“Cannot she kiss me, if she will find a child to kiss?” And he laughed

like a wolf.

I said that I did not know, and the matter passed over for awhile. But

after that Chaka caused his mother to be watched. Now the boy

Umslopogaas grew great and strong; there was no such lad of his years

for a day’s journey round. But from a babe he was somewhat surly, of

few words, and like his father, Chaka, afraid of nothing. In all the

world there were but two people whom he loved—these were I, Mopo, who

was called his father, and Nada, she who was said to be his twin

sister.

Now it must be told of Nada that as the boy Umslopogaas was the

strongest and bravest of children, so the girl Nada was the gentlest

and most fair. Of a truth, my father, I believe that her blood was not

all Zulu, though this I cannot say for certain. At the least, her eyes

were softer and larger than those of our people, her hair longer and

less tightly curled, and her skin was lighter—more of the colour of

pure copper. These things she had from her mother, Macropha; though she

was fairer than Macropha—fairer, indeed, than any woman of my people

whom I have seen. Her mother, Macropha, my wife, was of Swazi blood,

and was brought to the king’s kraal with other captives after a raid,

and given to me as a wife by the king. It was said that she was the

daughter of a Swazi headman of the tribe of the Halakazi, and that she

was born of his wife is true, but whether he was her father I do not

know; for I have heard from the lips of Macropha herself, that before

she was born there was a white man staying at her father’s kraal. He

was a Portuguese from the coast, a handsome man, and skilled in the

working of iron. This white man loved the mother of my wife, Macropha,

and some held that Macropha was his daughter, and not that of the Swazi

headman. At least I know this, that before my wife’s birth the Swazi

killed the white man. But none can tell the truth of these matters, and

I only speak of them because the beauty of Nada was rather as is the

beauty of the white people than of ours, and this might well happen if

her grandfather chanced to be a white man.

Now Umslopogaas and Nada were always together. Together they ate,

together they slept and wandered; they thought one thought and spoke

with one tongue. _Ou!_ it was pretty to see them! Twice while they were

still children did Umslopogaas save the life of Nada.

The first time it came about thus. The two children had wandered far

from the kraal, seeking certain berries that little ones love. On they

wandered and on, singing as they went, till at length they found the

berries, and ate heartily. Then it was near sundown, and when they had

eaten they fell asleep. In the night they woke to find a great wind

blowing and a cold rain falling on them, for it was the beginning of

winter, when fruits are ripe.

“Up, Nada!” said Umslopogaas, “we must seek the kraal or the cold will

kill us.”

So Nada rose, frightened, and hand in hand they stumbled through the

darkness. But in the wind and the night they lost their path, and when

at length the dawn came they were in a forest that was strange to them.

They rested awhile, and finding berries ate them, then walked again.

All that day they wandered, till at last the night came down, and they

plucked branches of trees and piled the branches over them for warmth,

and they were so weary that they fell asleep in each other’s arms. At

dawn they rose, but now they were very tired and berries were few, so

that by midday they were spent. Then they lay down on the side of a

steep hill, and Nada laid her head upon the breast of Umslopogaas.

“Here let us die, my brother,” she said.

But even then the boy had a great spirit, and he answered, “Time to

die, sister, when Death chooses us. See, now! Do you rest here, and I

will climb the hill and look across the forest.”

So he left her and climbed the hill, and on its side he found many

berries and a root that is good for food, and filled himself with them.

At length he came to the crest of the hill and looked out across the

sea of green. Lo! there, far away to the east, he saw a line of white

that lay like smoke against the black surface of a cliff, and knew it

for the waterfall beyond the royal town. Then he came down the hill,

shouting for joy and bearing roots and berries in his hand. But when he

reached the spot where Nada was, he found that her senses had left her

through hunger, cold, and weariness. She lay upon the ground like one

asleep, and over her stood a jackal that fled as he drew nigh. Now it

would seem that there were but two shoots to the stick of Umslopogaas.

One was to save himself, and the other to lie down and die by Nada. Yet

he found a third, for, undoing the strips of his moocha, he made ropes

of them, and with the ropes he bound Nada on his back and started for

the king’s kraal. He could never have reached it, for the way was long,

yet at evening some messengers running through the forest came upon a

naked lad with a girl bound to his back and a staff in his hand, who

staggered along slowly with starting eyes and foam upon his lips. He

could not speak, he was so weary, and the ropes had cut through the

skin of his shoulders; yet one of the messengers knew him for

Umslopogaas, the son of Mopo, and they bore him to the kraal. They

would have left the girl Nada, thinking her dead, but he pointed to her

breast, and, feeling it, they found that her heart still beat, so they

brought her also; and the end of it was that both recovered and loved

each other more than ever before.

Now after this, I, Mopo, bade Umslopogaas stay at home within the

kraal, and not lead his sister to the wilds. But the boy loved roaming

like a fox, and where he went there Nada followed. So it came about

that one day they slipped from the kraal when the gates were open, and

sought out a certain deep glen which had an evil name, for it was said

that spirits haunted it and put those to death who entered there.

Whether this was true I do not know, but I know that in the glen dwelt

a certain woman of the woods, who had her habitation in a cave and

lived upon what she could kill or steal or dig up with her hands. Now

this woman was mad. For it had chanced that her husband had been “smelt

out” by the witch-doctors as a worker of magic against the king, and

slain. Then Chaka, according to custom, despatched the slayers to eat

up his kraal, and they came to the kraal and killed his people. Last of

all they killed his children, three young girls, and would have

assegaied their mother, when suddenly a spirit entered into her at the

sight, and she went mad, so that they let her go, being afraid to touch

her afterwards. So she fled and took up her abode in the haunted glen;

and this was the nature of her madness, that whenever she saw children,

and more especially girl children, a longing came upon her to kill them

as her own had been killed. This, indeed, she did often, for when the

moon was full and her madness at its highest, she would travel far to

find children, snatching them away from the kraals like a hyena. Still,

none would touch her because of the spirit in her, not even those whose

children she had murdered.

So Umslopogaas and Nada came to the glen where the child-slayer lived,

and sat down by a pool of water not far from the mouth of her cave,

weaving flowers into a garland. Presently Umslopogaas left Nada, to

search for rock lilies which she loved. As he went he called back to

her, and his voice awoke the woman who was sleeping in her cave, for

she came out by night only, like a jackal. Then the woman stepped

forth, smelling blood and having a spear in her hand. Presently she saw

Nada seated upon the grass weaving flowers, and crept towards her to

kill her. Now as she came—so the child told me—suddenly a cold wind

seemed to breathe upon Nada, and fear took hold of her, though she did

not see the woman who would murder her. She let fall the flowers, and

looked before her into the pool, and there, mirrored in the pool, she

saw the greedy face of the child-slayer, who crept down upon her from

above, her hair hanging about her brow and her eyes shining like the

eyes of a lion.

Then with a cry Nada sprang up and fled along the path which

Umslopogaas had taken, and after her leapt and ran the mad woman.

Umslopogaas heard her cry. He turned and rushed back over the brow of

the hill, and, lo! there before him was the murderess. Already she had

grasped Nada by the hair, already her spear was lifted to pierce her.

Umslopogaas had no spear, he had nothing but a little stick without a

knob; yet with it he rushed at the mad woman and struck her so smartly

on the arm that she let go of the girl and turned on him with a yell.

Then, lifting her spear, she struck at him, but he leapt aside. Again

she struck; but he sprang into the air, and the spear passed beneath

him. A third time the woman struck, and, though he fell to earth to

avoid the blow, yet the assegai pierced his shoulder. But the weight of

his body as he fell twisted it from her hand, and before she could

grasp him he was up, and beyond her reach, the spear still fast in his

shoulder.

Then the woman turned, screaming with rage and madness, and ran at Nada

to kill her with her hands. But Umslopogaas set his teeth, and, drawing

the spear from his wound, charged her, shouting. She lifted a great

stone and hurled it at him—so hard that it flew into fragments against

another stone which it struck; yet he charged on, and smote at her so

truly that he drove the spear through her, and she fell down dead.

After that Nada bound up his wound, which was deep, and with much pain

he reached the king’s kraal and told me this story.

Now there were some who cried that the boy must be put to death,

because he had killed one possessed with a spirit. But I said no, he

should not be touched. He had killed the woman in defence of his own

life and the life of his sister; and every one had a right to slay in

self-defence, except as against the king or those who did the king’s

bidding. Moreover, I said, if the woman had a spirit, it was an evil

one, for no good spirit would ask the lives of children, but rather

those of cattle, for it is against our custom to sacrifice human beings

to the _Amatonga_ even in war, though the Basuta dogs do so. Still, the

tumult grew, for the witch-doctors were set upon the boy’s death,

saying that evil would come of it if he was allowed to live, having

killed one inspired, and at last the matter came to the ears of the

king. Then Chaka summoned me and the boy before him, and he also

summoned the witch-doctors.

First, the witch-doctors set out their case, demanding the death of

Umslopogaas. Chaka asked them what would happen if the boy was not

killed. They answered that the spirit of the dead woman would lead him

to bring evil on the royal house. Chaka asked if he would bring evil on

him, the king. They in turn asked the spirits, and answered no, not on

him, but on one of the royal house who should be after him. Chaka said

that he cared nothing what happened to those who came after him, or

whether good or evil befell them. Then he spoke to Umslopogaas, who

looked him boldly in the face, as an equal looks at an equal.

“Boy,” he said, “what hast thou to say as to why thou shouldst not be

killed as these men demand?”

“This, Black One,” answered Umslopogaas; “that I stabbed the woman in

defence of my own life.”

“That is nothing,” said Chaka. “If I, the king, wished to kill thee,

mightest thou therefore kill me or those whom I sent? The _Itongo_ in

the woman was a Spirit King and ordered her to kill thee; thou shouldst

then have let thyself be killed. Hast thou no other reason?”

“This, Elephant,” answered Umslopogaas; “the woman would have murdered

my sister, whom I love better than my life.”

“That is nothing,” said Chaka. “If I ordered thee to be killed for any

cause, should I not also order all within thy gates to be killed with

thee? May not, then, a Spirit King do likewise? If thou hast nothing

more to say thou must die.”

Now I grew afraid, for I feared lest Chaka should slay him who was

called my son because of the word of the doctors. But the boy

Umslopogaas looked up and answered boldly, not as one who pleads for

his life, but as one who demands a right:—

“I have this to say, Eater-up of Enemies, and if it is not enough, let

us stop talking, and let me be killed. Thou, O king, didst command that

this woman should be slain. Those whom thou didst send to destroy her

spared her, because they thought her mad. I have carried out the

commandment of the king; I have slain her, mad or sane, whom the king

commanded should be killed, and I have earned not death, but a reward.”

“Well said, Umslopogaas!” answered Chaka. “Let ten head of cattle be

given to this boy with the heart of a man; his father shall guard them

for him. Art thou satisfied now, Umslopogaas?”

“I take that which is due to me, and I thank the king because he need

not pay unless he will,” Umslopogaas answered.

Chaka stared awhile, began to grow angry, then burst out laughing.

“Why, this calf is such another one as was dropped long ago in the

kraal of Senzangacona!” he said. “As I was, so is this boy. Go on, lad,

in that path, and thou mayst find those who shall cry the royal salute

of _Bayéte_ to thee at the end of it. Only keep out of my way, for two

of a kind might not agree. Now begone!”

So we went out, but as we passed them I saw the doctors muttering

together, for they were ill-pleased and foreboded evil. Also they were

jealous of me, and wished to smite me through the heart of him who was

called my son.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE GREAT INGOMBOCO

After this there was quiet until the Feast of the First-fruits was

ended. But few people were killed at this feast, though there was a

great _Ingomboco_, or witch-hunt, and many were smelt out by the

witch-doctors as working magic against the king. Now things had come to

this pass in Zululand—that the whole people cowered before the

witch-doctors. No man might sleep safe, for none knew but that on the

morrow he would be touched by the wand of an _Isanusi_, as we name a

finder of witches, and led away to his death. For awhile Chaka said

nothing, and so long as the doctors smelt out those only whom he wished

to get rid of—and they were many—he was well pleased. But when they

began to work for their own ends, and to do those to death whom he did

not desire to kill, he grew angry. Yet the custom of the land was that

he whom the witch-doctor touched must die, he and all his house;

therefore the king was in a cleft stick, for he scarcely dared to save

even those whom he loved. One night I came to doctor him, for he was

sick in his mind. On that very day there had been an _Ingomboco_, and

five of the bravest captains of the army had been smelt out by the

_Abangoma_, the witch-finders, together with many others. All had been

destroyed, and men had been sent to kill the wives and children of the

dead. Now Chaka was very angry at this slaying, and opened his heart to

me.

“The witch-doctors rule in Zululand, and not I, Mopo, son of Makedama,”

he said to me. “Where, then, is it to end? Shall I myself be smelt out

and slain? These _Isanusis_ are too strong for me; they lie upon the

land like the shadow of night. Tell me, how may I be free of them?”

“Those who walk the Bridge of Spears, O king, fall off into Nowhere,” I

answered darkly; “even witch-doctors cannot keep a footing on that

bridge. Has not a witch-doctor a heart that can cease to beat? Has he

not blood that can be made to flow?”

Chaka looked at me strangely. “Thou art a bold man who darest to speak

thus to me, Mopo,” he said. “Dost thou not know that it is sacrilege to

touch an _Isanusi?_”

“I speak that which is in the king’s mind,” I answered. “Hearken, O

king! It is indeed sacrilege to touch a true _Isanusi_, but what if the

_Isanusi_ be a liar? What if he smell out falsely, bringing those to

death who are innocent of evil? Is it then sacrilege to bring him to

that end which he has given to many another? Say, O king!”

“Good words!” answered Chaka. “Now tell me, son of Makedama, how may

this matter be put to proof?”

Then I leaned forward, whispering into the ear of the Black One, and he

nodded heavily.

Thus I spoke then, because I, too, saw the evil of the _Isanusis_, I

who knew their secrets. Also, I feared for my own life and for the

lives of all those who were dear to me. For they hated me as one

instructed in their magic, one who had the seeing eye and the hearing

ear.

One morning thereafter a new thing came to pass in the royal kraal, for

the king himself ran out, crying aloud to all people to come and see

the evil that had been worked upon him by a wizard. They came together

and saw this. On the door-posts of the gateway of the _Intunkulu_, the

house of the king, were great smears of blood. The knees of men strong

in the battle trembled when they saw it; women wailed aloud as they

wail over the dead; they wailed because of the horror of the omen.

“Who has done this thing?” cried Chaka in a terrible voice. “Who has

dared to bewitch the king and to strike blood upon his house?”

There was no answer, and Chaka spoke again. “This is no little matter,”

he said, “to be washed away with the blood of one or two and be

forgotten. The man who wrought it shall not die alone or travel with a

few to the world of spirits. All his tribe shall go with him, down to

the baby in his hut and cattle in his kraal! Let messengers go out east

and west, and north and south, and summon the witch-doctors from every

quarter! Let them summon the captains from every regiment and the

headmen from every kraal! On the tenth day from now the circle of the

_Ingomboco_ must be set, and there shall be such a smelling out of

wizards and of witches as has not been known in Zululand!”

So the messengers went out to do the bidding of the king, taking the

names of those who should be summoned from the lips of the indunas, and

day by day people flocked up to the gates of the royal kraal, and,

creeping on their knees before the majesty of the king, praised him

aloud. But he vouchsafed an answer to none. One noble only he caused to

be killed, because he carried in his hand a stick of the royal red

wood, which Chaka himself had given him in bygone years.[1]

[1] This beautiful wood is known in Natal as “red ivory.”—ED.

On the last night before the forming of the _Ingomboco_, the

witch-doctors, male and female, entered the kraal. There were a hundred

and a half of them, and they were made hideous and terrible with the

white bones of men, with bladders of fish and of oxen, with fat of

wizards, and with skins of snakes. They walked in silence till they

came in front of the _Intunkulu_, the royal house; then they stopped

and sang this song for the king to hear:—

We have come, O king, we have come from the caves and the rocks and the

swamps,

To wash in the blood of the slain;

We have gathered our host from the air as vultures are gathered in war

When they scent the blood of the slain.

We come not alone, O king: with each Wise One there passes a ghost,

Who hisses the name of the doomed.

We come not alone, for we are the sons and Indunas of Death,

And he guides our feet to the doomed.

Red rises the moon o’er the plain, red sinks the sun in the west,

Look, wizards, and bid them farewell!

We count you by hundreds, you who cried for a curse on the king.

Ha! soon shall we bid _you_ farewell!

Then they were silent, and went in silence to the place appointed for

them, there to pass the night in mutterings and magic. But those who

were gathered together shivered with fear when they heard their words,

for they knew well that many a man would be switched with the gnu’s

tail before the sun sank once more. And I, too, trembled, for my heart

was full of fear. Ah! my father, those were evil days to live in when

Chaka ruled, and death met us at every turn! Then no man might call his

life his own, or that of his wife or child, or anything. All were the

king’s, and what war spared that the witch-doctors took.

The morning dawned heavily, and before it was well light the heralds

were out summoning all to the king’s _Ingomboco_. Men came by hundreds,

carrying short sticks only—for to be seen armed was death—and seated

themselves in the great circle before the gates of the royal house. Oh!

their looks were sad, and they had little stomach for eating that

morning, they who were food for death. They seated themselves; then

round them on the outside of the circle gathered knots of warriors,

chosen men, great and fierce, armed with kerries only. These were the

slayers.

When all was ready, the king came out, followed by his indunas and by

me. As he appeared, wrapped in the kaross of tiger-skins and towering a

head higher than any man there, all the multitude—and it was many as

the game on the hills—cast themselves to earth, and from every lip

sharp and sudden went up the royal salute of _Bayéte_. But Chaka took

no note; his brow was cloudy as a mountain-top. He cast one glance at

the people and one at the slayers, and wherever his eye fell men turned

grey with fear. Then he stalked on, and sat himself upon a stool to the

north of the great ring looking toward the open space.

For awhile there was silence; then from the gates of the women’s

quarters came a band of maidens arrayed in their beaded

dancing-dresses, and carrying green branches in their hands. As they

came, they clapped their hands and sang softly:—

We are the heralds of the king’s feast. Ai! Ai!

Vultures shall eat it. Ah! Ah!

It is good—it is good to die for the king!

They ceased, and ranged themselves in a body behind us. Then Chaka held

up his hand, and there was a patter of running feet. Presently from

behind the royal huts appeared the great company of the _Abangoma_, the

witch-doctors—men to the right and women to the left. In the left hand

of each was the tail of a vilderbeeste, in the right a bundle of

assegais and a little shield. They were awful to see, and the bones

about them rattled as they ran, the bladders and the snake-skins

floated in the air behind them, their faces shone with the fat of

anointing, their eyes started like the eyes of fishes, and their lips

twitched hungrily as they glared round the death-ring. Ha! ha! little

did those evil children guess who should be the slayers and who should

be the slain before that sun sank!

On they came, like a grey company of the dead. On they came in silence

broken only by the patter of their feet and the dry rattling of their

bony necklets, till they stood in long ranks before the Black One.

Awhile they stood thus, then suddenly every one of them thrust forward

the little shield in his hand, and with a single voice they cried,

“Hail, Father!”

“Hail, my children!” answered Chaka.

“What seekest thou, Father?” they cried again. “Blood?”

“The blood of the guilty,” he answered.

They turned and spoke each to each; the company of the men spoke to the

company of the women.

“The Lion of the Zulu seeks blood.”

“He shall be fed!” screamed the women.

“The Lion of the Zulu smells blood.”

“He shall see it!” screamed the women.

“His eyes search out the wizards.”

“He shall count their dead!” screamed the women.

“Peace!” cried Chaka. “Waste not the hours in talk, but to the work.

Hearken! Wizards have bewitched me! Wizards have dared to smite blood

upon the gateways of the king. Dig in the burrows of the earth and find

them, ye rats! Fly through the paths of the air and find them, ye

vultures! Smell at the gates of the people and name them, ye jackals!

ye hunters in the night! Drag them from the caves if they be hidden,

from the distance if they be fled, from the graves if they be dead. To

the work! to the work! Show them to me truly, and your gifts shall be

great; and for them, if they be a nation, they shall be slain. Now

begin. Begin by companies of ten, for you are many, and all must be

finished ere the sun sink.”

“It shall be finished, Father,” they answered.

Then ten of the women stood forward, and at their head was the most

famous witch-doctress of that day—an aged woman named Nobela, a woman

to whose eyes the darkness was no evil, whose scent was keen as a

dog’s, who heard the voices of the dead as they cried in the night, and

spoke truly of what she heard. All the other _Isanusis_, male and

female, sat down in a half-moon facing the king, but this woman drew

forward, and with her came nine of her sisterhood. They turned east and

west, north and south, searching the heavens; they turned east and

west, north and south, searching the earth; they turned east and west,

north and south, searching the hearts of men. Then they crept round and

round the great ring like cats; then they threw themselves upon the

earth and smelt it. And all the time there was silence, silence deep as

midnight, and in it men hearkened to the beating of their hearts; only

now and again the vultures shrieked in the trees.

At length Nobela spoke:—

“Do you smell him, sisters?”

“We smell him,” they answered.

“Does he sit in the east, sisters?”

“He sits in the east,” they answered.

“Is he the son of a stranger, sisters?”

“He is the son of a stranger.”

Then they crept nearer, crept on their hands and knees, till they were

within ten paces of where I sat among the indunas near to the king. The

indunas looked on each other and grew grey with fear; and for me, my

father, my knees were loosened and my marrow turned to water in my

bones. For I knew well who was that son of a stranger of whom they

spoke. It was I, my father, I who was about to be smelt out; and if I

was smelt out I should be killed with all my house, for the king’s oath

would scarcely avail me against the witch-doctors. I looked at the

fierce faces of the _Isanusis_ before me, as they crept, crept like

snakes. I glanced behind and saw the slayers grasping their kerries for

the deed of death, and I say I felt like one for whom the bitterness is

overpast. Then I remembered the words which the king and I had

whispered together of the cause for which this _Ingomboco_ was set, and

hope crept back to me like the first gleam of the dawn upon a stormy

night. Still I did not hope overmuch, for it well might happen that the

king had but set a trap to catch me.

Now they were quite near and halted.

“Have we dreamed falsely, sisters?” asked Nobela, the aged.

“What we dreamed in the night we see in the day,” they answered.

“Shall I whisper his name in your ears, sisters?”

They lifted their heads from the ground like snakes and nodded, and as

they nodded the necklets of bones rattled on their skinny necks. Then

they drew their heads to a circle, and Nobela thrust hers into the

centre of the circle and said a word.

“Ha! ha!” they laughed, “we hear you! His is the name. Let him be named

by it in the face of Heaven, him and all his house; then let him hear

no other name forever!”

And suddenly they sprang up and rushed towards me, Nobela, the aged

_Isanusi_, at their head. They leaped at me, pointing to me with the

tails of the vilderbeestes in their hands. Then Nobela switched me in

the face with the tail of the beast, and cried aloud:—

“Greeting, Mopo, son of Makedama! Thou art the man who smotest blood on

the door-posts of the king to bewitch the king. Let thy house be

stamped flat!”

I saw her come, I felt the blow on my face as a man feels in a dream. I

heard the feet of the slayers as they bounded forward to hale me to the

dreadful death, but my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth—I could not

say a word. I glanced at the king, and, as I did so, I thought that I

heard him mutter: “Near the mark, not in it.”

Then he held up his spear, and all was silence. The slayers stopped in

their stride, the witch-doctors stood with outstretched arms, the world

of men was as though it had been frozen into sleep.

“Hold!” he said. “Stand aside, son of Makedama, who art named an

evildoer! Stand aside, thou, Nobela, and those with thee who have named

him evildoer! What? Shall I be satisfied with the life of one dog?

Smell on, ye vultures, company by company, smell on! For the day the

labour, at night the feast!”

So I rose, astonished, and stood on one side. The witch-doctresses also

stood on one side, wonderstruck, since no such smelling out as this had

been seen in the land. For till this hour, when a man was swept with

the gnu’s tail of the _Isanusi_ that was the instant of his death. Why,

then, men asked in their hearts, was the death delayed? The

witch-doctors asked it also, and looked to the king for light, as men

look to a thunder-cloud for the flash. But from the Black One there

came no word.

So we stood on one side, and a second party of the _Isanusi_ women

began their rites. As the others had done, so they did, and yet they

worked otherwise, for this is the fashion of the _Isanusis_, that no

two of them smell out in the same way. And this party swept the faces

of certain of the king’s councillors, naming them guilty of the

witch-work.

“Stand ye on one side!” said the king to those who had been smelt out;

“and ye who have hunted out their wickedness, stand ye with those who

named Mopo, son of Makedama. It well may be that all are guilty.”

So these stood on one side also, and a third party took up the tale.

And they named certain of the great generals, and were in turn bidden

to stand on one side together with those whom they had named.

So it went on through all the day. Company by company the women doomed

their victims, till there were no more left in their number, and were

commanded to stand aside together with those whom they had doomed. Then

the male _Isanusis_ began, and I could see well that by this time their

hearts were fearful, for they smelt a snare. Yet the king’s bidding

must be done, and though their magic failed them here, victims must be

found. So they smelt out this man and that man till we were a great

company of the doomed, who sat in silence on the ground looking at each

other with sad eyes and watching the sun, which we deemed our last,

climb slowly down the sky. And ever as the day waned those who were

left untried of the witch-doctors grew madder and more fierce. They

leaped into the air, they ground their teeth, and rolled upon the

ground. They drew forth snakes and devoured them alive, they shrieked

out to the spirits and called upon the names of ancient kings.

At length it drew on to evening, and the last company of the

witch-doctors did their work, smelling out some of the keepers of the

_Emposeni_, the house of the women. But there was one man of their

company, a young man and a tall, who held back and took no share in the

work, but stood by himself in the centre of the great circle, fixing

his eyes on the heavens.

And when this company had been ordered to stand aside also together

with those whom they had smelt out, the king called aloud to the last

of the witch-doctors, asking him of his name and tribe, and why he

alone did not do his office.

“My name is Indabazimbi, the son of Arpi, O king,” he answered, “and I

am of the tribe of the Maquilisini. Does the king bid me to smell out

him of whom the spirits have spoken to me as the worker of this deed?”

“I bid thee,” said the king.

Then the young man Indabazimbi stepped straight forward across the

ring, making no cries or gestures, but as one who walks from his gate

to the cattle kraal, and suddenly he struck the king in the face with

the tail in his hand, saying, “I smell out the _Heavens above me!_”[2]

[2] A Zulu title for the king.—ED.

Now a great gasp of wonder went up from the multitude, and all looked

to see this fool killed by torture. But Chaka rose and laughed aloud.

“Thou hast said it,” he cried, “and thou alone! Listen, ye people! _I_

did the deed! _I_ smote blood upon the gateways of my kraal; with my

own hand I smote it, that I might learn who were the true doctors and

who were the false! Now it seems that in the land of the Zulu there is

one true doctor—this young man—and of the false, look at them and count

them, they are like the leaves. See! there they stand, and by them

stand those whom they have doomed—the innocent whom, with their wives

and children, they have doomed to the death of the dog. Now I ask you,

my people, what reward shall be given to them?”

Then a great roar went up from all the multitude, “Let them die, O

king!”

“Ay!” he answered. “Let them die as liars should!”

Now the _Isanusis_, men and women, screamed aloud in fear, and cried

for mercy, tearing themselves with their nails, for least of all things

did they desire to taste of their own medicine of death. But the king

only laughed the more.

“Hearken ye!” he said, pointing to the crowd of us who had been smelt

out. “Ye were doomed to death by these false prophets. Now glut

yourselves upon them. Slay them, my children! slay them all! wipe them

away! stamp them out!—all! all, save this young man!”

Then we bounded from the ground, for our hearts were fierce with hate

and with longing to avenge the terrors we had borne. The doomed slew

the doomers, while from the circle of the _Ingomboco_ a great roar of

laughter went up, for men rejoiced because the burden of the

witch-doctors had fallen from them.

At last it was done, and we drew back from the heap of the dead.

Nothing was heard there now—no more cries or prayers or curses. The

witch-finders travelled the path on which they had set the feet of

many. The king drew near to look. He came alone, and all who had done

his bidding bent their heads and crept past him, praising him as they

went. Only I stood still, covered, as I was with mire and filth, for I

did not fear to stand in the presence of the king. Chaka drew near, and

looked at the piled-up heaps of the slain and the cloud of dust that

yet hung over them.

“There they lie, Mopo,” he said. “There lie those who dared to prophesy

falsely to the king! That was a good word of thine, Mopo, which taught

me to set the snare for them; yet methought I saw thee start when

Nobela, queen of the witch-doctresses, switched death on thee. Well,

they are dead, and the land breathes more freely; and for the evil

which they have done, it is as yonder dust, that shall soon sink again

to earth and there be lost.”

Thus he spoke, then ceased—for lo! something moved beneath the cloud of

dust, something broke a way through the heap of the dead. Slowly it

forced its path, pushing the slain this way and that, till at length it

stood upon its feet and tottered towards us—a thing dreadful to look

on. The shape was the shape of an aged woman, and even through the

blood and mire I knew her. It was Nobela, she who had doomed me, she

whom but now I had smitten to earth, but who had come back from the

dead to curse me!

On she tottered, her apparel hanging round her in red rags, a hundred

wounds upon her face and form. I saw that she was dying, but life still

flickered in her, and the fire of hate burned in her snaky eyes.

“Hail, king!” she screamed.

“Peace, liar!” he answered; “thou art dead!”

“Not yet, king. I heard thy voice and the voice of yonder dog, whom I

would have given to the jackals, and I will not die till I have spoken.

I smelt him out this morning when I was alive; now that I am as one

already dead, I smell him out again. He shall bewitch thee with blood

indeed, Chaka—he and Unandi, thy mother, and Baleka, thy wife. Think of

my words when the assegai reddens before thee for the last time, king!

Farewell!” And she uttered a great cry and rolled upon the ground dead.

“The witch lies hard and dies hard,” said the king carelessly, and

turned upon his heel. But those words of dead Nobela remained fixed in

his memory, or so much of them as had been spoken of Unandi and Baleka.

There they remained like seeds in the earth, there they grew to bring

forth fruit in their season.

And thus ended the great _Ingomboco_ of Chaka, the greatest _Ingomboco_

that ever was held in Zululand.

CHAPTER IX.

THE LOSS OF UMSLOPOGAAS

Now, after the smelling out of the witch-doctors, Chaka caused a watch

to be kept upon his mother Unandi, and his wife Baleka, my sister, and

report was brought to him by those who watched, that the two women came

to my huts by stealth, and there kissed and nursed a boy—one of my

children. Then Chaka remembered the prophecy of Nobela, the dead

_Isanusi_, and his heart grew dark with doubt. But to me he said

nothing of the matter, for then, as always, his eyes looked over my

head. He did not fear me or believe that I plotted against him, I who

was his dog. Still, he did this, though whether by chance or design I

do not know: he bade me go on a journey to a distant tribe that lived

near the borders of the Amaswazi, there to take count of certain of the

king’s cattle which were in the charge of that tribe, and to bring him

account of the tale of their increase. So I bowed before the king, and

said that I would run like a dog to do his bidding, and he gave me men

to go with me.

Then I returned to my huts to bid farewell to my wives and children,

and there I found that my wife, Anadi, the mother of Moosa, my son, had

fallen sick with a wandering sickness, for strange things came into her

mind, and what came into her mind that she said, being, as I did not

doubt, bewitched by some enemy of my house.

Still, I must go upon the king’s business, and I told this to my wife

Macropha, the mother of Nada, and, as it was thought, of Umslopogaas,

the son of Chaka. But when I spoke to Macropha of the matter she burst

into tears and clung to me. I asked her why she wept thus, and she

answered that the shadow of evil lay upon her heart, for she was sure

that if I left her at the king’s kraal, when I returned again I should

find neither her nor Nada, my child, nor Umslopogaas, who was named my

son, and whom I loved as a son, still in the land of life. Then I tried

to calm her; but the more I strove the more she wept, saying that she

knew well that these things would be so.

Now I asked her what could be done, for I was stirred by her tears, and

the dread of evil crept from her to me as shadows creep from the valley

to the mountain.

She answered, “Take me with you, my husband, that I may leave this evil

land, where the very skies rain blood, and let me rest awhile in the

place of my own people till the terror of Chaka has gone by.”

“How can I do this?” I said. “None may leave the king’s kraal without

the king’s pass.”

“A man may put away his wife,” she replied. “The king does not stand

between a man and his wife. Say, my husband, that you love me no

longer, that I bear you no more children, and that therefore you send

me back whence I came. By-and-bye we will come together again if we are

left among the living.”

“So be it,” I answered. “Leave the kraal with Nada and Umslopogaas this

night, and to-morrow morning meet me at the river bank, and we shall go

on together, and for the rest may the spirits of our fathers hold us

safe.”

So we kissed each other, and Macropha went on secretly with the

children.

Now at the dawning on the morrow I summoned the men whom the king had

given me, and we started upon our journey. When the sun was well up we

came to the banks of the river, and there I found my wife Macropha, and

with her the two children. They rose as I came, but I frowned at my

wife and she gave me no greeting. Those with me looked at her askance.

“I have divorced this woman,” I said to them. “She is a withered tree,

a worn out old hag, and now I take her with me to send her to the

country of the Swazis, whence she came. Cease weeping,” I added to

Macropha, “it is my last word.”

“What says the king?” asked the men.

“I will answer to the king,” I said. And we went on.

Now I must tell how we lost Umslopogaas, the son of Chaka, who was then

a great lad drawing on to manhood, fierce in temper, well grown and

broad for his years.

We had journeyed seven days, for the way was long, and on the night of

the seventh day we came to a mountainous country in which there were

few kraals, for Chaka had eaten them all up years before. Perhaps you

know the place, my father. In it is a great and strange mountain. It is

haunted also, and named the Ghost Mountain, and on the top of it is a

grey peak rudely shaped like the head of an aged woman. Here in this

wild place we must sleep, for darkness drew on. Now we soon learned

that there were many lions in the rocks around, for we heard their

roaring and were much afraid, all except Umslopogaas, who feared

nothing. So we made a circle of thorn-bushes and sat in it, holding our

assegais ready. Presently the moon came up—it was a full-grown moon and

very bright, so bright that we could see everything for a long way

round. Now some six spear-throws from where we sat was a cliff, and at

the top of the cliff was a cave, and in this cave lived two lions and

their young. When the moon grew bright we saw the lions come out and

stand upon the edge of the cliff, and with them were two little ones

that played about like kittens, so that had we not been frightened it

would have been beautiful to see them.

“Oh! Umslopogaas,” said Nada, “I wish that I had one of the little

lions for a dog.”

The boy laughed, saying, “Then, shall I fetch you one, sister?”

“Peace, boy,” I said. “No man may take young lions from their lair and

live.”

“Such things have been done, my father,” he answered, laughing. And no

more was said of the matter.

Now when the cubs had played awhile, we saw the lioness take up the

cubs in her mouth and carry them into the cave. Then she came out

again, and went away with her mate to seek food, and soon we heard them

roaring in the distance. Now we stacked up the fire and went to sleep

in our enclosure of thorns without fear, for we knew that the lions

were far away eating game. But Umslopogaas did not sleep, for he had

determined that he would fetch the cub which Nada had desired, and,

being young and foolhardy, he did not think of the danger which he

would bring upon himself and all of us. He knew no fear, and now, as

ever, if Nada spoke a word, nay, even if she thought of a thing to

desire it, he would not rest till it was won for her. So while we slept

Umslopogaas crept like a snake from the fence of thorns, and, taking an

assegai in his hand, he slipped away to the foot of the cliff where the

lions had their den. Then he climbed the cliff, and, coming to the

cave, entered there and groped his way into it. The cubs heard him,

and, thinking that it was their mother who returned, began to whine and

purr for food. Guided by the light of their yellow eyes, he crept over

the bones, of which there were many in the cave, and came to where they

lay. Then he put out his hands and seized one of the cubs, killing the

other with his assegai, because he could not carry both of them. Now he

made haste thence before the lions returned, and came back to the thorn

fence where we lay just as dawn was breaking.

I awoke at the coming of the dawn, and, standing up, I looked out. Lo!

there, on the farther side of the thorn fence, looking large in the

grey mist, stood the lad Umslopogaas, laughing. In his teeth he held

the assegai, yet dripping with blood, and in his hands the lion cub

that, despite its whines and struggles, he grasped by the skin of the

neck and the hind legs.

“Awake, my sister!” he cried; “here is the dog you seek. Ah! he bites

now, but he will soon grow tame.”

Nada awoke, and rising, cried out with joy at the sight of the cub, but

for a moment I stood astonished.

“Fool!” I cried at last, “let the cub go before the lions come to rend

us!”

“I will not let it go, my father,” he answered sullenly. “Are there not

five of us with spears, and can we not fight two cats? I was not afraid

to go alone into their den. Are you all afraid to meet them in the

open?”

“You are mad,” I said; “let the cub go!” And I ran towards Umslopogaas

to take it from him. But he sprang aside and avoided me.

“I will never let that go of which I have got hold,” he said, “at least

not living!” And suddenly he seized the head of the cub and twisted its

neck; then threw it on to the ground, and added, “See, now I have done

your bidding, my father!”

As he spoke we heard a great sound of roaring from the cave in the

cliff. The lions had returned and found one cub dead and the other

gone.

“Into the fence!—back into the fence!” I cried, and we sprang over the

thorn-bushes where those with us were making ready their spears,

trembling as they handled them with fear and the cold of the morning.

We looked up. There, down the side of the cliff, came the lions,

bounding on the scent of him who had robbed them of their young. The

lion ran first, and as he came he roared; then followed the lioness,

but she did not roar, for in her mouth was the cub that Umslopogaas had

assegaied in the cave. Now they drew near, mad with fury, their manes

bristling, and lashing their flanks with their long tails.

“Curse you for a fool, son of Mopo,” said one of the men with me to

Umslopogaas; “presently I will beat you till the blood comes for this

trick.”

“First beat the lions, then beat me if you can,” answered the lad, “and

wait to curse till you have done both.”

Now the lions were close to us; they came to the body of the second

cub, that lay outside the fence of thorns. The lion stopped and sniffed

it. Then he roared—ah! he roared till the earth shook. As for the

lioness, she dropped the dead cub which she was carrying, and took the

other into her mouth, for she could not carry both.

“Get behind me, Nada,” cried Umslopogaas, brandishing his spear, “the

lion is about to spring.”

As the words left his mouth the great brute crouched to the ground.

Then suddenly he sprang from it like a bird, and like a bird he

travelled through the air towards us.

“Catch him on the spears!” cried Umslopogaas, and by nature, as it

were, we did the boy’s bidding; for huddling ourselves together, we

held out the assegais so that the lion fell upon them as he sprang, and

their blades sank far into him. But the weight of his charge carried us

to the ground, and he fell on to us, striking at us and at the spears,

and roaring with pain and fury as he struck. Presently he was on his

legs biting at the spears in his breast. Then Umslopogaas, who alone

did not wait his onslaught, but had stepped aside for his own ends,

uttered a loud cry and drove his assegai into the lion behind the

shoulder, so that with a groan the brute rolled over dead.

Meanwhile, the lioness stood without the fence, the second dead cub in

her mouth, for she could not bring herself to leave either of them. But

when she heard her mate’s last groan she dropped the cub and gathered

herself together to spring. Umslopogaas alone stood up to face her, for

he only had withdrawn his assegai from the carcase of the lion. She

swept on towards the lad, who stood like a stone to meet her. Now she

met his spear, it sunk in, it snapped, and down fell Umslopogaas dead

or senseless beneath the mass of the lioness. She sprang up, the broken

spear standing in her breast, sniffed at Umslopogaas, then, as though

she knew that it was he who had robbed her, she seized him by the loins

and moocha, and sprang with him over the fence.

“Oh, save him!” cried the girl Nada in bitter woe. And we rushed after

the lioness shouting.

For a moment she stood over her dead cubs, Umslopogaas hanging from her

mouth, and looked at them as though she wondered; and we hoped that she

might let him fall. Then, hearing our cries, she turned and bounded

away towards the bush, bearing Umslopogaas in her mouth. We seized our

spears and followed; but the ground grew stony, and, search as we

would, we could find no trace of Umslopogaas or of the lioness. They

had vanished like a cloud. So we came back, and, ah! my heart was sore,

for I loved the lad as though he had indeed been my son. But I knew

that he was dead, and there was an end.

“Where is my brother?” cried Nada when we came back.

“Lost,” I answered. “Lost, never to be found again.”

Then the girl gave a great and bitter cry, and fell to the earth

saying, “I would that I were dead with my brother!”

“Let us be going,” said Macropha, my wife.

“Have you no tears to weep for your son?” asked a man of our company.

“What is the use of weeping over the dead? Does it, then, bring them

back?” she answered. “Let us be going!”

The man thought these words strange, but he did not know that

Umslopogaas was not born of Macropha.

Still, we waited in that place a day, thinking that, perhaps, the

lioness would return to her den and that, at least, we might kill her.

But she came back no more. So on the next morning we rolled up our

blankets and started forward on our journey, sad at heart. In truth,

Nada was so weak from grief that she could hardly travel, but I never

heard the name of Umslopogaas pass her lips again during that journey.

She buried him in her heart and said nothing. And I too said nothing,

but I wondered why it had been brought about that I should save the

life of Umslopogaas from the jaws of the Lion of Zulu, that the lioness

of the rocks might devour him.

And so the time went on till we reached the kraal where the king’s

business must be done, and where I and my wife should part.

On the morning after we came to the kraal, having kissed in secret,

though in public we looked sullenly on one another, we parted as those

part who meet no more, for it was in our thoughts, that we should never

see each other’s face again, nor, indeed, did we do so. And I drew Nada

aside and spoke to her thus: “We part, my daughter; nor do I know when

we shall meet again, for the times are troubled and it is for your

safety and that of your mother that I rob my eyes of the sight of you.

Nada, you will soon be a woman, and you will be fairer than any woman

among our people, and it may come about that many great men will seek

you in marriage, and, perhaps, that I, your father, shall not be there

to choose for you whom you shall wed, according to the custom of our

land. But I charge you, as far as may be possible for you to do so,

take only a man whom you can love, and be faithful to him alone, for

thus shall a woman find happiness.”

Here I stopped, for the girl took hold of my hand and looked into my

face. “Peace, my father,” she said, “do not speak to me of marriage,

for I will wed no man, now that Umslopogaas is dead because of my

foolishness. I will live and die alone, and, oh! may I die quickly,

that I may go to seek him whom I love only!”

“Nay, Nada,” I said, “Umslopogaas was your brother, and it is not

fitting that you should speak of him thus, even though he is dead.”

“I know nothing of such matters, my father,” she said. “I speak what my

heart tells me, and it tells me that I loved Umslopogaas living, and,

though he is dead, I shall love him alone to the end. Ah! you think me

but a child, yet my heart is large, and it does not lie to me.”

Now I upbraided the girl no more, because I knew that Umslopogaas was

not her brother, but one whom she might have married. Only I marvelled

that the voice of nature should speak so truly in her, telling her that

which was lawful, even when it seemed to be most unlawful.

“Speak no more of Umslopogaas,” I said, “for surely he is dead, and

though you cannot forget him, yet speak of him no more, and I pray of

you, my daughter, that if we do not meet again, yet you should keep me

in your memory, and the love I bear you, and the words which from time

to time I have said to you. The world is a thorny wilderness, my

daughter, and its thorns are watered with a rain of blood, and we

wander in our wretchedness like lost travellers in a mist; nor do I

know why our feet are set on this wandering. But at last there comes an

end, and we die and go hence, none know where, but perhaps where we go

the evil may change to the good, and those who were dear to each other

on the earth may become yet dearer in the heavens; for I believe that

man is not born to perish altogether, but is rather gathered again to

the Umkulunkulu who sent him on his journeyings. Therefore keep hope,

my daughter, for if these things are not so, at least sleep remains,

and sleep is soft, and so farewell.”

Then we kissed and parted, and I watched Macropha, my wife, and Nada,

my daughter, till they melted into the sky, as they walked upon their

journey to Swaziland, and was very sad, because, having lost

Umslopogaas, he who in after days was named the Slaughterer and the

Woodpecker, I must lose them also.

CHAPTER X.

THE TRIAL OF MOPO

Now I sat four days in the huts of the tribe whither I had been sent,

and did the king’s business. And on the fifth morning I rose up,

together with those with me, and we turned our faces towards the king’s

kraal. But when we had journeyed a little way we met a party of

soldiers, who commanded us to stand.

“What is it, king’s men?” I asked boldly.

“This, son of Makedama,” answered their spokesman: “give over to us

your wife Macropha and your children Umslopogaas and Nada, that we may

do with them as the king commands.”

“Umslopogaas,” I answered, “has gone where the king’s arm cannot

stretch, for he is dead; and for my wife Macropha and my daughter Nada,

they are by now in the caves of the Swazis, and the king must seek them

there with an army if he will find them. To Macropha he is welcome, for

I hate her, and have divorced her; and as for the girl, well, there are

many girls, and it is no great matter if she lives or dies, yet I pray

him to spare her.”

Thus I spoke carelessly, for I knew well that my wife and child were

beyond the reach of Chaka.

“You do well to ask the girl’s life,” said the soldier, laughing, “for

all those born to you are dead, by order of the king.”

“Is it indeed so?” I answered calmly, though my knees shook and my

tongue clove to my lips. “The will of the king be done. A cut stick

puts out new leaves; I can have more children.”

“Ay, Mopo; but first you must get new wives, for yours are dead also,

all five of them.”

“Is it indeed so?” I answered. “The king’s will be done. I wearied of

those brawling women.”

“So, Mopo,” said the soldier; “but to get other wives and have more

children born to you, you must live yourself, for no children are born

to the dead, and I think that Chaka has an assegai which you shall

kiss.”

“Is it so?” I answered. “The king’s will be done. The sun is hot, and I

tire of the road. He who kisses the assegai sleeps sound.”

Thus I spoke, my father, and, indeed, in that hour I desired to die.

The world was empty for me. Macropha and Nada were gone, Umslopogaas

was dead, and my other wives and children were murdered. I had no heart

to begin to build up a new house, none were left for me to love, and it

seemed well that I should die also.

The soldiers asked those with me if that tale was true which I told of

the death of Umslopogaas and of the going of Macropha and Nada into

Swaziland. They said, Yes, it was true. Then the soldiers said that

they would lead me back to the king, and I wondered at this, for I

thought that they would kill me where I stood. So we went on, and piece

by piece I learned what had happened at the king’s kraal.

On the day after I left, it came to the ears of Chaka, by the mouth of

his spies, that my second wife—Anadi—was sick and spoke strange words

in her sickness. Then, taking three soldiers with him, he went to my

kraal at the death of the day. He left the three soldiers by the gates

of the kraal, bidding them to suffer none to come in or go out, but

Chaka himself entered the large hut where Anadi lay sick, having his

toy assegai, with the shaft of the royal red wood, in his hand. Now, as

it chanced, in the hut were Unandi, the mother of Chaka, and Baleka, my

sister, the wife of Chaka, for, not knowing that I had taken away

Umslopogaas, the son of Baleka, according to their custom, these two

foolish women had come to kiss and fondle the lad. But when they

entered the hut they found it full of my other wives and children.

These they sent away, all except Moosa, the son of Anadi—that boy who

was born eight days before Umslopogaas, the son of Chaka. But they kept

Moosa in the hut, and kissed him, giving him imphi[1] to eat, fearing

lest it should seem strange to the women, my wives, if, Umslopogaas

being gone, they refused to take notice of any other child.

[1] A variety of sugar-cane.—ED.

Now as they sat thus, presently the doorway was darkened, and, behold!

the king himself crept through it, and saw them fondling the child

Moosa. When they knew who it was that entered, the women flung

themselves upon the ground before him and praised him. But he smiled

grimly, and bade them be seated. Then he spoke to them, saying, “You

wonder, Unandi, my mother, and Baleka, my wife, why it is that I am

come here into the hut of Mopo, son of Makedama. I will tell you: it is

because he is away upon my business, and I hear that his wife Anadi is

sick—it is she who lies there, is it not? Therefore, as the first

doctor in the land, I am come to cure her, Unandi, my mother, and

Baleka, my sister.”

Thus he spoke, eyeing them as he did so, and taking snuff from the

blade of his little assegai, and though his words were gentle they

shook with fear, for when Chaka spoke thus gently he meant death to

many. But Unandi, Mother of the Heavens, answered, saying that it was

well that the king had come, since his medicine would bring rest and

peace to her who lay sick.

“Yes,” he answered; “it is well. It is pleasant, moreover, my mother

and sister, to see you kissing yonder child. Surely, were he of your

own blood you could not love him more.”

Now they trembled again, and prayed in their hearts that Anadi, the

sick woman, who lay asleep, might not wake and utter foolish words in

her wandering. But the prayer was answered from below and not from

above, for Anadi woke, and, hearing the voice of the king, her sick

mind flew to him whom she believed to be the king’s child.

“Ah!” she said, sitting upon the ground and pointing to her own son,

Moosa, who squatted frightened against the wall of the hut. “Kiss him,

Mother of the Heavens, kiss him! Whom do they call him, the young cub

who brings ill-fortune to our doors? They call him the son of Mopo and

Macropha!” And she laughed wildly, stopped speaking, and sank back upon

the bed of skins.

“They call him the son of Mopo and Macropha,” said the king in a low

voice. “Whose son is he, then, woman?”

“Oh, ask her not, O king,” cried his mother and his wife, casting

themselves upon the ground before him, for they were mad with fear.

“Ask her not; she has strange fancies such as are not meet for your

ears to hear. She is bewitched, and has dreams and fancies.”

“Peace!” he answered. “I will listen to this woman’s wanderings.

Perhaps some star of truth shines in her darkness, and I would see

light. Who, then, is he, woman?”

“Who is he?” she answered. “Are you a fool that ask who he is? He

is—hush!—put your ear close—let me speak low lest the reeds of the hut

speak it to the king. He is—do you listen? He is—the son of Chaka and

Baleka, the sister of Mopo, the changeling whom Unandi, Mother of the

Heavens, palmed off upon this house to bring a curse on it, and whom

she would lead out before the people when the land is weary of the

wickedness of the king, her son, to take the place of the king.”

“It is false, O king!” cried the two women. “Do not listen to her; it

is false. The boy is her own son, Moosa, whom she does not know in her

sickness.”

But Chaka stood up in the hut and laughed terribly. “Truly, Nobela

prophesied well,” he cried, “and I did ill to slay her. So this is the

trick thou hast played upon me, my mother. Thou wouldst give a son to

me who will have no son: thou wouldst give me a son to kill me. Good!

Mother of the Heavens, take thou the doom of the Heavens! Thou wouldst

give me a son to slay me and rule in my place; now, in turn, I, thy

son, will rob me of a mother. Die, Unandi!—die at the hand thou didst

bring forth!” And he lifted the little assegai and smote it through

her.

For a moment Unandi, Mother of the Heavens, wife of Senzangacona, stood

uttering no cry. Then she put up her hand, and drew the assegai from

her side.

“So shalt thou die also, Chaka the Evil!” she cried, and fell down dead

there in the hut.

Thus, then, did Chaka murder his mother Unandi.

Now when Baleka saw what had been done, she turned and fled from the

hut into the _Emposeni_, and so swiftly that the guards at the gates

could not stop her. But when she reached her own hut Baleka’s strength

failed her, and she fell senseless on the ground. But the boy Moosa, my

son, being overcome with terror, stayed where he was, and Chaka,

believing him to be his son, murdered him also, and with his own hand.

Then he stalked out of the hut, and leaving the three guards at the

gate, commanded a company of soldiers to surround the kraal and fire

it. This they did, and as the people rushed out they killed them, and

those who did not run out were burned in the fire. Thus, then, perished

all my wives, my children, my servants, and those who were within the

gates in their company. The tree was burned, and the bees in it, and I

alone was left living—I and Macropha and Nada, who were far away.

Nor was Chaka yet satisfied with blood, for, as has been told, he sent

messengers bidding them kill Macropha, my wife, and Nada, my daughter,

and him who was named my son. But he commanded the messengers that they

should not slay me, but bring me living before him.

Now when the soldiers did not kill me I took counsel with myself, for

it was my belief that I was saved alive only that I might die later,

and in a more cruel fashion. Therefore for awhile I thought that it

would be well if I did that for myself which another purposed to do for

me. Why should I, who was already doomed, wait to meet my doom? What

had I left to keep me in the place of life, seeing that all whom I

loved were dead or gone? To die would be easy, for I knew the ways of

death. In my girdle I carried a secret medicine; he who eats of it, my

father, will see the sun’s shadow move no more, and will never look

upon the stars again. But I was minded to know the assegai or the

kerrie; nor would I perish more slowly beneath the knives of the

tormentors, nor be parched by the pangs of thirst, or wander eyeless to

my end. Therefore it was that, since I had sat in the doom ring looking

hour after hour into the face of death, I had borne this medicine with

me by night and by day. Surely now was the time to use it.

So I thought as I sat through the watches of the night, ay! and drew

out the bitter drug and laid it on my tongue. But as I did so I

remembered my daughter Nada, who was left to me, though she sojourned

in a far country, and my wife Macropha and my sister Baleka, who still

lived, so said the soldiers, though how it came about that the king had

not killed her I did not know then. Also another thought was born in my

heart. While life remained to me, I might be revenged upon him who had

wrought me this woe; but can the dead strike? Alas! the dead are

strengthless, and if they still have hearts to suffer, they have no

hands to give back blow for blow. Nay, I would live on. Time to die

when death could no more be put away. Time to die when the voice of

Chaka spoke my doom. Death chooses for himself and answers no

questions; he is a guest to whom none need open the door of his hut,

for when he wills he can pass through the thatch like air. Not yet

would I taste of that medicine of mine.

So I lived on, my father, and the soldiers led me back to the kraal of

Chaka. Now when we came to the kraal it was night, for the sun had sunk

as we passed through the gates. Still, as he had been commanded, the

captain of those who watched me went in before the king and told him

that I lay without in bonds. And the king said, “Let him be brought

before me, who was my physician, that I may tell him how I have

doctored those of his house.”

So they took me and led me to the royal house, and pushed me through

the doorway of the great hut.

Now a fire burned in the hut, for the night was cold, and Chaka sat on

the further side of the fire, looking towards the opening of the hut,

and the smoke from the fire wreathed him round, and its light shone

upon his face and flickered in his terrible eyes.

At the door of the hut certain councillors seized me by the arms and

dragged me towards the fire. But I broke from them, and prostrating

myself, for my arms were free, I praised the king and called him by his

royal names. The councillors sprang towards me to seize me again, but

Chaka said, “Let him be; I would talk with my servant.” Then the

councillors bowed themselves on either side, and laid their hands on

their sticks, their foreheads touching the ground. But I sat down on

the floor of the hut over against the king, and we talked through the

fire.

“Tell me of the cattle that I sent thee to number, Mopo, son of

Makedama,” said Chaka. “Have my servants dealt honestly with my

cattle?”

“They have dealt honestly, O king,” I answered.

“Tell me, then, of the number of the cattle and of their markings,

Mopo, forgetting none.”

So I sat and told him, ox by ox, cow by cow, and heifer by heifer,

forgetting none; and Chaka listened silently as one who is asleep. But

I knew that he did not sleep, for all the while the firelight flickered

in his fierce eyes. Also I knew that he did but torment me, or that,

perhaps, he would learn of the cattle before he killed me. At length

all the tale was told.

“So,” said the king, “it goes well. There are yet honest men left in

the land. Knowest thou, Mopo, that sorrow has come upon thy house while

thou wast about my business.”

“I have heard it, O king!” I answered, as one who speaks of a small

matter.

“Yes, Mopo, sorrow has come upon thy house, the curse of Heaven has

fallen upon thy kraal. They tell me, Mopo, that the fire from above ran

briskly through thy huts.”

“I have heard it, O king!”

“They tell me, Mopo, that those within thy gates grew mad at the sight

of the fire, and dreaming there was no escape, that they stabbed

themselves with assegais or leaped into the flames.”

“I have heard it, O king! What of it? Any river is deep enough to drown

a fool!”

“Thou hast heard these things, Mopo, but thou hast not yet heard all.

Knowest thou, Mopo, that among those who died in thy kraal was she who

bore me, she who was named Mother of the Heavens?”

Then, my father, I, Mopo, acted wisely, because of the thought which my

good spirit gave me, for I cast myself upon the ground, and wailed

aloud as though in utter grief.

“Spare my ears, Black One!” I wailed. “Tell me not that she who bore

thee is dead, O Lion of the Zulu. For the others, what is it? It is a

breath of wind, it is a drop of water; but this trouble is as the gale

or as the sea.”

“Cease, my servant, cease!” said the mocking voice of Chaka; “but know

this, thou hast done well to grieve aloud, because the Mother of the

Heavens is no more, and ill wouldst thou have done to grieve because

the fire from above has kissed thy gates. For hadst thou done this last

thing or left the first undone, I should have known that thy heart was

wicked, and by now thou wouldst have wept indeed—tears of blood, Mopo.

It is well for thee, then, that thou hast read my riddle aright.”

Now I saw the depths of the pit that Chaka had dug for me, and blessed

my _Ehlosé_ who had put into my heart those words which I should

answer. I hoped also that Chaka would now let me go; but it was not to

be, for this was but the beginning of my trial.

“Knowest thou, Mopo,” said the king, “that as my mother died yonder in

the flames of thy kraal she cried out strange and terrible words which

came to my ears through the singing of the fire. These were her words:

that thou, Mopo, and thy sister Baleka, and thy wives, had conspired

together to give a child to me who would be childless. These were her

words, the words that came to me through the singing of the fire. Tell

me now, Mopo, where are those children that thou leddest from thy

kraal, the boy with the lion eyes who is named Umslopogaas, and the

girl who is named Nada?”

“Umslopogaas is dead by the lion’s mouth, O king!” I answered, “and

Nada sits in the Swazi caves.” And I told him of the death of

Umslopogaas and of how I had divorced Macropha, my wife.

“The boy with the lion eyes to the lion’s mouth!” said Chaka. “Enough

of him; he is gone. Nada may yet be sought for with the assegai in the

Swazi caves; enough of her. Let us speak of this song that my

mother—who, alas! is dead, Mopo—this song she sang through the singing

of the flames. Tell me, Mopo, tell me now, was it a true tale.”

“Nay, O king! surely the Mother of the Heavens was maddened by the

Heavens when she sang that song,” I answered. “I know nothing of it, O

king.”

“Thou knowest naught of it, Mopo?” said the king. And again he looked

at me terribly through the reek of the fire. “Thou knowest naught of

it, Mopo? Surely thou art a-cold; thy hands shake with cold. Nay, man,

fear not—warm them, warm them, Mopo. See, now, plunge that hand of

thine into the heart of the flame!” And he pointed with his little

assegai, the assegai handled with the royal wood, to where the fire

glowed reddest—ay, he pointed and laughed.

Then, my father, I grew cold indeed—yes, I grew cold who soon should be

hot, for I saw the purpose of Chaka. He would put me to the trial by

fire.

For a moment I sat silent, thinking. Then the king spoke again in a

great voice: “Nay, Mopo, be not so backward; shall I sit warm and see

thee suffer cold? What, my councillors, rise, take the hand of Mopo,

and hold it to the flame, that his heart may rejoice in the warmth of

the flame while we speak together of this matter of the child that was,

so my mother sang, born to Baleka, my wife, the sister of Mopo, my

servant.”

“There is little need for that, O king,” I answered, being made bold by

fear, for I saw that if I did nothing death would swiftly end my

doubts. Once, indeed, I bethought me of the poison that I bore, and was

minded to swallow it and make an end, but the desire to live is great,

and keen is the thirst for vengeance, so I said to my heart, “Not yet

awhile; I will endure this also; afterwards, if need be, I can die.”

“I thank the king for his graciousness, and I will warm me at the fire.

Speak on, O king, while I warm myself, and thou shalt hear true words,”

I said boldly.

Then, my father, I stretched out my left hand and plunged it into the

fire—not into the hottest of the fire, but where the smoke leapt from

the flame. Now my flesh was wet with the sweat of fear, and for a

little moment the flames curled round it and did not burn me. But I

knew that the torment was to come.

For a short while Chaka watched me, smiling. Then he spoke slowly, that

the fire might find time to do its work.

“Say, then, Mopo, thou knowest nothing of this matter of the birth of a

son to thy sister Baleka?”

“I know this only, O king!” I answered, “that a son was born in past

years to thy wife Baleka, that I killed the child in obedience to thy

word, and laid its body before thee.”

Now, my father, the steam from my flesh had been drawn from my hand by

the heat, and the flame got hold of me and ate into my flesh, and its

torment was great. But of this I showed no sign upon my face, for I

knew well that if I showed sign or uttered cry, then, having failed in

the trial, death would be my portion.

Then the king spoke again, “Dost thou swear by my head, Mopo, that no

son of mine was suckled in thy kraals?”

“I swear it, O king! I swear it by thy head,” I answered.

And now, my father, the agony of the fire was such as may not be told.

I felt my eyes start forward in their sockets, my blood seemed to boil

within me, it rushed into my head, and down my face there ran two tears

of blood. But yet I held my hand in the fire and made no sign, while

the king and his councillors watched me curiously. Still, for a moment

Chaka said nothing, and that moment seemed to me as all the years of my

life.

“Ah!” he said at length, “I see that thou growest warm, Mopo! Withdraw

thy hand from the flame. I am answered; thou hast passed the trial; thy

heart is clean; for had there been lies in it the fire had given them

tongue, and thou hadst cried aloud, making thy last music, Mopo!”

Now I took my hand from the flame, and for awhile the torment left me.

“It is well, O king,” I said calmly. “Fire has no power of hurt on

those whose heart is pure.”

But as I spoke I looked at my left hand. It was black, my father—black

as a charred stick, and the nails were gone from the twisted fingers.

Look at it now, my father; you can see, though my eyes are blind. The

hand is white, like yours—it is white and dead and shrivelled. These

are the marks of the fire in Chaka’s hut—the fire that kissed me many,

many years ago; I have had but little use of that hand since this night

of torment. But my right arm yet remained to me, my father, and, ah! I

used it.

“It seems that Nobela, the doctress, who is dead, lied when she

prophesied evil on me from thee, Mopo,” said Chaka again. “It seems

that thou art innocent of this offence, and that Baleka, thy sister, is

innocent, and that the song which the Mother of the Heavens sang

through the singing flames was no true song. It is well for thee, Mopo,

for in such a matter my oath had not helped thee. But my mother is

dead—dead in the flames with thy wives and children, Mopo, and in this

there is witchcraft. We will have a mourning, Mopo, thou and I, such a

mourning as has not been seen in Zululand, for all the people on the

earth shall weep at it. And there shall be a ‘smelling out’ at this

mourning, Mopo. But we will summon no witch-doctors, thou and I will be

witch-doctors, and ourselves shall smell out those who have brought

these woes upon us. What! shall my mother die unavenged, she who bore

me and has perished by witchcraft, and shall thy wives and children die

unavenged—thou being innocent? Go forth, Mopo, my faithful servant,

whom I have honoured with the warmth of my fire, go forth!” And once

again he stared at me through the reek of the flame, and pointed with

his assegai to the door of the hut.

CHAPTER XI.

THE COUNSEL OF BALEKA

I rose, I praised the king with a loud voice, and I went from the

_Intunkulu_, the house of the king. I walked slowly through the gates,

but when I was without the gates the anguish that took me because of my

burnt hand was more than I could bear. I ran to and fro groaning till I

came to the hut of one whom I knew. There I found fat, and having

plunged my hand in the fat, I wrapped it round with a skin and passed

out again, for I could not stay still. I went to and fro, till at

length I reached the spot where my huts had been. The outer fence of

the huts still stood; the fire had not caught it. I passed through the

fence; there within were the ashes of the burnt huts—they lay

ankle-deep. I walked in among the ashes; my feet struck upon things

that were sharp. The moon was bright, and I looked; they were the

blackened bones of my wives and children. I flung myself down in the

ashes in bitterness of heart; I covered myself over with the ashes of

my kraal and with the bones of my wives and children. Yes, my father,

there I lay, and on me were the ashes, and among the ashes were the

bones. Thus, then, did I lie for the last time in my kraal, and was

sheltered from the frost of the night by the dust of those to whom I

had given life. Such were the things that befell us in the days of

Chaka, my father; yes, not to me alone, but to many another also.

I lay among the ashes and groaned with the pain of my burn, and groaned

also from the desolation of my heart. Why had I not tasted the poison,

there in the hut of Chaka, and before the eyes of Chaka? Why did I not

taste it now and make an end? Nay, I had endured the agony; I would not

give him this last triumph over me. Now, having passed the fire, once

more I should be great in the land, and I would become great. Yes, I

would bear my sorrows, and become great, that in a day to be I might

wreak vengeance on the king. Ah! my father, there, as I rolled among

the ashes, I prayed to the _Amatongo_, to the ghosts of my ancestors. I

prayed to my _Ehlosé_, to the spirit that watches me—ay, and I even

dared to pray to the Umkulunkulu, the great soul of the world, who

moves through the heavens and the earth unseen and unheard. And thus I

prayed, that I might yet live to kill Chaka as he had killed those who

were dear to me. And while I prayed I slept, or, if I did not sleep,

the light of thought went out of me, and I became as one dead. Then

there came a vision to me, a vision that was sent in answer to my

prayer, or, perchance, it was a madness born of my sorrows. For, my

father, it seemed to me that I stood upon the bank of a great and wide

river. It was gloomy there, the light lay low upon the face of the

river, but far away on the farther side was a glow like the glow of a

stormy dawn, and in the glow I saw a mighty bed of reeds that swayed

about in the breath of dawn, and out of the reeds came men and women

and children, by hundreds and thousands, and plunged into the waters of

the river and were buffeted about by them. Now, my father, all the

people that I saw in the water were black people, and all those who

were torn out of the reeds were black—they were none of them white like

your people, my father, for this vision was a vision of the Zulu race,

who alone are “torn out of the reeds.” Now, I saw that of those who

swam in the river some passed over very quickly and some stood still,

as it were, still in the water—as in life, my father, some die soon and

some live for many years. And I saw the countless faces of those in the

water, among them were many that I knew. There, my father, I saw the

face of Chaka, and near him was my own face; there, too, I saw the face

of Dingaan, the prince, his brother, and the face of the boy

Umslopogaas and the face of Nada, my daughter, and then for the first

time I knew that Umslopogaas was not dead, but only lost.

Now I turned in my vision, and looked at that bank of the river on

which I stood. Then I saw that behind the bank was a cliff, mighty and

black, and in the cliff were doors of ivory, and through them came

light and the sound of laughter; there were other doors also, black as

though fashioned of coal, and through them came darkness and the sounds

of groans. I saw also that in front of the doors was set a seat, and on

the seat was the figure of a glorious woman. She was tall, and she

alone was white, and clad in robes of white, and her hair was like gold

which is molten in the fire, and her face shone like the midday sun.

Then I saw that those who came up out of the river stood before the

woman, the water yet running from them, and cried aloud to her.

“Hail, _Inkosazana-y-Zulu!_ Hail, Queen of the Heavens!”

Now the figure of the glorious woman held a rod in either hand, and the

rod in her right hand was white and of ivory, and the rod in her left

hand was black and of ebony. And as those who came up before her throne

greeted her, so she pointed now with the wand of ivory in her right

hand, and now with the wand of ebony in her left hand. And with the

wand of ivory she pointed to the gates of ivory, through which came

light and laughter, and with the wand of ebony she pointed to the gates

of coal, through which came blackness and groans. And as she pointed,

so those who greeted her turned, and went, some through the gates of

light and some through the gates of blackness.

Presently, as I stood, a handful of people came up from the bank of the

river. I looked on them and knew them. There was Unandi, the mother of

Chaka, there was Anadi, my wife, and Moosa, my son, and all my other

wives and children, and those who had perished with them.

They stood before the figure of the woman, the Princess of the Heavens,

to whom the Umkulunkulu has given it to watch over the people of the

Zulu, and cried aloud, “Hail, _Inkosazana-y-Zulu!_ Hail!”

Then she, the Inkosazana, pointed with the rod of ivory to the gates of

ivory; but still they stood before her, not moving. Now the woman spoke

for the first time, in a low voice that was sad and awful to hear.

“Pass in, children of my people, pass in to the judgment. Why tarry ye?

Pass in through the gates of light.”

But still they tarried, and in my vision Unandi spoke: “We tarry, Queen

of the Heavens—we tarry to pray for justice on him who murdered us. I,

who on earth was named Mother of the Heavens, on behalf of all this

company, pray to thee, Queen of the Heavens, for justice on him who

murdered us.”

“How is he named?” asked the voice that was low and awful.

“Chaka, king of the Zulus,” answered the voice of Unandi. “Chaka, my

son.”

“Many have come to ask for vengeance on that head,” said the voice of

the Queen of the Heavens, “and many more shall come. Fear not, Unandi,

it shall fall. Fear not, Anadi and ye wives and children of Mopo, it

shall fall, I say. With the spear that pierced thy breast, Unandi,

shall the breast of Chaka be also pierced, and, ye wives and children

of Mopo, the hand that pierces shall be the hand of Mopo. As I guide

him so shall he go. Ay, I will teach him to wreak my vengeance on the

earth! Pass in, children of my people—pass in to the judgment, for the

doom of Chaka is written.”

Thus I dreamed, my father. Ay, this was the vision that was sent me as

I lay in pain and misery among the bones of my dead in the ashes of my

kraal. Thus it was given me to see the Inkosazana of the Heavens as she

is in her own place. Twice more I saw her, as you shall hear, but that

was on the earth and with my waking eyes. Yes, thrice has it been given

to me in all to look upon that face that I shall now see no more till I

am dead, for no man may look four times on the Inkosazana and live. Or

am I mad, my father, and did I weave these visions from the woof of my

madness? I do not know, but it is true that I seemed to see them.

I woke when the sky was grey with the morning light; it was the pain of

my burnt hand that aroused me from my sleep or from my stupor. I rose

shaking the ashes from me, and went without the kraal to wash away

their defilement. Then I returned, and sat outside the gates of the

_Emposeni_, waiting till the king’s women, whom he named his sisters,

should come to draw water according to their custom. At last they came,

and, sitting with my kaross thrown over my face to hide it, looked for

the passing of Baleka. Presently I saw her; she was sad-faced, and

walked slowly, her pitcher on her head. I whispered her name, and she

drew aside behind an aloe bush, and, making pretence that her foot was

pierced with a thorn, she lingered till the other women had gone by.

Then she came up to me, and we greeted one another, gazing heavily into

each other’s eyes.

“In an ill day did I hearken to you, Baleka,” I said, “to you and to

the Mother of the Heavens, and save your child alive. See now what has

sprung from this seed! Dead are all my house, dead is the Mother of the

Heavens—all are dead—and I myself have been put to the torment by

fire,” and I held out my withered hand towards her.

“Ay, Mopo, my brother,” she answered, “but flesh is nearest to flesh,

and I should think little of it were not my son Umslopogaas also dead,

as I have heard but now.”

“You speak like a woman, Baleka. Is it, then, nothing to you that I,

your brother, have lost—all I love?”

“Fresh seed can yet be raised up to you, my brother, but for me there

is no hope, for the king looks on me no more. I grieve for you, but I

had this one alone, and flesh is nearest to flesh. Think you that I

shall escape? I tell you nay. I am but spared for a little, then I go

where the others have gone. Chaka has marked me for the grave; for a

little while I may be left, then I die: he does but play with me as a

leopard plays with a wounded buck. I care not, I am weary, but I grieve

for the boy; there was no such boy in the land. Would that I might die

swiftly and go to seek him.”

“And if the boy is not dead, Baleka, what then?”

“What is that you said?” she answered, turning on me with wild eyes.

“Oh, say it again—again, Mopo! I would gladly die a hundred deaths to

know that Umslopogaas still lives.”

“Nay, Baleka, I know nothing. But last night I dreamed a dream,” and I

told her all my dream, and also of that which had gone before the

dream.

She listened as one listens to the words of a king when he passes

judgement for life or for death.

“I think that there is wisdom in your dreams, Mopo,” she said at

length. “You were ever a strange man, to whom the gates of distance are

no bar. Now it is borne in upon my heart that Umslopogaas still lives,

and now I shall die happy. Yes, gainsay me not; I shall die, I know it.

I read it in the king’s eyes. But what is it? It is nothing, if only

the prince Umslopogaas yet lives.”

“Your love is great, woman,” I said; “and this love of yours has

brought many woes upon us, and it may well happen that in the end it

shall all be for nothing, for there is an evil fate upon us. Say now,

what shall I do? Shall I fly, or shall I abide here, taking the chance

of things?”

“You must stay here, Mopo. See, now! This is in the king’s mind. He

fears because of the death of his mother at his own hand—yes, even he;

he is afraid lest the people should turn upon him who killed his own

mother. Therefore he will give it out that he did not kill her, but

that she perished in the fire which was called down upon your kraals by

witchcraft; and, though all men know the lie, yet none shall dare to

gainsay him. As he said to you, there will be a smelling out, but a

smelling out of a new sort, for he and you shall be the witch-finders,

and at that smelling out he will give to death all those whom he fears,

all those whom he knows hate him for his wickedness and because with

his own hand he slew his mother. For this cause, then, he will save you

alive, Mopo—yes, and make you great in the land, for if, indeed, his

mother Unandi died through witchcraft, as he shall say, are you not

also wronged by him, and did not your wives and children also perish by

witchcraft? Therefore, do not fly; abide here and become great—become

great to the great end of vengeance, Mopo, my brother. You have much

wrong to wreak; soon you will have more, for I, too, shall be gone, and

my blood also shall cry for vengeance to you. Hearken, Mopo. Are there

not other princes in the land? What of Dingaan, what of Umhlangana,

what of Umpanda, brothers to the king? Do not these also desire to be

kings? Do they not day by day rise from sleep feeling their limbs to

know if they yet live, do they not night by night lie down to sleep not

knowing if it shall be their wives that they shall kiss ere dawn or the

red assegai of the king? Draw near to them, my brother; creep into

their hearts and learn their counsel or teach them yours; so in the end

shall Chaka be brought to that gate through which your wives have

passed, and where I also am about to tread.”

Thus Baleka spoke and she was gone, leaving me pondering, for her words

were heavy with wisdom. I knew well that the brothers of the king went

heavily and in fear of death, for his shadow was on them. With Panda,

indeed, little could be done, for he lived softly, speaking always as

one whose wits are few. But Dingaan and Umhlangana were of another

wood, and from them might be fashioned a kerrie that should scatter the

brains of Chaka to the birds. But the time to speak was not now; not

yet was the cup of Chaka full.

Then, having finished my thought, I rose, and, going to the kraal of my

friend, I doctored my burnt hand, that pained me, and as I was

doctoring it there came a messenger to me summoning me before the king.

I went in before the king, and prostrated myself, calling him by his

royal names; but he took me by the hand and raised me up, speaking

softly.

“Rise, Mopo, my servant!” he said. “Thou hast suffered much woe because

of the witchcraft of thine enemies. I, I have lost my mother, and thou,

thou hast lost thy wives and children. Weep, my councillors, weep,

because I have lost my mother, and Mopo, my servant, has lost his wives

and children, by the witchcraft of our foes!”

Then all the councillors wept aloud, while Chaka glared at them.

“Hearken, Mopo!” said the king, when the weeping was done. “None can

give me back my mother; but I can give thee more wives, and thou shalt

find children. Go in among the damsels who are reserved to the king,

and choose thee six; go in among the cattle of the king, and choose

thee ten times ten of the best; call upon the servants of the king that

they build up thy kraal greater and fairer than it was before! These

things I give thee freely; but thou shalt have more, Mopo—yes! thou

shalt have vengeance! On the first day of the new moon I summon a great

meeting, a _bandhla_ of all the Zulu people: yes, thine own tribe, the

Langeni, shall be there also. Then we will mourn together over our

woes; then, too, we will learn who brought these woes upon us. Go now,

Mopo, go! And go ye also, my councillors, leaving me to weep alone

because my mother is dead!”

Thus, then, my father, did the words of Baleka come true, and thus,

because of the crafty policy of Chaka, I grew greater in the land than

ever I had been before. I chose the cattle, they were fat; I chose the

wives, they were fair; but I took no pleasure in them, nor were any

more children born to me. For my heart was like a withered stick; the

sap and strength had gone from my heart—it was drawn out in the fire of

Chaka’s hut, and lost in my sorrow for those whom I had loved.

CHAPTER XII.

THE TALE OF GALAZI THE WOLF

Now, my father, I will go back a little, for my tale is long and winds

in and out like a river in a plain, and tell of the fate of Umslopogaas

when the lion had taken him, as he told it to me in the after years.

The lioness bounded away, and in her mouth was Umslopogaas. Once he

struggled, but she bit him hard, so he lay quiet in her mouth, and

looking back he saw the face of Nada as she ran from the fence of

thorns, crying “Save him!” He saw her face, he heard her words, then he

saw and heard little more, for the world grew dark to him and he

passed, as it were, into a deep sleep. Presently Umslopogaas awoke

again, feeling pain in his thigh, where the lioness had bitten him, and

heard a sound of shouting. He looked up; near to him stood the lioness

that had loosed him from her jaws. She was snorting with rage, and in

front of her was a lad long and strong, with a grim face, and a wolf’s

hide, black and grey, bound about his shoulders in such fashion that

the upper jaw and teeth of the wolf rested on his head. He stood before

the lioness, shouting, and in one hand he held a large war-shield, and

in the other he grasped a heavy club shod with iron.

Now the lioness crouched herself to spring, growling terribly, but the

lad with the club did not wait for her onset. He ran in upon her and

struck her on the head with the club. He smote hard and well, but this

did not kill her, for she reared herself upon her hind legs and struck

at him heavily. He caught the blow upon his shield, but the shield was

driven against his breast so strongly that he fell backwards beneath

it, and lay there howling like a wolf in pain. Then the lioness sprang

upon him and worried him. Still, because of the shield, as yet she

could not come at him to slay him; but Umslopogaas saw that this might

not endure, for presently the shield would be torn aside and the

stranger must be killed. Now in the breast of the lioness still stood

the half of Umslopogaas’s broken spear, and its blade was a span deep

in her breast. Then this thought came into the mind of Umslopogaas,

that he would drive the spear home or die. So he rose swiftly, for

strength came back to him in his need, and ran to where the lioness

worried at him who lay beneath the shield. She did not heed him, so he

flung himself upon his knees before her, and, seizing the haft of the

broken spear, drove it deep into her and wrenched it round. Now she saw

Umslopogaas and turned roaring, and clawed at him, tearing his breast

and arms. Then, as he lay, he heard a mighty howling, and, behold! grey

wolves and black leaped upon the lioness and rent and worried her till

she fell and was torn to pieces by them. After this the senses of

Umslopogaas left him again, and the light went out of his eyes so that

he was as one dead.

At length his mind came back to him, and with it his memory, and he

remembered the lioness and looked up to find her. But he did not find

her, and he saw that he lay in a cave upon a bed of grass, while all

about him were the skins of beasts, and at his side was a pot filled

with water. He put out his hand and, taking the pot, drank of the

water, and then he saw that his arm was wasted as with sickness, and

that his breast was thick with scars scarcely skinned over.

Now while he lay and wondered, the mouth of the cave was darkened, and

through it entered that same lad who had done battle with the lioness

and been overthrown by her, bearing a dead buck upon his shoulders. He

put down the buck upon the ground, and, walking to where Umslopogaas

lay, looked at him.

“_Ou!_” he said, “your eyes are open—do you, then, live, stranger?”

“I live,” answered Umslopogaas, “and I am hungry.”

“It is time,” said the other, “since with toil I bore you here through

the forest, for twelve days you have lain without sense, drinking water

only. So deeply had the lion clawed you that I thought of you as dead.

Twice I was near to killing you, that you might cease to suffer and I

to be troubled; but I held my hand, because of a word which came to me

from one who is dead. Now eat, that your strength may return to you.

Afterwards, we will talk.”

So Umslopogaas ate, and little by little his health returned to

him—every day a little. And afterwards, as they sat at night by the

fire in the cave they spoke together.

“How are you named?” asked Umslopogaas of the other.

“I am named Galazi the Wolf,” he answered, “and I am of Zulu blood—ay,

of the blood of Chaka the king; for the father of Senzangacona, the

father of Chaka, was my great-grandfather.”

“Whence came you, Galazi?”

“I came from Swaziland—from the tribe of the Halakazi, which I should

rule. This is the story: Siguyana, my grandfather, was a younger

brother of Senzangacona, the father of Chaka. But he quarrelled with

Senzangacona, and became a wanderer. With certain of the people of the

Umtetwa he wandered into Swaziland, and sojourned with the Halakazi

tribe in their great caves; and the end of it was that he killed the

chief of the tribe and took his place. After he was dead, my father

ruled in his place; but there was a great party in the tribe that hated

his rule because he was of the Zulu race, and it would have set up a

chief of the old Swazi blood in his place. Still, they could not do

this, for my father’s hand was heavy on the people. Now I was the only

son of my father by his head wife, and born to be chief after him, and

therefore those of the Swazi party, and they were many and great, hated

me also. So matters stood till last year in the winter, and then my

father set his heart on killing twenty of the headmen, with their wives

and children, because he knew that they plotted against him. But the

headmen learned what was to come, and they prevailed upon a wife of my

father, a woman of their own blood, to poison him. So she poisoned him

in the night and in the morning it was told me that my father lay sick

and summoned me, and I went to him. In his hut I found him, and he was

writhing with pain.

“‘What is it, my father?’ I said. ‘Who has done this evil?’

“‘It is this, my son,’ he gasped, ‘that I am poisoned, and she stands

yonder who has done the deed.’ And he pointed to the woman, who stood

at the side of the hut near the door, her chin upon her breast,

trembling as she looked upon the fruit of her wickedness.

“Now the girl was young and fair, and we had been friends, yet I say

that I did not pause, for my heart was mad within me. I did not pause,

but, seizing my spear, I ran at her, and, though she cried for mercy, I

killed her with the spear.

“‘That was well done, Galazi!’ said my father. ‘But when I am gone,

look to yourself, my son, for these Swazi dogs will drive you out and

rob you of your place! But if they drive you out and you still live,

swear this to me—that you will not rest till you have avenged me.’

“‘I swear it, my father,’ I answered. ‘I swear that I will stamp out

the men of the tribe of Halakazi, every one of them, except those of my

own blood, and bring their women to slavery and their children to

bonds!’

“‘Big words for a young mouth,’ said my father. ‘Yet shall you live to

bring these things about, Galazi. This I know of you now in my hour of

death: you shall be a wanderer for a few years of your life, child of

Siguyana, and wandering in another land you shall die a man’s death,

and not such a death as yonder witch has given to me.’ Then, having

spoken thus, he lifted up his head, looked at me, and with a great

groan he died.

“Now I passed out of the hut dragging the body of the dead girl after

me. In front of the hut were gathered many headmen waiting for the end,

and I saw that their looks were sullen.

“‘The chief, my father, is dead!’ I cried in a loud voice, ‘and I,

Galazi, who am the chief, have slain her who murdered him!’ And I

rolled the body of the girl over on to her back so that they might look

upon her face.

“Now the father of the girl was among those who stood before me, he who

had persuaded her to the deed, and he was maddened at the sight.

“‘What, my brothers?’ he cried. ‘Shall we suffer that this young Zulu

dog, this murderer of a girl, be chief over us? Never! The old lion is

dead, now for the cub!’ And he ran at me with spear aloft.

“‘Never!’ shouted the others, and they, too, ran towards me, shaking

their spears.

“I waited, I did not hasten, for I knew well that I should not die

then, I knew it from my father’s last words. I waited till the man was

near me; he thrust, I sprang aside and drove my spear through him, and

on the daughter’s body the father fell dead. Then I shouted aloud and

rushed through them. None touched me; none could catch me; the man does

not live who can overtake me when my feet are on the ground and I am

away.”

“Yet I might try,” said Umslopogaas, smiling, for of all lads among the

Zulus he was the swiftest of foot.

“First walk again, then run,” answered Galazi.

“Take up the tale,” quoth Umslopogaas; “it is a merry one.”

“Something is left to tell, stranger. I fled from the country of the

Halakazi, nor did I linger at all in the land of the Swazis, but came

on swiftly into the Zulu. Now, it was in my mind to go to Chaka and

tell him of my wrongs, asking that he would send an impi to make an end

of the Halakazi. But while I journeyed, finding food and shelter as I

might, I came one night to the kraal of an old man who knew Chaka, and

had known Siguyana, my grandfather, and to him, when I had stayed there

two days, I told my tale. But the old man counselled me against my

plan, saying that Chaka, the king, did not love to welcome new shoots

sprung from the royal stock, and would kill me; moreover, the man

offered me a place in his kraal. Now, I held that there was wisdom in

his words, and thought no more of standing before the king to cry for

justice, for he who cries to kings for justice sometimes finds death.

Still, I would not stay in the kraal of the old man, for he had sons to

come after him who looked on me with no liking; moreover, I wished to

be a chief myself, even if I lived alone. So I left the kraal by night

and walked on, not knowing where I should go.

“Now, on the third night, I came to a little kraal that stands on the

farther side of the river at the foot of the mountain. In front of the

kraal sat a very old woman basking in the rays of the setting sun. She

saw me, and spoke to me, saying, ‘Young man, you are tall and strong

and swift of foot. Would you earn a famous weapon, a club, that

destroys all who stand before it?’

“I said that I wished to have such a club, and asked what I should do

to win it.

“‘You shall do this,’ said the old woman: ‘to-morrow morning, at the

first light, you shall go up to yonder mountain,’ and she pointed to

the mountain where you are now, stranger, on which the stone Witch sits

forever waiting for the world to die. ‘Two-thirds of the way up the

mountain you will come to a path that is difficult to climb. You shall

climb the path and enter a gloomy forest. It is very dark in the

forest, but you must push through it till you come to an open place

with a wall of rock behind it. In the wall of rock is a cave, and in

the cave you will find the bones of a man. Bring down the bones in a

bag, and I will give you the club!’

“While she spoke thus people came out of the kraal and listened.

“‘Do not heed her, young man,’ they said, ‘unless you are weary of

life. Do not heed her: she is crazy. The mountain is haunted; it is a

place of ghosts. Look at the stone Witch who sits upon it! Evil spirits

live in that forest, and no man has walked there for many years. This

woman’s son was foolish: he went to wander in the forest, saying that

he cared nothing for ghosts, and the _Amatongo_, the ghost-folk, killed

him. That was many years ago, and none have dared to seek his bones.

Ever she sits here and asks of the passers by that they should bring

him to her, offering the great club for a reward; but they dare not!’

“‘They lie!’ said the old woman. ‘There are no ghosts there. The ghosts

live only in their cowardly hearts; there are but wolves. I know that

the bones of my son lie in the cave, for I have seen them in a dream;

but, alas! my old limbs are too weak to carry me up the mountain path,

and all these are cowards; there is no man among them since the Zulus

killed my husband, covering him with wounds!’

“Now, I listened, answering nothing; but when all had done, I asked to

see the club which should be given to him who dared to face the

_Amatongo_, the spirits who lived in the forest upon the Ghost

Mountain. Then the old woman rose, and creeping on her hands went into

the hut. Presently she returned again, dragging the great club after

her.

“Look at it, stranger! look at it! Was there ever such a club?” And

Galazi held it up before the eyes of Umslopogaas.

In truth, my father, that was a club, for I, Mopo, saw it in after

days. It was great and knotty, black as iron that had been smoked in

the fire, and shod with metal that was worn smooth with smiting.

“I looked at it,” went on Galazi, “and I tell you, stranger, a great

desire came into my heart to possess it.

“‘How is this club named?’ I asked of the old woman.

“‘It is named Watcher of the Fords,’ she answered, ‘and it has not

watched in vain. Five men have held that club in war and a

hundred-and-seventy-three have given up their lives beneath its

strokes. He who held it last slew twenty before he was slain himself,

for this fortune goes with the club—that he who owns it shall die

holding it, but in a noble fashion. There is but one other weapon to

match with it in Zululand, and that is the great axe of Jikiza, the

chief of the People of the Axe, who dwells in the kraal yonder; the

ancient horn-hafted _Imbubuzi_, the Groan-Maker, that brings victory.

Were axe, Groan-Maker, and club, Watcher of the Fords, side by side,

there are no thirty men in Zululand who could stand before them. I have

said. Choose!’ And the aged woman watched me cunningly through her

horny eyes.

“‘She speaks truly now,’ said one of those who stood near. ‘Let the

club be, young man: he who owns it smites great blows indeed, but in

the end he dies by the assegai. None dare own the Watcher of the

Fords.’

“‘A good death and a swift!’ I answered. And pondered a time, while

still the old woman watched me through her horny eyes. At length she

rose, ‘La!, la!’ she said, ‘the Watcher is not for this one. This is

but a child, I must seek me a man, I must seek me a man!’

“‘Not so fast, old wife,’ I said. ‘Will you lend me this club to hold

in my hand while I go to find the bones of your son and to snatch them

from the people of the ghosts?’

“‘Lend you the Watcher, boy? Nay, nay! I should see little of you again

or of the good club either.’

“‘I am no thief,’ I answered. ‘If the ghosts kill me, you will see me

no more, or the club either; but if I live I will bring you back the

bones, or, if I do not find them, I will render the Watcher into your

hands again. At the least I say that if you will not lend me the club,

then I will not go into the haunted place.’

“‘Boy, your eyes are honest,’ she said, still peering at me. ‘Take the

Watcher, go seek the bones. If you die, let the club be lost with you;

if you fail, bring it back to me; but if you win the bones, then it is

yours, and it shall bring you glory and you shall die a man’s death at

last holding him aloft among the dead.’

“So on the morrow at dawn I took the club Watcher in my hand and a

little dancing shield, and made ready to start. The old woman blessed

me and bade me farewell, but the other people of the kraal mocked,

saying: ‘A little man for so big a club! Beware, little man, lest the

ghosts use the club on you!’ So they spoke, but one girl in the

kraal—she is a granddaughter of the old woman—led me aside, praying me

not to go, for the forest on the Ghost Mountain had an evil name: none

dared walk there, since it was certainly full of spirits, who howled

like wolves. I thanked the girl, but to the others I said nothing, only

I asked of the path to the Ghost Mountain.

“Now stranger, if you have strength, come to the mouth of the cave and

look out, for the moon is bright.”

So Umslopogaas rose and crept through the narrow mouth of the cave.

There, above him, a great grey peak towered high into the air, shaped

like a seated woman, her chin resting upon her breast, the place where

the cave was being, as it were, on the lap of the woman. Below this

place the rock sloped sharply, and was clothed with little bushes.

Lower down yet was a forest, great and dense, that stretched to the top

of a cliff, and at the foot of the cliff, beyond the waters of the

river, lay the wide plains of Zululand.

“Yonder, stranger,” said Galazi, pointing with the club Watcher of the

Fords far away to the plain beneath; “yonder is the kraal where the

aged woman dwelt. There is a cliff rising from the plain, up which I

must climb; there is the forest where dwell the _Amatongo_, the people

of the ghosts; there, on the hither side of the forest, runs the path

to the cave, and here is the cave itself. See this stone lying at the

mouth of the cave, it turns thus, shutting up the entrance hole—it

turns gently; though it is so large, a child may move it, for it rests

upon a sharp point of rock. Only mark this, the stone must not be

pushed too far; for, look! if it came to here,” and he pointed to a

mark in the mouth of the cave, “then that man need be strong who can

draw it back again, though I have done it myself, who am not a man full

grown. But if it pass beyond this mark, then, see, it will roll down

the neck of the cave like a pebble down the neck of a gourd, and I

think that two men, one striving from within and one dragging from

without, scarcely could avail to push it clear. Look now, I close the

stone, as is my custom of a night, so,”—and he grasped the rock and

swung it round upon its pivot, on which it turned as a door turns.

“Thus I leave it, and though, except those to whom the secret is known,

none would guess that a cave was here, yet it can be rolled back again

with a push of the hand. But enough of the stone. Enter again,

wanderer, and I will go forward with my tale, for it is long and

strange.

“I started from the kraal of the old woman, and the people of the kraal

followed me to the brink of the river. It was in flood, and few had

dared to cross it.

“‘Ha! ha!’ they cried, ‘now your journey is done, little man; watch by

the ford you who would win the Watcher of the Ford! Beat the water with

the club, perhaps so it shall grow gentle that your feet may pass it!’

“I answered nothing to their mocking, only I bound the shield upon my

shoulders with a string, and the bag that I had brought I made fast

about my middle, and I held the great club in my teeth by the thong.

Then I plunged into the river and swam. Twice, stranger, the current

bore me under, and those on the bank shouted that I was lost; but I

rose again, and in the end I won the farther shore.

“Now those on the bank mocked no more; they stood still wondering, and

I walked on till I came to the foot of the cliff. That cliff is hard to

climb, stranger; when you are strong upon your feet, I will show you

the path. Yet I found a way up it, and by midday I came to the forest.

Here, on the edge of the forest, I rested awhile, and ate a little food

that I had brought with me in the bag, for now I must gather up my

strength to meet the ghosts, if ghosts there were. Then I rose and

plunged into the forest. The trees were great that grow there,

stranger, and their leaves are so thick that in certain places the

light is as that of night when the moon is young. Still, I wended on,

often losing my path. But from time to time between the tops of the

trees I saw the figure of the grey stone woman who sits on the top of

Ghost Mountain, and shaped my course towards her knees. My heart beat

as I travelled through the forest in dark and loneliness like that of

the night, and ever I looked round searching for the eyes of the

_Amatongo_. But I saw no spirits, though at times great spotted snakes

crept from before my feet, and perhaps these were the _Amatongo_. At

times, also, I caught glimpses of some grey wolf as he slunk from tree

to tree watching me, and always high above my head the wind sighed in

the great boughs with a sound like the sighing of women.

“Still, I went on, singing to myself as I went, that my heart might not

be faint with fear, and at length, towards the end of the second hour,

the trees grew fewer, the ground sloped upwards, and the light poured

down from the heavens again. But, stranger, you are weary, and the

night wears on; sleep now, and to-morrow I will end the tale. Say,

first, how are you named?”

“I am named Umslopogaas, son of Mopo,” he answered, “and my tale shall

be told when yours is done; let us sleep!”

Now when Galazi heard this name he started and was troubled, but said

nothing. So they laid them down to sleep, and Galazi wrapped

Umslopogaas with the skins of bucks.

But Galazi the Wolf was so hardy that he lay on the bare ground and had

no covering. So they slept, and without the door of the cave the wolves

howled, scenting the blood of men.

CHAPTER XIII.

GALAZI BECOMES KING OF THE WOLVES

On the morrow Umslopogaas awoke, and knew that strength was growing on

him fast. Still, all that day he rested in the cave, while Galazi went

out to hunt. In the evening he returned, bearing a buck upon his

shoulders, and they skinned the buck and ate of it as they sat by the

fire. And when the sun was down Galazi took up his tale.

“Now Umslopogaas, son of Mopo, hear! I had passed the forest, and had

come, as it were, to the legs of the old stone Witch who sits up aloft

there forever waiting for the world to die. Here the sun shone merrily,

here lizards ran and birds flew to and fro, and though it grew towards

the evening—for I had wandered long in the forest—I was afraid no more.

So I climbed up the steep rock, where little bushes grow like hair on

the arms of a man, till at last I came to the knees of the stone Witch,

which are the space before the cave. I lifted my head over the brink of

the rock and looked, and I tell you, Umslopogaas, my blood ran cold and

my heart turned to water, for there, before the cave, rolled wolves,

many and great. Some slept and growled in their sleep, some gnawed at

the skulls of dead game, some sat up like dogs and their tongues hung

from their grinning jaws. I looked, I saw, and beyond I discovered the

mouth of the cave, where the bones of the boy should be. But I had no

wish to come there, being afraid of the wolves, for now I knew that

these were the ghosts who live upon the mountain. So I bethought me

that I would fly, and turned to go. And, Umslopogaas, even as I turned,

the great club Watcher of the Fords swung round and smote me on the

back with such a blow as a man smites upon a coward. Now whether this

was by chance or whether the Watcher would shame him who bore it, say

you, for I do not know. At the least, shame entered into me. Should I

go back to be mocked by the people of the kraal and by the old woman?

And if I wished to go, should I not be killed by the ghosts at night in

the forest? Nay, it was better to die in the jaws of the wolves, and at

once.

“Thus I thought in my heart; then, tarrying not, lest fear should come

upon me again, I swung up the Watcher, and crying aloud the war-cry of

the Halakazi, I sprang over the brink of the rock and rushed upon the

wolves. They, too, sprang up and stood howling, with bristling hides

and fiery eyes, and the smell of them came into my nostrils. Yet when

they saw it was a man that rushed upon them, they were seized with

sudden fear and fled this way and that, leaping by great bounds from

the place of rock, which is the knees of the stone Witch, so that

presently I stood alone in front of the cave. Now, having conquered the

wolf ghosts and no blow struck, my heart swelled within me, and I

walked to the mouth of the cave proudly, as a cock walks upon a roof,

and looked in through the opening. As it chanced, the sinking sun shone

at this hour full into the cave, so that all its darkness was made red

with light. Then, once more, Umslopogaas, I grew afraid indeed, for I

could see the end of the cave.

“Look now! There is a hole in the wall of the cave, where the firelight

falls below the shadow of the roof, twice the height of a man from the

floor. It is a narrow hole and a high, is it not?—as though one had cut

it with iron, and a man might sit in it, his legs hanging towards the

floor of the cave. Ay, Umslopogaas, a man might sit in it, might he

not? And there a man sat, or that which had been a man. There sat the

bones of a man, and the black skin had withered on his bones, holding

them together, and making him awful to see. His hands were open beside

him, he leaned upon them, and in the right hand was a piece of hide

from his moocha. It was half eaten, Umslopogaas; he had eaten it before

he died. His eyes also were bound round with a band of leather, as

though to hide something from their gaze, one foot was gone, one hung

over the edge of the niche towards the floor, and beneath it on the

floor, red with rust, lay the blade of a broken spear.

“Now come hither, Umslopogaas, place your hand upon the wall of the

cave, just here; it is smooth, is it not?—smooth as the stones on which

women grind their corn. ‘What made it so smooth?’ you ask. I will tell

you.

“When I peered through the door of the cave I saw this: on the floor of

the cave lay a she-wolf panting, as though she had galloped many a

mile; she was great and fierce. Near to her was another wolf—he was a

dog—old and black, bigger than any I have seen, a very father of

wolves, and all his head and flanks were streaked with grey. But this

wolf was on his feet. As I watched he drew back nearly to the mouth of

the cave, then of a sudden he ran forward and bounded high into the air

towards the withered foot of that which hung from the cleft of the

rock. His pads struck upon the rock here where it is smooth, and there

for a second he seemed to cling, while his great jaws closed with a

clash but a spear’s breadth beneath the dead man’s foot. Then he fell

back with a howl of rage, and drew slowly down the cave. Again he ran

and leaped, again the great jaws closed, again he fell down howling.

Then the she-wolf rose, and they sprang together, striving to pull down

him who sat above. But it was all in vain; they could never come nearer

than within a spear’s breadth of the dead man’s foot. And now,

Umslopogaas, you know why the rock is smooth and shines. From month to

month and year to year the wolves had ravened there, seeking to devour

the bones of him who sat above. Night upon night they had leaped thus

against the wall of the cave, but never might their clashing jaws close

upon his foot. One foot they had, indeed, but the other they could not

come by.

“Now as I watched, filled with fear and wonder, the she-wolf, her

tongue lolling from her jaws, made so mighty a bound that she almost

reached the hanging foot, and yet not quite. She fell back, and then I

saw that the leap was her last for that time, for she had oversprung

herself, and lay there howling, the black blood flowing from her mouth.

The wolf saw also: he drew near, sniffed at her, then, knowing that she

was hurt, seized her by the throat and worried her. Now all the place

was filled with groans and choking howls, as the wolves rolled over and

over beneath him who sat above, and in the blood-red light of the dying

sun the sight and sounds were so horrid that I trembled like a child.

The she-wolf grew faint, for the fangs of her mate were buried in her

throat. Then I saw that now was the time to smite him, lest when he had

killed her he should kill me also. So I lifted the Watcher and sprang

into the cave, having it in my mind to slay the wolf before he lifted

up his head. But he heard my footsteps, or perhaps my shadow fell upon

him. Loosing his grip, he looked up, this father of wolves; then,

making no sound, he sprang straight at my throat.

“I saw him, and whirling the Watcher aloft, I smote with all my

strength. The blow met him in mid-air; it fell full on his chest and

struck him backwards to the earth. But there he would not stay, for,

rising before I could smite again, once more he sprang at me. This time

I leaped aside and struck downwards, and the blow fell upon his right

leg and broke it, so that he could spring no more. Yet he ran at me on

three feet, and, though the club fell on his side, he seized me with

his teeth, biting through that leather bag, which was wound about my

middle, into the flesh behind. Then I yelled with pain and rage, and

lifting the Watcher endways, drove it down with both hands, as a man

drives a stake into the earth, and that with so great a stroke that the

skull of the wolf was shattered like a pot, and he fell dead, dragging

me with him. Presently I sat up on the ground, and, placing the handle

of the Watcher between his jaws, I forced them open, freeing my flesh

from the grip of his teeth. Then I looked at my wounds; they were not

deep, for the leather bag had saved me, yet I feel them to this hour,

for there is poison in the mouth of a wolf. Presently I glanced up, and

saw that the she-wolf had found her feet again, and stood as though

unhurt; for this is the nature of these ghosts, Umslopogaas, that,

though they fight continually, they cannot destroy each other. They may

be killed by man alone, and that hardly. There she stood, and yet she

did not look at me or on her dead mate, but at him who sat above. I

saw, and crept softly behind her, then, lifting the Watcher, I dashed

him down with all my strength. The blow fell on her neck and broke it,

so that she rolled over and at once was dead.

“Now I rested awhile, then went to the mouth of the cave and looked

out. The sun was sinking: all the depth of the forest was black, but

the light still shone on the face of the stone woman who sits forever

on the mountain. Here, then, I must bide this night, for, though the

moon shone white and full in the sky, I dared not wend towards the

plains alone with the wolves and the ghosts. And if I dared not go

alone, how much less should I dare to go bearing with me him who sat in

the cleft of the rock! Nay, here I must bide, so I went out of the cave

to the spring which flows from the rock on the right yonder and washed

my wounds and drank. Then I came back and sat in the mouth of the cave,

and watched the light die away from the face of the world. While it was

dying there was silence, but when it was dead the forest awoke. A wind

sprang up and tossed it till the green of its boughs waved like

troubled water on which the moon shines faintly. From the heart of it,

too, came howlings of ghosts and wolves, that were answered by howls

from the rocks above—hearken, Umslopogaas, such howlings as we hear

to-night!

“It was awful here in the mouth of the cave, for I had not yet learned

the secret of the stone, and if I had known it, should I have dared to

close it, leaving myself alone with the dead wolves and him whom the

wolves had struggled to tear down? I walked out yonder on to the

platform and looked up. The moon shone full upon the face of the stone

Witch who sits aloft forever. She seemed to grin at me, and, oh! I grew

afraid, for now I knew that this was a place of dead men, a place where

spirits perch like vultures in a tree, as they sweep round and round

the world. I went back to the cave, and feeling that I must do

something lest I should go mad, I drew to me the carcase of the great

dog-wolf which I had killed, and, taking my knife of iron, I began to

skin it by the light of the moon. For an hour or more I skinned,

singing to myself as I worked, and striving to forget him who sat in

the cleft above and the howlings which ran about the mountains. But

ever the moonlight shone more clearly into the cave: now by it I could

see his shape of bone and skin, ay, and even the bandage about his

eyes. Why had he tied it there? I wondered—perhaps to hide the faces of

the fierce wolves as they sprang upwards to grip him. And always the

howlings drew nearer; now I could see grey forms creeping to and fro in

the shadows of the rocky place before me. Ah! there before me glared

two red eyes: a sharp snout sniffed at the carcase which I skinned.

With a yell, I lifted the Watcher and smote. There came a scream of

pain, and something galloped away into the shadows.

“Now the skin was off. I cast it behind me, and seizing the carcase

dragged it to the edge of the rock and left it. Presently the sound of

howlings drew near again, and I saw the grey shapes creep up one by

one. Now they gathered round the carcase, now they fell upon it and

rent it, fighting horribly till all was finished. Then, licking their

red chops, they slunk back to the forest.

“Did I sleep or did I wake? Nay, I cannot tell. But I know this, that

of a sudden I seemed to look up and see. I saw a light—perchance,

Umslopogaas, it was the light of the moon, shining upon him that sat

aloft at the end of the cave. It was a red light, and he glowed in it

as glows a thing that is rotten. I looked, or seemed to look, and then

I thought that the hanging jaw moved, and from it came a voice that was

harsh and hollow as of one who speaks from an empty belly, through a

withered throat.

“‘Hail, Galazi, child of Siguyana!’ said the voice, ‘Galazi the Wolf!

Say, what dost thou here in the Ghost Mountain, where the stone Witch

sits forever, waiting for the world to die?’

“Then, Umslopogaas, I answered, or seemed to answer, and my voice, too,

sounded strange and hollow:—

“‘Hail, Dead One, who sittest like a vulture on a rock! I do this on

the Ghost Mountain. I come to seek thy bones and bear them to thy

mother for burial.’

“‘Many and many a year have I sat aloft, Galazi,’ answered the voice,

‘watching the ghost-wolves leap and leap to drag me down, till the rock

grew smooth beneath the wearing of their feet. So I sat seven days and

nights, being yet alive, the hungry wolves below, and hunger gnawing at

my heart. So I have sat many and many a year, being dead in the heart

of the old stone Witch, watching the moon and the sun and the stars,

hearkening to the howls of the ghost-wolves as they ravened beneath me,

and learning the wisdom of the old witch who sits above in everlasting

stone. Yet my mother was young and fair when I trod the haunted forest

and climbed the knees of stone. How seems she now, Galazi?’

“‘She is white and wrinkled and very aged,’ I answered. ‘They call her

mad, yet at her bidding I came to seek thee, Dead One, bearing the

Watcher that was thy father’s and shall be mine.’

“‘It shall be thine, Galazi,’ said the voice, ‘for thou alone hast

dared the ghosts to give me sleep and burial. Hearken, thine also shall

be the wisdom of the old witch who sits aloft forever, frozen into

everlasting stone—thine and one other’s. These are not wolves that thou

hast seen, that is no wolf which thou hast slain; nay, they are

ghosts—evil ghosts of men who lived in ages gone, and who must now live

till they be slain by men. And knowest thou how they lived, Galazi, and

what was the food they ate? When the light comes again, Galazi, climb

to the breasts of the stone Witch, and look in the cleft which is

between her breasts. There shalt thou see how these men lived. And now

this doom is on them: they must wander gaunt and hungry in the shape of

wolves, haunting that Ghost Mountain where they once fed, till they are

led forth to die at the hands of men. Because of their devouring hunger

they have leapt from year to year, striving to reach my bones; and he

whom thou hast slain was the king of them, and she at his side was

their queen.

“‘Now, Galazi the Wolf, this is the wisdom that I give thee: thou shalt

be king of the ghost-wolves, thou and another, whom a lion shall bring

thee. Gird the black skin upon thy shoulders, and the wolves shall

follow thee; all the three hundred and sixty and three of them that are

left, and let him who shall be brought to thee gird on the skin of

grey. Where ye twain lead them, there shall they raven, bringing you

victory till all are dead. But know this, that there only may they

raven where in life they ravened, seeking for their food. Yet, that was

an ill gift thou tookest from my mother—the gift of the Watcher, for

though without the Watcher thou hadst never slain the king of the

ghost-wolves, yet, bearing the Watcher, thou shalt thyself be slain.

Now, on the morrow carry me back to my mother, so that I may sleep

where the ghost-wolves leap no more. I have spoken, Galazi.’

“Now the Dead One’s voice seemed to grow ever fainter and more hollow

as he spoke, till at the last I could scarcely hear his words, yet I

answered him, asking him this:—

“‘Who is it, then, that the lion shall bring to me to rule with me over

the ghost-wolves, and how is he named?’

“Then the Dead One spoke once more very faintly, yet in the silence of

the place I heard his words:—

“‘He is named Umslopogaas the Slaughterer, son of Chaka, Lion of the

Zulu.”

Now Umslopogaas started up from his place by the fire.

“I am named Umslopogaas,” he said, “but the Slaughterer I am not named,

and I am the son of Mopo, and not the son of Chaka, Lion of the Zulu;

you have dreamed a dream, Galazi, or, if it was no dream, then the Dead

One lied to you.”

“Perchance this was so, Umslopogaas,” answered Galazi the Wolf.

“Perhaps I dreamed, or perhaps the Dead One lied; nevertheless, if he

lied in this matter, in other matters he did not lie, as you shall

hear.

“After I had heard these words, or had dreamed that I heard them, I

slept indeed, and when I woke the forest beneath was like the clouds of

mist, but the grey light glinted upon the face of her who sits in stone

above. Now I remembered the dream that I had dreamed, and I would see

if it were all a dream. So I rose, and leaving the cave, found a place

where I might climb up to the breasts and head of the stone Witch. I

climbed, and as I went the rays of the sun lit upon her face, and I

rejoiced to see them. But, when I drew near, the likeness to the face

of a woman faded away, and I saw nothing before me but rugged heaps of

piled-up rock. For this, Umslopogaas, is the way of witches, be they of

stone or flesh—when you draw near to them they change their shape.

“Now I was on the breast of the mountain, and wandered to and fro

awhile between the great heaps of stone. At length I found, as it were,

a crack in the stone thrice as wide as a man can jump, and in length

half a spear’s throw, and near this crack stood great stones blackened

by fire, and beneath them broken pots and a knife of flint. I looked

down into the crack—it was very deep, and green with moss, and tall

ferns grew about in it, for the damp gathered there. There was nothing

else. I had dreamed a lying dream. I turned to go, then found another

mind, and climbed down into the cleft, pushing aside the ferns. Beneath

the ferns was moss; I scraped it away with the Watcher. Presently the

iron of the club struck on something that was yellow and round like a

stone, and from the yellow thing came a hollow sound. I lifted it,

Umslopogaas; it was the skull of a child.

“I dug deeper and scraped away more moss, till presently I saw. Beneath

the moss was nothing but the bones of men—old bones that had lain there

many years; the little ones had rotted, the larger ones remained—some

were yellow, some black, and others still white. They were not broken,

as are those that hyenas and wolves have worried, yet on some of them I

could see the marks of teeth. Then, Umslopogaas, I went back to the

cave, never looking behind me.

“Now when I was come to the cave I did this: I skinned the she-wolf

also. When I had finished the sun was up, and I knew that it was time

to go. But I could not go alone—he who sat aloft in the cleft of the

cave must go with me. I greatly feared to touch him—this Dead One, who

had spoken to me in a dream; yet I must do it. So I brought stones and

piled them up till I could reach him; then I lifted him down, for he

was very light, being but skin and bones. When he was down, I bound the

hides of the wolves about me, then leaving the leather bag, into which

he could not enter, I took the Dead One and placed him on my shoulders

as a man might carry a child, for his legs were fixed somewhat apart,

and holding him by the foot which was left on him, I set out for the

kraal. Down the slope I went as swiftly as I could, for now I knew the

way, seeing and hearing nothing, except once, when there came a rush of

wings, and a great eagle swept down at that which sat upon my

shoulders. I shouted, and the eagle flew away, then I entered the dark

of the forest. Here I must walk softly, lest the head of him I carried

should strike against the boughs and be smitten from him.

“For awhile I went on thus, till I drew near to the heart of the

forest. Then I heard a wolf howl on my right, and from the left came

answering howls, and these, again, were answered by others in front of

and behind me. I walked on boldly, for I dared not stay, guiding myself

by the sun, which from time to time shone down on me redly through the

boughs of the great trees. Now I could see forms grey and black

slinking near my path, sniffing at the air as they went, and now I came

to a little open place, and, behold! all the wolves in the world were

gathered together there. My heart melted, my legs trembled beneath me.

On every side were the brutes, great and hungry. And I stood still,

with club aloft, and slowly they crept up, muttering and growling as

they came, till they formed a deep circle round me. Yet they did not

spring on me, only drew nearer and ever nearer. Presently one sprang,

indeed, but not at me; he sprang at that which sat upon my shoulders. I

moved aside, and he missed his aim, and, coming to the ground again,

stood there growling and whining like a beast afraid. Then I remembered

the words of my dream, if dream it were, how that the Dead One had

given me wisdom that I should be king of the ghost-wolves—I and another

whom a lion should bear to me. Was it not so? If it was not so, how

came it that the wolves did not devour me?

“For a moment I stood thinking, then I lifted up my voice and howled

like a wolf, and lo! Umslopogaas, all the wolves howled in answer with

a mighty howling. I stretched out my hand and called to them. They ran

to me, gathering round me as though to devour me. But they did not harm

me; they licked my legs with their red tongues, and fighting to come

near me, pressed themselves against me as does a cat. One, indeed,

snatched at him who sat on my shoulder, but I struck him with the

Watcher and he slunk back like a whipped hound; moreover, the others

bit him so that he yelled. Now I knew that I had no more to fear, for I

was king of the ghost-wolves, so I walked on, and with me came all the

great pack of them. I walked on and on, and they trotted beside me

silently, and the fallen leaves crackled beneath their feet, and the

dust rose up about them, till at length I reached the edge of the

forest.

“Now I remembered that I must not be seen thus by men, lest they should

think me a wizard and kill me. Therefore, at the edge of the forest I

halted and made signs to the wolves to go back. At this they howled

piteously, as though in grief, but I called to them that I would come

again and be their king, and it seemed as though their brute hearts

understood my words. Then they all went, still howling, till presently

I was alone.

“And now, Umslopogaas, it is time to sleep; to-morrow night I will end

my tale.”

CHAPTER XIV.

THE WOLF-BRETHREN

Now, my father, on the morrow night, once again Umslopogaas and Galazi

the wolf sat by the fire in the mouth of their cave, as we sit

to-night, my father, and Galazi took up his tale.

“I passed on till I came to the river; it was still full, but the water

had run down a little, so that my feet found foothold. I waded into the

river, using the Watcher as a staff, and the stream reached to my

elbows, but no higher. Now one on the farther bank of the river saw

that which sat upon my shoulders, and saw also the wolf’s skin on my

head, and ran to the kraal crying, ‘Here comes one who walks the waters

on the back of a wolf.’

“So it came about that when I drew towards the kraal all the people of

the kraal were gathered together to meet me, except the old woman, who

could not walk so far. But when they saw me coming up the slope of the

hill, and when they knew what it was that sat upon my shoulders, they

were smitten with fear. Yet they did not run, because of their great

wonder, only they walked backward before me, clinging each to each and

saying nothing. I too came on silently, till at length I reached the

kraal, and before its gates sat the old woman basking in the sun of the

afternoon. Presently she looked up and cried:—

“‘What ails you, people of my house, that you walk backwards like men

bewitched, and who is that tall and deathly man who comes toward you?’

“But still they drew on backward, saying no word, the little children

clinging to the women, the women clinging to the men, till they had

passed the old wife and ranged themselves behind her like a regiment of

soldiers. Then they halted against the fence of the kraal. But I came

on to the old woman, and lifted him who sat upon my shoulders, and

placed him on the ground before her, saying, ‘Woman, here is your son;

I have snatched him with much toil from the jaws of the ghosts—and they

are many up yonder—all save one foot, which I could not find. Take him

now and bury him, for I weary of his fellowship.’

“She looked upon that which sat before her. She put out her withered

hand and drew the bandage from his sunken eyes. Then she screamed aloud

a shrill scream, and, flinging her arms about the neck of the Dead One,

she cried: ‘It is my son whom I bore—my very son, whom for twice ten

years and half a ten I have not looked upon. Greeting, my son,

greeting! Now shalt thou find burial, and I with thee—ay, I with thee!’

“And once more she cried aloud, standing upon her feet with arms

outstretched. Then of a sudden foam burst from her lips, and she fell

forward upon the body of her son, and was dead.

“Now silence came upon the place again, for all were fearful. At last

one cried: ‘How is this man named who has won the body from the

ghosts?’

“‘I am named Galazi,’ I answered.

“‘Nay,’ said he. ‘The Wolf you are named. Look at the wolf’s red hide

upon his head!’

“‘I am named Galazi, and the Wolf you have named me,’ I said again. ‘So

be it: I am named Galazi the Wolf.’

“‘Methinks he is a wolf,’ said he. ‘Look, now, at his teeth, how they

grin! This is no man, my brothers, but a wolf.’

“‘No wolf and no man,’ said another, ‘but a wizard. None but a wizard

could have passed the forest and won the lap of her who sits in stone

forever.’

“‘Yes, yes! he is a wolf—he is a wizard!’ they screamed. ‘Kill him!

Kill the wolf-wizard before he brings the ghosts upon us!’ And they ran

towards me with uplifted spears.

“‘I am a wolf indeed,’ I cried, ‘and I am a wizard indeed, and I will

bring wolves and ghosts upon you ere all is done.’ And I turned and

fled so swiftly that soon they were left behind me. Now as I ran I met

a girl; a basket of mealies was on her head, and she bore a dead kid in

her hand. I rushed at her howling like a wolf, and I snatched the

mealies from her head and the kid from her hand. Then I fled on, and

coming to the river, I crossed it, and for that night I hid myself in

the rocks beyond, eating the mealies and the flesh of the kid.

“On the morrow at dawn I rose and shook the dew from the wolf-hide.

Then I went on into the forest and howled like a wolf. They knew my

voice, the ghost-wolves, and howled in answer from far and near. Then I

heard the pattering of their feet, and they came round me by tens and

by twenties, and fawned upon me. I counted their number; they numbered

three hundred and sixty and three.

“Afterwards, I went on to the cave, and I have lived there in the cave,

Umslopogaas, for nigh upon twelve moons, and I have become a wolf-man.

For with the wolves I hunt and raven, and they know me, and what I bid

them that they do. Stay, Umslopogaas, now you are strong again, and, if

your courage does not fail you, you shall see this very night. Come

now, have you the heart, Umslopogaas?”

Then Umslopogaas rose and laughed aloud. “I am young in years,” he

cried, “and scarcely come to the full strength of men; yet hitherto I

have not turned my back on lion or witch, on wolf or man. Now let us

see this impi of yours—this impi black and grey, that runs on four legs

with fangs for spears!”

“You must first bind on the she-wolf’s hide, Umslopogaas,” quoth

Galazi, “else, before a man could count his fingers twice there would

be little enough left of you. Bind it about the neck and beneath the

arms, and see that the fastenings do not burst, lest it be the worse

for you.”

So Umslopogaas took the grey wolf’s hide and bound it on with thongs of

leather, and its teeth gleamed upon his head, and he took a spear in

his hand. Galazi also bound on the hide of the king of the wolves, and

they went out on to the space before the cave. Galazi stood there

awhile, and the moonlight fell upon him, and Umslopogaas saw that his

face grew wild and beastlike, that his eyes shone, and his teeth

grinned beneath his curling lips. He lifted up his head and howled out

upon the night. Thrice Galazi lifted his head and thrice he howled

loudly, and yet more loud. But before ever the echoes had died in the

air, from the heights of the rocks above and the depths of the forest

beneath, there came howlings in answer. Nearer they grew and nearer;

now there was a sound of feet, and a wolf, great and grey, bounded

towards them, and after him many another. They came to Galazi, they

sprang upon him, fawning round him, but he beat them down with the

Watcher. Then of a sudden they saw Umslopogaas, and rushed at him

open-mouthed.

“Stand and do not move!” cried Galazi. “Be not afraid!”

“I have always fondled dogs,” answered Umslopogaas, “shall I learn to

fear them now?”

Yet though he spoke boldly, in his heart he was afraid, for this was

the most terrible of all sights. The wolves rushed on him open-mouthed,

from before and from behind, so that in a breath he was well-nigh

hidden by their forms. Yet no fang pierced him, for as they leapt they

smelt the smell of the skin upon him. Then Umslopogaas saw that the

wolves leapt at him no more, but the she-wolves gathered round him who

wore the she-wolf’s skin. They were great and gaunt and hungry, all

were full-grown, there were no little ones, and their number was so

many that he could not count them in the moonlight. Umslopogaas,

looking into their red eyes, felt his heart become as the heart of a

wolf, and he, too, lifted up his head and howled, and the she-wolves

howled in answer.

“The pack is gathered; now for the hunt!” cried Galazi. “Make your feet

swift, my brother, for we shall journey far to-night. Ho, Blackfang!

ho, Greysnout! Ho, my people black and grey, away! away!”

He spoke and bounded forward, and with him went Umslopogaas, and after

him streamed the ghost-wolves. They fled down the mountain sides,

leaping from boulder to boulder like bucks. Presently they stood by a

kloof that was thick with trees. Galazi stopped, holding up the

Watcher, and the wolves stopped with him.

“I smell a quarry,” he cried; “in, my people, in!”

Then the wolves plunged silently into the great kloof, but Galazi and

Umslopogaas drew to the foot of it and waited. Presently there came a

sound of breaking boughs, and lo! before them stood a buffalo, a bull

who lowed fiercely and sniffed the air.

“This one will give us a good chase, my brother; see, he is gaunt and

thin! Ah! that meat is tender which my people have hunted to the

death!”

As Galazi spoke, the first of the wolves drew from the covert and saw

the buffalo; then, giving tongue, they sprang towards it. The bull saw

also, and dashed down the hill, and after him came Galazi and

Umslopogaas, and with them all their company, and the rocks shook with

the music of their hunting. They rushed down the mountain side, and it

came into the heart of Umslopogaas, that he, too, was a wolf. They

rushed madly, yet his feet were swift as the swiftest; no wolf could

outstrip him, and in him was but one desire—the desire of prey. Now

they neared the borders of the forest, and Galazi shouted. He shouted

to Greysnout and to Blackfang, to Blood and to Deathgrip, and these

four leaped forward from the pack, running so swiftly that their

bellies seemed to touch the ground. They passed about the bull, turning

him from the forest and setting his head up the slope of the mountain.

Then the chase wheeled, the bull leaped and bounded up the mountain

side, and on one flank lay Greysnout and Deathgrip and on the other lay

Blood and Blackfang, while behind came the Wolf-Brethren, and after

them the wolves with lolling tongues. Up the hill they sped, but the

feet of Umslopogaas never wearied, his breath did not fail him. Once

more they drew near the lap of the Grey Witch where the cave was. On

rushed the bull, mad with fear. He ran so swiftly that the wolves were

left behind, since here for a space the ground was level to his feet.

Galazi looked on Umslopogaas at his side, and grinned.

“You do not run so ill, my brother, who have been sick of late. See now

if you can outrun me! Who shall touch the quarry first?”

Now the bull was ahead by two spear-throws. Umslopogaas looked and

grinned back at Galazi. “Good!” he cried, “away!”

They sped forward with a bound, and for awhile it seemed to Umslopogaas

as though they stood side by side, only the bull grew nearer and

nearer. Then he put out his strength and the swiftness of his feet, and

lo! when he looked again he was alone, and the bull was very near.

Never were feet so swift as those of Umslopogaas. Now he reached the

bull as he laboured on. Umslopogaas placed his hands upon the back of

the bull and leaped; he was on him, he sat him as you white men sit a

horse. Then he lifted the spear in his hand, and drove it down between

the shoulders to the spine, and of a sudden the great buffalo

staggered, stopped, and fell dead.

Galazi came up. “Who now is the swiftest, Galazi?” cried Umslopogaas,

“I, or you, or your wolf host?”

“You are the swiftest, Umslopogaas,” said Galazi, gasping for his

breath. “Never did a man run as you run, nor ever shall again.”

Now the wolves streamed up, and would have torn the carcase, but Galazi

beat them back, and they rested awhile. Then Galazi said, “Let us cut

meat from the bull with a spear.”

So they cut meat from the bull, and when they had finished Galazi

motioned to the wolves, and they fell upon the carcase, fighting

furiously. In a little while nothing was left except the larger bones,

and yet each wolf had but a little.

Then they went back to the cave and slept.

Afterwards Umslopogaas told Galazi all his tale, and Galazi asked him

if he would abide with him and be his brother, and rule with him over

the wolf-kind, or seek his father Mopo at the kraal of Chaka.

Umslopogaas said that it was rather in his mind to seek his sister

Nada, for he was weary of the kraal of Chaka, but he thought of Nada

day and night.

“Where, then, is Nada, your sister?” asked Galazi.

“She sleeps in the caves of your people, Galazi; she tarries with the

Halakazi.”

“Stay awhile, Umslopogaas,” cried Galazi; “stay till we are men indeed.

Then we will seek this sister of yours and snatch her from the caves of

the Halakazi.”

Now the desire of this wolf-life had entered into the heart of

Umslopogaas, and he said that it should be so, and on the morrow they

made them blood-brethren, to be one till death, before all the company

of ghost-wolves, and the wolves howled when they smelt the blood of

men. In all things thenceforth these two were equal, and the

ghost-wolves hearkened to the voice of both of them. And on many a

moonlight night they and the wolves hunted together, winning their

food. At times they crossed the river, hunting in the plains, for game

was scarce on the mountain, and the people of the kraal would come out,

hearing the mighty howling, and watch the pack sweep across the veldt,

and with them a man or men. Then they would say that the ghosts were

abroad and creep into their huts shivering with fear. But as yet the

Wolf-Brethren and their pack killed no men, but game only, or, at

times, elephants and lions.

Now when Umslopogaas had abode some moons in the Witch Mountain, on a

night he dreamed of Nada, and awakening soft at heart, bethought

himself that he would learn tidings concerning me, his father, Mopo,

and what had befallen me and her whom he deemed his mother, and Nada,

his sister, and his other brethren. So he clothed himself, hiding his

nakedness, and, leaving Galazi, descended to that kraal where the old

woman had dwelt, and there gave it out that he was a young man, a

chief’s son from a far place, who sought a wife. The people of the

kraal listened to him, though they held that his look was fierce and

wild, and one asked if this were Galazi the Wolf, Galazi the Wizard.

But another answered that this was not Galazi, for their eyes had seen

him. Umslopogaas said that he knew nothing of Galazi, and little of

wolves, and lo! while he spoke there came an impi of fifty men and

entered the kraal. Umslopogaas looked at the leaders of the impi and

knew them for captains of Chaka. At first he would have spoken to them,

but his _Ehlosé_ bade him hold his peace. So he sat in a corner of the

big hut and listened. Presently the headman of the kraal, who trembled

with fear, for he believed that the impi had been sent to destroy him

and all that were his, asked the captain what was his will.

“A little matter, and a vain,” said the captain. “We are sent by the

king to search for a certain youth, Umslopogaas, the son of Mopo, the

king’s doctor. Mopo gave it out that the youth was killed by a lion

near these mountains, and Chaka would learn if this is true.”

“We know nothing of the youth,” said the headman. “But what would ye

with him?”

“Only this,” answered the captain, “to kill him.”

“That is yet to do,” thought Umslopogaas.

“Who is this Mopo?” asked the headman.

“An evildoer, whose house the king has eaten up—man, woman, and child,”

answered the captain.

CHAPTER XV.

THE DEATH OF THE KING’S SLAYERS

When Umslopogaas heard these words his heart was heavy, and a great

anger burned in his breast, for he thought that I, Mopo, was dead with

the rest of his house, and he loved me. But he said nothing; only,

watching till none were looking, he slipped past the backs of the

captains and won the door of the hut. Soon he was clear of the kraal,

and, running swiftly, crossed the river and came to the Ghost Mountain.

Meanwhile, the captain asked the headman of the kraal if he knew

anything of such a youth as him for whom they sought. The headman told

the captain of Galazi the Wolf, but the captain said that this could

not be the lad, for Galazi had dwelt many moons upon the Ghost

Mountain.

“There is another youth,” said the headman; “a stranger, fierce, strong

and tall, with eyes that shine like spears. He is in the hut now; he

sits yonder in the shadow.”

The captain rose and looked into the shadow, but Umslopogaas was gone.

“Now this youth is fled,” said the headman, “and yet none saw him fly!

Perhaps he also is a wizard! Indeed, I have heard that now there are

two of them upon the Ghost Mountain, and that they hunt there at night

with the ghost-wolves, but I do not know if it is true.”

“Now I am minded to kill you,” said the captain in wrath, “because you

have suffered this youth to escape me. Without doubt it is Umslopogaas,

son of Mopo.”

“It is no fault of mine,” said the headman. “These young men are

wizards, who can pass hither and thither at will. But I say this to

you, captain of the king, if you will go on the Ghost Mountain, you

must go there alone with your soldiers, for none in these parts dare to

tread upon that mountain.”

“Yet I shall dare to-morrow,” said the captain. “We grow brave at the

kraal of Chaka. There men do not fear spears or ghosts or wild beasts

or magic, but they fear the king’s word alone. The sun sets—give us

food. To-morrow we will search the mountain.”

Thus, my father, did this captain speak in his folly,—he who should

never see another sun.

Now Umslopogaas reached the mountain, and when he had passed the

forest—of which he had learned every secret way—the darkness gathered,

and the wolves awoke in the darkness and drew near howling. Umslopogaas

howled in answer, and presently that great wolf Deathgrip came to him.

Umslopogaas saw him and called him by his name; but, behold! the brute

did not know him, and flew at him, growling. Then Umslopogaas

remembered that the she-wolf’s skin was not bound about his shoulders,

and therefore it was that the wolf Deathgrip knew him not. For though

in the daytime, when the wolves slept, he might pass to and fro without

the skin, at night it was not so. He had not brought the skin, because

he dared not wear it in the sight of the men of the kraal, lest they

should know him for one of the Wolf-Brethren, and it had not been his

plan to seek the mountain again that night, but rather on the morrow.

Now Umslopogaas knew that his danger was great indeed. He beat back

Deathgrip with his kerrie, but others were behind him, for the wolves

gathered fast. Then he bounded away towards the cave, for he was so

swift of foot that the wolves could not catch him, though they pressed

him hard, and once the teeth of one of them tore his moocha. Never

before did he run so fast, and in the end he reached the cave and

rolled the rock to, and as he did so the wolves dashed themselves

against it. Then he clad himself in the hide of the she-wolf, and,

pushing aside the stone, came out. And, lo! the eyes of the wolves were

opened, and they knew him for one of the brethren who ruled over them,

and slunk away at his bidding.

Now Umslopogaas sat himself down at the mouth of the cave waiting for

Galazi, and he thought. Presently Galazi came, and in few words

Umslopogaas told him all his tale.

“You have run a great risk, my brother,” said Galazi. “What now?”

“This,” said Umslopogaas: “these people of ours are hungry for the

flesh of men; let us feed them full on the soldiers of Chaka, who sit

yonder at the kraal seeking my life. I would take vengeance for Mopo,

my father, and all my brethren who are dead, and for my mothers, the

wives of Mopo. What say you?”

Galazi laughed aloud. “That will be merry, my brother,” he said. “I

weary of hunting beasts, let us hunt men to-night.”

“Ay, to-night,” said Umslopogaas, nodding. “I long to look upon that

captain as a maid longs for her lover’s kiss. But first let us rest and

eat, for the night is young; then, Galazi, summon our impi.”

So they rested and ate, and afterwards went out armed, and Galazi

howled to the wolves, and they came in tens and twenties till all were

gathered together. Galazi moved among them, shaking the Watcher, as

they sat upon their haunches, and followed him with their fiery eyes.

“We do not hunt game to-night, little people,” he cried, “but men, and

you love the flesh of men.”

Now all the wolves howled as though they understood. Then the pack

divided itself as was its custom, the she-wolves following Umslopogaas,

the dog-wolves following Galazi, and in silence they moved swiftly down

towards the plain. They came to the river and swam it, and there, eight

spear throws away, on the farther side of the river stood the kraal.

Now the Wolf-Brethren took counsel together, and Galazi, with the

dog-wolves, went to the north gate, and Umslopogaas with the she-wolves

to the south gate. They reached them safely and in silence, for at the

bidding of the brethren the wolves ceased from their howlings. The

gates were stopped with thorns, but the brethren pulled out the thorns

and made a passage. As they did this it chanced that certain dogs in

the kraal heard the sound of the stirred boughs, and awakening, caught

the smell of the wolves that were with Umslopogaas, for the wind blew

from that quarter. These dogs ran out barking, and presently they came

to the south gate of the kraal, and flew at Umslopogaas, who pulled

away the thorns. Now when the wolves saw the dogs they could be

restrained no longer, but sprang on them and tore them to fragments,

and the sound of their worrying came to the ears of the soldiers of

Chaka and of the dwellers in the kraal, so that they sprang from sleep,

snatching their arms. And as they came out of the huts they saw in the

moonlight a man wearing a wolf’s hide rushing across the empty cattle

kraal, for the grass was long and the cattle were out at graze, and

with him countless wolves, black and grey. Then they cried aloud in

terror, saying that the ghosts were on them, and turned to flee to the

north gate of the kraal. But, behold! here also they met a man clad in

a wolf’s skin only, and with him countless wolves, black and grey.

Now, some flung themselves to earth screaming in their fear, and some

strove to run away, but the greater part of the soldiers, and with them

many of the men of the kraal, came together in knots, being minded to

die like men at teeth of the ghosts, and that though they shook with

fear. Then Umslopogaas howled aloud, and howled Galazi, and they flung

themselves upon the soldiers and the people of the kraal, and with them

came the wolves. Then a crying and a baying rose up to heaven as the

grey wolves leaped and bit and tore. Little they heeded the spears and

kerries of the soldiers. Some were killed, but the rest did not stay.

Presently the knots of men broke up, and to each man wolves hung by

twos and threes, dragging him to earth. Some few fled, indeed, but the

wolves hunted them by gaze and scent, and pulled them down before they

passed the gates of the kraal.

The Wolf-Brethren also ravened with the rest. Busy was the Watcher, and

many bowed beneath him, and often the spear of Umslopogaas flashed in

the moonlight. It was finished; none were left living in that kraal,

and the wolves growled sullenly as they took their fill, they who had

been hungry for many days. Now the brethren met, and laughed in their

wolf joy, because they had slaughtered those who were sent out to

slaughter. They called to the wolves, bidding them search the huts, and

the wolves entered the huts as dogs enter a thicket, and killed those

who lurked there, or drove them forth to be slain without. Presently a

man, great and tall, sprang from the last of the huts, where he had

hidden himself, and the wolves outside rushed on him to drag him down.

But Umslopogaas beat them back, for he had seen the face of the man: it

was that captain whom Chaka had sent out to kill him. He beat them

back, and stalked up to the captain, saying: “Greeting to you, captain

of the king! Now tell us what is your errand here, beneath the shadow

of her who sits in stone?” And he pointed with his spear to the Grey

Witch on the Ghost Mountain, on which the moon shone bright.

Now the captain had a great heart, though he had hidden from the

wolves, and answered boldly:—

“What is that to you, wizard? Your ghost wolves had made an end of my

errand. Let them make an end of me also.”

“Be not in haste, captain,” said Umslopogaas. “Say, did you not seek a

certain youth, the son of Mopo?”

“That is so,” answered the captain. “I sought one youth, and I have

found many evil spirits.” And he looked at the wolves tearing their

prey, and shuddered.

“Say, captain,” quoth Umslopogaas, drawing back his hood of wolf’s hide

so that the moonlight fell upon his face, “is this the face of that

youth whom you sought?”

“It is the face,” answered the captain, astonished.

“Ay,” laughed Umslopogaas, “it is the face. Fool! I knew your errand

and heard your words, and thus have I answered them.” And he pointed to

the dead. “Now choose, and swiftly. Will you run for your life against

my wolves? Will you do battle for your life against these four?” And he

pointed to Greysnout and to Blackfang, to Blood and to Deathgrip, who

watched him with slavering lips; “or will you stand face to face with

me, and if I am slain, with him who bears the club, and with whom I

rule this people black and grey?”

“I fear ghosts, but of men I have no fear, though they be wizards,”

answered the captain.

“Good!” cried Umslopogaas, shaking his spear.

Then they rushed together, and that fray was fierce. For presently the

spear of Umslopogaas was broken in the shield of the captain and he was

left weaponless. Now Umslopogaas turned and fled swiftly, bounding over

the dead and the wolves who preyed upon them, and the captain followed

with uplifted spear, and mocked him as he came. Galazi also wondered

that Umslopogaas should fly from a single man. Hither and thither fled

Umslopogaas, and always his eyes were on the earth. Of a sudden,

Galazi, who watched, saw him sweep forward like a bird and stoop to the

ground. Then he wheeled round, and lo! there was an axe in his hand.

The captain rushed at him, and Umslopogaas smote as he rushed, and the

blade of the great spear that was lifted to pierce him fell to the

ground hewn from its haft. Again Umslopogaas smote: the moon-shaped axe

sank through the stout shield deep into the breast beyond. Then the

captain threw up his arms and fell to the earth.

“Ah!” cried Umslopogaas, “you sought a youth to slay him, and have

found an axe to be slain by it! Sleep softly, captain of Chaka.”

Then Umslopogaas spoke to Galazi, saying: “My brother, I will fight no

more with the spear, but with the axe alone; it was to seek an axe that

I ran to and fro like a coward. But this is a poor thing! See, the haft

is split because of the greatness of my stroke! Now this is my

desire—to win that great axe of Jikiza, which is called Groan-Maker, of

which we have heard tell, so that axe and club may stand together in

the fray.”

“That must be for another night,” said Galazi. “We have not done so ill

for once. Now let us search for pots and corn, of which we stand in

need, and then to the mountain before dawn finds us.”

Thus, then, did the Wolf-Brethren bring death on the impi of Chaka, and

this was but the first of many deaths that they wrought with the help

of the wolves. For ever they ravened through the land at night, and,

falling on those they hated, they ate them up, till their name and the

name of the ghost-wolves became terrible in the ears of men, and the

land was swept clean. But they found that the wolves would not go

abroad to worry everywhere. Thus, on a certain night, they set out to

fall upon the kraals of the People of the Axe, where dwelt the chief

Jikiza, who was named the Unconquered, and owned the axe Groan-Maker,

but when they neared the kraal the wolves turned back and fled. Then

Galazi remembered the dream that he had dreamed, in which the Dead One

in the cave had seemed to speak, telling him that there only where the

men-eaters had hunted in the past might the wolves hunt to-day. So they

returned home, but Umslopogaas set himself to find a plan to win the

axe.

CHAPTER XVI.

UMSLOPOGAAS VENTURES OUT TO WIN THE AXE

Now many moons had gone by since Umslopogaas became a king of the

wolves, and he was a man full grown, a man fierce and tall and keen; a

slayer of men, fleet of foot and of valour unequalled, seeing by night

as well as by day. But he was not yet named the Slaughterer, and not

yet did he hold that iron chieftainess, the axe Groan-Maker. Still, the

desire to win the axe was foremost in his mind, for no woman had

entered there, who when she enters drives out all other desire—ay, my

father, even that of good weapons. At times, indeed, Umslopogaas would

lurk in the reeds by the river looking at the kraal of Jikiza the

Unconquered, and would watch the gates of his kraal, and once as he

lurked he saw a man great, broad and hairy, who bore upon his shoulder

a shining axe, hafted with the horn of a rhinoceros. After that his

greed for this axe entered into Umslopogaas more and more, till at

length he scarcely could sleep for thinking of it, and to Galazi he

spoke of little else, wearying him much with his talk, for Galazi loved

silence. But for all his longing he could find no means to win it.

Now it befell that as Umslopogaas hid one evening in the reeds,

watching the kraal of Jikiza, he saw a maiden straight and fair, whose

skin shone like the copper anklets on her limbs. She walked slowly

towards the reeds where he lay hidden. Nor did she stop at the brink of

the reeds; she entered them and sat herself down within a spear’s

length of where Umslopogaas was seated, and at once began to weep,

speaking to herself as she wept.

“Would that the ghost-wolves might fall on him and all that is his,”

she sobbed, “ay, and on Masilo also! I would hound them on, even if I

myself must next know their fangs. Better to die by the teeth of the

wolves than to be sold to this fat pig of a Masilo. Oh! if I must wed

him, I will give him a knife for the bride’s kiss. Oh! that I were a

lady of the ghost-wolves, there should be a picking of bones in the

kraal of Jikiza before the moon grows young again.”

Umslopogaas heard, and of a sudden reared himself up before the maid,

and he was great and wild to look on, and the she-wolf’s fangs shone

upon his brow.

“The ghost-wolves are at hand, damsel,” he said. “They are ever at hand

for those who need them.”

Now the maid saw him and screamed faintly, then grew silent, wondering

at the greatness and the fierce eyes of the man who spoke to her.

“Who are you?” she asked. “I fear you not, whoever you are.”

“There you are wrong, damsel, for all men fear me, and they have cause

to fear. I am one of the Wolf-Brethren, whose names have been told of;

I am a wizard of the Ghost Mountain. Take heed, now, lest I kill you.

It will be of little avail to call upon your people, for my feet are

fleeter than theirs.”

“I have no wish to call upon my people, Wolf-Man,” she answered. “And

for the rest, I am too young to kill.”

“That is so, maiden,” answered Umslopogaas, looking at her beauty.

“What were the words upon your lips as to Jikiza and a certain Masilo?

Were they not fierce words, such as my heart likes well?”

“It seems that you heard them,” answered the girl. “What need to waste

breath in speaking them again?”

“No need, maiden. Now tell me your story; perhaps I may find a way to

help you.”

“There is little to tell,” she answered. “It is a small tale and a

common. My name is Zinita, and Jikiza the Unconquered is my

step-father. He married my mother, who is dead, but none of his blood

is in me. Now he would give me in marriage to a certain Masilo, a fat

man and an old, whom I hate, because Masilo offers many cattle for me.”

“Is there, then, another whom you would wed, maiden?” asked

Umslopogaas.

“There is none,” answered Zinita, looking him in the eyes.

“And is there no path by which you may escape from Masilo?”

“There is only one path, Wolf-Man—by death. If I die, I shall escape;

if Masilo dies, I shall escape; but to little end, for I shall be given

to another; but if Jikiza dies, then it will be well. What of that

wolf-people of yours, are they not hungry, Wolf-Man?”

“I cannot bring them here,” answered Umslopogaas. “Is there no other

way?”

“There is another way,” said Zinita, “if one can be found to try it.”

And again she looked at him strangely, causing the blood to beat within

him. “Hearken! do you not know how our people are governed? They are

governed by him who holds the axe Groan-Maker. He that can win the axe

in war from the hand of him who holds it, shall be our chief. But if he

who holds the axe dies unconquered, then his son takes his place and

with it the axe. It has been thus, indeed, for four generations, since

he who held Groan-Maker has always been unconquerable. But I have heard

that the great-grandfather of Jikiza won the axe from him who held it

in his day; he won it by fraud. For when the axe had fallen on him but

lightly, he fell over, feigning death. Then the owner of the axe

laughed, and turned to walk away. But the forefather of Jikiza sprang

up behind him and pierced him through with a spear, and thus he became

chief of the People of the Axe. Therefore, it is the custom of Jikiza

to hew off the heads of those whom he kills with the axe.”

“Does he, then, slay many?” asked Umslopogaas.

“Of late years, few indeed,” she said, “for none dare stand against

him—no, not with all to win. For, holding the axe Groan-Maker, he is

unconquerable, and to fight with him is sure death. Fifty-and-one have

tried in all, and before the hut of Jikiza there are piled

fifty-and-one white skulls. And know this, the axe must be won in

fight; if it is stolen or found, it has no virtue—nay, it brings shame

and death to him who holds it.”

“How, then, may a man give battle to Jikiza?” he asked again.

“Thus: Once in every year, on the first day of the new moon of the

summer season, Jikiza holds a meeting of the headmen. Then he must rise

and challenge all or any to come forward and do battle with him to win

the axe and become chief in his place. Now if one comes forward, they

go into the cattle kraal, and there the matter is ended. Afterwards,

when the head is hewn from his foe, Jikiza goes back to the meeting of

the headmen, and they talk as before. All are free to come to the

meeting, and Jikiza must fight with them if they wish it, whoever they

be.”

“Perhaps I shall be there,” said Umslopogaas.

“After this meeting at the new moon, I am to be given in marriage to

Masilo,” said the maid. “But should one conquer Jikiza, then he will be

chief, and can give me in marriage to whom he will.”

Now Umslopogaas understood her meaning, and knew that he had found

favour in her sight; and the thought moved him a little, for women were

strange to him as yet.

“If perchance I should be there,” he said, “and if perchance I should

win the iron chieftainess, the axe Groan-Maker, and rule over the

People of the Axe, you should not live far from the shadow of the axe

thenceforward, maid Zinita.”

“It is well, Wolf-Man, though some might not wish to dwell in that

shadow; but first you must win the axe. Many have tried, and all have

failed.”

“Yet one must succeed at last,” he said, “and so, farewell!” and he

leaped into the torrent of the river, and swam it with great strokes.

Now the maid Zinita watched him till he was gone, and love of him

entered into her heart—a love that was fierce and jealous and strong.

But as he wended to the Ghost Mountain Umslopogaas thought rather of

axe Groan-Maker than of Maid Zinita; for ever, at the bottom,

Umslopogaas loved war more than women, though this has been his fate,

that women have brought sorrow on his head.

Fifteen days must pass before the day of the new moon, and during this

time Umslopogaas thought much and said little. Still, he told Galazi

something of the tale, and that he was determined to do battle with

Jikiza the Unconquered for the axe Groan-Maker. Galazi said that he

would do well to let it be, and that it was better to stay with the

wolves than to go out seeking strange weapons. He said also that even

if he won the axe, the matter might not stay there, for he must take

the girl also, and his heart boded no good of women. It had been a girl

who poisoned his father in the kraals of the Halakazi. To all of which

Umslopogaas answered nothing, for his heart was set both on the axe and

the girl, but more on the first than the last.

So the time wore on, and at length came the day of the new moon. At the

dawn of that day Umslopogaas arose and clad himself in a moocha,

binding the she-wolf’s skin round his middle beneath the moocha. In his

hand he took a stout fighting-shield, which he had made of buffalo

hide, and that same light moon-shaped axe with which he had slain the

captain of Chaka.

“A poor weapon with which to kill Jikiza the Unconquerable,” said

Galazi, eyeing it askance.

“It shall serve my turn,” answered Umslopogaas.

Now Umslopogaas ate, and then they moved together slowly down the

mountain and crossed the river by a ford, for he wished to save his

strength. On the farther side of the river Galazi hid himself in the

reeds, because his face was known, and there Umslopogaas bade him

farewell, not knowing if he should look upon him again. Afterwards he

walked up to the Great Place of Jikiza. Now when he reached the gates

of the kraal, he saw that many people were streaming through them, and

mingled with the people. Presently they came to the open space in front

of the huts of Jikiza, and there the headmen were gathered together. In

the centre of them, and before a heap of the skulls of men which were

piled up against his door-posts, sat Jikiza, a huge man, a hairy and a

proud, who glared about him rolling his eyes. Fastened to his arm by a

thong of leather was the great axe Groan-Maker, and each man as he came

up saluted the axe, calling it “_Inkosikaas_,” or chieftainess, but he

did not salute Jikiza. Umslopogaas sat down with the people in front of

the councillors, and few took any notice of him, except Zinita, who

moved sullenly to and fro bearing gourds of beer to the councillors.

Near to Jikiza, on his right hand, sat a fat man with small and

twinkling eyes, who watched the maid Zinita greedily.

“Yon man,” thought Umslopogaas, “is Masilo. The better for

blood-letting will you be, Masilo.”

Presently Jikiza spoke, rolling his eyes: “This is the matter before

you, councillors. I have settled it in my mind to give my step-daughter

Zinita in marriage to Masilo, but the marriage gift is not yet agreed

on. I demand a hundred head of cattle from Masilo, for the maid is fair

and straight, a proper maid, and, moreover, my daughter, though not of

my blood. But Masilo offers fifty head only, therefore I ask you to

settle it.”

“We hear you, Lord of the Axe,” answered one of the councillors, “but

first, O Unconquered, you must on this day of the year, according to

ancient custom, give public challenge to any man to fight you for the

Groan-Maker and for your place as chief of the People of the Axe.”

“This is a wearisome thing,” grumbled Jikiza. “Can I never have done in

it? Fifty-and-three have I slain in my youth without a wound, and now

for many years I have challenged, like a cock on a dunghill, and none

crow in answer.”

“Ho, now! Is there any man who will come forward and do battle with me,

Jikiza, for the great axe Groan-Maker? To him who can win it, it shall

be, and with it the chieftainship of the People of the Axe.”

Thus he spoke very fast, as a man gabbles a prayer to a spirit in whom

he has little faith, then turned once more to talk of the cattle of

Masilo and of the maid Zinita. But suddenly Umslopogaas stood up,

looking at him over the top of his war shield, and crying, “Here is

one, O Jikiza, who will do battle with you for the axe Groan-Maker and

for the chieftainship that is to him who holds the axe.”

Now, all the people laughed, and Jikiza glared at him.

“Come forth from behind that big shield of yours,” he said. “Come out

and tell me your name and lineage—you who would do battle with the

Unconquered for the ancient axe.”

Then Umslopogaas came forward, and he looked so fierce, though he was

but young, that the people laughed no more.

“What is my name and lineage to you, Jikiza?” he said. “Let it be, and

hasten to do me battle, as you must by the custom, for I am eager to

handle the Groan-Maker and to sit in your seat and settle this matter

of the cattle of Masilo the Pig. When I have killed you I will take a

name who now have none.”

Now once more the people laughed, but Jikiza grew mad with wrath, and

sprang up gasping.

“What!” he said, “you dare to speak thus to me, you babe unweaned, to

me the Unconquered, the holder of the axe! Never did I think to live to

hear such talk from a long-legged pup. On to the cattle kraal, to the

cattle kraal, People of the Axe, that I may hew this braggart’s head

from his shoulders. He would stand in my place, would he?—the place

that I and my fathers have held for four generations by virtue of the

axe. I tell you all, that presently I will stand upon his head, and

then we will settle the matter of Masilo.”

“Babble not so fast, man,” quoth Umslopogaas, “or if you must babble,

speak those words which you would say ere you bid the sun farewell.”

Now, Jikiza choked with rage, and foam came from his lips so that he

could not speak, but the people found this sport—all except Masilo, who

looked askance at the stranger, tall and fierce, and Zinita, who looked

at Masilo, and with no love. So they moved down to the cattle kraal,

and Galazi, seeing it from afar, could keep away no longer, but drew

near and mingled with the crowd.

CHAPTER XVII.

UMSLOPOGAAS BECOMES CHIEF OF THE PEOPLE OF THE AXE

Now, when Umslopogaas and Jikiza the Unconquered had come to the cattle

kraal, they were set in its centre and there were ten paces between

them. Umslopogaas was armed with the great shield and the light

moon-shaped axe, Jikiza carried the Groan-Maker and a small dancing

shield, and, looking at the weapons of the two, people thought that the

stranger would furnish no sport to the holder of the axe.

“He is ill-armed,” said an old man, “it should be otherwise—large axe,

small shield. Jikiza is unconquerable, and the big shield will not help

this long-legged stranger when Groan-Maker rattles on the buffalo

hide.” The old man spoke thus in the hearing of Galazi the Wolf, and

Galazi thought that he spoke wisely, and sorrowed for the fate of his

brother.

Now, the word was given, and Jikiza rushed on Umslopogaas, roaring, for

his rage was great. But Umslopogaas did not stir till his foe was about

to strike, then suddenly he leaped aside, and as Jikiza passed he smote

him hard upon the back with the flat of his axe, making a great sound,

for it was not his plan to try and kill Jikiza with this axe. Now, a

shout of laughter went up from the hundreds of the people, and the

heart of Jikiza nearly burst with rage because of the shame of that

blow. Round he came like a bull that is mad, and once more rushed at

Umslopogaas, who lifted his shield to meet him. Then, of a sudden, just

when the great axe leapt on high, Umslopogaas uttered a cry as of fear,

and, turning, fled before the face of Jikiza. Now once more the shout

of laughter went up, while Umslopogaas fled swiftly, and after him

rushed Jikiza, blind with fury. Round and about the kraal sped

Umslopogaas, scarcely a spear’s length ahead of Jikiza, and he ran

keeping his back to the sun as much as might be, that he might watch

the shadow of Jikiza. A second time he sped round, while the people

cheered the chase as hunters cheer a dog which pursues a buck. So

cunningly did Umslopogaas run, that, though he seemed to reel with

weakness in such fashion that men thought his breath was gone, yet he

went ever faster and faster, drawing Jikiza after him.

Now, when Umslopogaas knew by the breathing of his foe and by the

staggering of his shadow that his strength was spent, suddenly he made

as though he were about to fall himself, and stumbled out of the path

far to the right, and as he stumbled he let drop his great shield full

in the way of Jikiza’s feet. Then it came about that Jikiza, rushing on

blindly, caught his feet in the shield and fell headlong to earth.

Umslopogaas saw, and swooped on him like an eagle to a dove. Before men

could so much as think, he had seized the axe Groan-Maker, and with a

blow of the steel he held had severed the thong of leather which bound

it to the wrist of Jikiza, and sprung back, holding the great axe

aloft, and casting down his own weapon upon the ground. Now, the

watchers saw all the cunning of his fight, and those of them who hated

Jikiza shouted aloud. But others were silent.

Slowly Jikiza gathered himself from the ground, wondering if he were

still alive, and as he rose he grasped the little axe of Umslopogaas,

and, looking at it, he wept. But Umslopogaas held up the great

Groan-Maker, the iron chieftainess, and examined its curved points of

blue steel, the gouge that stands behind it, and the beauty of its

haft, bound about with wire of brass, and ending in a knob like the

knob of a stick, as a lover looks upon the beauty of his bride. Then

before all men he kissed the broad blade and cried aloud:—

“Greeting to thee, my Chieftainess, greeting to thee, Wife of my youth,

whom I have won in war. Never shall we part, thou and I, and together

will we die, thou and I, for I am not minded that others should handle

thee when I am gone.”

Thus he cried in the hearing of men, then turned to Jikiza, who stood

weeping, because he had lost all.

“Where now is your pride, O Unconquered?” laughed Umslopogaas. “Fight

on. You are as well armed as I was a while ago, when I did not fear to

stand before you.”

Jikiza looked at him for a moment, then with a curse he hurled the

little axe at him, and, turning, fled swiftly towards the gates of the

cattle kraal.

Umslopogaas stooped, and the little axe sped over him. Then he stood

for a while watching, and the people thought that he meant to let

Jikiza go. But that was not his desire; he waited, indeed, until Jikiza

had covered nearly half the space between him and the gate, then with a

roar he leaped forward, as light leaps from a cloud, and so fast did

his feet fly that the watchers could scarce see them move. Jikiza fled

fast also, yet he seemed but as one who stands still. Now he reached

the gate of the kraal, now there was rush, a light of downward falling

steel, and something swept past him. Then, behold! Jikiza fell in the

gateway of the cattle kraal, and all saw that he was dead, smitten to

death by that mighty axe Groan-Maker, which he and his fathers had held

for many years.

A great shout went up from the crowd of watchers when they knew that

Jikiza the Unconquered was killed at last, and there were many who

hailed Umslopogaas, naming him Chief and Lord of the People of the Axe.

But the sons of Jikiza to the number of ten, great men and brave,

rushed on Umslopogaas to kill him. Umslopogaas ran backwards, lifting

up the Groan-Maker, when certain councillors of the people flung

themselves in between them, crying, “Hold!”

“Is not this your law, ye councillors,” said Umslopogaas, “that, having

conquered the chief of the People of the Axe, I myself am chief?”

“That is our law indeed, stranger,” answered an aged councillor, “but

this also is our law: that now you must do battle, one by one, with all

who come against you. So it was in my father’s time, when the

grandfather of him who now lies dead won the axe, and so it must be

again to-day.”

“I have nothing to say against the rule,” said Umslopogaas. “Now who is

there who will come up against me to do battle for the axe Groan-Maker

and the chieftainship of the People of the Axe?”

Then all the ten sons of Jikiza stepped forward as one man, for their

hearts were mad with wrath because of the death of their father and

because the chieftainship had gone from their race, so that in truth

they cared little if they lived or died. But there were none besides

these, for all men feared to stand before Umslopogaas and the

Groan-Maker.

Umslopogaas counted them. “There are ten, by the head of Chaka!” he

cried. “Now if I must fight all these one by one, no time will be left

to me this day to talk of the matter of Masilo and of the maid Zinita.

Hearken! What say you, sons of Jikiza the Conquered? If I find one

other to stand beside me in the fray, and all of you come on at once

against us twain, ten against two, to slay us or be slain, will that be

to your minds?”

The brethren consulted together, and held that so they should be in

better case than if they went up one by one.

“So be it,” they said, and the councillors assented.

Now, as he fled round and round, Umslopogaas had seen the face of

Galazi, his brother, in the throng, and knew that he hungered to share

the fight. So he called aloud that he whom he should choose, and who

would stand back to back with him in the fray, if victory were theirs,

should be the first after him among the People of the Axe, and as he

called, he walked slowly down the line scanning the faces of all, till

he came to where Galazi stood leaning on the Watcher.

“Here is a great fellow who bears a great club,” said Umslopogaas. “How

are you named, fellow?”

“I am named Wolf,” answered Galazi.

“Say, now, Wolf, are you willing to stand back to back with me in this

fray of two against ten? If victory is ours, you shall be next to me

amongst this people.”

“Better I love the wild woods and the mountain’s breast than the kraals

of men and the kiss of wives, Axebearer,” answered Galazi. “Yet,

because you have shown yourself a warrior of might, and to taste again

of the joy of battle, I will stand back to back with you, Axebearer,

and see this matter ended.”

“A bargain, Wolf!” cried Umslopogaas. And they walked side by side—a

mighty pair!—till they came to the centre of the cattle kraal. All

there looked on them wondering, and it came into the thoughts of some

of them that these were none other than the Wolf-Brethren who dwelt

upon the Ghost Mountain.

“Now axe Groan-maker and club Watcher are come together, Galazi,” said

Umslopogaas as they walked, “and I think that few can stand before

them.”

“Some shall find it so,” answered Galazi. “At the least, the fray will

be merry, and what matter how frays end?”

“Ah,” said Umslopogaas, “victory is good, but death ends all and is

best of all.”

Then they spoke of the fashion in which they would fight, and

Umslopogaas looked curiously at the axe he carried, and at the point on

its hammer, balancing it in his hand. When he had looked long, the pair

took their stand back to back in the centre of the kraal, and people

saw that Umslopogaas held the axe in a new fashion, its curved blade

being inwards towards his breast, and the hollow point turned towards

the foe. The ten brethren gathered themselves together, shaking their

assegais; five of them stood before Umslopogaas and five before Galazi

the Wolf. They were all great men, made fierce with rage and shame.

“Now nothing except witchcraft can save these two,” said a councillor

to one who stood by him.

“Yet there is virtue in the axe,” answered the other, “and for the

club, it seems that I know it: I think it is named Watcher of the

Fords, and woe to those who stand before the Watcher. I myself have

seen him aloft when I was young; moreover, these are no cravens who

hold the axe and the club. They are but lads, indeed, yet they have

drunk wolf’s milk.”

Meanwhile, an aged man drew near to speak the word of onset; it was

that same man who had set out the law to Umslopogaas. He must give the

signal by throwing up a spear, and when it struck the ground, then the

fight would begin. The old man took the spear and threw it, but his

hand was weak, and he cast so clumsily that it fell among the sons of

Jikiza, who stood before Umslopogaas, causing them to open up to let it

pass between them, and drawing the eyes of all ten of them to it, but

Umslopogaas watched for the touching of the spear only, being careless

where it touched. As the point of it kissed the earth, he said a word,

and lo! Umslopogaas and Galazi, not waiting for the onslaught of the

ten, as men had thought they must, sprang forward, each at the line of

foes who were before him. While the ten still stood confused, for it

had been their plan to attack, the Wolf-Brethren were upon them.

Groan-Maker was up, but as for no great stroke. He did but peck, as a

bird pecks with his bill, and yet a man dropped dead. The Watcher also

was up, but he fell like a falling tree, and was the death of one.

Through the lines of the ten passed the Wolf-Brethren in the gaps that

each had made. Then they turned swiftly and charged towards each other

again; again Groan-Maker pecked, again the Watcher thundered, and lo!

once more Umslopogaas and Galazi stood back to back unhurt, but before

them lay four men dead.

The onslaught and the return were so swift, that men scarcely

understood what had been done; even those of the sons of Jikiza who

were left stared at each other wondering. Then they knew that they were

but six, for four of them were dead. With a shout of rage they rushed

upon the pair from both sides, but in either case one was the most

eager, and outstepped the other two, and thus it came about that time

was given the Wolf-Brethren to strike at him alone, before his fellows

were at his side. He who came at Umslopogaas drove at him with his

spear, but he was not to be caught thus, for he bent his middle

sideways, so that the spear only cut his skin, and as he bent tapped

with the point of the axe at the head of the smiter, dealing death on

him.

“Yonder Woodpecker has a bill of steel, and he can use it well,” said

the councillor to him who stood by him.

“This is a Slaughterer indeed,” the man answered, and the people heard

the names. Thenceforth they knew Umslopogaas as the Woodpecker, and as

_Bulalio_, or the Slaughterer, and by no other names. Now, he who came

at Galazi the Wolf rushed on wildly, holding his spear short. But

Galazi was cunning in war. He took one step forward to meet him, then,

swinging the Watcher backward, he let him fall at the full length of

arms and club. The child of Jikiza lifted his shield to catch the blow,

but the shield was to the Watcher what a leaf is to the wind. Full on

its hide the huge club fell, making a loud sound; the war-shield

doubled up like a raw skin, and he who bore it fell crushed to the

earth.

Now for a moment, the four who were left of the sons of Jikiza hovered

round the pair, feinting at them from afar, but never coming within

reach of axe or club. One threw a spear indeed, and though Umslopogaas

leaped aside, and as it sped towards him smote the haft in two with the

blade of Groan-Maker, yet its head flew on, wounding Galazi in the

flank. Then he who had thrown the spear turned to fly, for his hands

were empty, and the others followed swiftly, for the heart was out of

them, and they dared to do battle with these two no more.

Thus the fight was ended, and from its beginning till the finish was

not longer than the time in which men might count a hundred slowly.

“It seems that none are left for us to kill, Galazi,” said Umslopogaas,

laughing aloud. “Ah, that was a cunning fight! Ho! you sons of the

Unconquered, who run so fast, stay your feet. I give you peace; you

shall live to sweep my huts and to plough my fields with the other

women of my kraal. Now, councillors, the fighting is done, so let us to

the chief’s hut, where Masilo waits us,” and he turned and went with

Galazi, and after him followed all the people, wondering and in

silence.

When he reached the hut Umslopogaas sat himself down in the place where

Jikiza had sat that morning, and the maid Zinita came to him with a wet

cloth and washed the wound that the spear had made. He thanked her;

then she would have washed Galazi’s wound also, and this was deeper,

but Galazi bade her to let him be roughly, as he would have no woman

meddling with his wounds. For neither then nor at any other time did

Galazi turn to women, but he hated Zinita most of them all.

Then Umslopogaas spoke to Masilo the Pig, who sat before him with a

frightened face, saying, “It seems, O Masilo, that you have sought this

maid Zinita in marriage, and against her will, persecuting her. Now I

had intended to kill you as an offering to her anger, but there has

been enough blood-letting to-day. Yet you shall have a marriage gift to

this girl, whom I myself will take in marriage: you shall give a

hundred head of cattle. Then get you gone from among the People of the

Axe, lest a worse thing befall you, Masilo the Pig.”

So Masilo rose up and went, and his face was green with fear, but he

paid the hundred head of cattle and fled towards the kraal of Chaka.

Zinita watched him go, and she was glad of it, and because the

Slaughterer had named her for his wife.

“I am well rid of Masilo,” she said aloud, in the hearing of Galazi,

“but I had been better pleased to see him dead before me.”

“This woman has a fierce heart,” thought Galazi, “and she will bring no

good to Umslopogaas, my brother.”

Now the councillors and the captains of the People of the Axe _konzaed_

to him whom they named the Slaughterer, doing homage to him as chief

and holder of the axe, and also they did homage to the axe itself. So

Umslopogaas became chief over this people, and their number was many,

and he grew great and fat in cattle and wives, and none dared to

gainsay him. From time to time, indeed, a man ventured to stand up

before him in fight, but none could conquer him, and in a little while

no one sought to face Groan-Maker when he lifted himself to peck.

Galazi also was great among the people, but dwelt with them little, for

best he loved the wild woods and the mountain’s breast, and often, as

of old, he swept at night across the forest and the plains, and the

howling of the ghost-wolves went with him.

But henceforth Umslopogaas the Slaughterer hunted very rarely with the

wolves at night; he slept at the side of Zinita, and she loved him much

and bore him children.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CURSE OF BALEKA

Now, my father, my story winds back again as the river bends towards

its source, and I tell of those events which happened at the king’s

kraal of Gibamaxegu, which you white people name Gibbeclack, the kraal

that is called “Pick-out-the-old-men,” for it was there that Chaka

murdered all the aged who were unfit for war.

After I, Mopo, had stood before the king, and he had given me new wives

and fat cattle and a kraal to dwell in, the bones of Unandi, the Great

Mother Elephant, Mother of the Heavens, were gathered together from the

ashes of my huts, and because all could not be found, some of the bones

of my wives were collected also to make up the number. But Chaka never

knew this. When all were brought together, a great pit was dug and the

bones were set out in order in the pit and buried; but not alone, for

round them were placed twelve maidens of the servants of Unandi, and

these maidens were covered over with the earth, and left to die in the

pit by the bones of Unandi, their mistress. Moreover, all those who

were present at the burial were made into a regiment and commanded that

they should dwell by the grave for the space of a year. They were many,

my father, but I was not one of them. Also Chaka gave orders that no

crops should be sown that year, that the milk of the cows should be

spilled upon the ground, and that no woman should give birth to a child

for a full year, and that if any should dare to bear children, then

that they should be slain and their husbands with them. And for a space

of some months these things were done, my father, and great sorrow came

upon the land.

Then for a little while there was quiet, and Chaka went about heavily,

and he wept often, and we who waited on him wept also as we walked,

till at length it came about by use that we could weep without ceasing

for many hours. No angry woman can weep as we wept in those days; it

was an art, my father, for the teaching of which I received many

cattle, for woe to him who had no tears in those days. Then it was also

that Chaka sent out the captain and fifty soldiers to search for

Umslopogaas, for, though he said nothing more to me of this matter, he

did not believe all the tale that I had told him of the death of

Umslopogaas in the jaws of a lion and the tale of those who were with

me. How that company fared at the hands of Umslopogaas and of Galazi

the Wolf, and at the fangs of the people black and grey, I have told

you, my father. None of them ever came back again. In after days it was

reported to the king that these soldiers were missing, never having

returned, but he only laughed, saying that the lion which ate

Umslopogaas, son of Mopo, was a fierce one, and had eaten them also.

At last came the night of the new moon, that dreadful night to be

followed by a more dreadful morrow. I sat in the kraal of Chaka, and he

put his arm about my neck and groaned and wept for his mother, whom he

had murdered, and I groaned also, but I did not weep, because it was

dark, and on the morrow I must weep much in the sight of king and men.

Therefore, I spared my tears, lest they should fail me in my need.

All night long the people drew on from every side towards the kraal,

and, as they came in thousands and tens of thousands, they filled the

night with their cries, till it seemed as though the whole world were

mourning, and loudly. None might cease their crying, and none dared to

drink so much as a cup of water. The daylight came, and Chaka rose,

saying, “Come, let us go forth, Mopo, and look on those who mourn with

us.” So we went out, and after us came men armed with clubs to do the

bidding of the king.

Outside the kraal the people were gathered, and their number was

countless as the leaves upon the trees. On every side the land was

black with them, as at times the veldt is black with game. When they

saw the king they ceased from their howling and sang the war-song, then

once again they howled, and Chaka walked among them weeping. Now, my

father, the sight became dreadful, for, as the sun rose higher the day

grew hot, and utter weariness came upon the people, who were packed

together like herds of cattle, and, though oxen slain in sacrifice lay

around, they might neither eat nor drink. Some fell to the ground, and

were trampled to death, others took too much snuff to make them weep,

others stained their eyes with saliva, others walked to and fro, their

tongues hanging from their jaws, while groans broke from their parched

throats.

“Now, Mopo, we shall learn who are the wizards that have brought these

ills upon us,” said the king, “and who are the true-hearted men.”

As we spoke we came upon a man, a chief of renown. He was named

Zwaumbana, chief of the Amabovus, and with him were his wives and

followers. This man could weep no more; he gasped with thirst and heat.

The king looked at him.

“See, Mopo,” he said, “see that brute who has no tears for my mother

who is dead! Oh, the monster without a heart! Shall such as he live to

look upon the sun, while I and thou must weep, Mopo? Never! never! Take

him away, and all those who are with him! Take them away, the people

without hearts, who do not weep because my mother is dead by

witchcraft!”

And Chaka walked on weeping, and I followed also weeping, but the chief

Zwaumbana and those with him were all slain by those who do the bidding

of the king, and the slayers also must weep as they slew. Presently we

came upon another man, who, seeing the king, took snuff secretly to

bring tears to his eyes. But the glance of Chaka was quick, and he

noted it.

“Look at him, Mopo,” he said, “look at the wizard who has no tears,

though my mother is dead by witchcraft. See, he takes snuff to bring

tears to his eyes that are dry with wickedness. Take him away, the

heartless brute! Oh, take him away!”

So this one also was killed, and these were but the first of thousands,

for presently Chaka grew mad with wickedness, with fury, and with the

lust of blood. He walked to and fro, weeping, going now and again into

his hut to drink beer, and I with him, for he said that we who sorrowed

must have food. And ever as he walked he would wave his arm or his

assegai, saying, “Take them away, the heartless brutes, who do not weep

because my mother is dead,” and those who chanced to stand before his

arm were killed, till at length the slayers could slay no more, and

themselves were slain, because their strength had failed them, and they

had no more tears. And I also, I must slay, lest if I slew not I should

myself be slain.

And now, at length, the people also went mad with their thirst and the

fury of their fear. They fell upon each other, killing each other;

every man who had a foe sought him out and killed him. None were

spared, the place was but a shambles; there on that day died full seven

thousand men, and still Chaka walked weeping among them, saying, “Take

them away, the heartless brutes, take them away!” Yet, my father, there

was cunning in his cruelty, for though he destroyed many for sport

alone, also he slew on this day all those whom he hated or whom he

feared.

At length the night came down, the sun sank red that day, all the sky

was like blood, and blood was all the earth beneath. Then the killing

ceased, because none had now the strength to kill, and the people lay

panting in heaps upon the ground, the living and the dead together. I

looked at them, and saw that if they were not allowed to eat and drink,

before day dawned again the most of them would be dead, and I spoke to

the king, for I cared little in that hour if I lived or died; even my

hope of vengeance was forgotten in the sickness of my heart.

“A mourning indeed, O King,” I said, “a merry mourning for true-hearted

men, but for wizards a mourning such as they do not love. I think that

thy sorrows are avenged, O King, thy sorrows and mine also.”

“Not so, Mopo,” answered the king, “this is but the beginning; our

mourning was merry to-day, it shall be merrier to-morrow.”

“To-morrow, O King, few will be left to mourn; for the land will be

swept of men.”

“Why, Mopo, son of Makedama? But a few have perished of all the

thousands who are gathered together. Number the people and they will

not be missed.”

“But a few have died beneath the assegai and the kerrie, O King. Yet

hunger and thirst shall finish the spear’s work. The people have

neither eaten nor drunk for a day and a night, and for a day and a

night they have wailed and moaned. Look without, Black One, there they

lie in heaps with the dead. By to-morrow’s light they also will be dead

or dying.”

Now, Chaka thought awhile, and he saw that the work would go too far,

leaving him but a small people over whom to rule.

“It is hard, Mopo,” he said, “that thou and I must mourn alone over our

woes while these dogs feast and make merry. Yet, because of the

gentleness of my heart, I will deal gently with them. Go out, son of

Makedama, and bid my children eat and drink if they have the heart, for

this mourning is ended. Scarcely will Unandi, my mother, sleep well,

seeing that so little blood has been shed on her grave—surely her

spirit will haunt my dreams. Yet, because of the gentleness of my

heart, I declare this mourning ended. Let my children eat and drink,

if, indeed, they have the heart.”

“Happy are the people over whom such a king is set,” I said in answer.

Then I went out and told the words of Chaka to the chiefs and captains,

and those of them who had the voice left to them praised the goodness

of the king. But the most gave over sucking the dew from their sticks,

and rushed to the water like cattle that have wandered five days in the

desert, and drank their fill. Some of them were trampled to death in

the water.

Afterwards I slept as I might best; it was not well, my father, for I

knew that Chaka was not yet gutted with slaughter.

On the morrow many of the people went back to their homes, having

sought leave from the king, others drew away the dead to the place of

bones, and yet others were sent out in impis to kill such as had not

come to the mourning of the king. When midday was past, Chaka said that

he would walk, and ordered me and other of his indunas and servants to

walk with him. We went on in silence, the king leaning on my shoulder

as on a stick. “What of thy people, Mopo,” he said at length, “what of

the Langeni tribe? Were they at my mourning? I did not see them.”

Then I answered that I did not know, they had been summoned, but the

way was long and the time short for so many to march so far.

“Dogs should run swiftly when their master calls, Mopo, my servant,”

said Chaka, and the dreadful light came into his eyes that never shone

in the eyes of any other man. Then I grew sick at heart, my father—ay,

though I loved my people little, and they had driven me away, I grew

sick at heart. Now we had come to a spot where there is a great rift of

black rock, and the name of that rift is U’Donga-lu-ka-Tatiyana. On

either side of this donga the ground slopes steeply down towards its

yawning lips, and from its end a man may see the open country. Here

Chaka sat down at the end of the rift, pondering. Presently he looked

up and saw a vast multitude of men, women, and children, who wound like

a snake across the plain beneath towards the kraal Gibamaxegu.

“I think, Mopo,” said the king, “that by the colour of their shields,

yonder should be the Langeni tribe—thine own people, Mopo.”

“It is my people, O King,” I answered.

Then Chaka sent messengers, running swiftly, and bade them summon the

Langeni people to him where he sat. Other messengers he sent also to

the kraal, whispering in their ears, but what he said I did not know

then.

Now, for a while, Chaka watched the long black snake of men winding

towards him across the plain till the messengers met them and the snake

began to climb the slope of the hill.

“How many are these people of thine, Mopo?” asked the king.

“I know not, O Elephant,” I answered, “who have not seen them for many

years. Perhaps they number three full regiments.”

“Nay, more,” said the king; “what thinkest thou, Mopo, would this

people of thine fill the rift behind us?” and he nodded at the gulf of

stone.

Now, my father, I trembled in all my flesh, seeing the purpose of

Chaka; but I could find no words to say, for my tongue clave to the

roof of my mouth.

“The people are many,” said Chaka, “yet, Mopo, I bet thee fifty head of

cattle that they will not fill the donga.”

“The king is pleased to jest,” I said.

“Yea, Mopo, I jest; yet as a jest take thou the bet.”

“As the king wills,” I murmured—who could not refuse. Now the people of

my tribe drew near: at their head was an old man, with white hair and

beard, and, looking at him, I knew him for my father, Makedama. When he

came within earshot of the king, he gave him the royal salute of

_Bayéte_, and fell upon his hands and knees, crawling towards him, and

_konzaed_ to the king, praising him as he came. All the thousands of

the people also fell on their hands and knees, and praised the king

aloud, and the sound of their praising was like the sound of a great

thunder.

At length Makedama, my father, writhing on his breast like a snake, lay

before the majesty of the king. Chaka bade him rise, and greeted him

kindly; but all the thousands of the people yet lay upon their breasts

beating the dust with their heads.

“Rise, Makedama, my child, father of the people of the Langeni,” said

Chaka, “and tell me why art thou late in coming to my mourning?”

“The way was far, O King,” answered Makedama, my father, who did not

know me. “The way was far and the time short. Moreover, the women and

the children grew weary and footsore, and they are weary in this hour.”

“Speak not of it, Makedama, my child,” said the king. “Surely thy heart

mourned and that of thy people, and soon they shall rest from their

weariness. Say, are they here every one?”

“Every one, O Elephant!—none are wanting. My kraals are desolate, the

cattle wander untended on the hills, birds pick at the unguarded

crops.”

“It is well, Makedama, thou faithful servant! Yet thou wouldst mourn

with me an hour—is it not so? Now, hearken! Bid thy people pass to the

right and to the left of me, and stand in all their numbers upon the

slopes of the grass that run down to the lips of the rift.”

So Makedama, my father, bade the people do the bidding of the king, for

neither he nor the indunas saw his purpose, but I, who knew his wicked

heart, I saw it. Then the people filed past to the right and to the

left by hundreds and by thousands, and presently the grass of the

slopes could be seen no more, because of their number. When all had

passed, Chaka spoke again to Makedama, my father, bidding him climb

down to the bottom of the donga, and thence lift up his voice in

mourning. The old man obeyed the king. Slowly, and with much pain, he

clambered to the bottom of the rift and stood there. It was so deep and

narrow that the light scarcely seemed to reach to where he stood, for I

could only see the white of his hair gleaming far down in the shadows.

Then, standing far beneath, he lifted up his voice, and it reached the

thousands of those who clustered upon the slopes. It seemed still and

small, yet it came to them faintly like the voice of one speaking from

a mountain-top in a time of snow:—

“_Mourn, children of Makedama!_”

And all the thousands of the people—men, women, and children—echoed his

words in a thunder of sound, crying:—

“_Mourn, children of Makedama!_”

Again he cried:—

“_Mourn, people of the Langeni, mourn with the whole world!_”

And the thousands answered:—

“_Mourn, people of the Langeni, mourn with the whole world!_”

A third time came his voice:—

“_Mourn, children of Makedama, mourn, people of the Langeni, mourn with

the whole world!_

“_Howl, ye warriors; weep, ye women; beat your breasts, ye maidens;

sob, ye little children!_

“_Drink of the water of tears, cover yourselves with the dust of

affliction._

“_Mourn, O tribe of the Langeni, because the Mother of the Heavens is

no more._

“_Mourn, children of Makedama, because the Spirit of Fruitfulness is no

more._

“_Mourn, O ye people, because the Lion of the Zulu is left so

desolate._

“_Let your tears fall as the rain falls, let your cries be as the cries

of women who bring forth._

“_For sorrow is fallen like the rain, the world has conceived and

brought forth death._

“_Great darkness is upon us, darkness and the shadow of death._

“_The Lion of the Zulu wanders and wanders in desolation, because the

Mother of the Heavens is no more._

“_Who shall bring him comfort? There is comfort in the crying of his

children._

“_Mourn, people of the Langeni; let the voice of your mourning beat

against the skies and rend them._

“_Ou-ai! Ou-ai! Ou-ai!_”

Thus sang the old man, my father Makedama, far down in the deeps of the

cleft. He sang it in a still, small voice, but, line after line, his

song was caught up by the thousands who stood on the slopes above, and

thundered to the heavens till the mountains shook with its sound.

Moreover, the noise of their crying opened the bosom of a heavy

rain-cloud that had gathered as they mourned, and the rain fell in

great slow drops, as though the sky also wept, and with the rain came

lightning and the roll of thunder.

Chaka listened, and large tears coursed down his cheeks, whose heart

was easily stirred by the sound of song. Now the rain hissed fiercely,

making as it were a curtain about the thousands of the people; but

still their cry went up through the rain, and the roll of the thunder

was lost in it. Presently there came a hush, and I looked to the right.

There, above the heads of the people, coming over the brow of the hill,

were the plumes of warriors, and in their hands gleamed a hedge of

spears. I looked to the left; there also I saw the plumes of warriors

dimly through the falling rain, and in their hands a hedge of spears. I

looked before me, towards the end of the cleft; there also loomed the

plumes of warriors, and in their hands was a hedge of spears.

Then, from all the people there arose another cry, a cry of terror and

of agony.

“Ah! now they mourn indeed, Mopo,” said Chaka in my ear; “now thy

people mourn from the heart and not with the lips alone.”

As he spoke the multitude of the people on either side of the rift

surged forward like a wave, surged back again, once more surged

forward, then, with a dreadful crying, driven on by the merciless

spears of the soldiers, they began to fall in a torrent of men, women,

and children, far into the black depths below.

My father, forgive me the tears that fall from these blind eyes of

mine; I am very aged, I am but as a little child, and as a little child

I weep. I cannot tell it. At last it was done, and all grew still.

Thus was Makedama buried beneath the bodies of his people; thus was

ended the tribe of the Langeni; as my mother had dreamed, so it came

about; and thus did Chaka take vengeance for that cup of milk which was

refused to him many a year before.

“Thou hast not won thy bet, Mopo,” said the king presently. “See there

is a little space where one more may find room to sleep. Full to the

brim is this corn-chamber with the ears of death, in which no living

grain is left. Yet there is one little space, and is there not one to

fill it? Are all the tribe of the Langeni dead indeed?”

“There is one, O King!” I answered. “I am of the tribe of the Langeni,

let my carcase fill the place.”

“Nay, Mopo, nay! Who then should take the bet? Moreover, I slay thee

not, for it is against my oath. Also, do we not mourn together, thou

and I?”

“There is no other left living of the tribe of the Langeni, O King! The

bet is lost; it shall be paid.”

“I think that there is another,” said Chaka. “There is a sister to thee

and me, Mopo. Ah, see, she comes!”

I looked up, my father, and I saw this: I saw Baleka, my sister,

walking towards us, and on her shoulders was a kaross of wild-cat

skins, and behind her were two soldiers. She walked proudly, holding

her head high, and her step was like the step of a queen. Now she saw

the sight of death, for the dead lay before her like black water in a

sunless pool. A moment she stood shivering, having guessed all, then

walked on and stood before Chaka.

“What is thy will with me, O King?” she said.

“Thou art come in a good hour, sister,” said Chaka, turning his eyes

from hers. “It is thus: Mopo, my servant and thy brother, made a bet

with me, a bet of cattle. It was a little matter that we wagered on—as

to whether the people of the Langeni tribe—thine own tribe, Baleka, my

sister—would fill yonder place, U’Donga-lu-ka-Tatiyana. When they heard

of the bet, my sister, the people of the Langeni hurled themselves into

the rift by thousands, being eager to put the matter to the proof. And

now it seems that thy brother has lost the bet, for there is yet place

for one yonder ere the donga is full. Then, my sister, thy brother Mopo

brought it to my mind that there was still one of the Langeni tribe

left upon the earth, who, should she sleep in that place, would turn

the bet in his favour, and prayed me to send for her. So, my sister, as

I would not take that which I have not won, I have done so, and now do

thou go apart and talk with Mopo, thy brother, alone upon this matter,

_as once before thou didst talk when a child was born to thee, my

sister!_”

Now Baleka took no heed of the words of Chaka which he spoke of me, for

she knew his meaning well. Only she looked him in the eyes and said:—

“Ill shalt thou sleep from this night forth, Chaka, till thou comest to

a land where no sleep is. I have spoken.”

Chaka saw and heard, and of a sudden he quailed, growing afraid in his

heart, and turned his head away.

“Mopo, my brother,” said Baleka, “let us speak together for the last

time; it is the king’s word.”

So I drew apart with Baleka, my sister, and a spear was in my hand. We

stood together alone by the people of the dead and Baleka threw the

corner of the kaross about her brows and spoke to me swiftly from

beneath its shadow.

“What did I say to you a while ago, Mopo? It has come to pass. Swear to

me that you will live on and that this same hand of yours shall take

vengeance for me.”

“I swear it, my sister.”

“Swear to me that when the vengeance is done you will seek out my son

Umslopogaas if he still lives, and bless him in my name.”

“I swear it, my sister.”

“Fare you well, Mopo! We have always loved each other much, and now all

fades, and it seems to me that once more we are little children playing

about the kraals of the Langeni. So may we play again in another land!

Now, Mopo”—and she looked at me steadily, and with great eyes—“I am

weary. I would join the spirits of my people. I hear them calling in my

ears. It is finished.”

For the rest, I will not tell it to you, my father.

CHAPTER XIX.

MASILO COMES TO THE KRAAL DUGUZA

That night the curse of Baleka fell upon Chaka, and he slept ill. So

ill did he sleep that he summoned me to him, bidding me walk abroad

with him. I went, and we walked alone and in silence, Chaka leading the

way and I following after him. Now I saw that his feet led him towards

the U’Donga-lu-ka-Tatiyana, that place where all my people lay dead,

and with them Baleka, my sister. We climbed the slope of the hill

slowly, and came to the mouth of the cleft, to that same spot where

Chaka had stood when the people fell over the lips of the rock like

water. Then there had been noise and crying, now there was silence, for

the night was very still. The moon was full also, and lighted up the

dead who lay near to us, so that I could see them all; yes, I could see

even the face of Baleka, my sister—they had thrown her into the midst

of the dead. Never had it looked so beautiful as in this hour, and yet

as I gazed I grew afraid. Only the far end of the donga was hid in

shadow.

“Thou wouldst not have won thy bet now, Mopo, my servant,” said Chaka.

“See, they have sunk together! The donga is not full by the length of a

stabbing-spear.”

I did not answer, but at the sound of the king’s voice jackals stirred

and slunk away.

Presently he spoke again, laughing loudly as he spoke: “Thou shouldst

sleep well this night, my mother, for I have sent many to hush thee to

rest. Ah, people of the Langeni tribe, you forgot, but I remembered!

You forgot how a woman and a boy came to you seeking food and shelter,

and you would give them none—no, not a gourd of milk. What did I

promise you on that day, people of the Langeni tribe? Did I not promise

you that for every drop the gourd I craved would hold I would take the

life of a man? And have I not kept my promise? Do not men lie here more

in number than the drops of water in a gourd, and with them women and

children countless as the leaves? O people of the Langeni tribe, who

refused me milk when I was little, having grown great, I am avenged

upon you! Having grown great! Ah! who is there so great as I? The earth

shakes beneath my feet; when I speak the people tremble, when I frown

they die—they die in thousands. I have grown great, and great I shall

remain! The land is mine, far as the feet of man can travel the land is

mine, and mine are those who dwell in it. And I shall grow greater

yet—greater, ever greater. Is it thy face, Baleka, that stares upon me

from among the faces of the thousands whom I have slain? Thou didst

promise me that I should sleep ill henceforth. Baleka, I fear thee

not—at the least, thou sleepest sound. Tell me, Baleka—rise from thy

sleep and tell me whom there is that I should fear!”—and suddenly he

ceased the ravings of his pride.

Now, my father, while Chaka the king spoke thus, it came into my mind

to make an end of things and kill him, for my heart was mad with rage

and the thirst of vengeance. Already I stood behind him, already the

stick in my hand was lifted to strike out his brains, when I stopped

also, for I saw something. There, in the midst of the dead, I saw an

arm stir. It stirred, it lifted itself, it beckoned towards the shadow

which hid the head of the cleft and the piled-up corpses that lay

there, and it seemed to me that the arm was the arm of Baleka.

Perchance it was not her arm, perchance it was but the arm of one who

yet lived among the thousands of the dead, say you, my father! At the

least, the arm rose at her side, and was ringed with such bracelets as

Baleka wore, and it beckoned from her side, though her cold face

changed not at all. Thrice the arm rose, thrice it stood awhile in air,

thrice it beckoned with crooked finger, as though it summoned something

from the depths of the shadow, and from the multitudes of the dead.

Then it fell down, and in the utter silence I heard its fall and a

clank of brazen bracelets. And as it fell there rose from the shadow a

sound of singing, of singing wild and sweet, such as I had never heard.

The words of that song came to me then, my father; but afterwards they

passed from me, and I remember them no more. Only I know this, that the

song was of the making of Things, and of the beginning and the end of

Peoples. It told of how the black folk grew, and of how the white folk

should eat them up, and wherefore they were and wherefore they should

cease to be. It told of Evil and of Good, of Woman and of Man, and of

how these war against each other, and why it is that they war, and what

are the ends of the struggle. It told also of the people of the Zulu,

and it spoke of a place of a Little Hand where they should conquer, and

of a place where a White Hand should prevail against them, and how they

shall melt away beneath the shadow of the White Hand and be forgotten,

passing to a land where things do not die, but live on forever, the

Good with the Good, the Evil with the Evil. It told of Life and of

Death, of Joy and of Sorrow, of Time and of that sea in which Time is

but a floating leaf, and of why all these things are. Many names also

came into the song, and I knew but a few of them, yet my own was there,

and the name of Baleka and the name of Umslopogaas, and the name of

Chaka the Lion. But a little while did the voice sing, yet all this was

in the song—ay, and much more; but the meaning of the song is gone from

me, though I knew it once, and shall know it again when all is done.

The voice in the shadow sang on till the whole place was full of the

sound of its singing, and even the dead seemed to listen. Chaka heard

it and shook with fear, but his ears were deaf to its burden, though

mine were open.

The voice came nearer, and now in the shadow there was a faint glow of

light, like the glow that gathers on the six-days’ dead. Slowly it drew

nearer, through the shadow, and as it came I saw that the shape of the

light was the shape of a woman. Now I could see it well, and I knew the

face of glory. My father, it was the face of the Inkosazana-y-Zulu, the

Queen of Heaven! She came towards us very slowly, gliding down the gulf

that was full of dead, and the path she trod was paved with the dead;

and as she came it seemed to me that shadows rose from the dead,

following her, the Queen of the Dead—thousands upon thousands of them.

And, ah! her glory, my father—the glory of her hair of molten gold—of

her eyes, that were as the noonday sky—the flash of her arms and

breast, that were like the driven snow, when it glows in the sunset.

Her beauty was awful to look on, but I am glad to have lived to see it

as it shone and changed in the shifting robe of light which was her

garment.

Now she drew near to us, and Chaka sank upon the earth, huddled up in

fear, hiding his face in his hands; but I was not afraid, my

father—only the wicked need fear to look on the Queen of Heaven. Nay, I

was not afraid: I stood upright and gazed upon her glory face to face.

In her hand she held a little spear hafted with the royal wood: it was

the shadow of the spear that Chaka held in his hand, the same with

which he had slain his mother and wherewith he should himself be slain.

Now she ceased her singing, and stood before the crouching king and

before me, who was behind the king, so that the light of her glory

shone upon us. She lifted the little spear, and with it touched Chaka,

son of Senzangacona, on the brow, giving him to doom. Then she spoke;

but, though Chaka felt the touch, he did not hear the words, that were

for my ears alone.

“Mopo, son of Makedama,” said the low voice, “stay thy hand, the cup of

Chaka is not full. When, for the third time, thou seest me riding down

the storm, then _smite_, Mopo, my child.”

Thus she spoke, and a cloud swept over the face of the moon. When it

passed she was gone, and once more I was alone with Chaka, with the

night and the dead.

Chaka looked up, and his face was grey with the sweat of fear.

“Who was this, Mopo?” he said in a hollow voice.

“This was the Inkosazana of the Heavens, she who watches ever over the

people of our race, O King, and who from time to time is seen of men

ere great things shall befall.”

“I have heard speak of this queen,” said Chaka. “Wherefore came she

now, what was the song she sang, and why did she touch me with a

spear?”

“She came, O King, because the dead hand of Baleka summoned her, as

thou sawest. The song she sang was of things too high for me; and why

she touched thee on the forehead with the spear I do not know, O King!

Perchance it was to crown thee chief of a yet greater realm.”

“Yea, perchance to crown me chief of a realm of death.”

“That thou art already, Black One,” I answered, glancing at the silent

multitude before us and the cold shape of Baleka.

Again Chaka shuddered. “Come, let us be going, Mopo,” he said; “now I

have learnt what it is to be afraid.”

“Early or late, Fear is a guest that all must feast, even kings, O

Earth-Shaker!” I answered; and we turned and went homewards in silence.

Now after this night Chaka gave it out that the kraal of Gibamaxegu was

bewitched, and bewitched was the land of the Zulus, because he might

sleep no more in peace, but woke ever crying out with fear, and

muttering the name of Baleka. Therefore, in the end he moved his kraal

far away, and built the great town of Duguza here in Natal.

Look now, my father! There on the plain far away is a place of the

white men—it is called Stanger. There, where is the white man’s town,

stood the great kraal Duguza. I cannot see, for my eyes are dark; but

you can see. Where the gate of the kraal was built there is a house; it

is the place where the white man gives out justice; that is the place

of the gate of the kraal, through which Justice never walked. Behind is

another house, where the white men who have sinned against Him pray to

the King of Heaven for forgiveness; there on that spot have I seen many

a one who had done no wrong pray to a king of men for mercy, but I have

never seen but one who found it. _Ou!_ the words of Chaka have come

true: I will tell them to you presently, my father. The white man holds

the land, he goes to and fro about his business of peace where impis

ran forth to kill; his children laugh and gather flowers where men died

in blood by hundreds; they bathe in the waters of the Imbozamo, where

once the crocodiles were fed daily with human flesh; his young men woo

the maidens where other maids have kissed the assegai. It is changed,

nothing is the same, and of Chaka are left only a grave yonder and a

name of fear.

Now, after Chaka had come to the Duguza kraal, for a while he sat

quiet, then the old thirst of blood came on him, and he sent his impis

against the people of the Pondos, and they destroyed that people, and

brought back their cattle. But the warriors might not rest; again they

were doctored for war, and sent out by tens of thousands to conquer

Sotyangana, chief of the people who live north of the Limpopo. They

went singing, after the king had looked upon them and bidden them

return victorious or not at all. Their number was so great that from

the hour of dawn till the sun was high in the heavens they passed the

gates of the kraal like countless herds of cattle—they the unconquered.

Little did they know that victory smiled on them no more; that they

must die by thousands of hunger and fever in the marshes of the

Limpopo, and that those of them who returned should come with their

shields in their bellies, having devoured their shields because of

their ravenous hunger! But what of them? They were nothing. _Dust_ was

the name of one of the great regiments that went out against

Sotyangana, and dust they were—dust to be driven to death by the breath

of Chaka, Lion of the Zulu.

Now few men remained in the kraal Duguza, for nearly all had gone with

the impi, and only women and aged people were left. Dingaan and

Umhlangana, brothers of the king, were there, for Chaka would not

suffer them to depart, fearing lest they should plot against him, and

he looked on them always with an angry eye, so that they trembled for

their lives, though they dared not show their fear lest fate should

follow fear. But I guessed it, and like a snake I wound myself into

their secrets, and we talked together darkly and in hints. But of that

presently, my father, for I must tell of the coming of Masilo, he who

would have wed Zinita, and whom Umslopogaas the Slaughterer had driven

out from the kraals of the People of the Axe.

It was on the day after the impi had left that Masilo came to the kraal

Duguza, craving leave to speak with the king. Chaka sat before his hut,

and with him were Dingaan and Umhlangana, his royal brothers. I was

there also, and certain of the indunas, councillors of the king. Chaka

was weary that morning, for he had slept badly, as now he always did.

Therefore, when one told him that a certain wanderer named Masilo would

speak with him, he did not command that the man should be killed, but

bade them bring him before him. Presently there was a sound of

praising, and I saw a fat man, much worn with travel, who crawled

through the dust towards us giving the _sibonga_, that is, naming the

king by his royal names. Chaka bade him cease from praising and tell

his business. Then the man sat up and told all that tale which you have

heard, my father, of how a young man, great and strong, came to the

place of the People of the Axe and conquered Jikiza, the holder of the

axe, and became chief of that people, and of how he had taken the

cattle of Masilo and driven him away. Now Chaka knew nothing of this

People of the Axe, for the land was great in those days, my father, and

there were many little tribes in it, living far away, of whom the king

had not even heard; so he questioned Masilo about them, and of the

number of their fighting-men, of their wealth in cattle, of the name of

the young man who ruled them, and especially as to the tribute which

they paid to the king.

Masilo answered, saying that the number of their fighting-men was

perhaps the half of a full regiment, that their cattle were many, for

they were rich, that they paid no tribute, and that the name of the

young man was Bulalio the Slaughterer—at the least, he was known by

that name, and he had heard no other.

Then the king grew wroth. “Arise, Masilo,” he said, “and run to this

people, and speak in the ear of the people, and of him who is named the

Slaughterer, saying: ‘There is another Slaughterer, who sits in a kraal

that is named Duguza, and this is his word to you, O People of the Axe,

and to thee, thou who holdest the axe. Rise up with all the people, and

with all the cattle of your people, and come before him who sits in the

kraal Duguza, and lay in his hands the great axe Groan-Maker. Rise up

swiftly and do this bidding, lest ye sit down shortly and for the last

time of all.’”[1]

[1] The Zulu are buried sitting.—ED.

Masilo heard, and said that it should be so, though the way was far,

and he feared greatly to appear before him who was called the

Slaughterer, and who sat twenty days’ journey to the north, beneath the

shadow of the Witch Mountain.

“Begone,” said the king, “and stand before me on the thirtieth day from

now with the answer of this boy with an axe! If thou standest not

before me, then some shall come to seek thee and the boy with an axe

also.”

So Masilo turned and fled swiftly to do the bidding of the king, and

Chaka spoke no more of that matter. But I wondered in my heart who this

young man with an axe might be; for I thought that he had dealt with

Jikiza and with the sons of Jikiza as Umslopogaas would have dealt with

them had he come to the years of his manhood. But I also said nothing

of the matter.

Now on this day also there came to me news that my wife Macropha and my

daughter Nada were dead among their people in Swaziland. It was said

that the men of the chief of the Halakazi tribe had fallen on their

kraal and put all in it to the assegai, and among them Macropha and

Nada. I heard the news, but I wept no tear, for, my father, I was so

lost in sorrows that nothing could move me any more.

CHAPTER XX.

MOPO BARGAINS WITH THE PRINCES

Eight-and-twenty days went by, my father, and on the nine-and-twentieth

it befell that Chaka, having dreamed a dream in his troubled sleep,

summoned before him certain women of the kraal, to the number of a

hundred or more. Some of these were his women, whom he named his

“sisters,” and some were maidens not yet given in marriage; but all

were young and fair. Now what this dream of Chaka may have been I do

not know, or have forgotten, for in those days he dreamed many dreams,

and all his dreams led to one end, the death of men. He sat in front of

his hut scowling, and I was with him. To the left of him were gathered

the girls and women, and their knees were weak with fear. One by one

they were led before him, and stood before him with bowed heads. Then

he would bid them be of good cheer, and speak softly to them, and in

the end would ask them this question: “Hast thou, my sister, a cat in

thy hut?”

Now, some would say that they had a cat, and some would say that they

had none, and some would stand still and make no answer, being dumb

with fear. But, whatever they said, the end was the same, for the king

would sigh gently and say: “Fare thee well, my sister; it is

unfortunate for thee that there is a cat in thy hut,” or “that there is

no cat in thy hut,” or “that thou canst not tell me whether there be a

cat in thy hut or no.”

Then the woman would be taken by the slayers, dragged without the

kraal, and their end was swift. So it went on for the most part of that

day, till sixty-and-two women and girls had been slaughtered. But at

last a maiden was brought before the king, and to this one her snake

had given a ready wit; for when Chaka asked her whether or no there was

a cat in her hut, she answered, saying that she did not know, “but that

there was a half a cat upon her,” and she pointed to a cat’s-skin which

was bound about her loins.

Then the king laughed, and clapped his hands, saying that at length his

dream was answered; and he killed no more that day nor ever again—save

once only.

That evening my heart was heavy within me, and I cried in my heart,

“How long?”—nor might I rest. So I wandered out from the kraal that was

named Duguza to the great cleft in the mountains yonder, and sat down

upon a rock high up in the cleft, so that I could see the wide lands

rolling to the north and the south, to my right and to my left. Now,

the day was drawing towards the night, and the air was very still, for

the heat was great and a tempest was gathering, as I, who am a

Heaven-Herd, knew well. The sun sank redly, flooding the land with

blood; it was as though all the blood that Chaka had shed flowed about

the land which Chaka ruled. Then from the womb of the night great

shapes of cloud rose up and stood before the sun, and he crowned them

with his glory, and in their hearts the lightning quivered like a blood

of fire. The shadow of their wings fell upon the mountain and the

plains, and beneath their wings was silence. Slowly the sun sank, and

the shapes of cloud gathered together like a host at the word of its

captain, and the flicker of the lightning was as the flash of the

spears of a host. I looked, and my heart grew afraid. The lightning

died away, the silence deepened and deepened till I could hear it, no

leaf moved, no bird called, the world seemed dead—I alone lived in the

dead world.

Now, of a sudden, my father, a bright star fell from the height of

heaven and lit upon the crest of the storm, and as it lit the storm

burst. The grey air shivered, a moan ran about the rocks and died away,

then an icy breath burst from the lips of the tempest and rushed across

the earth. It caught the falling star and drove it on towards me, a

rushing globe of fire, and as it came the star grew and took shape, and

the shape it took was the shape of a woman. I knew her now, my father;

while she was yet far off I knew her—the Inkosazana who came as she had

promised, riding down the storm. On she swept, borne forward by the

blast, and oh! she was terrible to see, for her garment was the

lightning, lightnings shone from her wide eyes and lightnings were in

her streaming hair, while in her hand was a spear of fire, and she

shook it as she came. Now she was at the mouth of the pass; before her

was stillness, behind her beat the wings of the storm, the thunder

roared, the rain hissed like snakes; she rushed on past me, and as she

passed she turned her awful eyes upon me, withering me. She was there!

she was gone! but she spoke no word, only shook her flaming spear. Yet

it seemed to me that the storm spoke, that the rocks cried aloud, that

the rain hissed out a word in my ear, and the word was:—

“_Smite, Mopo!_”

I heard it in my heart, or with my ears, what does it matter? Then I

turned to look; through the rush of the tempest and the reek of the

rain, still I could see her sweeping forward high in air. Now the kraal

Duguza was beneath her feet, and the flaming spear fell from her hand

upon the kraal and fire leaped up in answer.

Then she passed on over the edge of the world, seeking her own place.

Thus, my father, for the third and last time did my eyes see the

Inkosazana-y-Zulu, or mayhap my heart dreamed that I saw her. Soon I

shall see her again, but it will not be here.

For a while I sat there in the cleft, then I rose and fought my way

through the fury of the storm back to the kraal Duguza. As I drew near

the kraal I heard cries of fear coming through the roaring of the wind

and the hiss of the rain. I entered and asked one of the matter, and it

was told me that fire from above had fallen on the hut of the king as

he lay sleeping, and all the roof of the hut was burned away, but that

the rain had put out the fire.

Then I went on till I came to the front of the great hut, and I saw by

the light of the moon, which now shone out in the heavens, that there

before it stood Chaka, shaking with fear, and the water of the rain was

running down him, while he stared at the great hut, of which all the

thatch was burned.

I saluted the king, asking him what evil thing had happened. Seeing me,

he seized me by the arm, and clung to me as, when the slayers are at

hand, a child clings to his father, drawing me after him into a small

hut that was near.

“What evil thing has befallen, O King?” I said again, when light had

been made.

“Little have I known of fear, Mopo,” said Chaka, “yet I am afraid now;

ay, as much afraid as when once on a bygone night the dead hand of

Baleka summoned something that walked upon the faces of the dead.”

“And what fearest thou, O King, who art the lord of all the earth?”

Now Chaka leaned forward and whispered to me: “Hearken, Mopo, I have

dreamed a dream. When the judgment of those witches was done with, I

went and laid me down to sleep while it was yet light, for I can

scarcely sleep at all when darkness has swallowed up the world. My

sleep has gone from me—that sister of thine, Baleka, took my sleep with

her to the place of death. I laid me down and I slept, but a dream

arose and sat by me with a hooded face, and showed me a picture. It

seemed to me that the wall of my hut fell down, and I saw an open

place, and in the centre of the place I lay dead, covered with many

wounds, while round my corpse my brothers Dingaan and Umhlangana

stalked in pride like lions. On the shoulders of Umhlangana was my

royal kaross, and there was blood on the kaross; and in the hand of

Dingaan was my royal spear, and there was blood upon the spear. Then,

in the vision of my dream, Mopo, thou didst draw near, and, lifting thy

hand, didst give the royal salute of _Bayéte_ to these brothers of

mine, and with thy foot didst spurn the carcase of me, thy king. Then

the hooded Dream pointed upwards and was gone, and I awoke, and lo!

fire burned in the roof of my hut. Thus I dreamed, Mopo, and now, my

servant, say thou, wherefore should I not slay thee, thou who wouldst

serve other kings than I, thou who wouldst give my royal salute to the

princes, my brothers?” and he glared upon me fiercely.

“As thou wilt, O King!” I answered gently. “Doubtless thy dream was

evil, and yet more evil was the omen of the fire that fell upon thy

hut. And yet—” and I ceased.

“And yet—Mopo, thou faithless servant?”

“And yet, O King, it seems to me in my folly that it were well to

strike the head of the snake and not its tail, for without the tail the

head may live, but not the tail without the head.”

“Thou wouldst say, Mopo, that if these princes die never canst thou or

any other man give them the royal names. Do I hear aright, Mopo?”

“Who am I that I should lift up my voice asking for the blood of

princes?” I answered. “Judge thou, O King!”

Now, Chaka brooded awhile, then he spoke: “Say, Mopo, can it be done

this night?”

“There are but few men in the kraal, O King. All are gone out to war;

and of those few many are the servants of the princes, and perhaps they

might give blow for blow.”

“How then, Mopo?”

“Nay, I know not, O King; yet at the great kraal beyond the river sits

that regiment which is named the Slayers. By midday to-morrow they

might be here, and then—”

“Thou speakest wisely, my child Mopo; it shall be for to-morrow. Go

summon the regiment of the Slayers, and, Mopo, see that thou fail me

not.”

“If I fail thee, O King, then I fail myself, for it seems that my life

hangs on this matter.”

“If all the words that ever passed thy lips are lies, yet is that word

true, Mopo,” said Chaka: “moreover, know this, my servant: if aught

miscarries thou shalt die no common death. Begone!”

“I hear the king,” I answered, and went out.

Now, my father, I knew well that Chaka had doomed me to die, though

first he would use me to destroy the princes. But I feared nothing, for

I knew this also, that the hour of Chaka was come at last.

For a while I sat in my hut pondering, then when all men slept I arose

and crept like a snake by many paths to the hut of Dingaan the prince,

who awaited me on that night. Following the shadow of the hut, I came

to the door and scratched upon it after a certain fashion. Presently it

was opened, and I crawled in, and the door was shut again. Now there

was a little light in the hut, and by its flame I saw the two princes

sitting side by side, wrapped about with blankets which hung before

their brows.

“Who is this that comes?” said the Prince Dingaan.

Then I lifted the blanket from my head so that they might see my face,

and they also drew the blankets from their brows. I spoke, saying:

“Hail to you, Princes, who to-morrow shall be dust! Hail to you, sons

of Senzangacona, who to-morrow shall be spirits!” and I pointed towards

them with my withered hand.

Now the princes were troubled, and shook with fear.

“What meanest thou, thou dog, that thou dost speak to us words of such

ill-omen?” said the Prince Dingaan in a low voice.

“Where dost thou point at us with that white and withered hand of

thine, Wizard?” hissed the Prince Umhlangana.

“Have I not told you, O ye Princes!” I whispered, “that ye must strike

or die, and has not your heart failed you? Now hearken! Chaka has

dreamed another dream; now it is Chaka who strikes, and ye are already

dead, ye children of Senzangacona.”

“If the slayers of the king be without the gates, at least thou shalt

die first, thou who hast betrayed us!” quoth the Prince Dingaan, and

drew an assegai from under his kaross.

“First hear the king’s dream, O Prince,” I said; “then, if thou wilt,

kill me, and die. Chaka the king slept and dreamed that he lay dead,

and that one of you, the princes, wore his royal kaross.”

“Who wore the royal kaross?” asked Dingaan, eagerly; and both looked

up, waiting on my words.

“The Prince Umhlangana wore it—in the dream of Chaka—O Dingaan, shoot

of a royal stock!” I answered slowly, taking snuff as I spoke, and

watching the two of them over the edge of my snuff-spoon.

Now Dingaan scowled heavily at Umhlangana; but the face of Umhlangana

was as the morning sky.

“Chaka dreamed this also,” I went on: “that one of you, the princes,

held his royal spear.”

“Who held the royal spear?” asked Umhlangana.

“The Prince Dingaan held it—in the dream of Chaka—O Umhlangana, sprung

from the root of kings!—and it dripped blood.”

Now the face of Umhlangana grew dark as night, but that of Dingaan

brightened like the dawn.

“Chaka dreamed this also: that I, Mopo, your dog, who am not worthy to

be mentioned with such names, came up and gave the royal salute, even

the _Bayéte_.”

“To whom didst thou give the _Bayéte_, O Mopo, son of Makedama?” asked

both of the princes as with one breath, waiting on my words.

“I gave it to both of you, O twin stars of the morning, princes of the

Zulu—in the dream of Chaka I gave it to both of you.”

Now the princes looked this way and that, and were silent, not knowing

what to say, for these princes hated each other, though adversity and

fear had brought them to one bed.

“But what avails it to talk thus, ye lords of the land,” I went on,

“seeing that, both of you, ye are already as dead men, and that

vultures which are hungry to-night to-morrow shall be filled with meat

of the best? Chaka the king is now a Doctor of Dreams, and to clear

away such a dream as this he has a purging medicine.”

Now the brows of these brothers grew black indeed, for they saw that

their fate was on them.

“These are the words of Chaka the king, O ye bulls who lead the herd!

All are doomed, ye twain and I, and many another man who loves us. In

the great kraal beyond the river there sits a regiment: it is

summoned—and then—good-night! Have ye any words to say to those yet

left upon the earth? Perhaps it will be given to me to live a little

while after ye are gone, and I may bring them to their ears.”

“Can we not rise up now and fall upon Chaka?” asked Dingaan.

“It is not possible,” I said; “the king is guarded.”

“Hast thou no plan, Mopo?” groaned Umhlangana. “Methinks thou hast a

plan to save us.”

“And if I have a plan, ye Princes, what shall be my reward? It must be

great, for I am weary of life, and I will not use my wisdom for a

little thing.”

Now both the princes offered me good things, each of them promising

more than the other, as two young men who are rivals promise to the

father of a girl whom both would wed. I listened, saying always that it

was not enough, till in the end both of them swore by their heads, and

by the bones of Senzangacona, their father, and by many other things,

that I should be the first man in the land, after them, its kings, and

should command the impis of the land, if I would but show them a way to

kill Chaka and become kings. Then, when they had done swearing, I

spoke, weighing my words:—

“In the great kraal beyond the river, O ye Princes, there sit, not one

regiment but two. One is named the Slayers and loves Chaka the king,

who has done well by them, giving them cattle and wives. The other is

named the Bees, and that regiment is hungry and longs for cattle and

girls; moreover, of that regiment the Prince Umhlangana is the general,

and it loves him. Now this is my plan—to summon the Bees in the name of

Umhlangana, not the Slayers in the name of Chaka. Bend forward, O

Princes, that I may whisper in your ears.”

So they bent forward, and I whispered awhile of the death of a king,

and the sons of Senzangacona nodded their heads as one man in answer.

Then I rose up, and crept from the hut as I had entered it, and rousing

certain trusty messengers, I dispatched them, running swiftly through

the night.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE DEATH OF CHAKA

Now, on the morrow, two hours before midday, Chaka came from the hut

where he had sat through the night, and moved to a little kraal

surrounded by a fence that was some fifty paces distant from the hut.

For it was my duty, day by day, to choose that place where the king

should sit to hear the counsel of his indunas, and give judgment on

those whom he would kill, and to-day I had chosen this place. Chaka

went alone from his hut to the kraal, and, for my own reasons, I

accompanied him, walking after him. As we went the king glanced back at

me over his shoulder, and said in a low voice:—

“Is all prepared, Mopo?”

“All is prepared, Black One,” I answered. “The regiment of the Slayers

will be here by noon.”

“Where are the princes, Mopo?” asked the king again.

“The princes sit with their wives in the houses of their women, O

King,” I answered; “they drink beer and sleep in the laps of their

wives.”

Chaka smiled grimly, “For the last time, Mopo!”

“For the last time, O King.”

We came to the kraal, and Chaka sat down in the shade of the reed

fence, upon an ox-hide that was brayed soft. Near to him stood a girl

holding a gourd of beer; there were also present the old chief

Inguazonca, brother of Unandi, Mother of the Heavens, and the chief

Umxamama, whom Chaka loved. When we had sat a little while in the

kraal, certain men came in bearing cranes’ feathers, which the king had

sent them to gather a month’s journey from the kraal Duguza, and they

were admitted before the king. These men had been away long upon their

errand, and Chaka was angry with them. Now the leader of the men was an

old captain of Chaka’s, who had fought under him in many battles, but

whose service was done, because his right hand had been shorn away by

the blow of an axe. He was a great man and very brave.

Chaka asked the man why he had been so long in finding the feathers,

and he answered that the birds had flown from that part of the country

whither he was sent, and he must wait there till they returned, that he

might snare them.

“Thou shouldst have followed the cranes, yes, if they flew through the

sunset, thou disobedient dog!” said the king. “Let him be taken away,

and all those who were with him.”

Now some of the men prayed a little for mercy, but the captain did but

salute the king, calling him “Father,” and craving a boon before he

died.

“What wouldst thou?” asked Chaka.

“My father,” said the man, “I would ask thee two things. I have fought

many times at thy side in battle while we both were young; nor did I

ever turn my back upon the foe. The blow that shore the hand from off

this arm was aimed at thy head, O King; I stayed it with my naked arm.

It is nothing; at thy will I live, and at thy will I die. Who am I that

I should question the word of the king? Yet I would ask this, that thou

wilt withdraw the kaross from about thee, O King, that for the last

time my eyes may feast themselves upon the body of him whom, above all

men, I love.”

“Thou art long-winded,” said the king, “what more?”

“This, my father, that I may bid farewell to my son; he is a little

child, so high, O King,” and he held his hand above his knee.

“Thy first boon is granted,” said the king, slipping the kaross from

his shoulders and showing the great breast beneath. “For the second it

shall be granted also, for I will not willingly divide the father and

the son. Bring the boy here; thou shalt bid him farewell, then thou

shalt slay him with thine own hand ere thou thyself art slain; it will

be good sport to see.”

Now the man turned grey beneath the blackness of his skin, and trembled

a little as he murmured, “The king’s will is the will of his servant;

let the child be brought.”

But I looked at Chaka and saw that the tears were running down his

face, and that he only spoke thus to try the captain who loved him to

the last.

“Let the man go,” said the king, “him and those with him.”

So they went glad at heart, and praising the king.

I have told you this, my father, though it has not to do with my story,

because then, and then only, did I ever see Chaka show mercy to one

whom he had doomed to die.

As the captain and his people left the gate of the kraal, it was spoken

in the ear of the king that a man sought audience with him. He was

admitted crawling on his knees. I looked and saw that this was that

Masilo whom Chaka had charged with a message to him who was named

Bulalio, or the Slaughterer, and who ruled over the People of the Axe.

It was Masilo indeed, but he was no longer fat, for much travel had

made him thin; moreover, on his back were the marks of rods, as yet

scarcely healed over.

“Who art thou?” said Chaka.

“I am Masilo, of the People of the Axe, to whom command was given to

run with a message to Bulalio the Slaughterer, their chief, and to

return on the thirtieth day. Behold, O King, I have returned, though in

a sorry plight!”

“It seems so!” said the king, laughing aloud. “I remember now: speak

on, Masilo the Thin, who wast Masilo the Fat; what of this Slaughterer?

Does he come with his people to lay the axe Groan-Maker in my hands?”

“Nay, O King, he comes not. He met me with scorn, and with scorn he

drove me from his kraal. Moreover, as I went I was seized by the

servants of Zinita, she whom I wooed, but who is now the wife of the

Slaughterer, and laid on my face upon the ground and beaten cruelly

while Zinita numbered the strokes.”

“Hah!” said the king. “And what were the words of this puppy?”

“These were his words, O King: ‘Bulalio the Slaughterer, who sits

beneath the shadow of the Witch Mountain, to Bulalio the Slaughterer

who sits in the kraal Duguza—To thee I pay no tribute; if thou wouldst

have the axe Groan-Maker, come to the Ghost Mountain and take it. This

I promise thee: thou shalt look on a face thou knowest, for there is

one there who would be avenged for the blood of a certain Mopo.’”

Now, while Masilo told this tale I had seen two things—first, that a

little piece of stick was thrust through the straw of the fence, and,

secondly, that the regiment of the Bees was swarming on the slope

opposite to the kraal in obedience to the summons I had sent them in

the name of Umhlangana. The stick told me that the princes were hidden

behind the fence waiting the signal, and the coming of the regiment

that it was time to do the deed.

When Masilo had spoken Chaka sprang up in fury. His eyes rolled, his

face worked, foam flew from his lips, for such words as these had never

offended his ears since he was king, and Masilo knew him little, else

he had not dared to utter them.

For a while he gasped, shaking his small spear, for at first he could

not speak. At length he found words:—

“The dog,” he hissed, “the dog who dares thus to spit in my face!

Hearken all! As with my last breath I command that this Slaughterer be

torn limb from limb, he and all his tribe! And thou, thou darest to

bring me this talk from a skunk of the mountains. And thou, too, Mopo,

thy name is named in it. Well, of thee presently. Ho! Umxamama, my

servant, slay me this slave of a messenger, beat out his brains with

thy stick. Swift! swift!”

Now, the old chief Umxamama sprang up to do the king’s bidding, but he

was feeble with age, and the end of it was that Masilo, being mad with

fear, killed Umxamama, not Umxamama Masilo. Then Inguazonca, brother of

Unandi, Mother of the Heavens, fell upon Masilo and ended him, but was

hurt himself in so doing. Now I looked at Chaka, who stood shaking the

little red spear, and thought swiftly, for the hour had come.

“Help!” I cried, “one is slaying the King!”

As I spoke the reed fence burst asunder, and through it plunged the

princes Umhlangana and Dingaan, as bulls plunge through a brake.

Then I pointed to Chaka with my withered hand, saying, “Behold your

king!”

Now, from beneath the shelter of his kaross, each Prince drew out a

short stabbing spear, and plunged it into the body of Chaka the king.

Umhlangana smote him on the left shoulder, Dingaan struck him in the

right side. Chaka dropped the little spear handled with the red wood

and looked round, and so royally that the princes, his brothers, grew

afraid and shrank away from him.

Twice he looked on each; then he spoke, saying: “What! do you slay me,

my brothers—dogs of mine own house, whom I have fed? Do you slay me,

thinking to possess the land and to rule it? I tell you it shall not be

for long. I hear a sound of running feet—the feet of a great white

people. They shall stamp you flat, children of my father! They shall

rule the land that I have won, and you and your people shall be their

slaves!”

Thus Chaka spoke while the blood ran down him to the ground, and again

he looked on them royally, like a buck at gaze.

“Make an end, O ye who would be kings!” I cried; but their hearts had

turned to water and they could not. Then I, Mopo, sprang forward and

picked from the ground that little assegai handled with the royal

wood—the same assegai with which Chaka had murdered Unandi, his mother,

and Moosa, my son, and lifted it on high, and while I lifted it, my

father, once more, as when I was young, a red veil seemed to wave

before my eyes.

“Wherefore wouldst thou kill me, Mopo?” said the king.

“For the sake of Baleka, my sister, to whom I swore the deed, and of

all my kin,” I cried, and plunged the spear through him. He sank down

upon the tanned ox-hide, and lay there dying. Once more he spoke, and

once only, saying: “Would now that I had hearkened to the voice of

Nobela, who warned me against thee, thou dog!”

Then he was silent for ever. But I knelt over him and called in his ear

the names of all those of my blood who had died at his hands—the names

of Makedama, my father, of my mother, of Anadi my wife, of Moosa my

son, and all my other wives and children, and of Baleka my sister. His

eyes and ears were open, and I think, my father, that he saw and

understood; I think also that the hate upon my face as I shook my

withered hand before him was more fearful to him than the pain of

death. At the least, he turned his head aside, shut his eyes, and

groaned. Presently they opened again, and he was dead.

Thus then, my father, did Chaka the King, the greatest man who has ever

lived in Zululand, and the most evil, pass by my hand to those kraals

of the Inkosazana where no sleep is. In blood he died as he had lived

in blood, for the climber at last falls with the tree, and in the end

the swimmer is borne away by the stream. Now he trod that path which

had been beaten flat for him by the feet of people whom he had

slaughtered, many as the blades of grass upon a mountain-side; but it

is a lie to say, as some do, that he died a coward, praying for mercy.

Chaka died, as he had lived, a brave man. _Ou!_ my father, I know it,

for these eyes saw it and this hand let out his life.

Now he was dead and the regiment of the Bees drew near, nor could I

know how they would take this matter, for, though the Prince Umhlangana

was their general, yet all the soldiers loved the king, because he had

no equal in battle, and when he gave he gave with an open hand. I

looked round; the princes stood like men amazed; the girl had fled; the

chief Umxamama was dead at the hands of dead Masilo; and the old chief

Inguazonca, who had killed Masilo, stood by, hurt and wondering; there

were no others in the kraal.

“Awake, ye kings,” I cried to the brothers, “the impi is at the gates!

Swift, now stab that man!”—and I pointed to the old chief—“and leave

the matter to my wit.”

Then Dingaan roused himself, and springing upon Inguazonca, the brother

of Unandi, smote him a great blow with his spear, so that he sank down

dead without a word. Then again the princes stood silent and amazed.

“This one will tell no tales,” I cried, pointing at the fallen chief.

Now a rumour of the slaying had got abroad among the women, who had

heard cries and seen the flashing of spears above the fence, and from

the women it had come to the regiment of the Bees, who advanced to the

gates of the kraal singing. Then of a sudden they ceased their singing

and rushed towards the hut in front of which we stood.

Then I ran to meet them, uttering cries of woe, holding in my hand the

little assegai of the king red with the king’s blood, and spoke with

the captains in the gate, saying:—

“Lament, ye captains and ye soldiers, weep and lament, for your father

is no more! He who nursed you is no more! The king is dead! now earth

and heaven will come together, for the king is dead!”

“How so, Mopo?” cried the leader of the Bees. “How is our father dead?”

“He is dead by the hand of a wicked wanderer named Masilo, who, when he

was doomed to die by the king, snatched this assegai from the king’s

hand and stabbed him; and afterwards, before he could be cut down

himself by us three, the princes and myself, he killed the chiefs

Inguazonca and Umxamama also. Draw near and look on him who was the

king; it is the command of Dingaan and Umhlangana, the kings, that you

draw near and look on him who was the king, that his death at the hand

of Masilo may be told through all the land.”

“You are better at making of kings, Mopo, than at the saving of one who

was your king from the stroke of a wanderer,” said the leader of the

Bees, looking at me doubtfully.

But his words passed unheeded, for some of the captains went forward to

look on the Great One who was dead, and some, together with most of the

soldiers, ran this way and that, crying in their fear that now the

heaven and earth would come together, and the race of man would cease

to be, because Chaka, the king, was dead.

Now, my father, how shall I, whose days are few, tell you of all the

matters that happened after the death of Chaka? Were I to speak of them

all they would fill many books of the white men, and, perhaps, some of

them are written down there. For this reason it is, that I may be

brief, I have only spoken of a few of those events which befell in the

reign of Chaka; for my tale is not of the reign of Chaka, but of the

lives of a handful of people who lived in those days, and of whom I and

Umslopogaas alone are left alive—if, indeed, Umslopogaas, the son of

Chaka, is still living on the earth. Therefore, in a few words I will

pass over all that came about after the fall of Chaka and till I was

sent down by Dingaan, the king, to summon him to surrender to the king

who was called the Slaughterer and who ruled the People of the Axe. Ah!

would that I had known for certain that this was none other than

Umslopogaas, for then had Dingaan gone the way that Chaka went and

which Umhlangana followed, and Umslopogaas ruled the people of the

Zulus as their king. But, alas! my wisdom failed me. I paid no heed to

the voice of my heart which told me that this was Umslopogaas who sent

the message to Chaka threatening vengeance for one Mopo, and I knew

nothing till too late; surely, I thought, the man spoke of some other

Mopo. For thus, my father, does destiny make fools of us men. We think

that we can shape our fate, but it is fate that shapes us, and nothing

befalls except fate will it. All things are a great pattern, my father,

drawn by the hand of the Umkulunkulu upon the cup whence he drinks the

water of his wisdom; and our lives, and what we do, and what we do not

do, are but a little bit of the pattern, which is so big that only the

eyes of Him who is above, the Umkulunkulu, can see it all. Even Chaka,

the slayer of men, and all those he slew, are but as a tiny grain of

dust in the greatness of that pattern. How, then, can we be wise, my

father, who are but the tools of wisdom? how can we build who are but

pebbles in a wall? how can we give life who are babes in the womb of

fate? or how can we slay who are but spears in the hands of the slayer?

This came about, my father. Matters were made straight in the land

after the death of Chaka. At first people said that Masilo, the

stranger, had stabbed the king; then it was known that Mopo, the wise

man, the doctor and the body-servant of the king, had slain the king,

and that the two great bulls, his brothers Umhlangana and Dingaan,

children of Senzangacona, had also lifted spears against him. But he

was dead, and earth and heaven had not come together, so what did it

matter? Moreover, the two new kings promised to deal gently with the

people, and to lighten the heavy yoke of Chaka, and men in a bad case

are always ready to hope for a better. So it came about that the only

enemies the princes found were each other and Engwade, the son of

Unandi, Chaka’s half-brother. But I, Mopo, who was now the first man in

the land after the kings, ceasing to be a doctor and becoming a

general, went up against Engwade with the regiment of the Bees and the

regiment of the Slayers and smote him in his kraals. It was a hard

fight, but in the end I destroyed him and all his people: Engwade

killed eight men with his own hand before I slew him. Then I came back

to the kraal with the few that were left alive of the two regiments.

After that the two kings quarrelled more and more, and I weighed them

both in my balance, for I would know which was the most favourable to

me. In the end I found that both feared me, but that Umhlangana would

certainly put me to death if he gained the upper hand, whereas this was

not yet in the mind of Dingaan. So I pressed down the balance of

Umhlangana and raised that of Dingaan, sending the fears of Umhlangana

to sleep till I could cause his hut to be surrounded. Then Umhlangana

followed upon the road of Chaka his brother, the road of the assegai;

and Dingaan ruled alone for awhile. Such are the things that befall

princes of this earth, my father. See, I am but a little man, and my

lot is humble at the last, yet I have brought about the death of three

of them, and of these two died by my hand.

It was fourteen days after the passing away of the Prince Umhlangana

that the great army came back in a sorry plight from the marshes of the

Limpopo, for half of them were left dead of fever and the might of the

foe, and the rest were starving. It was well for them who yet lived

that Chaka was no more, else they had joined their brethren who were

dead on the way; since never before for many years had a Zulu impi

returned unvictorious and without a single head of cattle. Thus it came

about that they were glad enough to welcome a king who spared their

lives, and thenceforth, till his fate found him, Dingaan reigned

unquestioned.

Now, Dingaan was a prince of the blood of Chaka indeed; for, like

Chaka, he was great in presence and cruel at heart, but he had not the

might and the mind of Chaka. Moreover, he was treacherous and a liar,

and these Chaka was not. Also, he loved women much, and spent with them

the time that he should have given to matters of the State. Yet he

reigned awhile in the land. I must tell this also; that Dingaan would

have killed Panda, his half-brother, so that the house of Senzangacona,

his father, might be swept out clean. Now Panda was a man of gentle

heart, who did not love war, and therefore it was thought that he was

half-witted; and, because I loved Panda, when the question of his

slaying came on, I and the chief Mapita spoke against it, and pleaded

for him, saying that there was nothing to be feared at his hands who

was a fool. So in the end Dingaan gave way, saying, “Well, you ask me

to spare this dog, and I will spare him, but one day he will bite me.”

So Panda was made governor of the king’s cattle. Yet in the end the

words of Dingaan came true, for it was the grip of Panda’s teeth that

pulled him from the throne; only, if Panda was the dog that bit, I,

Mopo, was the man who set him on the hunt.

CHAPTER XXII.

MOPO GOES TO SEEK THE SLAUGHTERER

Now Dingaan, deserting the kraal Duguza, moved back to Zululand, and

built a great kraal by the Mahlabatine, which he named

“Umgugundhlovu”—that is, “the rumbling of the elephant.” Also, he

caused all the fairest girls in the land to be sought out as his wives,

and though many were found yet he craved for more. And at this time a

rumour came to the ears of the King Dingaan that there lived in

Swaziland among the Halakazi tribe a girl of the most wonderful beauty,

who was named the Lily, and whose skin was whiter than are the skins of

our people, and he desired greatly to have this girl to wife. So

Dingaan sent an embassy to the chief of the Halakazi, demanding that

the girl should be given to him. At the end of a month the embassy

returned again, and told the king that they had found nothing but hard

words at the kraal of the Halakazi, and had been driven thence with

scorn and blows.

This was the message of the chief of the Halakazi to Dingaan, king of

the Zulus: That the maid who was named the Lily, was, indeed, the

wonder of the earth, and as yet unwed; for she had found no man upon

whom she looked with favour, and she was held in such love by this

people that it was not their wish to force any husband on her.

Moreover, the chief said that he and his people defied Dingaan and the

Zulus, as their fathers had defied Chaka before him, and spat upon his

name, and that no maid of theirs should go to be the wife of a Zulu

dog.

Then the chief of the Halakazi caused the maid who was named the Lily

to be led before the messengers of Dingaan, and they found her

wonderfully fair, for so they said: she was tall as a reed, and her

grace was the grace of a reed that is shaken in the wind. Moreover, her

hair curled, and hung upon her shoulders, her eyes were large and

brown, and soft as a buck’s, her colour was the colour of rich cream,

her smile was like a ripple on the waters, and when she spoke her voice

was low and sweeter than the sound of an instrument of music. They said

also that the girl wished to speak with them, but the chief forbade it,

and caused her to be led thence with all honour.

Now, when Dingaan heard this message he grew mad as a lion in a net,

for he desired this maid above everything, and yet he who had all

things could not win the maid. This was his command, that a great impi

should be gathered and sent to Swaziland against the Halakazi tribe, to

destroy them and seize the maid. But when the matter came on to be

discussed with the indunas in the presence of the king, at the

_Amapakati_ or council, I, as chief of the indunas, spoke against it,

saying that the tribe of the Halakazi were great and strong, and that

war with them would mean war with the Swazis also; moreover, they had

their dwelling in caves which were hard to win. Also, I said, that this

was no time to send impis to seek a single girl, for few years had gone

by since the Black One fell; and foes were many, and the soldiers of

the land had waxed few with slaughter, half of them having perished in

the marshes of the Limpopo. Now, time must be given them to grow up

again, for to-day they were as a little child, or like a man wasted

with hunger. Maids were many, let the king take them and satisfy his

heart, but let him make no war for this one.

Thus I spoke boldly in the face of the king, as none had dared to speak

before Chaka; and courage passed from me to the hearts of the other

indunas and generals, and they echoed my words, for they knew that, of

all follies, to begin a new war with the Swazi people would be the

greatest.

Dingaan listened, and his brow grew dark, yet he was not so firmly

seated on the throne that he dared put away our words, for still there

were many in the land who loved the memory of Chaka, and remembered

that Dingaan had murdered him and Umhlangana also. For now that Chaka

was dead, people forgot how evilly he had dealt with them, and

remembered only that he was a great man, who had made the Zulu people

out of nothing, as a smith fashions a bright spear from a lump of iron.

Also, though they had changed masters, yet their burden was not

lessened, for, as Chaka slew, so Dingaan slew also, and as Chaka

oppressed, so did Dingaan oppress. Therefore Dingaan yielded to the

voice of his indunas and no impi was sent against the Halakazi to seek

the maid that was named the Lily. But still he hankered for her in his

heart, and from that hour he hated me because I had crossed his will

and robbed him of his desire.

Now, my father, there is this to be told: though I did not know it

then, the maid who was named the Lily was no other than my daughter

Nada. The thought, indeed, came into my mind, that none but Nada could

be so fair. Yet I knew for certain that Nada and her mother Macropha

were dead, for he who brought me the news of their death had seen their

bodies locked in each other’s arms, killed, as it were, by the same

spear. Yet, as it chanced, he was wrong; for though Macropha indeed was

killed, it was another maid who lay in blood beside her; for the people

whither I had sent Macropha and Nada were tributary to the Halakazi

tribe, and that chief of the Halakazi who sat in the place of Galazi

the Wolf had quarrelled with them, and fallen on them by night and

eaten them up.

As I learned afterwards, the cause of their destruction, as in later

days it was the cause of the slaying of the Halakazi, was the beauty of

Nada and nothing else, for the fame of her loveliness had gone about

the land, and the old chief of the Halakazi had commanded that the girl

should be sent to his kraal to live there, that her beauty might shine

upon his place like the sun, and that, if so she willed, she should

choose a husband from the great men of the Halakazi. But the headmen of

the kraal refused, for none who had looked on her would suffer their

eyes to lose sight of Nada the Lily, though there was this fate about

the maid that none strove to wed her against her will. Many, indeed,

asked her in marriage, both there and among the Halakazi people, but

ever she shook her head and said, “Nay, I would wed no man,” and it was

enough.

For it was the saying among men, that it was better that she should

remain unmarried, and all should look on her, than that she should pass

from their sight into the house of a husband; since they held that her

beauty was given to be a joy to all, like the beauty of the dawn and of

the evening. Yet this beauty of Nada’s was a dreadful thing, and the

mother of much death, as shall be told; and because of her beauty and

the great love she bore, she, the Lily herself, must wither, and the

cup of my sorrows must be filled to overflowing, and the heart of

Umslopogaas the Slaughterer, son of Chaka the king, must become

desolate as the black plain when fire has swept it. So it was ordained,

my father, and so it befell, seeing that thus all men, white and black,

seek that which is beautiful, and when at last they find it, then it

passes swiftly away, or, perchance, it is their death. For great joy

and great beauty are winged, nor will they sojourn long upon the earth.

They come down like eagles out of the sky, and into the sky they return

again swiftly.

Thus then it came about, my father, that I, Mopo, believing my daughter

Nada to be dead, little guessed that it was she who was named the Lily

in the kraals of the Halakazi, and whom Dingaan the king desired for a

wife.

Now after I had thwarted him in this matter of the sending of an impi

to pluck the Lily from the gardens of the Halakazi, Dingaan learned to

hate me. Also I was in his secrets, and with me he had killed his

brother Chaka and his brother Umhlangana, and it was I who held him

back from the slaying of his brother Panda also; and, therefore, he

hated me, as is the fashion of small-hearted men with those who have

lifted them up. Yet he did not dare to do away with me, for my voice

was loud in the land, and when I spoke the people listened. Therefore,

in the end, he cast about for some way to be rid of me for a while,

till he should grow strong enough to kill me.

“Mopo,” said the king to me one day as I sat before him in council with

others of the indunas and generals, “mindest thou of the last words of

the Great Elephant, who is dead?” This he said meaning Chaka his

brother, only he did not name him, for now the name of Chaka was

_hlonipa_ in the land, as is the custom with the names of dead

kings—that is, my father, it was not lawful that it should pass the

lips.

“I remember the words, O King,” I answered. “They were ominous words,

for this was their burden: that you and your house should not sit long

in the throne of kings, but that the white men should take away your

royalty and divide your territories. Such was the prophecy of the Lion

of the Zulu, why speak of it? Once before I heard him prophesy, and his

words were fulfilled. May the omen be an egg without meat; may it never

become fledged; may that bird never perch upon your roof, O King!”

Now Dingaan trembled with fear, for the words of Chaka were in his mind

by night and by day; then he grew angry and bit his lip, saying:—

“Thou fool, Mopo! canst thou not hear a raven croak at the gates of a

kraal but thou must needs go tell those who dwell within that he waits

to pick their eyes? Such criers of ill to come may well find ill at

hand, Mopo.” He ceased, looked on me threateningly awhile, and went on:

“I did not speak of those words rolling by chance from a tongue half

loosed by death, but of others that told of a certain Bulalio, of a

Slaughterer who rules the People of the Axe and dwells beneath the

shadow of the Ghost Mountain far away to the north yonder. Surely I

heard them all as I sat beneath the shade of the reed-fence before ever

I came to save him who was my brother from the spear of Masilo, the

murderer, whose spear stole away the life of a king?”

“I remember those words also, O King!” I said. “Is it the will of the

king that an impi should be gathered to eat up this upstart? Such was

the command of the one who is gone, given, as it were, with his last

breath.”

“Nay, Mopo, that is not my will. If no impi can be found by thee to

wipe away the Halakazi and bring one whom I desire to delight my eyes,

then surely none can be found to eat up this Slaughterer and his

people. Moreover, Bulalio, chief of the People of the Axe, has not

offended against me, but against an elephant whose trumpetings are

done. Now this is my will, Mopo, my servant: that thou shouldst take

with thee a few men only and go gently to this Bulalio, and say to him:

‘A greater Elephant stalks through the land than he who has gone to

sleep, and it has come to his ears—that thou, Chief of the People of

the Axe, dost pay no tribute, and hast said that, because of the death

of a certain Mopo, thou wilt have nothing to do with him whose shadow

lies upon the land. Now one Mopo is sent to thee, Slaughterer, to know

if this tale is true, for, if it be true, then shalt thou learn the

weight of the hoof of that Elephant who trumpets in the kraal of

Umgugundhlovu. Think, then, and weigh thy words before thou dost

answer, Slaughterer.’”

Now I, Mopo, heard the commands of the king and pondered them in my

mind, for I knew well that it was the design of Dingaan to be rid of me

for a space that he might find time to plot my overthrow, and that he

cared little for this matter of a petty chief, who, living far away,

had dared to defy Chaka. Yet I wished to go, for there had arisen in me

a great desire to see this Bulalio, who spoke of vengeance to be taken

for one Mopo, and whose deeds were such as the deeds of Umslopogaas

would have been, had Umslopogaas lived to look upon the light.

Therefore I answered:—

“I hear the king. The king’s word shall be done, though, O King, thou

sendest a big man upon a little errand.”

“Not so, Mopo,” answered Dingaan. “My heart tells me that this chicken

of a Slaughterer will grow to a great cock if his comb is not cut

presently; and thou, Mopo, art versed in cutting combs, even of the

tallest.”

“I hear the king,” I answered again.

So, my father, it came about that on the morrow, taking with me but ten

chosen men, I, Mopo, started on my journey towards the Ghost Mountain,

and as I journeyed I thought much of how I had trod that path in bygone

days. Then, Macropha, my wife, and Nada, my daughter, and Umslopogaas,

the son of Chaka, who was thought to be my son, walked at my side. Now,

as I imagined, all were dead and I walked alone; doubtless I also

should soon be dead. Well, people lived few days and evil in those

times, and what did it matter? At the least I had wreaked vengeance on

Chaka and satisfied my heart.

At length I came one night to that lonely spot where we had camped in

the evil hour when Umslopogaas was borne away by the lioness, and once

more I looked upon the cave whence he had dragged the cub, and upon the

awful face of the stone Witch who sits aloft upon the Ghost Mountain

forever and forever. I could sleep little that night, because of the

sorrow at my heart, but sat awake looking, in the brightness of the

moon, upon the grey face of the stone Witch, and on the depths of the

forest that grew about her knees, wondering the while if the bones of

Umslopogaas lay broken in that forest. Now as I journeyed, many tales

had been told to me of this Ghost Mountain, which all swore was

haunted, so said some, by men in the shape of wolves; and so said some,

by the _Esemkofu_—that is, by men who have died and who have been

brought back again by magic. They have no tongues, the _Esemkofu_, for

had they tongues they would cry aloud to mortals the awful secrets of

the dead, therefore, they can but utter a wailing like that of a babe.

Surely one may hear them in the forests at night as they wail “_Ai!—ah!

Ai—ah!_” among the silent trees!

You laugh, my father, but I did not laugh as I thought of these tales;

for, if men have spirits, where do the spirits go when the body is

dead? They must go somewhere, and would it be strange that they should

return to look upon the lands where they were born? Yet I never thought

much of such matters, though I am a doctor, and know something of the

ways of the _Amatongo_, the people of the ghosts. To speak truth, my

father, I have had so much to do with the loosing of the spirits of men

that I never troubled myself overmuch with them after they were loosed;

there will be time to do this when I myself am of their number.

So I sat and gazed on the mountain and the forest that grew over it

like hair on the head of a woman, and as I gazed I heard a sound that

came from far away, out of the heart of the forest as it seemed. At

first it was faint and far off, a distant thing like the cry of

children in a kraal across a valley; then it grew louder, but still I

could not say what it might be; now it swelled and swelled, and I knew

it—it was the sound of wild beats at chase. Nearer came the music, the

rocks rang with it, and its voice set the blood beating but to hearken

to it. That pack was great which ran a-hunting through the silent

night; and now it was night, on the other side of the slope only, and

the sound swelled so loud that those who were with me awoke also and

looked forth. Now of a sudden a great koodoo bull appeared for an

instant standing out against the sky on the crest of the ridge, then

vanished in the shadow. He was running towards us; presently we saw him

again speeding on his path with great bounds. We saw this also—forms

grey and gaunt and galloping, in number countless, that leaped along

his path, appearing on the crest of the rise, disappearing into the

shadow, seen again on the slope, lost in the valley; and with them two

other shapes, the shapes of men.

Now the big buck bounded past us not half a spear’s throw away, and

behind him streamed the countless wolves, and from the throats of the

wolves went up that awful music. And who were these two that came with

the wolves, shapes of men great and strong? They ran silently and

swift, wolves’ teeth gleamed upon their heads, wolves’ hides hung about

their shoulders. In the hands of one was an axe—the moonlight shone

upon it—in the hand of the other a heavy club. Neck and neck they ran;

never before had we seen men travel so fast. See! they sped down the

slope towards us; the wolves were left behind, all except four of them;

we heard the beating of their feet; they came, they passed, they were

gone, and with them their unnumbered company. The music grew faint, it

died, it was dead; the hunt was far away, and the night was still

again!

“Now, my brethren,” I asked of those who were with me, “what is this

that we have seen?”

Then one answered, “We have seen the Ghosts who live in the lap of the

old Witch, and those men are the Wolf-Brethren, the wizards who are

kings of the Ghosts.”

CHAPTER XXIII.

MOPO REVEALS HIMSELF TO THE SLAUGHTERER

All that night we watched, but we neither saw nor heard any more of the

wolves, nor of the men who hunted with them. On the morrow, at dawn, I

sent a runner to Bulalio, chief of the People of the Axe, saying that a

messenger came to him from Dingaan, the king, who desired to speak with

him in peace within the gates of his kraal. I charged the messenger,

however, that he should not tell my name, but should say only that it

was “Mouth of Dingaan.” Then I and those with me followed slowly on the

path of the man whom I sent forward, for the way was still far, and I

had bidden him return and meet me bearing the words of the Slaughterer,

Holder of the Axe.

All that day till the sun grew low we walked round the base of the

great Ghost Mountain, following the line of the river. We met no one,

but once we came to the ruins of a kraal, and in it lay the broken

bones of many men, and with the bones rusty assegais and the remains of

ox-hide shields, black and white in colour. Now I examined the shields,

and knew from their colour that they had been carried in the hands of

those soldiers who, years ago, were sent out by Chaka to seek for

Umslopogaas, but who had returned no more.

“Now,” I said, “it has fared ill with those soldiers of the Black One

who is gone, for I think that these are the shields they bore, and that

their eyes once looked upon the world through the holes in yonder

skulls.”

“These are the shields they bore, and those are the skulls they wore,”

answered one. “See, Mopo, son of Makedama, this is no man’s work that

has brought them to their death. Men do not break the bones of their

foes in pieces as these bones are broken. _Wow!_ men do not break them,

but wolves do, and last night we saw wolves a-hunting; nor did they

hunt alone, Mopo. _Wow!_ this is a haunted land!”

Then we went on in silence, and all the way the stone face of the Witch

who sits aloft forever stared down on us from the mountain top. At

length, an hour before sundown, we came to the open lands, and there,

on the crest of a rise beyond the river, we saw the kraal of the People

of the Axe. It was a great kraal and well built, and their cattle were

spread about the plains like to herds of game for number. We went to

the river and passed it by the ford, then sat down and waited, till

presently I saw the man whom I had sent forward returning towards us.

He came and saluted me, and I asked him for news.

“This is my news, Mopo,” he said: “I have seen him who is named

Bulalio, and he is a great man—long and lean, with a fierce face, and

carrying a mighty axe, such an axe as he bore last night who hunted

with the wolves. When I had been led before the chief I saluted him and

spoke to him—the words you laid upon my tongue I told to him. He

listened, then laughed aloud, and said: ‘Tell him who sent you that the

mouth of Dingaan shall be welcome, and shall speak the words of Dingaan

in peace; yet I would that it were the head of Dingaan that came and

not his mouth only, for then Axe Groan-Maker would join in our talk—ay,

because of one Mopo, whom his brother Chaka murdered, it would also

speak with Dingaan. Still, the mouth is not the head, so the mouth may

come in peace.’”

Now I started when for the second time I heard talk of one Mopo, whose

name had been on the lips of Bulalio the Slaughterer. Who was there

that would thus have loved Mopo except one who was long dead? And yet,

perhaps the chief spoke of some other Mopo, for the name was not my own

only—in truth, Chaka had killed a chief of that name at the great

mourning, because he said that two Mopos in the land were one too many,

and that though this Mopo wept sorely when the tears of others were

dry. So I said only that this Bulalio had a high stomach, and we went

on to the gates of the kraal.

There were none to meet us at the gates, and none stood by the doors of

the huts within them, but beyond, from the cattle kraal that was in the

centre of the huts, rose a dust and a din as of men gathering for war.

Now some of those with me were afraid, and would have turned back,

fearing treachery, and they were yet more afraid when, on coming to the

inner entrance of the cattle kraal, we saw some five hundred soldiers

being mustered there company by company, by two great men, who ran up

and down the ranks shouting.

But I cried, “Nay! nay! Turn not back! Bold looks melt the hearts of

foes. Moreover, if this Bulalio would have murdered us, there was no

need for him to call up so many of his warriors. He is a proud chief,

and would show his might, not knowing that the king we serve can muster

a company for every man he has. Let us go on boldly.”

So we walked forward towards the impi that was gathered on the further

side of the kraal. Now the two great men who were marshalling the

soldiers saw us, and came to meet us, one following the other. He who

came first bore the axe upon his shoulder, and he who followed swung a

huge club. I looked upon the foremost of them, and ah! my father, my

heart grew faint with joy, for I knew him across the years. It was

Umslopogaas! my fosterling, Umslopogaas! and none other, now grown into

manhood—ay, into such a man as was not to be found beside him in

Zululand. He was great and fierce, somewhat spare in frame, but wide

shouldered and shallow flanked. His arms were long and not over big,

but the muscles stood out on them like knots in a rope; his legs were

long also, and very thick beneath the knee. His eye was like an

eagle’s, his nose somewhat hooked, and he held his head a little

forward, as a man who searches continually for a hidden foe. He seemed

to walk slowly, and yet he came swiftly, but with a gliding movement

like that of a wolf or a lion, and always his fingers played round the

horn handle of the axe Groan-Maker. As for him who followed, he was

great also, shorter than Umslopogaas by the half of a head, but of a

sturdier build. His eyes were small, and twinkled unceasingly like

little stars, and his look was very wild, for now and again he grinned,

showing his white teeth.

When I saw Umslopogaas, my father, my bowels melted within me, and I

longed to run to him and throw myself upon his neck. Yet I took council

with myself and did not—nay, I dropped the corner of the kaross I wore

over my eyes, hiding my face lest he should know me. Presently he stood

before me, searching me out with his keen eyes, for I drew forward to

greet him.

“Greeting, Mouth of Dingaan!” he said in a loud voice. “You are a

little man to be the mouth of so big a chief.”

“The mouth is a little member, even of the body of a great king, O

Chief Bulalio, ruler of the People of the Axe, wizard of the wolves

that are upon the Ghost Mountain, who aforetime was named Umslopogaas,

son of Mopo, son of Makedama.”

Now when Umslopogaas heard these words he started like a child at a

rustling in the dark and stared hard at me.

“You are well instructed,” he said.

“The ears of the king are large, if his mouth be small, O Chief

Bulalio,” I answered, “and I, who am but the mouth, speak what the ears

have heard.”

“How know you that I have dwelt with the wolves upon the Ghost

Mountain, O Mouth?” he asked.

“The eyes of the king see far, O Chief Bulalio. Thus last night they

saw a great chase and a merry. It seems that they saw a koodoo bull

running at speed, and after him countless wolves making their music,

and with the wolves two men clad in wolves’ skins, such men as you,

Bulalio, and he with the club who follows you.”

Now Umslopogaas lifted the axe Groan-Maker as though he would cut me

down, then let it fall again, while Galazi the Wolf glared at me with

wide-opened eyes.

“How know you that once I was named Umslopogaas, who have lost that

name these many days? Speak, O Mouth, lest I kill you.”

“Slay if you will, Umslopogaas,” I answered, “but know that when the

brains are scattered the mouth is dumb. He who scatters brains loses

wisdom.”

“Answer!” he said.

“I answer not. Who are you that I should answer you? I know; it is

enough. To my business.”

Now Umslopogaas ground his teeth in anger. “I am not wont to be

thwarted here in my own kraal,” he said; “but do your business. Speak

it, little Mouth.”

“This is my business, little Chief. When the Black One who is gone yet

lived, you sent him a message by one Masilo—such a message as his ears

had never heard, and that had been your death, O fool puffed up with

pride, but death came first upon the Black One, and his hand was

stayed. Now Dingaan, whose shadow lies upon the land, the king whom I

serve, and who sits in the place of the Black One who is gone, speaks

to you by me, his mouth. He would know this: if it is true that you

refuse to own his sovereignty, to pay tribute to him in men and maids

and cattle, and to serve him in his wars? Answer, you little

headman!—answer in few words and short!”

Now Umslopogaas gasped for breath in his rage, and again he fingered

the great axe. “It is well for you, O Mouth,” he said, “that I swore

safe conduct to you, else you had not gone hence—else you had been

served as I served certain soldiers who in bygone years were sent to

search out one Umslopogaas. Yet I answer you in few words and short.

Look on those spears—they are but a fourth part of the number I can

muster: that is my answer. Look now on yonder mountain, the mountain of

ghosts and wolves—unknown, impassable, save to me and one other: that

is my answer. Spears and mountains shall come together—the mountain

shall be alive with spears and with the fangs of beasts. Let Dingaan

seek his tribute there! I have spoken!”

Now I laughed shrilly, desiring to try the heart of Umslopogaas, my

fosterling, yet further.

“Fool!” I said. “Boy with the brain of a monkey, for every spear you

have Dingaan, whom I serve, can send a hundred, and your mountain shall

be stamped flat; and for your ghosts and wolves, see, with the mouth of

Dingaan I spit upon them!” and I spat upon the ground.

Now Umslopogaas shook in his rage, and the great axe glimmered as he

shook. He turned to the captain who was behind him, and said: “Say,

Galazi the Wolf, shall we kill this man and those with him?”

“Nay,” answered the Wolf, grinning, “do not kill them; you have given

them safe conduct. Moreover, let them go back to their dog of a king,

that he may send out his puppies to do battle with our wolves. It will

be a pretty fight.”

“Get you gone, O Mouth,” said Umslopogaas; “get you gone swiftly, lest

mischief befall you! Without my gates you shall find food to satisfy

your hunger. Eat of it and begone, for if to-morrow at the noon you are

found within a spear’s throw of this kraal, you and those with you

shall bide there forever, O Mouth of Dingaan the king!”

Now I made as though I would depart, then, turning suddenly, I spoke

once more, saying:—

“There were words in your message to the Black One who is dead of a

certain man—nay, how was he named?—of a certain Mopo.”

Now Umslopogaas started as one starts who is wounded by a spear, and

stared at me.

“Mopo! What of Mopo, O Mouth, whose eyes are veiled? Mopo is dead,

whose son I was!”

“Ah!” I said, “yes, Mopo is dead—that is, the Black One who is gone

killed a certain Mopo. How came it, O Bulalio, that you were his son?”

“Mopo is dead,” quoth Umslopogaas again; “he is dead with all his

house, his kraal is stamped flat, and that is why I hated the Black

One, and therefore I hate Dingaan, his brother, and will be as are Mopo

and the house of Mopo before I pay him tribute of a single ox.”

All this while I had spoken to Umslopogaas in a feigned voice, my

father, but now I spoke again and in my own voice, saying:—

“So! Now you speak from your heart, young man, and by digging I have

reached the root of the matter. It is because of this dead dog of a

Mopo that you defy the king.”

Umslopogaas heard the voice, and trembled no more with anger, but

rather with fear and wonder. He looked at me hard, answering nothing.

“Have you a hut near by, O Chief Bulalio, foe of Dingaan the king,

where I, the mouth of the king, may speak with you a while apart, for I

would learn your message word by word that I may deliver it without

fault. Fear not, Slaughterer, to sit alone with me in an empty hut! I

am unarmed and old, and there is that in your hand which I should

fear,” and I pointed to the axe.

Now Umslopogaas, still shaking in his limbs, answered “Follow me, O

Mouth, and you, Galazi, stay with these men.”

So I followed Umslopogaas, and presently we came to a large hut. He

pointed to the doorway, and I crept through it and he followed after

me. Now for a while it seemed dark in the hut, for the sun was sinking

without and the place was full of shadow; so I waited while a man might

count fifty, till our eyes could search the darkness. Then of a sudden

I threw the blanket from my face and looked into the eyes of

Umslopogaas.

“Look on me now, O Chief Bulalio, O Slaughterer, who once was named

Umslopogaas—look on me and say who am I?” Then he looked at me and his

jaw fell.

“Either you are Mopo my father grown old—Mopo, who is dead, or the

Ghost of Mopo,” he answered in a low voice.

“I am Mopo, your father, Umslopogaas,” I said. “You have been long in

knowing me, who knew you from the first.”

Then Umslopogaas cried aloud, but yet softly, and letting fall the axe

Groan-Maker, he flung himself upon my breast and wept there. And I wept

also.

“Oh! my father,” he said, “I thought that you were dead with the

others, and now you have come back to me, and I, I would have lifted

the axe against you in my folly. Oh, it is well that I have lived, and

not died, since once more I look upon your face—the face that I thought

dead, but which yet lives, though it be sorely changed, as though by

grief and years.”

“Peace, Umslopogaas, my son,” I said. “I also deemed you dead in the

lion’s mouth, though in truth it seemed strange to me that any other

man than Umslopogaas could have wrought the deeds which I have heard of

as done by Bulalio, Chief of the People of the Axe—ay, and thrown

defiance in the teeth of Chaka. But you are not dead, and I, I am not

dead. It was another Mopo whom Chaka killed; I slew Chaka, Chaka did

not slay me.”

“And of Nada, what of Nada, my sister?” he said.

“Macropha, your mother, and Nada, your sister, are dead, Umslopogaas.

They are dead at the hands of the people of the Halakazi, who dwell in

Swaziland.”

“I have heard of that people,” he answered presently, “and so has

Galazi the Wolf, yonder. He has a hate to satisfy against them—they

murdered his father; now I have two, for they have murdered my mother

and my sister. Ah, Nada, my sister! Nada, my sister!” and the great man

covered his face with his hands, and rocked himself to and fro in his

grief.

Now, my father, it came into my thoughts to make the truth plain to

Umslopogaas, and tell him that Nada was no sister of his, and that he

was no son of mine, but rather of that Chaka whom my hand had finished.

And yet I did not, though now I would that I had done so. For I saw

well how great was the pride and how high was the heart of Umslopogaas,

and I saw also that if once he should learn that the throne of Zululand

was his by right, nothing could hold him back, for he would swiftly

break into open rebellion against Dingaan the king, and in my judgment

the time was not ripe for that. Had I known, indeed, but one short year

before that Umslopogaas still lived, he had sat where Dingaan sat this

day; but I did not know it, and the chance had gone by for a while. Now

Dingaan was king and mustered many regiments about him, for I had held

him back from war, as in the case of the raid that he wished to make

upon the Swazis. The chance had gone by, but it would come again, and

till it came I must say nothing. I would do this rather, I would bring

Dingaan and Umslopogaas together, that Umslopogaas might become known

in the land as a great chief and the first of warriors. Then I would

cause him to be advanced to be an induna, and a general ready to lead

the impis of the king, for he who leads the impis is already half a

king.

So I held my peace upon this matter, but till the dawn was grey

Umslopogaas and I sat together and talked, each telling the tale of

those years that had gone since he was borne from me in the lion’s

mouth. I told him how all my wives and children had been killed, how I

had been put to the torment, and showed him my white and withered hand.

I told him also of the death of Baleka, my sister, and of all my people

of the Langeni, and of how I had revenged my wrongs upon Chaka, and

made Dingaan to be king in his place, and was now the first man in the

land under the king, though the king feared me much and loved me

little. But I did not tell him that Baleka, my sister, was his own

mother.

When I had done my tale, Umslopogaas told me his: how Galazi had

rescued him from the lioness; how he became one of the Wolf-Brethren;

how he had conquered Jikiza and the sons of Jikiza, and become chief of

the People of the Axe, and taken Zinita to wife, and grown great in the

land.

I asked him how it came about that he still hunted with the wolves as

he had done last night. He answered that now he was great and there was

nothing more to win, and at times a weariness of life came upon him,

and then he must up, and together with Galazi hunt and harry with the

wolves, for thus only could he find rest.

I said that I would show him better game to hunt before all was done,

and asked him further if he loved his wife, Zinita. Umslopogaas

answered that he would love her better if she loved him not so much,

for she was jealous and quick to anger, and that was a sorrow to him.

Then, when he had slept awhile, he led me from the hut, and I and my

people were feasted with the best, and I spoke with Zinita and with

Galazi the Wolf. For the last, I liked him well. This was a good man to

have at one’s back in battle; but my heart spoke to me against Zinita.

She was handsome and tall, but with fierce eyes which always watched

Umslopogaas, my fosterling; and I noted that he who was fearless of all

other things yet seemed to fear Zinita. Neither did she love me, for

when she saw how the Slaughterer clung to me, as it were, instantly she

grew jealous—as already she was jealous of Galazi—and would have been

rid of me if she might. Thus it came about that my heart spoke against

Zinita; nor did it tell me worse things of her than those which she was

to do.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE SLAYING OF THE BOERS

On the morrow I led Umslopogaas apart, and spoke to him thus:— “My son,

yesterday, when you did not know me except as the Mouth of Dingaan, you

charged me with a certain message for Dingaan the king, that, had it

been delivered into the ears of the king, had surely brought death upon

you and all your people. The tree that stands by itself on a plain,

Umslopogaas, thinks itself tall and that there is no shade to equal its

shade. Yet are there other and bigger trees. You are such a solitary

tree, Umslopogaas, but the topmost branches of him whom I serve are

thicker than your trunk, and beneath his shadow live many woodcutters,

who go out to lop those that would grow too high. You are no match for

Dingaan, though, dwelling here alone in an empty land, you have grown

great in your own eyes and in the eyes of those about you. Moreover,

Umslopogaas, know this: Dingaan already hates you because of the words

which in bygone years you sent by Masilo the fool to the Black One who

is dead, for he heard those words, and it is his will to eat you up. He

has sent me hither for one reason only, to be rid of me awhile, and,

whatever the words I bring back to him, the end will be the same—that

night shall come when you will find an impi at your gates.”

“Then what need to talk more of the matter, my father?” asked

Umslopogaas. “That will come which must come. Let me wait here for the

impi of Dingaan, and fight till I die.”

“Not so, Umslopogaas, my son; there are more ways of killing a man than

by the assegai, and a crooked stick can still be bent straight in the

stream. It is my desire, Umslopogaas, that instead of hate Dingaan

should give you love; instead of death, advancement; and that you shall

grow great in his shadow. Listen! Dingaan is not what Chaka was,

though, like Chaka, he is cruel. This Dingaan is a fool, and it may

well come about that a man can be found who, growing up in his shadow,

in the end shall overshadow him. I might do it—I myself; but I am old,

and, being worn with sorrow, have no longing to rule. But you are

young, Umslopogaas, and there is no man like you in the land. Moreover,

there are other matters of which it is not well to speak, that shall

serve you as a raft whereon to swim to power.”

Now Umslopogaas glanced up sharply, for in those days he was ambitious,

and desired to be first among the people. Indeed, having the blood of

Chaka in his veins, how could it be otherwise?

“What is your plan, my father?” he asked. “Say how can this be brought

about?”

“This and thus, Umslopogaas. Among the tribe of the Halakazi in

Swaziland there dwells a maid who is named the Lily. She is a girl of

the most wonderful beauty, and Dingaan is afire with longing to have

her to wife. Now, awhile since Dingaan dispatched an embassy to the

chief of the Halakazi asking the Lily in marriage, and the chief of the

Halakazi sent back insolent words, saying that the Beauty of the Earth

should be given to no Zulu dog as a wife. Then Dingaan was angry, and

he would have gathered his impis and sent them against the Halakazi to

destroy them, and bring him the maid, but I held him back from it,

saying that now was no time to begin a new war; and it is for this

cause that Dingaan hates me, he is so set upon the plucking of the

Swazi Lily. Do you understand now, Umslopogaas?”

“Something,” he answered. “But speak clearly.”

“Wow, Umslopogaas! Half words are better than whole ones in this land

of ours. Listen, then! This is my plan: that you should fall upon the

Halakazi tribe, destroy it, and bring back the maid as a peace-offering

to Dingaan.”

“That is a good plan, my father,” he answered. “At the least, maid or

no maid, there will be fighting in it, and cattle to divide when the

fighting is done.”

“First conquer, then reckon up the spoils, Umslopogaas.”

Now he thought awhile, then said, “Suffer that I summon Galazi the

Wolf, my captain. Do not fear, he is trusty and a man of few words.”

Presently Galazi came and sat down before us. Then I put the matter to

him thus: that Umslopogaas would fall upon the Halakazi and bring to

Dingaan the maid he longed for as a peace-offering, but that I wished

to hold him back from the venture because the Halakazi people were

great and strong. I spoke in this sense so that I might have a door to

creep out should Galazi betray the plot; and Umslopogaas read my

purpose, though my craft was needless, for Galazi was a true man.

Galazi the Wolf listened in silence till I had finished, then he

answered quietly, but it seemed to me that a fire shone in his eyes as

he spoke:—

“I am chief by right of the Halakazi, O Mouth of Dingaan, and know them

well. They are a strong people, and can put two full regiments under

arms, whereas Bulalio here can muster but one regiment, and that a

small one. Moreover, they have watchmen out by night and day, and spies

scattered through the land, so that it will be hard to take them

unawares; also their stronghold is a vast cave open to the sky in the

middle, and none have won that stronghold yet, nor could it be found

except by those who know its secret. They are few, yet I am one of

them, for my father showed it to me when I was a lad. Therefore, Mouth

of Dingaan, you will know that this is no easy task which Bulalio would

set himself and us—to conquer the Halakazi. That is the face of the

matter so far as it concerns Bulalio, but for me, O Mouth, it has

another face. Know that, long years ago, I swore to my father as he lay

dying by the poison of a witch of this people that I would not rest

till I had avenged him—ay, till I had stamped out the Halakazi, and

slain their men, and brought their women to the houses of strangers,

and their children to bonds! Year by year and month by month, and night

by night, as I have lain alone upon the Ghost Mountain yonder, I have

wondered how I might bring my oath to pass, and found no way. Now it

seems that there is a way, and I am glad. Yet this is a great

adventure, and perhaps before it is done with the People of the Axe

will be no more.” And he ceased and took snuff, watching our faces over

the spoon.

“Galazi the Wolf,” said Umslopogaas, “for me also the matter has

another face. You have lost your father at the hands of these Halakazi

dogs, and, though till last night I did not know it, I have lost my

mother by their spears, and with her one whom I loved above all in the

world, my sister Nada, who loved me also. Both are dead and the

Halakazi have killed them. This man, the mouth of Dingaan,” and he

pointed to me, Mopo, “this man says that if I can stamp out the

Halakazi and make captive of the Lily maid, I shall win the heart of

Dingaan. Little do I care for Dingaan, I who would go my way alone, and

live while I may live, and die when I must, by the hands of Dingaan as

by those of another—what does it matter? Yet, for this reason, because

of the death of Macropha, my mother, and Nada, the sister who was dear

to me, I will make war upon these Halakazi and conquer them, or be

conquered by them. Perhaps, O Mouth of Dingaan, you will see me soon at

the king’s kraal on the Mahlabatine, and with me the Lily maid and the

cattle of the Halakazi; or perhaps you shall not see me, and then you

will know that I am dead, and the Warriors of the Axe are no more.”

So Umslopogaas spoke to me before Galazi the Wolf, but afterwards he

embraced me and bade me farewell, for he had no great hope that we

should meet again. And I also doubted it; for, as Galazi said, the

adventure was great; yet, as I had seen many times, it is the bold

thrower who oftenest wins. So we parted—I to return to Dingaan and tell

him that Bulalio, Chief of the People of the Axe, had gone up against

the Halakazi to win the Lily maid and bring her to him in atonement;

while Umslopogaas remained to make ready his impi for war.

I went swiftly from the Ghost Mountain back to the kraal Umgugundhlovu,

and presented myself before Dingaan, who at first looked on me coldly.

But when I told him my message, and how that the Chief Bulalio the

Slaughterer had taken the war-path to win him the Lily, his manner

changed. He took me by the hand and said that I had done well, and he

had been foolish to doubt me when I lifted up my voice to persuade him

from sending an impi against the Halakazi. Now he saw that it was my

purpose to rake this Halakazi fire with another hand than his, and to

save his hand from the burning, and he thanked me.

Moreover, he said, that if this Chief of the People of the Axe brought

him the maid his heart desired, not only would he forgive him the words

he had spoken by the mouth of Masilo to the Black One who was dead, but

also all the cattle of the Halakazi should be his, and he would make

him great in the land. I answered that all this was as the king willed.

I had but done my duty by the king and worked so that, whatever befell,

a proud chief should be weakened and a foe should be attacked at no

cost to the king, in such fashion also that perhaps it might come about

that the king would shortly have the Lily at his side.

Then I sat down to wait what might befall.

Now it is, my father, that the white men come into my story, whom we

named the Amaboona, but you call the Boers. _Ou!_ I think ill of those

Amaboona, though it was I who gave them the victory over Dingaan—I and

Umslopogaas.

Before this time, indeed, a few white men had come to and fro to the

kraals of Chaka and Dingaan, but these came to pray and not to fight.

Now the Boers both fight and pray, also they steal, or used to steal,

which I do not understand, for the prayers of you white men say that

these things should not be done.

Well, when I had been back from the Ghost Mountain something less than

a moon, the Boers came, sixty of them commanded by a captain named

Retief, a big man, and armed with _roers_—the long guns they had in

those days—or, perhaps they numbered a hundred in all, counting their

servants and after-riders. This was their purpose: to get a grant of

the land in Natal that lies between the Tugela and the Umzimoubu

rivers. But, by my counsel and that of other indunas, Dingaan bargained

with the Boers that first they should attack a certain chief named

Sigomyela, who had stolen some of the king’s cattle, and who lived near

the Quathlamba Mountains, and bring back those cattle. This the Boers

agreed to, and went to attack the chief, and in a little while they

came back again, having destroyed the people of Sigomyela, and driving

his cattle before them as well as those which had been stolen from the

king.