"A Tale of an African Desert" (continued 4)

When she returned the sun was down. Elijah was still lying on his mat, apparently asleep. His mother tried to arouse him, but he at once relapsed into a doze, after just murmuring that he had a bad headache. So Makalipa, after placing some food next to him, retired to bed and slept soundly until dawn.

When Makalipa arose she noticed that Elijah was still asleep. Something, however, in his breathing struck her as being strange. Later, when she attempted to rouse him, she found that his mind was wandering and that he was in a burning fever.

It was a severe attack of enteric fever that had struck Elijah down. A week went by, but he became worse and worse. Noquala was still away and Makalipa became more and more alarmed. At length she made up her mind to call in a European doctor, so she dug up some money and sent Zingelagahle in with it to the Magistracy, with a message asking the District Surgeon to come and visit her son.

The District Surgeon was one who had no sympathy with and therefore did not command the confidence of the natives. Not making due allowance for the limitations of the native mind, and its consequent inability to grasp the importance of attention to detail in illness, he honestly thought that in serious cases his advice, as well as the medicines he supplied, were of little avail, and he usually said so when occasion offered.

It was a long ride from the Magistracy to Noquala’s kraal, and when the District Surgeon arrived the sun had nearly sunk. He meant to obtain a night’s lodging at a mission station a few miles away, but he was not sure of his road and was very much afraid of being benighted. Thus he was in a great hurry to get his work over and then proceed on his journey.

Elijah had just reached the crisis of his disease when the doctor arrived. The patient was lying with nothing between him and the cold, hard floor of the hut but a rush-mat and a thin cotton blanket. He appeared to be almost at the last gasp. The doctor examined him, took his temperature, and asked as to what description of nourishment the patient had been getting. The reply he received filled him with wrath and disgust. He felt that he could do nothing, and he said so. Makalipa heard with a sinking heart that her son’s hours were numbered, and that it was extremely unlikely that he would live until another sun arose. Then the doctor mounted his horse and rode away without administering any medicine, and Makalipa sat on the ground next to her son, with her heart filled with darkness, awaiting the end.

The doctor was hardly out of sight when Noquala, who had been sent for several days before, returned. He was somewhat shocked at hearing what the doctor had said, but a native never gives up hope of recovery so long as there is life in the patient. Touching Makalipa on the shoulder he beckoned to her to follow him and stepped out of the hut.

“Your European doctor has said Elijah must die, but I have seen people get better even after they have looked like that. Let us send for ’Ndakana and see what he can do.”

Makalipa nodded; then she went back to the bedside of her son.

Deep down in the mind of every human being is an elementary belief in the supernatural, and when brought face to face with some terrible, incalculable danger this is apt to rise to the surface. If this be true of those who have centuries of civilisation behind them, how much more so is it in the case of those who are only struggling to emerge from barbarism? The agitated mind of Makalipa grasped greedily at the possibility which her husband’s words suggested.

’Ndakana was a native “gqira,” or doctor, who had made for himself a considerable reputation locally. His kraal was not more than a couple of miles distant. Thus, within an hour of being sent for, he was at the bedside of the sufferer.

The first step in his treatment was the causing of an ox to be slaughtered. The blood of this animal was sprinkled over the hut, inside and outside, the patient coming in for a share. Then with a sharpened stick he made small incisions at different parts of Elijah’s body and limbs, and into these he rubbed some powder which he took from the horn of an antelope. After this he danced, violently but silently, around the hut, coming in every now and then, in a state of copious perspiration, to inquire as to how the patient was.

Soon after this Elijah was reported to be a little better. He had asked for and drunk a little sweet milk. Then ’Ndakana went home, saying that he had driven away the evil spirits, and that if the patient were kept on a milk diet for a week he would surely recover. The “gqira’s” words came true. Elijah improved rapidly, and before the week was over began to complain bitterly at being allowed nothing but milk to stay his biting hunger. ’Ndakana was made happy by a fee which took the form of two of Noquala’s best cattle.

Elijah was by no means grateful for the means which had been undertaken towards his recovery. That he, a Christian and a candidate for the ministry, should have been practised upon by a magician—one of a class which formed the greatest obstacle to the spread, of Christianity among the people—was a bitter reflection. Having been more or less unconscious throughout his illness, he did not know how bad he had been, and was thus firmly convinced that he would have recovered without ’Ndakana’s assistance.

The mother, however, thought differently. She remembered the sinking of the heart with which she had heard the European doctor condemn her son to death, and how the patient had immediately taken a change for the better when ’Ndakana’s treatment once commenced. Thus arose another cause of estrangement between mother and son.

Elijah was still weak when he decided to return to the seminary, not wishing to lose the opening of the session. His father lent him a horse for the occasion, and sent Zingelagahle on foot after him to bring the animal back.

Chapter Nineteen.

The Tempter.

An ominous whisper sounded over the land. Far to the north, it was said, a new and terrible disease had broken out among cattle. The herds of Khama, the Christian chief of the Bamangwato, had, so it was said, been swept utterly away. Like a wayward wind, it was reported, the disease swept hither and thither, leaving nothing but bleaching skeletons to mark its track. Even the wild game of the forest and the plain went down before the might of the plague. When British Bechuanaland was swept and the pestilence reached the herds of the Basuto, it was felt that the danger was indeed at the door of every owner of cattle in South Africa.

The Cape Government selected natives of reputed skill as cattle doctors, and sent them up to where the rinderpest was raging, so as to give them an opportunity of testing their remedies where the appliances of the profoundest science had failed. Upon the return of these men to their homes meetings of natives were called, and addresses embodying an account of the observed ravages of the pest were made to them. Thus the native mind became familiarised with the danger, and familiarity bred contempt. Magistrates urged upon their people the extreme danger of keeping all their wealth locked up in such a dangerously threatened item as cattle, and tried to induce them to make use of the market which existed at Johannesburg for the purpose of realising at all events a portion of their stock; but all in vain. “The ‘red-water’ came,” they said; “we have had war, drought, lung-sickness, and other misfortunes. We will, no doubt, lose many cattle, but with what remains we will again get rich. Of what use is money to us?”

Nearer and nearer came the plague; closer and closer were drawn in the coils of that deadly chain, the links of which were flung over the desolated earth in white heaps. The demand for meat became greater and greater at Johannesburg, and agents were sent down by the different butchering firms to endeavour to purchase slaughter stock. A few sheep they managed to obtain, but no cattle.

Makalipa tried hard to persuade her husband to sell at all events some of his “ngqoma” cattle, but not a single head would he dispose of. A local trader persuaded him of what was partly true, namely—that his flock of sheep, which had increased considerably during the past few years, and of which Makalipa was joint owner, was damaging the pasturage which he required for his cattle. It was, therefore, not difficult to persuade Noquala to dispose of the sheep, which he did, much to Makalipa’s dissatisfaction.

The money remained in the trader’s hands, Noquala fearing to bring it home lest his wife should get hold of it. He meant to give her her share of it, but the largest portion he intended to reinvest in cattle as soon as the rinderpest danger should be at an end.

A few days later Noquala had occasion to visit the shop of another trader who lived some miles away. This man had heard of the sheep transaction and had laid his plans accordingly.

Soon after Noquala arrived a herd of cattle was driven up and shown to him. Among this herd were several most beautiful dun-coloured cows—dun being a colour in cattle which Noquala was particularly partial to. After hesitating for a few minutes he asked the trader whether the cattle were for sale or not. The trader, feigning reluctance, consented to discuss the matter. Eventually a bargain was struck. The trader, having ascertained how much of a balance lay to Noquala’s credit at the other shop, drew out an order for it in his own favour, to which document Noquala affixed his mark in the presence of witnesses. Then Noquala drove home to his kraal the dun-coloured cows which, with several other cattle slightly inferior, although of fairly good quality, had now become his property.

Makalipa fell into a rage when she learnt what her husband had done. The rinderpest danger was very imminent to her, and she felt, rightly, that her husband had been guilty of stark madness in investing money in more cattle. She felt this the more keenly as the sheep had been disposed of against her strongest wishes.

“And you have even spent that portion of the money which belonged to me in buying beasts that will disappear like burning grass when the sickness comes!” she said, almost in tears.

“Whatever is the good of money to you?” he replied. “Cows have calves, but the money you bury in the earth brings nothing forth.”

“The money I bury in the earth will not get the rinderpest. After the sickness has swept over the land and your kraal has been emptied, my money will still be there.”

“Sickness—you are always talking about this sickness! Has not the sickness been here before, and is not my kraal still full? What does a woman know about things?”

“A woman knows more than you. Wait; on the day when your kraal stands empty my kraal will be full, and I will see you making clay oxen like a little boy, and playing with them. When your cattle all die you will go mad, if you don’t die with them.”

The acquisition of the new lot brought more cattle to the kraal than the enclosure could conveniently hold, so a number of the less valuable animals were weeded out and given under “ngqoma” to a man in the Xalanga district, to whom Noquala had long promised stock. This man took away five cows and five heifers to his kraal in one of the gloomy gorges of the Drakensberg.

The rinderpest came closer and closer. Its fell influence lay around the territory in which Noquala lived like a crescent, or rather like the Zulu battle-formation, which has been likened appropriately to the horns of a charging bull. But beyond a passing feeling of uneasiness when some traveller related what he had witnessed of the ravages of the pest, Noquala felt no fear. Other plagues, which had been preceded by alarming rumours, had come and gone. He, like his fellows, had suffered, although not to the same degree. He gradually made up his mind that he would, if the plague came, doubtless suffer again, but he trusted to his luck and felt sure that all would come out right in the end.

However, as the shower of rumours thickened, even Noquala began to feel uneasy. He had been told that the disease might suddenly appear, mysteriously and without apparent infection from outside. Once or twice, when individuals of his herd fell sick of minor ailments, he became distinctly alarmed. Still the rumours thickened, and his nerves began to suffer. Nevertheless he scouted every suggestion towards selling any of his cattle.

The younger children at the kraal were, as is usual with native children, in the habit of making miniature cattle out of clay. This is the sole form of plastic decorative art which the Bantu practise, with the exception of the moulding of grotesque faces on their pottery, which the Hlubis and the Basuto sometimes indulge in. The ox-moulding is of a distinctly conventional type, all the artist’s attention being concentrated upon the head, horns and neck, which are often very well executed. The legs and body are usually rough and shapeless. This form of rudimentary art has probably been acquired from the Hottentots; Hottentot children who have never been in contact with the Bantu mould images of exactly the same type, and that type does not suggest the cattle kept by the Bantu at the present day, but rather those which the now nearly extinct Hottentots once owned in great numbers.

Noquala’s mind often dwelt upon his wife’s prophecy, and whenever he noticed the clay toys he felt a twinge of guilty uneasiness. He now knew that he had been distinctly foolish in purchasing more cattle with the proceeds of the sheep. Nevertheless he still flatly refused to sell.

Darker and ever darker grew the prospect. What was it, this disease which came like a ghost from nowhere, and slew like spears in pursuit of a beaten and exhausted foe? Lung-sickness and red-water men knew. These thinned the herds out cruelly, sometimes, but a few were always spared. But this unknown scourge that swept through the land as a fire sweeps over mountain and valley in the autumn, leaving utter desolation behind it—what could it be? Surely those who work spells of evil must be at work, or else the “imishologu” (Spirits) must be wroth on account of some great and grievous sin committed by the people.

’Ndakana, the “gqira,” came into Noquala’s mind. He had shown his power over evil spirits, and had driven death, vanquished, from the mat upon which his son lay. ’Ndakana professed—an unusual circumstance—to be able to heal cattle as well as men. Noquala thought he would consult with the “gqira” next time the latter came to the kraal. Pride, and a feeling that he could not bear to confess that the oft-vaunted faith in his luck had weakened, would not allow of a message being sent.

Then it was reported that the Government had found out a cure for the disease—that by injecting some mysterious and magical medicine into the blood of beasts they were rendered proof against the pest. All the same the reports of whole herds dying out like drones before the doorway of a bees’ nest came over the Drakensberg from Basutoland. The mind of Noquala swayed hither and thither between the poles of confidence and despair.

One day ’Ndakana appeared at the kraal, where some beer had been brewed. The beer-drink did not degenerate into an orgie, as beer-drinks frequently do. The guests were hospitably entertained, three goats having been slaughtered for their consumption. Towards the end of the day the “gqira” drew Noquala into conversation.

“Have you never thought of having your cattle doctored?” he asked.

Noquala admitted that such an idea had occurred to him.

“I suppose you have heard of this new medicine that the Government claims to have found out,” continued ’Ndakana, “and of how it has sometimes cured and sometimes failed?”

“Yes, I have heard of it.”

“Well, now, I will tell you the truth about the matter. The Government found out about herds that had been treated by our doctors, and then they sent their own cattle doctors to administer medicine, so that they might claim the credit.”

Noquala looked incredulous. He had had some experience of the frauds of the native doctors; when the red-water had attacked his own herd, years previously, the “gqira” he had called in promised certain cure, but the promise had miserably failed. Still, he had seen this man ’Ndakana drive death away from the bedside of his son, and that after the European doctor had confessed himself vanquished.

The sun was going down and ’Ndakana glanced keenly once or twice towards the glowing west. He strolled a few paces forward, leading his companion by, as it were, a conversational leash. When he stopped, still talking, he faced the sunset and his companion had his back to it. The “gqira’s” glances, which had now become more rapid and frequent, were still directed to the pyre of the dying day.

Suddenly he lifted his hand, and his voice became vehement.

“Noquala, man of many cattle, I know the secret and I will save your herd from destruction if you will let me do so. Do you demand a sign to prove my power?”

“Show me a sign,” replied Noquala, looking steadfastly into the “gqira’s” eyes.

“Behold it, then.”

’Ndakana took a pace forward and brushed past his companion’s shoulder, at the same time flinging his hand forward with a sweep, and holding it, quivering and extended to its full length, in the direction of the sunset.

Noquala turned and looked. There, rimmed with fire, floated a cloud in the semblance of a bull stumbling forward upon one knee, in the attitude of a buffalo that has received its death wound. As he looked the gold faded out and the cloud broke up into formless wreaths of mist.

The portent struck Noquala to the heart; its short duration added to the illusion, for memory enhanced the value of every detail, and his startled imagination clothed the picture with an exactness of outline which it had never possessed.

“Doctor my cattle,” he said huskily, “and you shall have great reward.”

’Ndakana told his dupe that a necessary condition towards successful doctoring was that every beast possessed by the latter, whether under “ngqoma” or not, had to be brought down to the kraal by a certain date, when the state of the moon would be propitious. Noquala was now in a condition of keen excitement, and was prepared to do whatever the “gqira” might tell him. These two, the duper and the dupe, sat and talked over the matter far into the night. Makalipa insisted upon being admitted to their counsels. She, having been much impressed by the cure which she fully believed ’Ndakana to have effected in the case of her son, had no objection to offer, except upon one point. She thought it ill-advised that the last lot of cattle—those given under “ngqoma” to the man who dwelt in the Drakensberg gorge—should be brought down from a spot so near the area in which the rinderpest was raging.

But ’Ndakana insisted on the assembling of all the cattle, without any exception whatever, so she had to give in, although she did so with secret misgivings. He would, of course, give no indication whatever of the form which his doctoring was to take; that would be quite contrary to professional etiquette, and was not to be expected for a moment.

Next morning at day-dawn Noquala mounted a horse and rode around to the different kraals where his stock was to be found, warning the custodians that they were to produce every hoof and horn on the fifth day following, on pain of the “ngqoma” contract being forthwith rescinded. Zingelagahle was sent on a tough pony to the sun-forsaken gorge where the recipient of the last “ngqoma” dwelt, and which was rather a long day’s ride distant, with a message to a similar effect.

In the meantime the “gqira” was busy making his preparations. A few miles away, in a shallow valley, were some extensive swamps which harboured myriads of frogs. Of the latter he collected several hundreds, which he imprisoned in wicker baskets. These he tightly secured at the openings and then sunk in the swampy water.

It is customary with the natives to keep their stores of corn in large circular excavations in the floor of the cattle enclosure. Each excavation has a narrow neck, just large enough to admit a boy of about twelve years of age who, when it is necessary to extract corn from the granary, is lowered down. The narrow mouths of these pits are closed with flat stones, and are some distance below the surface of the enclosure. Some such contain as many as half a dozen pits, the openings to which can only be located by probing through the thick dung-crust until the flat stones covering them are found.

The native doctor always keeps himself acquainted with details, no matter how apparently unimportant, regarding his neighbours—their huts, kraals, cattle, family matters, and, in fact, everything. In the case of rich and important men more attention is naturally bestowed. When called in professionally the “gqira” never likes to have to ask for any information. Divining is part of his trade, and it is thus very effective to be able to tell the dwellers of a kraal about things which they are firmly convinced nobody but themselves is aware of.

Now, as a matter of fact, ’Ndakana knew as much about Noquala’s kraal and everything in it as did the Germans, when they invaded France, of the country before them. However, on the present occasion he only had occasion to use one of the many facts with which he was acquainted. He knew that one of the corn-pits in Noquala’s kraal was empty, and he decided to use that pit as the base of his magical operations.

Early on the third day the troop of cattle from the Drakensberg arrived. They were in splendid condition and seemed to have improved under the change of pasturage. The enclosure formerly used for the sheep had been well bushed up, and was now available as a supplementary cattle enclosure. By the evening of the fourth day the last drove of cattle had arrived.

How Noquala feasted his eyes upon the great lowing herd! How the rival bulls, hearing each other lowing, dashed together with a shock as of mountain meeting mountain, whilst the mild-eyed cows looked on, supremely indifferent as to which should prove the victor. The owner’s heart swelled with pride. All these were his—his very own, and to do what he liked with. Surely none but the great chiefs of the past had ever owned such a noble assemblage of cattle.

Many thoughts floated through the elated mind of Noquala on that June evening as he strolled through the valley with his crowd of dependents behind him at a respectful distance. He tasted the sweets of amplified possession, and drained the cup of enjoyment to the very dregs. He thought of how impossible it would have been for him, a common man, to have owned so much wealth in the old days, when the chiefs reigned supreme, and when a man who became too rich and powerful was smelt out and tortured to death. Then he thought of how lucky it was that, through the agency of the potent ’Ndakana, he was enabled to ensure these creatures that he loved and took such pride in, from harm.

At dusk the cattle were driven into the two ample enclosures, which they just comfortably filled. Some trouble was experienced in securing the different bulls, of which there were five altogether. However, these were eventually caught and tied up with strong thongs, and then Noquala and his guests retired to the big hut, where a feast of goat’s flesh was laid ready.

Not so ’Ndakana. The “gqira” had more important work on hand than feasting. When night fell he hurried to the swamp where lay the baskets with the imprisoned frogs. These he now carried carefully in the direction of Noquala’s kraal.

After setting down the baskets in the bottom of a dried-up donga, ’Ndakana went to a spot hard by where, behind a fringe of bushes, he had hidden away a large calabash full of water. Lifting this carefully to his shoulder, and carrying the two baskets with one hand, he made his way to the cattle enclosure. He did not want to be seen, but had he been it would not have particularly mattered, for it would only have been supposed that he was performing rites preliminary to the morrow’s doctoring. However, he managed to reach the kraal and to enter it without being seen by any one and without alarming the cattle.

The “gqira” knew approximately the situation of the empty pit, so he had no difficulty in finding the flat covering stone by probing with the iron spike which he had brought with him for the purpose. Then he carefully removed the dung and opened the pit.

After making sure that the pit was really empty, and therefore the right one, ’Ndakana carefully poured into it the water from the calabash, and then emptied the frogs from the respective baskets into the narrow opening. This done, he closed the pit again and replaced the flakes of dung over the stone. The upper layer was dry and dusty, so he had no difficulty in obliterating the traces of his work. Besides, he knew that the cattle would tramp restlessly about the enclosure when it became cold towards morning, and that their feet would leave no trace of his presence visible. Then he stole away and hid in a patch of forest which grew at the head of the kloof in which Noquala’s kraal is situated, and about a mile distant from the huts.

Chapter Twenty.

How the Cattle were Doctored.

Next morning the cattle were let out to graze, and again the enraptured eye of Noquala drank in delight from the contemplation of his wealth. About half an hour after sunrise the “gqira” was seen emerging with slow and stately steps from the patch of bush in which he had spent the night. Pretending not to be aware of any one else’s existence, he walked straight to the cattle kraal. As soon as he entered the gate he began to stagger about wildly, and before he reached the middle he sank to the ground, apparently in a violent fit.

The people crowded round and gazed at him with awe through the upright poles forming the palisade. The fit over, he lay as though in a swoon for some considerable time, after which he sat up with a dazed expression and began groping about the enclosure on his hands and knees. When he reached the vicinity of the pit which he had opened during the previous night, he again fell over and lay quite still. By this time he was completely naked, having thrown away his blanket in the course of his progress. In his hand was the iron spike, and with this he began to dig wildly, scattering the flakes of dung far and wide.

When the stone was nearly uncovered, ’Ndakana sank back as though exhausted, and feebly called for assistance. Noquala and a number of other men at once hurried in, and he signed to them to remove the covering stone and thus open the pit. This was soon done.

’Ndakana then said that a boy must be let down into the pit, declaring that a great wonder would be revealed therein. At this all the boys who had been looking through the palisade fled away in different directions. Two or three were soon caught and dragged back, howling, to the edge of the opening. Selecting the one whose size appeared to be most suitable, the “gqira” ordered him to descend, but the boy yelled with redoubled vigour and struggled violently to escape. Then Noquala called out to one of the women to bring a rod, and with this he thrashed the unhappy youth unmercifully until the latter consented to do what was required of him. The boy, silent and wild-eyed with terror, was thereupon lowered into the dark pit through the narrow mouth.

“What do you find there?” asked the “gqira.”

“I am standing in water,” called the boy, his voice sounding hollow from the depths.

“Feel if there be any living thing.”

“Au—there are snakes,” yelled the boy, and his hands grasped the edges of the opening as he tried to draw himself up.

“They are not snakes! they are frogs,” replied ’Ndakana.

At the same time Noquala cut the boy’s fingers sharply with the rod. The wretched creature dropped back to the bottom of the pit with a screech of mingled pain and terror.

A basket was passed down to him, and this he was directed to fill with frogs. This, when handed up, was emptied into a larger basket, and then passed back. After several basketfuls had been taken out, the unhappy boy was assisted to come out of his prison, and the pit was closed up at once.

’Ndakana then addressed the assembled crowd. He told them that the wonder he had revealed to them was a special grace vouchsafed by the “imishologu” in response to his incantations, and that the frogs were to be utilised in doctoring Noquala’s cattle so as to render them proof against the ravages of the dreaded disease.

A deep awe had fallen upon all. They felt that they were in the presence of a master wonder-worker. Noquala was now sure that his beloved cattle were safe, and his heart overflowed with gratitude to the “gqira” and to the “imishologu” who had shown such favour.

The cattle were now driven up in lots of about fifty each. When in the enclosure they were caught separately and skilfully thrown. An incision was then made in the nose of each, as well as in a frog. The reptile was then held so that its flowing blood mingled with that of the beast. As soon as this had been effected, the latter was loosened and turned out of the enclosure. A fresh cut was made in the frog for each beast treated, but as soon as the reptile died or it was found that no more blood would flow from it another frog was brought, the worn-out one being carefully put away into a basket. The frogs were thus believed to have absorbed the latent disease.

By sundown all the cattle had been treated in this manner, and then the dead frogs were thrown into a deep pit. Red-hot coals were then thrown upon them, and the pit was closed up, the earth being stamped firmly down.

But the issues at stake were too great for the caprice of the “imishologu” to be risked. More ritual must be performed on the third and fifth day, and in the meantime feasting had to take place. Otherwise the “imishologu” might, as they had often been known to do, change their shadowy, if powerful minds.

Thus, as the “gqira” pronounced it to be unsafe to remove the cattle before the sixth day, the hearts of the company were lifted up with great joy, for they knew that the exigencies of the occasion demanded that unrestricted feasting should take place during the interval.

It was here that the astute ’Ndakana made his great mistake. He should have taken his reward, which would have been, under the circumstances, a most liberal one, and removed with it to a distance. But the greatest men sometimes make mistakes, and ’Ndakana proved that he was no exception to this general rule.

Chapter Twenty One.

The Disease Appears.

The circumstance of ’Ndakana’s having been so positive that the cattle would not take the rinderpest might easily puzzle those unacquainted with the methods of the native doctor, nevertheless it was quite characteristic. Although a colossal humbug, the “gqira,” to a certain extent, believes in his own powers. As is the case in other walks of life, he gets so into the habit of deceiving others that he ends by deceiving himself. Probably, however, in this case ’Ndakana may have believed the reports which just about that time were current as to the Cape Government having succeeded in staying the destroying course of the disease by erecting a fence across the continent and keeping all animals away from its vicinity. Moreover the accidental resemblance to a bull which the cloud had taken may easily have been regarded by ’Ndakana’s superstitious mind as a sign that the progress of the disease had been stayed. Superstition and fraud have in all ages gone hand in hand.

Again, it must be remembered that the reputation of a native doctor can only be made by taking risks. One lucky guess, one confident prophecy which happens to be crowned with fulfilment by the capricious Fates, and a “gqira” may be sent spinning dizzily along the road of success with such a momentum that many subsequent minor failures are condoned. Of course, the day comes at length when the luckiest “gqira” makes a mistake of such importance that he has to flee the neighbourhood and ever afterwards hide his diminished head. It is a well-known fact that under the rule of the native chiefs the “gqira” seldom died a natural death.

Three days of feasting took place at Noquala’s kraal, the neighbours from far and near being bidden to it. Noquala was so pleased at his cattle having been rendered safe from the threatened scourge that he did not mind several of his fattest oxen being slaughtered for the occasion. Just about sundown on the third day one of the herd-boys mentioned that a certain heifer did not appear to be quite well. Noquala heard the news without uneasiness; it was seldom that one got such a large herd of cattle together without some of them becoming afflicted with one or other of the major or minor ills that bovine flesh is heir to.

However, Noquala left the feasters and, directed by the boy, walked down the hillside to where the sick heifer was standing. It turned out to be one of the dun-coloured stock he had recently purchased out of the proceeds of the sheep, and which had been brought down from the Drakensberg.

The heifer certainly looked sick—very sick indeed. Its coat was staring; it was breathing heavily and groaning at intervals. From its nostrils was running a mass of thick, unclean, mucous discharge; water copiously ran out of its eyes; its ears hung, not downwards, as is usually the case with a sick beast, but backwards.

Noquala felt a shaft of sick dread transfix him. He stood before the poor animal, which was evidently suffering acute pain. Its muzzle retracted at each breath as one sees the nostrils of a human being retract in severe cases of asthma. The creature turned an appealing eye upon him—a large, beautiful dark eye, to which agony had lent a strange and pathetic intelligence. Noquala’s eyes grew moist, and a spasm contracted his throat. He suffered with the suffering of the thing that he loved.

While he was regarding the sick heifer Noquala heard the sound of approaching footsteps, so after hastily getting rid of any signs of emotion, he turned to meet the comer. This turned out to be a native policeman, who, executing some message from the magistrate of the district, had sniffed the feast from afar and turned aside to partake in it. After he had carefully examined the heifer the policeman returned to where he had left his horse. Then he informed the company that he had suddenly remembered something which made it impossible for him to spend the night, as he had already expressed his intention of doing, with the feasters. After this he rode away in the direction of the Magistracy.

Next morning the Magistrate was awakened out of his slumbers by word that a policeman wanted to see him upon important business. The police had been carefully warned to examine into and report upon suspicious cases of bovine disease which might come under their notice. At the same time the superficial symptoms of rinderpest were explained to the men so that they might better be able to diagnose cases of illness coming under their personal notice.

In the present instance the symptoms reported by the constable suggested rinderpest so exactly that the Magistrate immediately mounted his horse and rode to Noquala’s kraal so as personally to investigate matters. He was accompanied by four mounted constables for use in the event of the worst contingency being realised.

Noquala, after contemplating the sufferings of the sick heifer, had no stomach for the feast. However, darkness had fallen, so nothing more could be done until the following day. At earliest dawn he was among his cattle. The dun-coloured heifer was evidently dying. It was lying down where he had left it on the previous night, with its head turned back against its shoulder—an attitude which Noquala had never previously noticed in the case of a sick beast. Its extremities were cold, its nostrils were inflamed. The soft, suffering glance from the mild brown eye beamed out through a ring of foul, caked mucus, and struck a chill into the gazer’s soul.

He went with hurried steps to the large cattle-fold. Three other animals struck him as looking seedy. What he particularly noticed was the peculiar backward droop of the ears and the copious running from the eyes and nostrils. He opened the gate and drove out the whole herd. Then he called the boys and also the man from the Drakensberg, and had the cattle which had come from there driven back into the enclosure.

The examination did not diminish his uneasiness. Seven animals appeared to be sick. Every minute the symptoms appeared to increase with horrible rapidity. ’Ndakana was sent for, and arrived drowsy with repletion. He made light of the affair, saying that the animals were probably seedy from a change of pasturage—a thing which often happened when cattle were brought down from the mountains to the low country.

The Drakensberg cattle were herded together during the day, by afternoon they were all sick. The heifer was still lingering in agony, but evidently its hours were numbered. Noquala wandered from one suffering creature to another, his heart rent with their pangs and his soul quaking with fear.

Just before sundown the Magistrate arrived and made an examination. There was, he said, no doubt that the disease was the dreaded rinderpest. He drew a cordon around the valley in which Noquala’s kraal was situated, and put a chain of guards to see that no animal left the infected area.

Noquala and ’Ndakana had a long and serious conversation, the result of which was that the former’s fears were somewhat stilled. What did the Magistrate know of cattle? asked the “gqira.” The beasts were all right. Those from the Drakensberg had apparently eaten of some poisonous herb on the way down. A few might die, but the others would recover. He—’Ndakana—would stake his reputation on the correctness of his view. In the meantime he would go to the bush and dig out some roots which were an infallible remedy against the results of eating poisonous bushes.

The infallible remedy was administered, but it had small, if any, effect. Next day the heifer was dead, and every one of the Drakensberg cattle appeared to be doomed. Then they began to die, one by one at first; afterwards by twos and threes. Some appeared to take a turn towards recovery, only suddenly to succumb. The “gqira” was voluble over the effects of the poison. He remembered just such a similar case taking place in the Hlangweni country, where he had once lived. None of the other cattle showed signs of sickness as yet, so Noquala fully accepted the poison-bush theory.

But it could be seen that the “gqira” was uneasy. Every morning he would turn out before any one else, and spend a long time among the cattle. Then, when the others rose from their slumbers, he would triumphantly report that there was no sign of disease among any but the Drakensberg herd. One morning, however, he failed to make his triumphant report; in fact, when the others arose, there was nothing of the “gqira” to be seen. One of the boys said that he had been entrusted with a message from ’Ndakana to the effect that the latter had gone to a more distant forest to get some roots of greater potency than any obtainable close at hand.

Noquala went down to the kraal, and noticed that a number of cattle, besides those of the Drakensberg herd, were showing signs of sickness.

From that morning the kraal of Noquala knew the presence of ’Ndakana the “gqira” no more.

When the sun went down that day every member of the Drakensberg herd was dead, and a number of other cattle were sick with symptoms similar to those they had suffered from.

Chapter Twenty Two.

The Tragedy.

The agony of Noquala now entered into its acute stage. The guards were posted around the vale of pestilence and mourning in a pitiless ring. Dozens of men were at work inside with pick and spade, digging pits for the interment of the carcases. Soon, however, the deaths became so many that the diggers could not keep pace with them, so the carcases were allowed to lie and rot in the sunshine. Later, as the animals fell sick, they were driven up towards the head of the valley, where the stench of the dead poisoned their dying breath, and thus added another pang to those the miserable creatures already suffered from. This cruelty was rendered necessary by the circumstances of the case. It was, above all, important to confine the infection within bounds, until the surrounding herds had been inoculated.

Day by day, hour by hour, the mournful processions would wend, with the slowness of a funeral, to this ghastly spot, where the swollen carcases festered over the ground. Sometimes a doomed brute being goaded along would suddenly take fright at the stench, and, gathering a flicker of strength from its dismay, rush frantically backwards, until it tumbled in a heap to the ground. Foul carrion-birds roosted upon every stump and stone; others, gorged so that they could not fly, would hop ungainly away when disturbed, and fall into a sick sleep when they stopped at a few yards’ distance.

The effluvium became so bad that it was found impossible to approach this bovine Golgotha except when the wind was favourable. When the breeze blew down the valley towards the kraal, the dwellers would be seized with violent sickness.

Noquala, who had become quite prostrated when he found that the pest had attacked his main herd and that ’Ndakana had bolted, soon recovered his self-command, and bore himself with pathetic dignity. His hair and beard became rapidly greyer; his face grew drawn and haggard; his eyes took on the look of agony which he read, all day long, in the eyes of the beasts he loved so well, and the sufferings of which seemed to be mirrored in his consciousness. Some few—about a tenth of the herd—as yet showed no sign of infection. The noble, dun-coloured bull still stalked about majestically, breathing love and defiance in his low. Well, thought Noquala, surely all his cattle would not die; he would be left with a few with which to begin again with. Just the dun-coloured bull and a few cows. It would be a joy once more to build up wealth. No one ever heard of such a thing as that a multitude of cattle, such as his, should die out of any disease. Alas! no one with whom Noquala had foregathered had ever heard an adequate account of the fell effects of the rinderpest.

But day by day the agony deepened, until at length the time came when the splendid herd of a couple of weeks back all had expired except a few sick and staggering creatures, the superior vitality of which had prolonged for them the agonies of inevitable death. The dun-coloured bull was one of the last to succumb, but he too vailed his lordly crest and sank his deep voice to a pitch as pitiful as that of the two-year-old heifer, his dying daughter, that lay moaning close to him. The guards came to drive the last survivors to the dreadful spot at the head of the valley, but Noquala seized his sticks and rushed at them so fiercely that they fled from before his face. Then Noquala mounted guard over the last dying remnants of his matchless herd, and none dared further to disturb their agonies.

The sun went down and the pitiless stars gazed impassively on the valley of the shadow of death. Noquala remained at his post. Every now and then would he pass from one to the other of the suffering creatures, endeavouring distractedly to comfort them with words. The night was bitterly cold; a white frost thickly covered the grass and struck to the marrow of the tortured limbs. At the sharp pinch which came just before dawn, tardy Death finished his work. One by one, within a few fatal minutes, the remainder of Noquala’s cattle expired. The dun-coloured bull was the last to die. He lingered until a pallid flicker filled the east. Then he started as if about to rise. For an instant it seemed as though he would succeed, for he lifted his gaunt trunk upon his front legs, and swept a dazed and startled gaze from one to the other of the carcases of his dead companions which lay around him. But he could get no farther; his hind quarters were paralysed. He remained thus for a few seconds, then, with a roar that seemed to shake the hills, he sank back and died.

Noquala was found at daybreak sitting on the ground close to the carcase of the bull. His head lay forward upon his bent knees; his grey hair was whitened by the frost. He was so stiff from the cold that he was unable to move, so had to be carried back to his hut, where they covered him with blankets and gave him a draught of hot broth, which he drank mechanically. It was long before he regained normal warmth.

When next Noquala emerged from the hut into the sunlight he was a cripple. His lower limbs had become cramped and contracted, and it was found impossible to straighten them. His memory was asleep, and it is not likely that it will ever waken. One day, as he sat in the sunshine, a little boy came up and began to play with some clay oxen, close to him. A bright smile at once lit up Noquala’s face; he stretched forth his hand, seized a couple of the images, and began to fondle them.

He is, apparently, quite happy. Makalipa tends him devotedly, and helps him to hobble back to the hearth when the sun goes down or a cold wind springs up, first assisting him to gather up the clay oxen and place them carefully in a fold of his blanket. She has not the least objection to digging up her hoards, as occasions arise, and spending the money freely upon her husband’s comfort. Elijah is still at the seminary, and has not yet heard of what has happened at his home.

The children of the neighbourhood take a pleasure in making clay oxen for the one-time proud, masterful, and wealthy man who has become their playmate and companion; they even make expeditions to distant valleys for the purpose of obtaining various-hued ochres and earths, so as to manufacture cattle of different colours. Noquala has now quite a large number of these toys. His only trouble is when one breaks by accident, but as they are strongly made and afterwards baked in an old ant-heap which does duty for a kiln, this does not very often occur. He seldom speaks, except when he sees a stranger approaching. Then he says, in a high, thin voice, quite different to his former gruff, deep-chested tones—

“Have you seen ’Ndakana?... He is a great doctor... He went to the bush for roots... I wonder why he does not come.”

The End.

|

Preface

| |

Chapter 1

| |

Chapter 2

| |

Chapter 3

| |

Chapter 4

| |

Chapter 5

| |

Chapter 6

| |

Chapter 7

| |

Chapter 8

| |

Chapter 9

| |

Chapter 10

| |

Chapter 11

| |

Chapter 12

| |

Chapter 13

| |

Chapter 14

| |

Chapter 15

| |

Chapter 16

| |

Chapter 17

| |

Chapter 18

| |

Chapter 19

| |

Chapter 20

| |

Chapter 21

| |

Chapter 22

|