Bertram Mitford (continued 3)

“Much cattle and good, Ruler of the World,” answered Nomapela. “Some we left, for it looked weak and sickly, and we knew it was not the will of the King that the remnant of that people should starve.”

“Ye have done well on the whole, my children,” said Dingane, who looked pleased. “And how—what of the women? Were any good enough to bring hither?”

“Au! Are any good enough for the Father of Nations?” quickly replied Nomapela. “Yet some we thought too well favoured to feed the blade of the spear, and these we brought.”

“Ha! I will see them, then,” said Dingane, somewhat eagerly. “Bring them hither. The cattle I will inspect some other time. But—hold. Whom have ye there?” he broke off, as his glance now fell upon me, where I sat among the warriors, conspicuous by the lack of plumes and war adornments. “Is it the chief dog of this tribe of dogs ye have exterminated? Yet no, for he is armed.”

“He is a stranger, O Elephant, who seeks audience of the Ruler of the World,” answered Nomapela.

“He is from the North, Serpent of Wisdom. Au! and a great tale should he have to tell,” struck in Mfulwana.

“Ha! From the North? He has the look of one who could wield yon broad spear he holds,” said Dingane, with that piercing glance of his full upon me. Then louder, “Come hither, stranger.”

I understood the ways of kings, Nkose, none better; and so, disarming, I crept forward, the words of bonga rolling out thick and fast the while. Arriving before the Great Great One, I prostrated myself, and then, seating myself upon the ground, waited for him to speak. Still he kept silence, and seemed to be looking me through and through; and, Nkose, I, who knew little of fear, felt it was no light thing to be there thus, awaiting the word of this mighty one, at whose frown tribes and peoples fell dead.

“Whau! but I think thou dost understand somewhat of the ways of war?” he said, at last.

“That do I, indeed, Father of the Nations,” I answered.

“Who art thou, and what is thy name?”

“I am Untúswa, the son of Ntelani, of the tribe of Umtetwa, Black Elephant,” I answered.

As I said these words, a great exclamation volleyed forth from the warriors; from all within hearing, that is, for the place was large, and my words could not reach everybody. The izinduna seated around the King bent eagerly forward to look at me, and even Dingane himself could not avoid something of a start. Nomapela too, and Mfulwana, started and stared, for not even to the latter had I revealed my identity. He knew that I was a war chief of high rank, and had wounded him in battle, but even he had not guessed who I really was.

Now Dingane looked at me all the more eagerly, and I, who knew not what was in his mind, thought that it was all even whether death now had travelled my way at last, or not. For I had wounded Mhlangana in the side at the battle of the Three Rifts. I myself had seen the blood flow. I had shed the blood of the royal House of Senzangakona, and were this known to Dingane, au! the place of slaughter would soon know another victim.

“Well, Untúswa, son of Ntelani, thy name is not unknown here, it would seem,” said the King, with a wave of the hand which took in those around. “And now, what is the message wherewith thou art charged?”

“With no message am I charged, Father of the World,” I answered. “I desire to konza to the lion of Zulu. That is why I am come hither.”

“Ah—ah, Untúswa,” said the King softly, putting his head on one side. “And what hast thou done, away in the North where a new lion roars alone—that so mighty a warrior, so brave a leader of men, should seek another king?”

“I have a reason, Serpent of Wisdom, but it is not for the ears of all,” I said. “One thing, however. It is to the advantage of the House of Senzangakona that I thus desire to konza to the Elephant whose tread shaketh the world.”

“Thou art a brave man, Untúswa,” said the King, “but I think thou surpassest thyself in coming hither with that tale. However, I will hear it, and that shortly. And now, Nomapela, bring hither thy captives, for I would see them.”

The women, to the number of a score and a half, were marched up before the King, and lay prone on their faces in fear; howbeit some, who were young and pretty, and well rounded, did not fear to look slily through their fingers, calculating their chances of obtaining more or less ascendency within the isigodhlo, for Dingane loved women much, though he would never take onto himself wives, lest there should be strife as to the succession.

“Whau! they are an ugly lot,” I heard him mutter. “Nevertheless, she will do—and she—and she—and she,” pointing at four of them with his short-handled assegai. “For the rest, I want them not. You, Nomapela and Mfulwana, and all who have led the impi, can choose two or three apiece, and if any remain let Untúswa here take them; for it is not meet that a warrior of his standing should come among us and have no wives.”

We all shouted aloud in praise of the King’s generosity, and just then two of the women whom Dingane had chosen faltered forth that they had small children with them.

“Children, have ye?” said Dingane softly. “Then they and ye must part, for my peace cannot be disturbed with screaming. Fear not, my sisters, they shall be well cared for—ah, yes—well cared for.” And the women said no more, for although they knew what sort of “care” would be meted out to their offspring, they themselves had no desire to travel into the Dark Unknown—wherefore they uttered no further word.

Then the King retired, amid shouts of praise from all there, and I—Whau! in but a short space I found myself occupying a fine hut within the great kraal of Nkunkundhlovu, the owner of three captive Swazi girls who had been given me as wives by Dingane, the Great King, and this, at any rate, was better than the stake of impalement at Kwa’zingwenya.

Chapter Twelve.

A Devouring Swarm.

I had no reason, so far, to complain of my treatment at the hands of the King, for I was supplied abundantly with all I required, either by the orders of Dingane, or by the generosity of the izinduna and warriors of note within Nkunkundhlovu, many of whom would drop into my hut at all times to have a talk with me; or we would sit in the shade in or about the Great Place, watching the reviewing of young regiments put through their practice by their chiefs, or talking and taking snuff. But although many thus came to hear a tale from me, and no tale pleased them so much as that of our flight from the great Tshaka, unless it were that of the Battle of the Three Rifts, yet I would ever tell such tale cautiously, suppressing or varying any event I deemed it not advisable to dwell too much upon, and among such was that very battle, wherein my strategy and that of Lalusini had saved our nation, for it might be that by the same strategy I should destroy Umzilikazi, and that I did not desire to reveal just yet.

Among those who would fain have got much out of me was Umhlela, one of Dingane’s principal indunas—a little soft-voiced man, who would sit among the others and put in a word here and a word there, but always such a word as required careful pondering before I could give an answer to it. However, I had not myself sat at the right hand of a king all my life for nothing.

Not until I had been three days at Nkunkundhlovu did the King send for me. As I took my way to the great hut, through the isigodhlo, I noticed that the latter was formed in such wise that, once inside, a man might have difficulty in finding his way out of it, or indeed further into it, which spoke much for the suspiciousness of Dingane’s character, of all of which I took careful note; for, Nkose, it is by reading such small things that a man may look into the minds of other men, be they kings or not, even as you white people draw knowledge from books.

Dingane was seated in the great hut, and with him three izinduna—Umhlela, the one who had already sought to draw out of me a great deal more than I had intended he should know; Nomapela, him with whom I had come hither; and Tambusa, a large fierce-looking man, who hitherto had shown me no active friendship. I did homage to the King; and then, in obedience to his command, sat and prepared to tell my tale. But as I did so I could see that Dingane was in a sullen and angry mood. Perhaps his sleep had been bad, or he had heard ill tidings; and, Nkose, whereas we must laugh when we would rather weep, most look pleased when our hearts are bursting with anger and hate, a king is different, in that he need conceal what he feels to please no man.

Now my tale pleased not Dingane much, yet I told it not in its entirety, nor did I say aught as to my attempt on the life of Umzilikazi.

“So, Untúswa,” he said, “when the doings of one king do not please thee thou wouldst konza to another?”

“That is not quite it, Great Great One,” I ventured. “I am a fighting man, a man of deeds rather than of words. I was but a boy when I fled with Umzilikazi, and ever since then has my spear been raised to strike down his enemies, and now he has sorely broken faith with me. I would sooner die than serve such.”

“Hau! This is of the sort who would make their kings at their own will,” growled Tambusa to himself; but I heard him.

“I know not which way to take with thee, Untúswa,” said Dingane, doubtfully. “I know not, indeed, whether to trust thee.”

“There are but two ways, Elephant. One is to make thyself master of this new nation, easily and with but little loss. The other way is not to do so, O Father of the Wise!”

“There is yet another way, Untúswa, Father of the Fools,” said the King, softly sneering, “and that is the Hill of Slaughter for thee, rebel and traitor to two kings.”

“My life is in the hand of the Lion of Zulu, for I myself have placed it there,” I said. “Now, father, should I have placed it there had I not known it was of more value to this nation than to me?”

“Bold words,” said Dingane, still frowning.

“Bold deeds are more to my taste, Great Great One,” I said. “The fate of the new nation in the North is in my hand. But if I die, it will never lie beneath the paw of the Lion of Zulu.”

The izinduna were staring in amazement at the boldness of my words; but the frown had left the brows of Dingane. Looking straight at me, he said softly:

“And what is to be thy reward for delivering this nation into my hand, Untúswa?”

“Only this, Black Elephant, that the whole House of Matyobane be delivered into my hand,” I answered.

“Then it is only revenge thou seekest?”

“Only revenge, Ruler of the World.”

Gazing keenly at him, I could see now that I had won over Dingane. I knew that the existence of our new nation had ever been to the parent race as a sharp stone in the side of a man who sleepeth. I knew that the fear of the Zulu power was ever present to the mind of Umzilikazi, and that one day that power would, sooner or later, reach him. I knew, moreover, all the weak points of our nation and army; and, knowing this, doubted not my ability to surprise and crush it, given sufficient force, and that with ease. Now my revenge looked very near indeed.

But if I had won over Dingane, there was one power I had yet to deal with, and that was the induna Tambusa. In this man I foresaw a formidable opponent, and his word carried weight in the ears of Dingane, even as did mine in times past in the ears of Umzilikazi. Now Tambusa spoke:

“Revenge is a great motive for a man to give up all his cattle and wives in order to obtain it.”

“Some men act from great motives and some from very small ones,” I answered shortly; for I, who but yesterday was, next to the King, the greatest in my own nation, could ill brook the tone of this man, who was but an induna like myself. But Dingane again took up the talk.

“Well, Untúswa, I must think out this matter. If thou canst deliver this nation into my hand, why then it may be that I will deliver those who remain of the House of Matyobane into thine. But if thou failest, what then?”

“My life is in the hand of the Great Great One,” I answered.

“Ha! Thou hast well said,” replied the King. And then he dismissed me.

For many days then I dwelt at Nkunkundhlovu; I, who had now become a wanderer; I, who had been a man of large possessions, the chief of many kraals, and the owner of vast herds of cattle, was now as poor as the poorest, living only on the King’s bounty. But from time to time Dingane would send for me, and we would talk long and earnestly over our plans for conquering Umzilikazi. At last I saw my revenge within my grasp. All was in preparation. No more impis were sent out on errands of plunder or punishment, and the regiments which dwelt at the great military kraal of Imbele-bele were ordered up to Nkunkundhlovu. They came, making a splendid show as they paraded before the King, in full war-array.

When this was at an end and I was walking back to my hut, I heard myself hailed by a deep voice. Turning, I beheld a fighting chief arrayed in the war dress of the Imbele-bele regiment.

“It seems to me that this is not our first meeting. Wanderer from the North,” said this man.

“Ha! I should know thee,” I replied, “for we have exchanged hard blows in a great battle, Silwane. More than that, thou didst once cry me the ‘Bayéte’ and didst take orders from me as to the disposal of the invading host of Zulu.”

At those words Silwane stared as though he were face to face with a madman. But I brought him to my hut, and there alone, over a bowl of good tywala, I told him of those things which had happened during the blackening of the moon which preceded that great battle which was the saving of a nation’s life, and of which I have told you, Nkose, in another tale. When I had done, Silwane stared harder than ever, thinking perhaps I was the most wonderful strategist he had ever heard tell of, or the most wonderful liar.

“And now, having saved thy nation, thou art to be the means of destroying it, Untúswa?” he said. “Well, if thou art as good at fighting for us as thou wert against us it will go hard for Umzilikazi’s army. Well do I remember that great white shield of thine in the thick of the battle. Whau! but we thought it was Umzilikazi himself.”

Thus we talked, we two leaders of men—and often afterwards—and we two who had exchanged hard blows face to face now became friends, who were to deal hard blows side by side.

Almost were we ready to march northward, I say, and now the spirit of Lalusini would appear to me in my dreams, but glad and smiling, and by this I knew the omen of our success was good. But on one night I row her thus more plainly than ever, and it seemed I could touch her, and then her face changed, and grew quick and watchful, as though in warning, and it seemed as though the weight of some great peril lay upon me.

Now as I woke, in something very like fear, I found that one of my Swazi wives, who slept at my side, had sprung up and was shaking with fear. She declared that the form of a woman had passed through the hut; that it was a spirit, for assuredly no living woman possessed such beauty of form or face.

I knew not what to make of this; yet, while affecting to scorn her tale, I questioned the girl closely. If she, like myself, had but dreamed, why then it was passing strange that our dream should have shown us both the same vision. In truth, I knew not what to think. Powerful beyond all others I knew Lalusini’s magic to be; was it then sufficiently powerful to bring her back from the dead? I thought much of this during the days that followed.

But the days that followed brought that which turned all our thoughts in an entirely new direction, for tidings came which were weighty indeed. The Amabuna (Boers) were advancing into the land of Zulu.

They were swarming in, men said. The slopes of Kwahlamba were covered with flocks and herds—their waggon teams were winding through the mountain passes, seen like vast serpents in the distance, far as the eye could see. In the face of this new enemy Umzilikazi was forgotten. No expedition to the North could be undertaken now. Day by day men brought tidings. The numbers of the Amabuna were countless, they said, and with them, besides their flocks and herds, they had their women and children in their waggons. They had come to remain in this land.

Well was it, now, that the army had been called up, and was disposed in or around the Great Place; well indeed for us now, for we would need all our strength to beat back or stamp out this locust swarm. Bitter and stubborn fighters were they, and knew how to use their long guns. The war-song was sung, and war-dances were held among our regiments, and the talk of all men was of war.

But Dingane was uneasy in his mind, and in his rage at not being sooner informed of the advance of the Amabuna, he sent for the head men of the outlying kraals and had them killed. Two of them he ordered to be impaled upon stakes, within sight of all in Nkunkundhlovu.

Now hard by there dwelt a white man—an Umfundisi (Teacher or missionary), one of your countrymen, Nkose. Him the King had allowed to live there because he was the friend of another white man who had visited the country alone and in a friendly manner a short while before, but Dingane had no love for him or his teaching, nor had any of us in those days. This man, seeing from his house the death of those evil-doers, came quickly down to Nkunkundhlovu, hoping he might save the lives of others, for he was a man with a kind heart and hated to behold suffering.

Now as he came before the King he was very pale, for he had passed close to the place of slaughter where lay those just slain, with broken skulls; and the sight of the agony of the two upon the stakes turned him very sick.

“You are somewhat late, my father,” said Dingane, when the Umfundisi would have pleaded for their lives. “The mouths of those who kept them closed too long are now closed for ever. Yonder they lie.”

“But those under torture, King?” urged the white man, hardly able to look in the direction of the stakes, so filled was he with loathing and disgust. “At least give the word that they be put out of their pain.”

“Au! Here is a marvel!” said Dingane laughing; “the white Umfundisi actually pleading for the death of men!”

“Yes, but it is to save them hours of cruel torment,” answered the white man quickly.

“Ah, ah!” laughed the King. “And yet, my father, you teach that nothing but torment awaits bad men after death—torment for ever and ever. Is it not so?”

Now we who listened awaited the Umfundisi’s reply with some curiosity.

“That is so, King, for it is in the word of God,” he said.

“Why, then, if that is so, Umfundisi, it will make no difference whether I order these to be slain at once or not, since, they being bad men, torment awaits them after death,” answered Dingane.

“But were they bad men, King? What was their crime?”

“Their crime was that of those who sleep when they should have been awake, Umfundisi; and I seem to remember that in the stories you teach to my people out of your sacred book such are thrown by the God whom you serve into a place of darkness and of never-ending torment. So the punishment I mete out to my people is less than the punishment your God metes out to his.”

“But His ways are not as our ways,” replied the Umfundisi, becoming angry. “He alone created life, and He alone has the right to take it. Who art thou, sinful man?” he went on, his eyes blazing with wrath, and pointing his finger at the King. “Who art thou, thou man of blood, to wreck and mangle God’s Image thus?” pointing to those upon the stakes. “Tremble and know that a judgment awaits thee—yea, a burning fiery looking-for of judgment to come. Then the torment that these undergo now shall be a bed of flowers beside such as thine, for thy part shall be in the lake that burneth with fire for ever and ever and ever.”

The eyes of the Umfundisi seemed to blaze, his hair to bristle, as he thundered out his words, shaking his finger at the King; and we—au!—we looked to see a third stake erected to receive the body of this white man, who dared to revile the majesty of the Lion of Zulu—or, at least, that he be led forth to die beneath the knobsticks of the slayers—and we gazed at the King, awaiting the word. But Dingane only laughed.

“Thou mad Umfundisi,” he said. “Had I but spoken of thy God as thy speech is to me I should have gone into torment for ever and ever according to thee and thy teachings. But I am more merciful than thy God, and thou canst go home. Yet hearken! I am god over the people of Zulu, and if a man disobeys me I order his death—whau!—a swift and easy and painless death, or at worst a few hours of torment. But thy God? Whau! for ever and ever and ever does He torment men after death, in a burning flame of fire! So, Umfundisi, I am the more merciful of the two; and I think the people of Zulu prefer the god they know to the one whom thou and such as thee would teach them to worship. Now, go home. Hamba gahle, Umfundisi! Hamba gahle!”

“Hamba gahle, Umfundisi!” we all cried, deriding the white man as he went away. But some of us wondered that the King should allow him to live, or, at any rate, to remain in the country; and, indeed, had he been a man of any other nation I think he would have died that day; but, being a man of your country, Nkose, he was allowed to live unmolested, for Dingane had no wish to quarrel with the English. But most of us—especially Tambusa—would gladly have seen this interfering Umfundisi despatched to—well, to that place of torment whither he had predicted the King should come.

Chapter Thirteen.

The Tongue of the Snake.

The cloud which had rolled down upon the land of Zulu from the slopes of Kwahlamba was destined to be no mere summer cloud, Nkose, but was charged with thunders, black and threatening. The army, which had been doctored and made ready for war, wearied the King with its clamour to be sent forth against the invaders, and long and oft would Dingane hold council with the izinduna as to what was best to be done to repel this peril. Now I reckoned it a sign of the honour in which I was held that at such conferences I was ever commanded to be present.

But counsels were various. Some were for falling upon the Amabuna in the passes of Kwahlamba; others for allowing them all to cross in peace, and when encamped on our side to throw the whole strength of our army upon them, and, having cut off their retreat, to put every one of them—man, woman and child—to the assegai—even the suckling babe.

“I have a mind to send to the white people at Tegwini,” (Durban. Literally “The Bay”) said the King. “They are my friends, but not of this new race. It may be that they will aid me to get rid of these Amabuna.”

But Tambusa, who hated all whites, opposed this idea of the King’s. The people at Tegwini, he urged, would stand by these other whites and support them. White was white, and black was black, and all white people stood together against black, although they professed very great friendship when but a mere handful, and had anything to gain by it. He had always objected to this handful of English being allowed to remain at Tegwini from the very first. If it was inexpedient to kill them they should have been sent away right out of the country.

In this counsel Tambusa was right, as subsequent events proved; but, Nkose, few men would have dared to speak their minds thus boldly. But Tambusa although he hated me, I could not but regard with respect as a brave man, and as such he lived and died, as will be shown.

“And thou, Untúswa,” said Dingane, “thou hast fought these Amabuna. What is thy mind in this matter?”

“It is that of Tambusa, Great Great One,” I answered. “These Amabuna fight hard and die hard, nor is their word to be trusted. He whom I served knew how to handle them—and there is but one way.” Then I told that tale of how they would have enslaved our nation, and how they plotted with certain of Umzilikazi’s izinduna to procure the death of that king; and all who heard me murmured aloud that there was but one way for these people, and that was the way of the spear.

“A swarm of locusts beaten off returns again,” I ended, “and again and again, until the land is eaten up; but a swarm of locusts stamped flat—au! there is no more of that swarm. That is my counsel, Lion of Zulu.”

And again all murmured aloud in approval of my words, for it was intolerable to us that these strangers should swarm down upon the land, not even so much as asking leave of the King; and this, Nkose, I felt, as though I had done konza to the House of Senzangakona all my life, instead of growing great in the service of another king; for, after all, this was the land of my birth—this people the parent race from which we were all proud to have sprung. Moreover, for the present, I thought no more of my revenge. Here was more than one great and glorious battle awaiting; it was long since I had taken part in such a one, and the blood rushed and danced in my veins at the thought.

From day to day our spies brought in word to the King. The Amabuna continued to advance, and they were in great force. Their leaders and picked men were stern, determined-looking fighters, fierce of aspect, with their long guns and leather breeches and shaggy beards; and our warriors, listening, lay under arms, their eyes glaring like those of lions, as they awaited the word that should let them loose.

Then came tidings that the Amabuna had formed a great camp some ten days distant from Nkunkundhlovu, and that several of their leaders were advancing to talk with the King.

Soon they arrived. They were but a few men, with their servants. Dingane received them in but quiet state, seated at the head of the great open space of the kraal. Save the King’s body-guard, but few warriors were visible, yet so little did we trust the Amabuna that every hut in Nkunkundhlovu held two or three armed men ready to spring forth on a given signal, the while relays of spies watched their distant camp, so as to pass the word should any sudden and hostile movement be made thence.

The leaders of the Amabuna rode into the kraal. They were required to leave their guns with their horses in the centre of the kraal. This they did not at all like, even when told that it was death for any man—black or white—to come armed into the presence of the King. But they had to do it, or return as they came.

“Ah, ah! This is not the head of the snake, only its tongue,” growled Tambusa aside to some of us as we watched the approach of the white men. “Soon shall we have its head.”

Dingane was seated in his chair of state, and received the Amabuna pleasantly. Bowls of tywala were handed round, and then, sitting in a half circle in front of him, the indaba commenced.

They had travelled far, they said, even as the People of God in old times, seeking a land where they might dwell in peace. Such a land they had found, a land over which the Zulu King claimed ownership, but which was little used, if at all, by him or his people. Now this land, which lay between the Tugela and the Umzimvubu, they desired to treat for. For it they would give part payment in cattle and horses, and part payment in acting as friends to the Zulu people, supporting them by force of arms in all their lawful quarrels. So should two peoples flourish and grow great, dwelling in peace side by side, the waters of the Tugela alone dividing them.

“I know not,” answered Dingane, speaking pleasantly. “When two great bulls stand looking at each other over one fence, are they friends for long?” And we all murmured aloud in praise of the wisdom of the King.

But the Amabuna replied that the land on each side of the proposed boundary was large enough for both.

“The kraal in which stands each of those bulls is large enough for him,” said Dingane, still speaking pleasantly; “yet it is not long before one of them is through the fence to drive out the other. Then he rules over both kraals.”

What the King said was very true; yet it would not be so in this case, urged the Amabuna, for there could be no reason why either should seek a quarrel with the other. The people of their race sought a quarrel with no man. They only desired to be let alone.

“Why, then, did ye leave your own land?” asked Dingane. “Why did ye not stay the other side of Kwahlamba?”

We, who sat around the King, narrowly watching the countenances of the Amabuna, could see that these men did not like that question at all. They did not answer for a moment; then they said, through him who spoke as their tongue, for they knew not ours:

“We crossed the mountains in obedience to the will of God. It was His will that we should seek out a new land for our wives and our children, and His finger it was that guided us hither. We are even as the People of God in old times, who went to dwell in the land which He had promised them; and, even as they, we are ruled and led by the Great Book.”

Now we who listened could have laughed aloud, for we had heard something of that people of old to which the Amabuna referred. Many a tale had the Umfundisi, who dwelt hard by, told us of that people; how it swept onward, a fierce and unsparing scourge, destroying and enslaving tribes and nations, and seizing their flocks and their herds and their women; and we liked to listen to such tales, for they were those of a right valiant warrior race—indeed, me they reminded of our fierce and destroying flight under Umzilikazi. But now we thought those Amabuna must be fools, indeed; for if they were the children of that people, still less did we desire them as neighbours.

“So ye are the people of God, brothers?” said the King softly, his head on one side.

“That is so, King,” they answered, looking upward solemnly.

“Why then, indeed, should we be as brothers, for we are the People of the Heavens,” (Such is the literal meaning of “Amazulu”) said Dingane. “Talk we now of the land. As ye say, I have not much use, nor my people, for this land—yet it is a large country. I know not. I must consider it further. Yet stay, there is somewhat ye can do for us as a pledge and an earnest of our future friendship.”

“And that?”

“Yonder in the mountains dwells a dog, the head of a tribe of dogs—not large, but difficult to come at, because of the ruggedness of the country they inhabit. This dog has stolen much cattle and many horses from my people and hidden them away in his mountain retreats. Now I am without warriors, for the army is away on two expeditions to the northward.”

We who listened thought we saw the countenances of the Amabuna change at this, and inwardly we laughed. If they only knew—ah, if they only knew!

“Wherefore,” went on the King, “if as an earnest of your friendship ye will go and retake this our property, and restore it to us, then it may be we may grant you the use of the land ye need.”

“And what is the name of the chief of these robbers, King?” asked the Amabuna.

“U’ Sikonyela.”

“The cattle shall be restored, King. Do you require Sikonyela to be delivered up to you?”

“No. I am merciful, and will spare him this time. Only warn him that now the Amazulu and the Amabuna are brothers. Now, fare-ye-well. When ye have obtained the restoration of our property, then return hither, and we will talk further about the land.”

Then the Amabuna rose and shook the King by the hand, and we, as they took leave of us, all called out “Hambani-gahle!” (“Go ye in peace”) with right good-will. So they took their horses and guns and rode away from Nkunkundhlovu, very pleased with themselves and with the King. But the multitude of armed warriors concealed within the huts were not pleased, in that there was no work for their spears that day; but that was to come. Ah, yea! plenty of work would there be for their spears before many moons were dead.

And we izinduna, how we laughed among ourselves, for we knew the mind of Dingane. These people must in truth be mad, and worse than mad, to think that the King would give them a vast tract of country in exchange for their friendship and a few cattle—would welcome this swarm of buzzing devouring locusts beating down upon our lands. Hau! Mad, indeed, were they. They opened their mouth wide—very wide—and we thought we knew how we would fill it, but not with the country that lay between the Tugela and the Umzimvubu. Oh, no!

There were some among us who would have persuaded Dingane to order the death of the Umfundisi, for we feared lest he should warn the Amabuna; but this the King refused to do. The white teacher was not of their race, and he had no quarrel with the English; besides, the very feet of a white man being slain would implant suspicion in the minds of the new arrivals. But the Umfundisi, unknown to himself, was closely watched, and meanwhile our plans were fully matured.

Chapter Fourteen.

The Head of the Snake.

No great time went by before those Amabuna returned, having sent word that they were bringing the cattle and horses taken from Sikonyela. There were about three-score and ten, and with them, their slaves—yellow men—to attend them and their horses.

Dingane had received them in but little state before. Now, however, he received them in a great deal. He was attended by all his izinduna and war captains, with the shield-bearer, and the praisers shouting aloud his names with all the power of their mighty voices; and as the Amabuna rode into Nkunkundhlovu by the lower gate and paced, two by two, up to the centre of the great space, two regiments, in full war array, began a grand dance on either side of them, singing a new song in honour of our guests:

“The mouth of the white man is open; It shall be filled - it shall be filled. Wide, wide, is it open; Full, full, very full shall it be filled. “Lo! they come, the friends of the Amanita; Full, full, shall their mouths be filled. The lion of Zulu is as the sun in the heavens; In his warmth - in his warmth shall his new brothers grow great.”

This and much more did the warriors sing, Nkose, all referring to the hunger for land of these invading whites. They little knew in what manner their mouths were destined to be filled.

“Now we have the head of the snake at last,” growled Tambusa to us in an undertone, during the thunder and din of the singing. “Soon shall his tail, too, cease its writhings.”

Signing the dance and song to cease, the King ordered the cattle taken from Sikonyela to be brought up. The herd was driven past, outside the fence of the kraal. It was not much of a herd, but Dingane was as full of delight over its recovery as though it represented the wealth of a whole nation. Now, he said, he felt sure of the friendship and good faith of these his new brothers; but we, watching, thought: “Can these people be such fools as to think we shall give them half our country in exchange for a few miserable beasts like this?”

Then, while talking about the cattle, Dingane asked the Amabuna to show him how they took cattle from other people in war. This they were very ready to do, and the King having sent the herd some little distance away over the plain, the Amabuna sprang upon their hones and galloped to the place. They dismounted and fired their guns—loaded with powder only—leaping into the saddle again and reloading as they rode; then returning and firing again upon our people, who had been told off to take part in this mimic war. Finally, while some kept on firing, others got between the cattle and our men, and, with shouts and yells, swept the beasts forward. On they came at full gallop, then letting the herd rush wildly by, these three-score and ten Amabuna, as they came before the King, drew up their horses suddenly and in line, and fired their guns in the air in royal salute.

It was well and cleverly done, Nkose, and Dingane was delighted with it, and so, indeed, were we—looking at it as a spectacle. But more than ever were we agreed that men who could make war in that fashion were not the people to welcome as neighbours in a country as large as our own, and with nothing but a river between us and them. Oh, no!

For two whole days the Amabuna remained in their camp outside, and most of the time was spent in talking over the question of the large piece of our country they expected to swallow up. They were well entertained—for many oxen were slaughtered—and the King ordered abundance of beef and beer to be supplied to them—and, indeed, everything they should want. But during this time our spies and runners had reported that their main camp, where the bulk of their people, with their cattle and women, were left, was peaceful and unsuspicious, and that the men were spread out over the country far and wide, hunting and looking at the land—our land—which they hoped should soon be theirs.

On the third night, when all men slept, the King took secret counsel of his principal izinduna, and among them was I; for by reason of having met these people in battle, whereas as yet the Amazulu had not, my opinions carried weight.

“Now I think the time has come to stamp out this locust swarm,” said Dingane.

“We have here the head of the snake,” said Tambusa.

“That shall be crushed to-morrow,” said the King.

“But the writhings of its tail will shake the earth, bringing another snake from over the mountains,” put in Umhlela, thinking of the waggon camp and all the Amabuna left there.

“What sayest thou, Untúswa?” said the King, turning to me.

“This, Great Great One. To destroy a locust swarm and to spare the eggs is of no great use. And the ‘eggs’ of this locust swarm are yonder.”

“Ha! Thou art no fool, Untúswa,” said the King, knowing that I meant the women and children of the invaders.

“This is my counsel, Great Great One. When the forerunners of this locust swarm sleep for ever tomorrow, let those be sent who shall stamp flat the remainder, sparing none.”

All murmured in deep assent, and I continued:

“Let the camp of these plunderers be destroyed as quickly and as silently as possible. Then let strong bodies of warriors waylay the return of those outside. Such, suspecting nothing, will walk into the snare, so shall we be rid of the whole swarm. Thus, on like occasion, acted he whom I formerly served, and our success was thorough.”

“Thou hast the mind of a leader of men Untúswa,” said the King, greatly pleased. “Thou thyself shalt go to-morrow, and see thine own plans carried out.”

I thanked the King, and when we had talked a little longer over our plans we left the presence and went to our huts to sleep, our hearts beating with fierce anticipation over the thought of what the morrow was to bring.

Soon after daybreak Dingane sent word to the Amabuna, who were our visitors, that the time had come to speak decisively about the land, that he had talked the matter over in council with the izinduna of the nation, and now he wanted them all to come into Nkunkundhlovu that all might hear his word and carry it back to their people, who awaited it and them.

Accordingly it was not long before the whole company of the Amabuna, with their slaves and attendants rode up to the gate. But there they were met by some who told them they must leave their horses and guns without the gate. This they liked not at all, objecting that on every other occasion of their visit they had been allowed to enter armed and mounted.

That was true, but on those occasions there were war dances, and the white men themselves had delighted their Amazulu brethren with a mounted display. But this was entirely a peace indaba. No warriors were in Nkunkundhlovu, and it was dead against Zulu custom for strangers to come before the King armed on such an occasion. In fact the King would be highly offended, and would almost certainly refuse to receive them at all.

Less and less did the Amabuna like this proposal. They muttered hurriedly among themselves; then it was just as we knew it would be. They dismounted, stacked their guns outside, and giving their horses to their attendants to hold, entered the kraal.

“Whau! The head of the snake is now under the shadow of the stone that shall crush it,” quoth fierce Tambusa, as we watched the approach of the unarmed Amabuna.

They saluted the King gravely, and sat down; but many of them looked displeased and troubled, and well they might, for what is more helpless than an unarmed man! This time the King, with the izinduna, was seated near the centre of the open space, not at the upper end, as usual.

They spoke about the land. They were glad the King was to give them his word that morning, for the hearts of their countrymen would be glad too, when they should carry back that word.

Now great bowls of tywala were brought, and as the white men drank, the King talked to them. He rejoiced that that great stretch of country should be used by his friends and brothers, the Amabuna. There were a few useless cowardly tribes still in that country, people whom he had spared, but who were thieves; and these he hoped his new friends would prevent from annoying him.

While Dingane was thus talking, people had been coming into the open space by twos and threes, and now there was quite a number of men within the circle. These bearing no arms, but a stick only, roused no suspicion in the minds of the Amabuna, not even when they formed into two lines, or half circles, and began to dance; singing the while the song they had sung to welcome these people on their first arrival.

“The mouth of the white man is open; It shall be filled - it shall be filled. Lo! they come, the friends of the Amazulu; Full, very full, shall their mouths be filled.”

Swaying backward and forward, the two half circles danced, now joining at the lower end, so as to form a wall of bodies between those in the centre and the outer gate, now parting again, and leaving the ends open. And, the while, more and more by degrees swelled the number, and the song rose and fell, not loud, but in long-drawn measured note. The while the King was speaking:

“Fare-ye-well, my brothers,” he said. “Perchance I shall visit ye in this new land, when ye come to dwell in it. Depart now in peace to your countrymen, and tell them how good are the hearts of the Amazulu towards you, how good the heart of their King. Fare-ye-well! Hambani-gahle.” (“Go ye in peace.”)

Dingane had risen while he was speaking, and now, with these words, he turned to depart. The Amabuna, too, had risen.

“The white man’s mouth opens very wide; It shall be filled - it shall be filled.”

So howled the singers; and lo! a mass of warriors swept in between the King and these strangers; we, the izinduna, being outside the circle. With alarm now in their faces, the Amabuna turned quickly towards the gate whereby they had entered. But on that side, too, the circle was complete. Then they knew that their time had come. They were walled in by a dense array of stalwart warriors.

Now began such a struggle as never could have been seen. Our people had sticks, but were otherwise unarmed, for they might not kill within the precincts of the King’s kraal. The Amabuna, too, were unarmed, for it was to this end they had been obliged to leave their guns outside the gate. But many of them were large and powerful men, and all fought with the courage of desperate men. They struck out with their fists, and with their feet; they tore out eyes; some were able to draw knives, and with these they slashed and thrust, making the blood fly in spouts. Whau! That was a struggle—that was a sight. Whau! Hither and thither it swayed—that heaving, striving mass—the shouts and curses of the desperate Amabuna rising hoarse amid the din and scuffle of feet, the gasping and the yells, as those of our warriors who were on the outside of the struggle encouraged those within it by yell and whistle. Whau! How they howled and leapt, how they swung to and fro, how they even rolled on the ground—great heaps of men piled high upon each other, but all kicking, all struggling. But it could not last, for what could three-score and ten men, all unarmed, however valorous, do against a thousand, or, indeed, several thousand? They were borne down and overpowered at last—some were bound with thongs—but all were dragged out from Nkunkundhlovu to the place where those were killed whom the King adjudged to die, and there beaten to death with sticks, as the usual manner was.

“Hau! The head of the snake is now crushed!” cried Tambusa. “Hambani-gahle, abatagati!” (“Go in peace, doer of dark deeds.”)

Then the hissing and the roars of the savage slayers ceased, and the whole mass of our people trooped back from the place of slaughter, howling, in derision, the song they had made for the Amabuna.

“The mouth of the white man is open very wide; It has been filled - it has been filled.”

Thus they died, those Amabuna—nor did one of them escape; for even their servants, whom they had left outside to hold their horses, were all seized at the same time, and taken to the place of doom. As Tambusa had declared, the head of the snake was crushed at last.

It is said by you white people, Nkose, that Dingane acted a cruel and treacherous part in thus causing the leaders of the Amabuna to be slain. That may be, when seen with a white man’s eyes. But seen with ours the thing is different. These Amabuna had come to take a large portion of the Zulu country from the Zulu people, and, had they done so, how long would it have been before they had taken the whole? They made a show of asking the land from the King, but had Dingane refused to listen to them, would they have gone back the way they came? Is that the manner of the Amabuna, I would ask you, Nkose? Again, if their hearts were good, and free from deceit, why did they not send messengers to Nkunkundhlovu before they entered the land as they did, to obtain the answer of the King and the Zulu people? But instead of doing this, they came over Kwahlamba in great numbers, with their horses and their guns, their waggons and their oxen, their cattle and their women, falling upon the land like a vast swarm of devouring locusts. Whether they obtained leave or not, they had come to stay, and that we did not wish; and further, by thus entering the Zulu country in armed force without the King’s permission! they had deserved death.

It is true that these people who had been slain were the King’s guests, but then we have a custom under which one great chief must not go to the kraal of another great chief of equal rank. The great chief of the Amabuna claimed to be the equal of the House of Senzangakona. He did not approach the King as a subject, but as an equal; and by our custom Dingane was justified in causing him and his followers to be slain, for he had placed himself within the power of the King, and that as an equal. Whau, Nkose! You white people and ourselves see things differently, and I suppose it will always be so. Dingane and the Zulu people did not choose these invaders to seize their land, so they used what they thought was the quickest and easiest way of preventing them from doing so.

Chapter Fifteen.

The Crushing of the Snake.

As we sat there, we izinduna, watching the place of slaughter where those evil-doers had found death, we heard the volume of a mighty war-song approaching. Those within Nkunkundhlovu hushed their own singing and gazed outward. A great impi drew near, marching in columns like unto broad black snakes gliding over the ground. Yet, not all black, but spotted; for the white and red of shields, the streaming of cowhair tufts, the rustling of feather capes, showed forth above the blackness of marching bodies. The wavy glint of spear-points in the sun was as a sea of light—the tramp of feet as the dark and terrible array swung onward—the thunder of the war song! Hau! I could feel all the blood tingling within me, and my eyes were aglow as I gazed. Here was a force, indeed. That which had been led against us by Mhlangana might equal it, but could hardly surpass it.

On they came—and as this vast mass of warriors poured in by the lower gate of Nkunkundhlovu they raised the war song of Dingane:

“Us’eziténi, Asiyikuza sababona.”

Soon the great open space within was crowded. Rank upon rank the warriors squatted there, crouching behind their shields, their eyes glaring like those of lions as they awaited the word which should let them loose upon their prey. When the roar of the “Bayéte,” which greeted the King’s appearance, had sunk into silence, Dingane addressed them:

“Lion cubs of Zulu, you are here in your might, for yonder lies prey worthy of your fangs. Yonder is an enemy who has swarmed down upon our land like the deadly locust pest—an enemy who comes with soft words, but never fails to devour that people who is fool enough to believe those words.

“There is not room for two nations in the land of Zulu. Two bulls cannot rule in one kraal. Yonder is another bull who would bellow loudest in the Zulu fold. The horns of that bull are cut off, but there is enough of him left to attract by his roarings other bulls like unto himself. Go now, therefore, and slay that bull. Make an end of him utterly.”

As the King paused, with a wave of the hand in the direction of the distant camp of the Amabuna, the warriors made, as though they would have sprung to their feet; but the King’s hand restrained them, and they sank back. Dingane went on:

“When we destroy a locust swarm which is devouring our lands, we do not destroy the flying insects only. The young which appear after them, too, we stamp flat. So shall it be with this locust swarm. Stamp it flat. Make an end of it utterly. Let none escape. Go, my children!”

As one man that dense mass of warriors rose to its feet. As from one man the “Bayéte” thundered forth from every throat; and the winnowing of shields and quivering rattle of spear-hafts was as a great gale sweeping through a forest. They poured forth from the gates, those terrible ones, broadening out upon the plain beyond, in a great stream of rushing men—of lions, of leopards, hungry for blood; and we izinduna, who followed more leisurely, could see in the distance the white Umfundisi standing at the door of his house, looking upon our movements.

“Whau!” growled Tambusa, scowling towards the white man. “Such as that should long since have travelled the way of the spear. It is such evil crows whose croak brings our enemies upon us.”

“Yet that is not ill-doing,” I said, “for without enemies how should these lion-cubs find meat for their teeth?”

“There is that without these swarms of white carrion,” replied Tambusa, and his voice was as the snarling of a beast. “Whau! It is all alike. It licks the feet of the King when it thinks to get land from him. When it has got it, the Great Great One should be its dog, even as yonder crow dared to croak not many days since. My heart has been heavy ever since that he was not sent to take the place of those upon the stakes.”

On they sped, those messengers of death, on through the burning glare of mid-day; on through the black gloom of night; on ever, over rugged height, through tangled valley and rushing river, pausing but little to take rest.

After many days we saw signs that we were near the camp of the Amabuna. We rested then, and pushed on cautiously during the night, until within striking distance. Then we paused. Little sleep was ours that night. In silence they lay, that black army of terrible ones, with eyes strained upon the first streak of dawn that should reveal to them their prey.

It came at last, that dawn. No sound from the camp of those whites told that any were awake and watching. They slept as though safe in their own land, as though they had not of their own accord come to place their necks beneath the paw of the Lion of Zulu. Only the crunch of the jaws of cattle, only the occasional sneeze of a goat, broke the silence.

In such silence—in such stillness—did the dawn lighten. Then two or three men began to stir, moving sleepily inside the encampment. We could wait no longer. The word was given to fall on.

I could not sit still with the izinduna when blows were falling, and at the head of the right horn of the impi I found myself flying over the defences, spear in hand. Within, the awakening for those whites was terrible. Wild shrieks arose with the roar of our appalling war-shout, as women, with the stamp of death upon their pale countenances, rolled from the waggons, and with arms tossed on high, screamed for that mercy we were not there to show. Men were there, too; but these were few, yet they fought. Shaggy faces confronted me, jets of flame shone redly in my eyes. My great assegai was shearing around, cleaving the hearts and bodies of these. Whau! that was a moment! And through it all, I could see lines upon lines of flying bodies, of tufted shields and gleaming spears come surging over the waggons on the other side. We had taken the camp.

Not yet, however, was our work complete. Grouping together, those Amabuna stood and fought. Au! they fought! It was worth living, Nkose, to see the fight those men made. With hatchets and knives they defended themselves; with clubbed guns, too, for they could no longer reload. Man to man, hand to hand, eye to eye, they fought. But the breadth of our broad shields met blow or stab, and the whelming weight of those behind threw upon them such masses of men that they could no longer lift hand, and were borne to earth. Blood streamed forth everywhere, and amid the grim death-yells of the Amabuna and the screams of their women beneath the assegais rose the shrill “I-ji!” the fierce triumph hiss of each victorious warrior as he drove his spear home.

And now the whole inside of that great waggon camp was as a den of raging lions let loose. The dead lay in heaps, but any movement seen among such heaps would draw a rush to the place, to stab and stab again. Children of all ages—boys, girls, infants—were dragged from their hiding-places and speared. Even the cattle within the enclosure were ripped and slain. Nothing was spared, young or old, male or female—all were slain; for it was not our custom to spare; and in this matter the King’s word had been explicit: “Make an end of them utterly.” And this we had done.

Now that all were slain we began to see what plunder the camp contained, that it might be collected for the King. And there was much of it—for besides all manner of provisions and stores, there were things of iron and of glass, knives and axes, and all manner of useful things; but, best of all, there were the long guns of the Amabuna, and powder and ball. So much of all this was there that it took time to remove it all, and arrange it in such wise that it could be borne back to Nkunkundhlovu, and even then we had to leave some of it.

“Make an end of them utterly.” Such had been the word of Dingane, and looking at that waggon camp when we left it, I think, Nkose, you would have said we had obeyed the word of the Great Great One to the full. By hundreds the slain lay there, heaps and heaps of dead bodies whom the assegai had kissed again and again. In darker heaps, too, lay our own dead; but of this we thought not much, for even these whites, dreaded alike by all nations who had met them, had not been able to stand before the power of Zulu. They had been swept away, as all black nations had been before them; swallowed up, and the wave of our might had rolled over them. And as we moved from the place a fierce new song of triumph thundered forth from the ranks of our host.

There were some who would have burned the waggons and such stuff as could not be taken away, but this we izinduna would not permit, lest the smoke, seen from afar, should convey warning to other camps of the Amabuna. For our work was not yet done.

Word was now passed that the impi should form up, and indeed not much telling was needed, for their appetite for blood, only whetted with what had already been shed, the warriors could hardly be kept in hand, so eager were they to reach those other camps. But it would have served no good purpose that they should tire themselves by marching at a run. Yet, short of this, our advance was a rapid one.

Even then, however, rapid as it was, we were not to fall upon those other camps, as we had expected, all unprepared. Whether it was that some had escaped from the first camp, or that the noise of the shouting and the firing had reached their ears, we found these Amabuna with their waggons drawn up so as to form a wall, the spaces between the wheels even being filled in with bags and boxes, and as we drew near they were still busy driving in their cattle and horses, for some of their herds had sighted us from afar. Yet even then they were obliged to leave much of their cattle outside.

But to this we gave no heed, for we counted all these as ours already, and such as were scattered about the land we could collect at our leisure. With a roar and a rush our impi went at the waggon forts, spreading out in “horns” so as to enwrap the whole in a wall of living leaping men.

But the long guns from within began to spit forth destruction and death. Pouring into the dense masses of the charging warriors the storm of lead wrought terrible havoc. Those behind, eager to get in among the enemy, bore onward the front ranks, and for these there was no turning back. The air trembled with roars of anguish and of fury, as the lead ploughed through body and limb; and in the death-throes the warriors in the foremost ranks would make one more effort to hurl themselves upon the grim foe who lined the waggons, so resolute, so cool, and yet so prompt to strike hard when opportunity offered.

Sudden as our onslaught had been, huge our force, so grimly determined was the resistance of those Amabuna, fighting for their lives and for their cattle and women, that they actually beat back one side of the attack. Now we, izinduna, as the Zulu custom had then become, were taking no active part in the battle, but from our station on a neighbouring rise were directing the movement of our people, by signal or by runner. But seeing one side of the impi falling into confusion we could sit still no longer. Tambusa’s eyes were like those of a hungry lion, and for long my broad assegai—Umzilikazi’s gift—had seemed to burn within my grasp. We sprang to our feet.

“Now, Untúswa!” cried Silwane, “you and I will fight side by side, even as once we fought against each other.”

Down we rushed. We were here—there—everywhere. Under the influence of our presence, the encouragement of our voices, the wavering side of the impi rallied, and hurled itself—a solid black wave—upon the waggon barricade once more. Hau! I seemed to see nothing clearly then. All was red about me. Our warriors, baring their teeth, howled like beasts, making furious leaps in their attempts to reach these determined and terrible enemies; but ever to be met by those fierce, shaggy countenances, smoke-blackened, whence gleamed forth eyes fell with hate and purpose; and the flashes of the guns would singe and blind, so near were they, as they were thrust forward and discharged where the crowd was thickest and most threatening. Even their women fought. We could see them behind, loading the guns as fast as the Amabuna could fire almost. Great broad-faced hags would reach over the waggons and hack at our warriors with axes and choppers, or hurl pans of boiling water over their naked bodies when they approached too near.

More hot, more fierce, their fire hissed through our ranks. The Amabuna had loaded their guns with many bullets at a time, and these, tearing through our serried ranks at close quarters, cut down our men like corn.

Again and again they fell back, only to rush forward once more. But every such onward rush was made with less and less of heart. They could not face those terrific storms of lead, and we, izinduna, seeing that the day was lost, made haste to draw off our warriors before these, panic-stricken, should break and flee. And what a loss had been ours! The waggon forts seemed ringed in with the heaps of our dead. And those who lived! Bleeding, panting, begrimed; shields hacked and slit, broken spears, wounds gaping redly—such was our aspect. Many with shattered limbs, where the bullets of the Amabuna had met them, dragged themselves forward and begged of their brethren the death of the spear, which was granted them. Our repulse was complete.

Yet there remained the cattle, and all outside the waggon forts we speedily collected; for the Amabuna, valiant as they were when under that shelter, were too wise to leave it and come forth to meet us in the open. But although it was a very large and fine herd of beasts which we swept before us on our return to Nkunkundhlovu, our minds were uneasy. Those Amabuna had held their own against us, and were left alive. Presently they would bring others. For every one we could kill, five would grow in his place, as, indeed, we were soon to see.

Chapter Sixteen.

Of a New Witch-Finding.

Dingane was very angry when we returned to Nkunkundhlovu, and, indeed at first, it looked as though some would pay for our repulse with their lives. But that was no time for sacrificing skilled leaders of men, and winning the resentment of their relatives and following; and this the King knew. So, with gloomy and bitter reproaches, he dismissed us.

The first step taken by the two principal izinduna, Tambusa and Umhlela, was to send out and muster every available man throughout the land. All were enrolled, even those whose youth would have precluded them from bearing arms yet awhile, and several new regiments were formed; and while this was going on, a careful watch was kept upon the movements of the Amabuna, for we knew not what they might attempt next. It was intended to attack them again before more could join them, but the idea was abandoned, for careful observation showed that we should stand but small chance of success, so warily did they move; scouting the land far and wide, and camping in such strength. So our people watched and waited, biding their time.

Now all this, Nkose, in no wise helped forward my plans. I had hoped that we should have made an end of these invaders, and that then Dingane would have sent forth a strong impi to crush Umzilikazi. So should I have obtained my revenge. But with such a formidable foe upon our borders as these Amabuna, the King would not have a single regiment out of call; wherein, of course, he was wise.

All of which did not help me, for now there was no more fighting my heart grew heavy once more as I thought of Lalusini and how she was lost to me; of my high position among my former nation forfeited for ever. And, indeed, my position among the parent stock was becoming daily far from secure, and I was looked coldly on by many who had been most friendly before, and even by the King himself. This I attributed to the influence of Tambusa, who had always hated me, and would be glad if by any means he could compass my death. Afterwards I learned that I was right, for, in his jealousy of me, Tambusa never lost a chance of poisoning the mind of Dingane against me, more than hinting that the repulse of the impi was due to my presence in the battle in a position of command. More and more then did I feel that I was stumbling upon the edge of a very high cliff. More and more did I awaken each morning to wonder if I should see the setting of another sun.

Then something occurred which still farther deepened my forebodings. On returning from an expedition which had lasted but a few days, I found that one of my Swazi wives had disappeared. None knew what had happened to her, but I could see by their looks that it were better not to inquire too closely. Well, it mattered not. One girl was as good as another since the loss of Lalusini, and I still had two remaining. But she who had disappeared was that same girl who had been by my side what time I had dreamed; and she, too, had awakened in fear, declaring that a vision had passed through the hut, and I thought that the disappearance of this one, rather than that of the other two, augured ill—how, I knew not.

As the days went by, the gloom that lay upon the mind of the King deepened, and herein the izanusi—ever eager for blood, or for gain—saw their opportunity. The wizardry which had wrought ill for our arms must be removed. So there was “smelling out,” and many were killed; but still the invaders did not melt away in fear, as the witch doctors had promised. On the contrary, they grew stronger; for others crossed Kwahlamba to join them.

Then the izanusi declared they had seen other visions—had received a new and important revelation, to the effect that the workers of tagati had not yet been discovered, but should be by an entirely new method. But Dingane was becoming weary of them and their trickeries. He sent for Tola, the chief of the izanusi, and roundly told him to use what methods he liked, but if his prophecies fell short of fulfilment this time death should be his reward.

The land seemed shaken by a shudder of ill-ease. The warriors were growing impatient once more to be sent against the Amabuna, but the counsels of Umhlela, that we should wait for our enemies to make the first move—as they surely would—prevailed. So when the word went forth that all were to assemble at Nkunkundhlovu for a great witch-finding, an eagerness of relief went through all; for now we would see what the new method, as announced by the izanusi, would bring forth.

Many a “smelling out” had I witnessed, Nkose, as you know, and the truth was, I hated them. I had been too much among the heads of the nation not to know what their real object was, however much the common people might be deceived, and believe—or pretend to—in the power of the izanusi. I had known but two real magicians in my life—Masuka, the old Mosutu, and Lalusini, my sorceress wife—and these used not their powers to destroy any, save real evil-doers; never to take the lives of brave men for the sake of gain or malice. All others I knew to be jugglers and impostors, and that Tola and his following were of this order I had long since determined. So there was no eagerness in my mind as on the day appointed I sat near the King, in the midst of the other izinduna, while the witch doctors began in their usual way.

The open space within the great kraal was densely packed, save that room was left for the wild dancing and other ceremonies employed by the izanusi. These ran up and down, mouthing and bellowing, and shaking the ornaments of their calling—bladders filled with blood, festoons of entrails of sacrificed beasts, bunches of feathers and bird’s claws, and snakes and lizards. Now and again they would halt, and pointing with their wands, tipped with giraffe tail, at some one in the crowd, would name him, calling, out a string of instances of witch dealing. This one held converse with a black baboon, that one slept all day and only moved out at night, another was reputed to eat snakes, and so forth. All so named were immediately led forth to the place of slaughter; but I noticed that among them was no person of any consequence. The witch doctors, to all appearance, were destroying them out of sheer wanton craving for blood.

Dingane was growing impatient. His brows were wrinkled into a heavy frown. Not for such a well-worn exhibition as this, surely, had the bulk of the nation been convened. If so, then indeed it would go ill with Tola and his following. This was running in the mind of the King; and I, who sat near him, could see into his thoughts.

Now the witch doctors ceased in their mouthings, and suddenly, from behind them, appeared a band of girls. There might have been three score of them, and they seemed to have been chosen from the handsomest and finest of the nation. They were arrayed in the richest beadwork, and wore wreaths of green leaves upon their heads and twined around their shapely limbs. A strange band, indeed, to spring up suddenly from the midst of those wizard-hounds of blood and of death.

They advanced, swaying to a measured dancing step, and softly singing. A deep murmur of amazement and delight arose from all; for this was a fair and goodly sight, and all welcomed it as a relief from the grim hideousness of the witch doctors. A weight of fear seemed lifted from the minds of many. These, surely, were not here to doom to death.

But as their singing rose louder and louder, as I caught the burden of their song, I, for one, felt by no means so sure. They sang of a nation cursed by an evil blight, of the counsels of strangers, of the first repulse the great Zulu power had ever known, of the presence of strangers in the ranks of the lion-cubs, of the presence of a stranger. And every time they repeated the words they would sway round so as to face me, as I sat among the izinduna at the right hand of the King.

Then, Nkose, the nerves within me seemed to tingle. Well knew I the meaning of this. I was the object of their denunciations. Any moment now I might step into the Dark Unknown. Doom had found me at last. I was being “smelt out.”

Well, indeed, could I see through it all now. This had been arranged between Tambusa, my enemy, and Tola, the head izanusi. The singing band of girls, designed to add novelty to the witch finding, as well as to please Dingane, had for its object my death. The red cloud began to surge around my brain as I sat there. Not in me was it to die tamely; and softly I reached forth for the stick which was the only approach to a weapon which custom allowed upon such an occasion, and calculated how great a spring would enable me to crush in Tambusa’s skull ere they could lay hands on me. The death of the stake would be my lot; no matter—I must slay somebody.

The band of singing-girls swayed nearer and nearer; then with a rush of their light feet they came straight for me. Now for the doom. But—not yet. Some unseen force seemed to turn them back again. They held on around the circle, not having pointed at or named me.

This happened several times, and each time I looked to hear the word of doom, each time I tightened up my muscles for my spring upon Tambusa. Each time, too, the song denunciatory of “the stranger” grew fiercer, each time only to sink and die away in their throats. Then the izanusi, as in encouragement, lifted up their deep hoarse voices, as the voices of beasts growling for blood.

Whau, Nkose! I can see it all still—for at such moments a man may seem to live a thousand lifetimes—the immense kraal, with its ringed fences and vast circles of yellow huts—the assembled multitude blackening the earth in its awed hush—the sea of expectant faces—the countenance of the King sternly set, those of the izinduna expressionless as stones—the band of singing-girls—the savage eyes of the witch doctors—and, as a background to the whole, a brooding sky, blue-black with the threatenings of its pent-up storm.

Once more, encouraged by the wild howling of the izanusi, this strange band of doom came whirling towards me. This time I was gone. But, no! They halted more suddenly than before, and their song seemed to die on their very lips. Then I looked up from calculating the distance between my stick and the skull of Tambusa, and beheld—a woman!

She was standing alone in the open, midway between the cloud of scowling witch doctors and the band of girls, and there was that in her wondrous eyes which constrained and controlled the latter. She, too, was arrayed in rich beadwork, but wore no wreaths or garlands of leaves, and as I gazed upon her standing there—a splendid and majestic form—why then, Nkose, anybody who chose might have stepped up and slain me, unresisting in my amazement. For she who stood there was none other than my lost sorceress-wife, Lalusini.

Had the shades sent forth their spirits? Had the grim alligators in Umzilikazi’s pool of death shrank back in fear from so royal a prey? Was I dreaming, or had I gone mad with the prolonged suspense of my impending doom? No! In the very life there she stood—she to avenge whom I would have slain a king—would have destroyed a whole mighty nation. And she stood there to avert from me the sure and dreadful death—the death of the man at whom the witch-wand has been pointed.

One glance she flashed upon me from her wonderful eyes—quick, full, penetrating—one glance and no more; but in that glance I knew I was safe, for who should harm one whom the most marvellous magic ever known now protected?

For some time thus she stood, speaking no word, only gazing around with calm commanding eyes. Then the King grew impatient.

“Have done,” he exclaimed, with a frown. “Let us see whether the magic of Mahlula is greater than that of Tola.”

“The magic of Mahlula,” had said Dingane. Then Lalusini was not known. Yet it seemed to me the majesty of the House of Senzangakona was so stamped upon every feature that her very look must betray her.

“Judge now for thyself, Father of the Wise,” she replied. “This is the word of Mahlula. The ‘stranger’ of whom Tola speaks, of whom his company did but now sing, is not here, else these”—showing with a sweep of the hand the band of girls, who had ceased their movements and were now sitting in a ring around her—“these whom I have trained and taught would have found him—for my will works through theirs—my eyes see through theirs. Therefore, he cannot be here.”

“Why, then, are we?” said Dingane, with a meaning in his tone that boded ill for Tola and his following.

“Was it to learn the fate of a nation, Great Great One?” answered Lalusini, or Mahlula, as she was known here. “Learn it then so far. The end is not yet. But—I see the shook of war. I see men and horses advancing. The lion-cubs of Zulu flee before them. But lying behind the hills on either side is a dark cloud of terrible ones. Still they advance, those whites. Then that cloud whirls down upon them, breaks over them. Ha! There are death-screams as the flash of the spears rises and falls, and horses straggling, hoofs in air, and the song of those black ones is a battle-song of triumph.”

Now I saw that the speaker had fallen into one of those divining trances I knew so well, and in which all she foretold had come to pass. Dingane, too, began to see this, and asked eagerly, yet not without awe in his tone:

“And when shall this be, sister?”

“Hearken to no idle counsels. Heed no false magic,” she answered, with meaning. “I, and I alone, can see into the future. Be led by me if this nation would live.”

With these words, I, who looked, saw the vision pass away from Lalusini’s countenance, and her eyes were as those of one who awakens out of a deep sleep. The King, too, must have seen it, for he forebore to question her further. Then he spoke, low at first, but raising his voice in a black and terrible burst of wrath.

“Now of yon impostors I will make an end. Take them away, ye black ones.” And he pointed with his spear at Tola and his following.

At the word of the King, the slayers sprang forward. But the witch doctors fled howling, and keeping in a compact body, broke through all who stood in their path, and the lower end of the kraal became full of the kicking, tumbling bodies of men. But the slayers were among them; and the people barring their way to the lower gate, they were seized and dragged, howling and shrieking, without the kraal. And as the knobkerries fell with a heavy thud upon their cunning and bloodthirsty brains, a murmur of fierce delight escaped all who heard, for the people hated these wolves of izanusi, and rejoiced that they themselves should taste the death they loved to deal out to others.

There was one, however, who did not so rejoice, and that was Tambusa; indeed at first he had made a movement to stay the word, which was that of doom to the izanusi; but the look on the face of Dingane was so fell and deadly, that even the boldness of Tambusa quailed before it.

And I—Whau!—I rejoiced that I still lived, and that Tola was dead. But Tambusa did not.

Chapter Seventeen.

The Dwelling of the Wise One.

With the slaughter of the witch doctors Dingane had retired, and the vast assemblage of the people, breaking up, was streaming away in different directions. Mahlula had disappeared.

Then, having gained my huts, I gave orders that I was to be left alone, and sat down to take snuff and to think. For here was a wonderful thing. She whom I had thought dead was alive again—had reappeared at the very moment when death would otherwise have overtaken me. There was something of fear in my mind as I thought of it all. Was it really Lalusini whom I had seen, or was it another sorceress who bore to her a most marvellous likeness—a sister, perhaps? But even the House of Senzangakona could not produce two such, I reflected; and then the very method she had adopted of averting from me the doom was the method of Lalusini. And now I longed for her again, for, as I told you, Nkose, I loved her as you white men love your women; but if, for some reason, she had been forced to hide herself under another name, how could I, the wanderer, the stranger, the man who had come hither to deliver his own nation to destruction, reveal the real relationship between us by laying claim to her?

How was it I had never heard men speak of her? No talk, no word of a marvellous witch doctress, of a sorceress like no other ever seen, had reached my ear. Tola I knew, and those who worked magic with him, but of this one never a word. Was it because I was a stranger and not yet fully trusted? But old Gegesa’s tale was untrue anyhow, for here was Lalusini alive and well, and beautiful as ever. Then I thought how to get speech with her.

To this end I went out. First I sought the hut of Silwane. But when after bringing round the talk to the events of the morning I would have drawn out of him what he knew as to the sorceress Mahlula, I found that he knew but little, as did those who sat in his hut. Her appearance in their midst was mystery, her movements were mystery, her very dwelling was mystery; and hearing this I thought how greatly I could have amazed Silwane by revealing how it was through the magic of this sorceress that our arms had won success over the great impi he had helped to command at the Place of the Three Rifts. But from them I could obtain no tidings, nor from any with whom I talked on the subject; and as day after day went by, I began to wish I had not beheld Lalusini again, for now it seemed as though I were losing her once more.

Then my mind went back—back over my life since I had first beheld Lalusini and at great peril had managed to keep her for myself; back over our first meetings in the rock chamber of the Mountain of Death, what time we had eaten up the Bakoni, the nation who owned the Blue Cattle, and I remembered her words: “There is a people into whose midst I will one day return, and there I shall be great indeed, and you through me.” Ha! Was this part of a scheme—of a carefully-matured plan? It seemed like it. So I resolved to wait and let things shape their course.

Now the very day on which I had formed this resolve I chanced to be outside of Nkunkundhlovu alone. Two girls strode by me with bundles on their heads, and as they did so, one whispered, “This night—induna of the Great One who site in the north. This night, by the two large reed-beds at the turn of the river. Mahlula waits.”

The speaker passed on, but I, Nkose—my blood leaped at the words. At last I would have speech with Lalusini. At last we would meet face to face. Yet, even in the midst of my joy came a misgiving. Was it a snare—was it a trap Tambusa had set for my undoing? for the man who wanders at night on mysterious business—au! he is soon an object of suspicion, and to be an object of suspicion at that time meant death.

This, however, I was ready to risk, but for all that I resolved to proceed warily, and he who should attempt treachery upon me might well wish he never had. So with my great assegai, together with a heavy knob-stick and a small shield, I wandered up the river shortly before sundown, and did not return to Nkunkundhlovu for the night.

It had fallen quite dark, though the stars glittered forth in countless eyes from the blackness above. There was just the faintest murmur of the wind in the reed-beds, like the sigh of one who waits, and expecting, is disappointed for the time. The water flowed, evenly and smooth, lapping a low rock slab on the opposite bank, and now and again a soft splash and ripple as some crocodile rose or sank. In the air was a feeling of wizardry and awe; but I had passed through too many strange things to hold such in fear. Yet it seemed over long that I sat by that dark water and whispering reeds, waiting, while I listened to the many voices of the night, near and far.

“Greeting, Untúswa!”

The words seemed to come out of nowhere. Quickly I looked up, but the voice was not that of Lalusini! Then I made out a dark shape—a very shadow.

“Follow now, holder of the White Shield,” it said, and immediately began to move away.

The voice was that of a woman—soft and pleasing. Keeping the shadow in view, yet warily, I moved forward. Beneath the heavy gloom of trees overhanging the river bank we moved, and I had quite lost to view my guide, but at such times her voice would lead me; and at last I found she had halted at the entrance to a great rift like unto that wherein I had hid what time Jambúla was surprised by the impi in search of me.

My guide signed me to follow, and lo! we were threading our way in darkness between two great walls of earth. Then a light shone dully forth, and there, in a cave formed by the closing of the earth walls overhead, I beheld a fire.

“Advance now, induna of another King,” said the voice of my guide, “for my errand is done.”

Even as I looked round for her she had disappeared. But raising my eyes to the lighted space in front I beheld that which made me forget all else, for before me stood Lalusini.

In the circle of firelight there she stood, a smile of welcome wreathing her lips, her splendid form erect and tall as when I last saw it standing to watch me out of sight what time I had started for the Valley of the Red Death. There she stood, her hands extended towards me.

“Welcome, Untúswa,” she said. “Thus do we meet once more.”

No words did I utter, Nkose. I sprang to her side and we embraced long and warmly. Then we sat down to talk, for we had much to say.

“Welcome, Untúswa,” she repeated, still holding my hands. “Welcome, thou great brave one who would have slain a King who knew not how to keep faith.”

“Ha! But how didst thou know?” I cried in amazement.

“What do I not know? Tell me that,” she said, smiling at me. “Listen; I saw the midnight struggle in the ‘great hut’ of the isigodhlo. I saw the dark way along the cliffs of the Inkume. Was not my múti in the buck with its fawn that saved thee from the pursuing impi by showing no alarm, even as the múti upon thy neck saved thee when Umzilikazi lay prone and stupified?”

“E-hé! but that is indeed so. And it was thy múti which saved me from the hatred of Tambusa and Tola but a few days since,” I answered. “But, tell me now, Lalusini, was not that tale true which was told me by old Gegesa?”

“It was true so far as she knew. Ha! when Umzilikazi’s slaying dogs came to hale me forth in the black night, I laughed to myself, for I knew I had that by which the alligators should not harm me. I leaped into the dreadful pool where so many have died—and—came out quietly on the other side what time those dogs returned to report to Umzilikazi that the sorceress he hated would trouble him no more; but perhaps in that they lied—ah, ah, Untúswa, perhaps they lied! Not for nothing did that Great One from whom I sprung cause me to be taught the deepest mysteries of the magic of the wise. And thyself, Untúswa, through many wanderings earnest thou here?”

“Whau! Not to thee need I tell of my wanderings, Lalusini, thou to whom all things are known.” I said.

“And I think among such things are all thy wanderings,” she laughed. “Thou camest here to deliver the Amandebeli into the hand of Dingane.”

“That is so, Lalusini; and for thy death the whole House of Matyobane should have died a thousand deaths. And now?”

“And now? We will see what the future may unfold.”

Thus we sat and talked on far into the night, and many a question did I put to Talumni concerning her own wanderings, and how she had first appeared at Nkunkundhlovu. I found she had been there before my own arrival; but when I asked why she had taken another name, and whether Dingane really believed the account she had given of herself, she said:

“I know not how clear of suspicion is the King’s mind, but that it is not entirely clear let this tell: Never once has the Great Great One desired that I should become an inmate of the isigodhlo. Now Dingane’s love for handsome women is known to the whole nation, and I—well I am not quite the least comely of my sex, Untúswa.” This she said with a playful smile. “Therefore it may be that he suspects something.”

Then I told her about Tambusa, and how his enmity placed me in daily peril. Her face clouded somewhat.

“We must suffer him for the present, Untúswa,” she said. “He may be necessary to me in my plans, and to compass his death would be to jeopardise those plans. He and Umhlela are all powerful in the nation, yet they must remain so for a little longer. Still, be wary and cautious, for even the shield of my múti may not always be broad enough to shelter thee.”

The night had fled as we sat thus together—yes, indeed, it had fled—and now Lalusini bade me leave her and return, so that I might have time to travel while it was yet dark, and mix with those who were about outside of Nkunkundhlovu in the morning. This would be the easier, as the morning would be a misty one, for which reason, indeed, she had chosen this night for our meeting.

Thus we parted, and it was arranged that I should not seek her out again until she sent me word, as before. She wanted for nothing—there were those who supplied her wants, and her dwelling-place was safe and secure. None dared invade it.

As once more I threaded my way along the river-bank in the darkness, I sang softly to myself, not in fear, as many of our people do, to keep away evil ghosts, but in joy. My beautiful sorceress wife! Au! Was there ever another such?—and she seemed to have returned to me from the dark deeps of the dead. But with my joy there mingled another thought. The desire for vengeance seemed to have passed—the longing to deliver my former nation over to the spears of Dingane seemed wondrously to have diminished. I remembered old comradeship—and friends, many and brave, who had charged with me in close and serried line, shoulder to shoulder, in the lightning rush of our might as we hurled ourselves on the foe; who had sprung forward with redoubled courage to the rallying wave of my white shield; and now it seemed that I desired no longer the destruction of these. With the recovery of Lalusini, my rancour against Umzilikazi even seemed to melt away. But only to accomplish such destruction had I been allowed to konza to Dingane, wherefore now I was as one who is jammed against a tree between the long horns of a fierce and savage cow—he cannot remain thus for ever, and does he but move, why one horn or the other must pierce him. Well, at present, with the Amabuna threatening us, we had enough to take care of for some time to come. Umzilikazi could not be attended to until afterwards.