Bertram Mitford (continued 3)

“Lo, a fighting bull! a lion indeed! Hau! listen to the trumpeting of the elephant!” they jeered, mocking the unfortunate chief. Then the King spoke, and again his voice was soft.

“Ha! That is what thou hast to say, Chief of the Blue Cattle? A noble alliance truly! An alliance between the elephant and the cricket, between the serpent and the frog! Ha! a people who in their armed hundreds are driven backwards and forwards like cattle by two men—only two! A people who in their armed thousands, and with fire to help them, are kept at a distance for half a day by two men—only two! Such are they who would fight side by side with us! Say now, chief of a nation of old women—if thy spears in their thousands could do nothing against two Zulu fighting-men, and that during half a day, how would they think to stand against a whole impi? The ostrich who vanishes beyond one sky-line when a man appears on the other is preferable as an ally to thee and thine. We want not such.”

So great were the murmurs of contemptuous hate which went up that I could hardly make myself heard as I rendered the King’s speech. It seemed to me, watching the countenance of Tauane, that hope had now left it, to be succeeded, however, by a rekindling gleam.

“I lie beneath the foot of the Elephant,” he said; “but there is that, which, if I am suffered to go untrampled, the Elephant would gladly know.”

I looked around. No sign of Masuka, and it seemed to me that none within hearing would understand this tongue. Now the moment had come, now was Tauane about to try and purchase his life by disclosing Lalusini’s secret and mine, and I was resolved that he should not. Yet it was a terrible thing to stand before the majesty of the Great Great One, and deliberately deceive him—a terrible thing! But I turned the speech of Tauane into a mere prayer that he might not be crushed beneath the foot of the Elephant.

“The house of the Great King should be full of beautiful women,” he went on; “yet the most beautiful of all is not there.”

Yes, the air was getting hot now; but I rendered the words so as to mean that the most beautiful women of the Bakoni had already fallen to the King’s possession.

“The blood of the most beautiful of all is that of the Amazulu. There flows in her veins the pure blood of kings,” he continued.

“They are beautiful as those of the Amazulu, almost worthy to mingle with the pure blood of kings,” I translated.

“She is the Queen of the hidden mysteries of the Bakoni; beautiful as the mate of the Great King should be, and she has yet to be brought to the Elephant of the Amandebeli.”

“Some even are skilled in the hidden mysteries of the Bakoni; and all have been delivered to the Elephant of the Amandebeli,” I put it.

“The secret of her hiding-place is known to me alone,” he said. “She is there, safe and unharmed, awaiting the arrival of those who shall lead her before the King. She is of the Amazulu, and is called Lalusini.”

I started inwardly. Ha! The name! I might play tricks with the remainder, but the name! It sounded so plain—stood forth so unmistakably Zulu among the wretched monkey-like speech of these people, that I saw, or fancied I saw, a spasm of astonishment come into the King’s face. Then I saw light.

“None have been hidden away in secret hiding-places,” I translated; “all have been delivered safe and unharmed to those who should lead them before the King. They are worthy mates for the Amazulu or the Baqulusini.”

(Note: Baqulusini, same as Abaqulusi. A mountain clan inhabiting Northern Zululand.)

Thus, Nkose, did I make use of the similarity between these two words, deeming that the King, if he detected any difference, would attribute it to the difficulty these people had in pronouncing Zulu words; and, in fact, he must have done so.

“And is this all thou hast to urge in favour of thy miserable life, rebellious dog, who barks at my messengers?” said the Great Great One, haughtily.

“And is this secret, indeed, known but to thee alone, and to no other? Not even to a dog?” I put it.

“To me alone; not even to a dog, Black Elephant,” said the chief. But his answer I turned into:

“This is all I have to urge, O Black Elephant. If it is not enough, I must even die.”

And now I felt safe. Nor could I help smiling to myself, for the words I had put into the mouth of Tauane were the words of a brave man, whereas the chief of the Blue Cattle was the greatest of cowards when face to face with death. And, indeed, I deserved gratitude from him, for in any case he was as good as dead; and it was better to die with the words of a brave man on one’s lips than with the grovelling whine of a coward.

Yet, just then, the laugh disappeared from my mind, for, looking up, I beheld drawing near old Masuka. Bent double, tottering with age, he crept along, and squatted, just a little apart, behind the izinduna.

“Now,” I thought, “if the King chooses to converse yet longer with Tauane through the old Mosutu, then, indeed, I am undone.”

But the Great Great One seemed in no mood for further indaba. Signing me to approach, he whispered a few words, and seldom or never have a few words sounded more welcome. Springing up, I passed round my orders to the warriors, and in a moment Tauane and those that remained of his people were seized and bound with thongs.

Then the King spoke, and his tones never were softer:

“Yonder is a round wall within another. Within those walls two men, fighting-men of the Amazulu, fought throughout the shining of yesterday’s sun—fought against a twofold enemy, the whole might of the People of the Blue Cattle and against fire! And one of these two men was the tongue and mouthpiece of myself. This day, again, those walls shall witness a merry strife, but it shall not be against such great and overpowering odds. The remaining fighting-men of the People of the Blue Cattle, who still number a great many more than two, shall, to-day, strive within those round walls. But they shall fight there against one enemy only—one enemy instead of two—wherein I am more merciful than they. And that enemy shall be fire! Go now, ye who remain of the warriors of Bakoni! go now, and fight where my two warriors fought. Fare ye well, Hambani gahle!”

The wave of the hand with which the King concluded was our signal. The warriors hailed the Great Great One’s words with roars of acclamation, and, throwing themselves upon the prisoners—nearly a hundred in number—began dragging them off to the round stone walls, which stood up from the plain some little distance off, amid the smoking ruins of the town of the Bakoni. Others, fleet-footed, had run on in advance, and by the time we arrived at the ruins had gathered and piled up a dense ring of brushwood and dry grass. The prisoners, bound, and shrieking and kicking, were flung within the inner wall, where they were heaped up, one upon another, a tossing, struggling mass.

“Gahle—gahle!” I cried. “Not so fast! The chief must crown the pile. It is only due to his rank.”

The warriors laughed, and went on flinging in the wretched Bakoni.

“Ha, Tauane,” I said, speaking in his own tongue, “it is not good to shake weapons in the face of the King’s messenger. And know this. Not to thee alone is the secret of the Queen of the mysteries of the Bakoni known. Through the darkness of the earth, to an outward chamber in the cliff, like unto the place of an eagle’s nest, there lies hidden she in whose veins runs the pure blood of the Amazulu, even the blood which is fit to mingle with that of kings. I know the place beside thyself—I alone.”

He stared at me with a strange, wild expression.

“Thou and the King—yes,” he muttered.

“Not the King—I only,” I jeered. “Not the King; thy words did not travel so far.”

“Yet he would have given me my life!” he said, in a bewildered way, looking giddily around. Then, as it seemed to burst upon him how he had been tricked, he began to scream aloud the story; but none there understood a word, and before he could say many words I had seized him by the neck. At a sign from me others seized him too, and, swinging him up, bound as he was, flung him right over the two walls, where he fell upon the living struggling mass of all that remained of his followers. Now fire was put in, and the great piles of dry stuff crackled and flared, and the flames and smoke drove across the bodies of those who had taken the places of myself and Mgwali, and were now suffering the death to which they had destined us. And, as the flames roared upward to the heavens, in a great circle our warriors formed around as near as the heat would allow them to draw, and the thunderous stamp of the war-dance drowned the wild shrieks of the last of the victims due to the insult and outrage offered to the King’s messengers. And that was the end of Tauane, the chief of the Bakoni, of the People of the Blue Cattle.

That night, when the fires were lighted, the King ordered a great dance of the Tyay’igama, or “calling of names,” when those named by their captains for deeds of valour should have an opportunity of recounting their claims to such distinction before the King and the whole nation. And, among others, I “named” my brother, Mgwali, who, in his manner of setting forth his deeds, when dancing alone amid the circle of warriors, reminded me not a little of my own performance when I was “named” by Gungana on a like occasion. However, the King “pointed at” him, and thereby he obtained permission to tunga. Yet his admiration for the female captives we had taken from the Bakoni was destined to bring him some disappointment; for the King exacted that, being young, he should choose his bride from among the girls of our own nation. For so jealous was Umzilikazi on behalf of keeping the old Zulu blood pure and strong, that, as yet, he would hardly ever allow a young man to take to wife captives or girls of an inferior race. And when the Tyay’igama dance was ended there was a great slaughter of cattle—the blue cattle of the Bakoni—and the night was spent in feasting and singing. And in the morning we moved on further away still from this place of death. And behind us, where the abodes of the destroyed race had been—although the houses had long since burnt out—yet above the smouldering cattle-kraals the grey smoke still went wreathing up; and, high overhead in the blue heavens, their pinions dazzling white in the sun, like flakes of driving snow, floated clouds of vultures. For in those days the march of our conquering and destroying nation might ever be followed and marked out by two things: a cloud of smoke and a cloud of vultures.

Chapter Twelve.

“You—An Induna?”

Many days went by before I was able to return and visit Lalusini in her strange hiding-place, and herein I found that it was not always an advantage to be great. For Untúswa the induna was a man of such consequence that, did any one meet him wandering abroad, heads would be turned to see whither he was going, whereas Untúswa the umfane and unringed might go where he would and nobody would be at the trouble to so much as wonder concerning his business. Howbeit, I was ever known as a great hunter, and keen in the pursuit of game; wherefore, on this ground alone, I found opportunities of wandering afar.

I climbed the mountain of death, and there, indeed, so plenteous had food been that there were not enough vultures and crows and jackals to devour it all; for more than half the dead bodies were untouched, and lay, shrivelled and withered, just where they had been slain. For it is our custom, Nkose, to rip the bodies of those who fall beneath our spears, in order that they should dry up and spread no disease; and, remembering how we “ate up” whole nations in those days, the custom was a wise one. Carefully I took my way across the flat summit, stepping in and out between the skulls and fleshless ribs, and fearful lest I might be seen from beneath, whether from far or near. But when I gained the cleft in the ground, and began to descend into cold darkness, I felt a strange feeling, for all was silence, and I wondered whether I should indeed find Lalusini still there. So I began to sing, and presently I heard that soft voice answering, as I had heard it at first.

And now, as I stood once more within this strange retreat, looking upon the beautiful and splendid form and into the shining eyes of her who dwelt in it, all thoughts of the danger I had incurred had fled as the morning mists when the sun mounts high. No longer did I call myself the king of fools—oh, no! I was the very induna of wisdom, so my feelings told me. I sprang forward to seize her in my arms, but she repulsed me very decidedly—though laughing.

“Not yet, Untúswa, not yet. The time has not yet come,” she cried. “But—are you come to fetch me for the King?”

And her eyes full of mockery, were laughing at me.

“The King? Hau! Not so. An indunas wife only shalt thou be, Lalusini—not the wife of a King.”

“Ah, ah! An induna’s wife? But I love not old men, and indunas are always old.”

“Not so, Lalusini. But yesterday I was only a boy, and unringed.”

“Ah, ah! son of Ntelani! You—an induna? You?”

And again she made the rocks ring with the music of her laughter.

“I?—yes, I,” was my answer, given with dignity, for my pride was ruffled. “I am only the second induna in command of the King’s army. Nothing very great. But a small thing. Laugh on, Lalusini; laugh on!”

But she did not laugh. Something in my words seemed to turn her suddenly grave. “Ah—the chance! The chance at last!” I heard her murmur. “I, too, am somebody,” she said. Then, turning to me, “Yes, Untúswa, I am somebody who is great—greater than any man among the Aba-ka-zulu; greater than Umzilikazi himself. And it may be that the day will come when you, too, shall be greater, son of Ntelani—greater than the King yonder.”

“Hau! We are talking in a ring!” I cried, but her words troubled me. “How now didst thou come among the people of the Blue Cattle, Lalusini?—for it seems to me the time has come for me to hear that tale.”

“The time has not come—not yet—but it will. And now tell me of the end of the Bakoni, for I think there must be few still alive.”

“Few, indeed,” I said. “But Tauane—was he the only one to know of this place?”

“The only one—he and the slave who brought you hither. What of them?” And her tone became quick and anxious.

“The slave, or what is left of him, lies above our heads. He got no further than the entrance hither when last I passed out through it. For Tauane, he is as the ashes of last season’s burnt grass.”

And then I told her all about the end of the prisoners, how the chief would have sold the secret of her hiding-place to save his own life, and how I had so misinterpreted his words as to prevent him from doing so. Lalusini’s eyes beamed with delight.

“Ha! You deserve to be an induna,” she said, “and a great one. The big, brave, strong fighting-man is frequently a fool in matters requiring head. But you, Untúswa, are no part of a fool. You have both the head and the strength. Lalusini—Baqulusini!” she repeated. “Whau! that was crafty indeed. But the King, did he have no suspicion?”

“He showed none,” I answered, in just the shadow of a cloud. “Yet how will I finally bring you in among ourselves? The name will bring back the King’s recollections.”

“Perhaps I will never go back among yourselves,” she answered. “There is a people into whose midst I will one day return, and there I shall be great indeed, and you through me. Come now, Untúswa—let us return to that people together.”

“Hau!” I cried, with a very dissatisfied shake of the head. “That which is distant is ever that which is uncertain.” For this proposition startled me. It reminded me too much of past foolishness. Once before I had sacrificed my chances as a warrior, had deserted my people, and had thrown away my life with both hands, all for the sake of a girl, and had found the position so little to my liking that I had willingly exchanged it for certain death. I had not found the death I expected, but life and great honour; yet that was a marvel, and such marvels do not occur twice within the experience of any one man. Now, I desired Lalusini greatly, but I desired her as a favourite wife of the King’s induna—not as the mate of a disgraced runaway. Wherefore her proposal found but little favour in my eyes; and, indeed, I thought she had made it only to try me.

Then we talked of other things, of Tauane and the nation we had destroyed; but of her powers as a sorceress she would tell me nothing, or how she had come among that people. And I sat and listened to her talk, for I was young in those days, and the sound of her voice was to my ears as the rippling of water in a sun-dried land. I know not how it is among you white people, Nkose, but among ourselves, when we are yet young, we are ever as fools in such matters; when we are older—ah, then it is different.

While we talked, her eye fell upon my broad spear—the King’s Assegai—and, reaching for it, she examined it knowingly.

“Worthy to be wielded by Tshaka himself,” she muttered. “A splendid spear! A royal weapon,” examining the haft, which was dark-red then, although it is now black with age. “Truly a royal weapon!”

“And a royal weapon it is,” I answered, “for I had it from Umzilikazi’s own hand.”

“Ha! And how was that?” she asked eagerly. But I looked knowing and laughed.

“Nothing for nothing, Lalusini,” I said. “Tell me thine own tale; then thou shalt have that of the King’s Assegai. And I promise thee that it is a stirring one.”

But she would not. Nevertheless, I told her my own tale, or a part of it. At the mention of Nangeza she looked up quickly. “How many wives have you, Untúswa?” she asked.

“Only three. But my inkosikazi is more trouble than any thirty ordinary women, for she wants to be chief over me, too.”

Lalusini laughed.

“And that is Nangeza for whom you deserted your nation and incurred death under its most terrible form?” she said.

I answered that it was.

“And you want me to go and be second to your inkosikazi, Untúswa!”

“Not so, for you would ever be my favourite wife.”

“Until you found some other Mystery Queen hidden in a mountain cave,” she said, mocking me. But I took snuff and answered nothing, for a man who undertakes to answer everything a woman says is like one who begins to swim across a flooded river: he knows where he goes in, but cannot tell where he may get out, or if ever—at least, so it is among ourselves; I know not if it is the same among white people.

“And the King?” she said. “How many wives has he?”

“That question is hard to answer. A great many does he possess, yet he cares not for any of them, neither does he love women over-much. A woman, he says, is like the grains of the umbona (maize), which is tender and nice when young, but soon grows hard and tooth-breaking, and needs much pounding to turn it once more into any use at all. Thus has the King often spoken when we have been talking together.”

How Lalusini laughed, and it was good to hear her laugh, even as to hear her talk.

“Yau!” she cried. “I do not think I will enter the isigodhlo of Umzilikazi.”

“But what if no choice is allowed you?”

“But there will be. There is that by which Umzilikazi dare not wed me.”

Now I cried out in wonder, yet was my mind relieved.

“There is,” she went on. “And—I am greater than your King, son of Ntelani.”

“Then must you be of the root of Senzangakona himself, for there is but one who is greater than our King, and that is Dingane, who now sits in the seat of Tshaka.”

(Senzangakona was father of Tshaka, the founder of the Zulu military dynasty.)

This I said jestingly, and then, seeing that the shadows were getting long, I rose and, going to the entrance of the place, I dragged in the carcass of a buck I had slain on my way; for, besides what game I could bring her, Lalusini had no food but dry corn. Of water she had abundance, for a little clear spring trickled down the rock at the further end of the place, losing itself in a dark cleft; but only at night could she make a fire, for then alone there was no risk of the smoke betraying her, and the light—of a small fire, at any rate—was quite hidden from without.

“Au! it must be lonely here at night,” I said, looking upward at the great gloomy rock-roof. “Do you not hear the ghosts up above, wailing among the dry bones wherein they dwelt when alive?”

“I fear not such things, Untúswa. What I fear more is that yonder stone may not be heavy enough to keep out a lion I have heard upon the mountain the last two nights. He was snapping and growling among the bones, and I feared he might try to force his way in here.”

I examined the hole, which was only large enough to admit the body of a man creeping on his hands and knees. This hole Lalusini used to stop at night by rolling a stone against its mouth, yet the stone did not fill up the entire hole, but only enough to render it too small for the passage of any large body.

“It is safe,” I said, testing the weight. “Nothing large enough to be harmful could force an entrance, yet I must try and slay that lion. And now, Lalusini, I must return, for it will be dark by the time I arrive, and our people like not those who wander overmuch in the night-time.”

We took an affectionate leave of each other, yet Lalusini would not at that time tell me anything of her own tale, and I made my way back to the top of the mountain. And all the way homeward my mind was full of her whom I had left, and I pondered much and oft about the greatness she had hinted at, and how such was in store for myself, too, as though she were the chieftainess of some mighty nation—and mighty indeed must it have been were it greater than our own, as she had said it was. But most of all I pondered as to how I should ever be able to bring her in among ourselves so that the King’s suspicions should not take the right road.

Thus thinking, and alternately singing to myself, I got over the ground at a swift pace, yet by the time I entered the hut of my chief wife it was quite dark. Nangeza was seated within alone. As I entered she looked up with a frown upon her face; and, indeed, a frown was more often to be found there than a smile in those days.

“Welcome, great hunter,” she said mockingly. “And, where is the game?”

“I have none,” I answered shortly, for I was in no humour to be worried by this woman’s evil temper.

“None?” she echoed. “Yet there are blood spots about thee, Untúswa.”

There were. In dragging the buck down through the hole into Lalusini’s hiding-place I had become smeared with blood, and this I had forgotten to wash away.

“I slew but two small bucks,” I said. “One I ate in the middle of the day. The other I gave to old Masuka.”

“Didst thou take it to him in the isigodhlo, Untúswa? For there has the old Mosutu been since the sun was at its highest, and is there still. Yet I saw thee from far off over the plain, and certainly thou hast not been to the isigodhlo, which is far beyond this house,” she answered; and her tones were jeering, and her eyes shone with evil fire, as those of a snake.

“Enough!” I cried. “Enough of this!” And, bending down to the side of the hut, I took up a stick, and advanced towards her; for I was furious. “I have never beaten thee, Nangeza, but hadst thou belonged to any other man, I think by this time not a whole bone would remain within thee. Now, of thine evil temper have I had more than enough; also of thy tongue.”

She retreated back as far as she could to the side of the hut—her eyes flashing, her lips drawn back from her gums, like those of a wild beast. But it was time to put a stop to this, or soon the second fighting commander of the King’s army would be under the command of a woman.

“Beware, Untúswa!” she snarled. “Beware! I made thee! Yea, I! And I will unmake thee!”

“Whau! if any one made me, it was not thou, but the King, and old Masuka, perhaps.” And then, as I saw her looking around for a weapon, I—well, I gave her no opportunity of either finding one or losing one; and, I think, Nkose, my inkosikazi went to sleep that night feeling as though she had been rolled down the rocky side of a very high mountain; while I went to the huts of my two other wives, and we spent a great part of that night in singing, and jests, and laughter. But the fault lay with Nangeza’s evil and inquisitive temper; and, more still, with her attempts to rule me, as though I were the woman and she the induna of the King. Wherefore, from the intolerable weariness which she had put upon me, I sought the company of my other wives, that they might cheer and amuse me, which, indeed, they were very glad to do.

Now, on the morrow, Nangeza went and complained to the King as to the punishment I had given her; but she might have spared herself the trouble, for Umzilikazi only mocked her, telling her that she was fortunate indeed in having to deal with me, and that warriors were not to be ruled by women, but the other way round. Then he bade them drive her from his presence. And afterwards he would often laugh with me about this matter; but from that day Nangeza hated me with a surpassing hatred, and set herself to work to bring about my ruin and downfall by some method or other, even though it should cost her her life.

Chapter Thirteen.

“The Place of the Alligators.”

During this while, since we had “eaten up” the Bakoni, we had been living in hastily run up huts. Many, indeed, had not even these, but lived and slept in the open. But now the King gave orders that we should remove a day’s march further, and there build a large kraal.

The site of this was a pleasant open plain, well grassed, and sprinkled with mimosa and other bush, and watered by a good-sized river.

The slaves and women were set to work; also the young regiments; the great circles were marked out, and in a few days there stood a noble kraal, built on the Zulu plan; the great open space ringed in by a double thorn-fence as high as a man’s head, between which stood the rows of round-topped huts, and the isigodhlo, or royal enclosure, at the upper end, partitioned off by a fence of fine woven grass. This kraal was of greater size than Ekupumuleni, and the surroundings far pleasanter, for there was abundance of grass, well watered by streams which never ran dry; and the rolling plains and dark forest belts were swarming with game. The river, too, was plentiful with sea-cows and alligators, which last the King would not allow any man to kill; so that they soon increased in numbers and boldness to an alarming extent; indeed, from this it was that our new kraal took its name, for it was called Kwa’zingwenya, “the Place of Alligators.” And when it was completed there was great dancing and singing, and the slaughter of cattle and general feasting, for here we intended to make our home, at any rate for a long time to come.

Now there was another reason why the place should have been named as it was. It happened one day that the King was strolling along the river bank, I being in attendance on him, when we came upon the high brow of a cliff falling sheer down into a deep, still pool. As we looked over we beheld several small dark objects floating upon the surface of the water. They were the heads and noses of alligators.

“Ha!” cried the King. “I have an idea, Untúswa, and I think it is not a bad one.” Then, turning round, he called to a boy who was herding calves not far off. The lad drew near, and, seeing who had called him, his knees began to tremble and his eyes to start from his head in his terror and awe of the Great Great One. He prostrated himself to the ground, and his tongue nearly clove to his mouth as he stuttered the Bayéte.

“Rise up, child,” said the King, “and go quickly and bring hither yonder calves. Delay not—yet stay; call those within sight to help thee.”

The lad sped away, and soon, in obedience to his calls, about a dozen other boys came up, and, making a half-circle, drove the entire herd, to the number of about twenty well-grown calves, up to where we were standing, the King and I, leaning upon our sticks.

“Make them leap,” said Umzilikazi. “Make them leap.”

But this was not so easy, for the calves were big, and, their instincts of danger warning them, they all bunched together, nor would they suffer themselves to be driven to the edge of the cliff, notwithstanding the yells and sticks of the boys who strove to drive them; and, indeed, I myself had to seize two of them and drag them to the brink, and even then I only pushed them over at the greatest risk of falling after them myself. Then the whole herd followed with a mighty splash, which echoed like thunder from the face of the rock.

The splash subsided, the surface was dotted with the heads of the animals swimming for the other side; and then the pool was in a boil, and the calves, swimming quietly before, heaved themselves up in the water with frantic bellowing as the alligators rose to seize them. They were dragged under wildly, to reappear again but for a moment, and soon the surface was dyed red, and the tranquil water lashed into foam; and the wild bellowings of anguish mingled with the snap, snap of bony jaws, followed by a hideous crunch; and as the long, grim, ugly bodies turned with their struggling prey, we could see that these alligators were of enormous size. It was over at last, save here and there a livid head, or a mangled quarter, or other fragment floating on the surface; but the shakings of the water, and the long strings of red bubbles which came streaming up, showed that the hideous brutes beneath were tearing and devouring their welcome, though unexpected, prey.

“Hau!” cried the King. “That was a good thought of mine. Now we have a new way of disposing of evil-doers, Untúswa. Not long have the alligators taken to dispose of twenty large and well-grown calves; not long would they take to dispose of a man, or of twenty men. In truth, it was a great idea!”

To this I agreed, of course. But, looking into that horrid pool and its bloody surface, where even now two or three of the alligators were reappearing, turning their eyes upward as though looking for more, I thought of the secreted captive and the hiding-place away on the mountain, and wondered if my death would come to me down in that horrible hole; and the thought, Nkose, was not a nice one.

“Go now, children,” said the King, waving away the staring and terrified boys; and go they did, for I believe they thought they were to be thrown in after the calves. “The idea is great; yes—great!” continued Umzilikazi, in high good humour, as we walked back. “They shall be kept there, those alligators, and from time to time I doubt not but we shall find them some food.”

During this time, Nkose, I have neglected to speak of my father, Ntelani. Him the King had still suffered to live—I think, because he desired to spare two such brave fighters as Mgwali and myself the disgrace of being henceforth the sons of nobody; for had our father died the death of a convicted traitor we could never more have been known as his sons. But, though his life was spared, Ntelani was adjudged to spend it in a state of banishment. He was allowed to erect a small kraal, and here with such of his wives as chose to cleave unto him, and just enough cattle to keep him and them alive—but only just—he dwelt, soon sinking into a state of premature old age and foolishness. Indeed, he passed out of the life of the nation, and his voice from its councils.

Once settled in our new country, the King lost no time in establishing cattle outposts and military kraals, of which latter I was appointed administrator, being held responsible for their order and efficiency. We fighting indunas, too, were required to form new regiments, levying upon the youth of the nation at a far earlier age than had hitherto been customary among us; but our losses during our wars were beginning to form a serious gap, and the King preferred, where possible, to recruit our fighting strength among our own blood, rather than among that of our miserable, poor-spirited slaves. But these youths made up in martial ardour what they lacked in years, for they were continually worrying the Great Great One, through us izinduna, to allow them to go forth—it mattered not where—and wet their spears. But Umzilikazi would dismiss them, laughing, and bidding them be patient; yet at their importunity he was not ill-pleased. However, they little knew there should shortly befall that which would give all their fiery mettle as much outlet as it could take care of.

Just then I was very busy, travelling from kraal to kraal, inspecting, and, at times, reviewing, the regiments, numbering the cattle and possessions of the King and the nation—for here, in this land, we intended to dwell, and already the women—who preferred peace and plenty to wandering and war—were making the land re-echo with their songs of gladness, as they laid out new gardens for their corn and melons, and daily saw the cattle milked at the same place. And the chiefs and heads of other tribes—learning of the fate which had overwhelmed Tauana and the Bakoni—hastened to come in and konza to Umzilikazi, realising that the tread of the Black Elephant of the Amandebeli stamped far, and that from it there was no escape.

It happened that I was returning from one of my rounds to make my report to the Great Great One. The morning was yet young; indeed, the sun had only just risen, and the forest path along which we travelled—I and Mgwali, who accompanied me—was bright with a golden network of sunshine through the leaves, and joyous with the song and whistle of birds and the chatter of monkeys. We were drawing near a pile of rocks, overhung with forest trees and trailers. Suddenly, my brother, who was walking behind me, touched my elbow.

“Do you hear nothing, son of my father?” he whispered.

I listened long and hard. I was about to reply, “Nothing,” when I heard the sound as of a voice—the voice of a man murmuring—even as the voice of one of our izanusi engaged in making múti. Now, there were caves in those rocks, Nkose, caves which were not unassociated among ourselves with tagati; wherefore, with the instinct of a warrior in the presence of evil, I gripped my broad assegai, and stole silently forward, eager to see through this mystery—if mystery there was—Mgwali pressing close behind me. The murmuring of the voice sounded plainer now; then we heard a low musical tinkling, as of the ringing of a bell.

Whau! Here was a strange thing. What could such sounds mean, here among the rocks and caves? The voice, too, was murmuring in a strange language; soft, though not so soft as ours, yet immeasurably softer than the croaking tongues of those inferior peoples which we had destroyed or enslaved. Stealthily we drew nearer, and, peering out through the trees, this is what we saw.

A great slab of rock out-hung from the cliff, forming a shallow cave. In the mouth of this a man was standing, his back towards us. He was clothed in a great cloak, red in colour, and bearing a broad crossed bar down its entire length, while showing below it was a long white garment which seemed to cover him from neck to foot. His movements called to our mind those of our own izanusi when sacrificing cattle to the ghosts of our fathers on solemn occasions; yet not. But this could be no isanusi, for he was a white man! Still he must be an isanusi of some sort, for he was undoubtedly engaged in offering sacrifice. In front of him and further in the cave was a great block of stone or a ledge in the rock formation—we could not determine which—and upon it were two little pillars tipped with flame. Moreover, upon this the man’s words and actions seemed centred, for upon it was something else, which from there we could not see. But here, if possible, was a more surprising thing. Behind him, bending low, knelt another man—a dark man, one of ourselves, and of the same race, for he wore the ring upon his head, and his other adornments were as ours. He, too, seemed in some way to be assisting the other, for his movements were much the same, and a few words would now and again drop from him as though in reply to the one who was sacrificing. Hau! it was wonderful! In rigid wonder we stared, not knowing what was to come next.

But a dead silence had fallen upon these two now, and the murmuring had ceased. Then the tinkling of the bell rang out once more, and the isanusi in the red cloak, having bent low, straightened himself up, raising both hands high overhead, and in his hands there flashed forth a Something—a Something upon which a ray of the newly-risen sun now glinted with dazzling whiteness. And the man behind—the black man—bent prone as one dead—even as a man might lie who awaits the sentence of the Great Great One himself.

Whau, Nkose! I know not how it was, but something seemed to cloud the brain of Mgwali and myself, binding us to the spot, staring at this strange and marvellous mystery, so unlike aught we had ever beheld before. We watched, confused by what followed, but of it we have but small recollection, save of one thing. The white isanusi turned full towards us, more than once, still murmuring, and, while we shrank in dread lest he should be putting upon us the spell of his múti, we took note of his face and that keenly. It was the face of a white man, very dark and burned as though by many suns; but it was a strong face, that of a man to whom, we could see at a glance, fear was unknown. The eyes were black and piercing as those of an eagle, and a long, thick beard fell low upon the breast, its dark masses plentifully streaked with grey.

We stood watching this marvellous performance, we two fearless and armed warriors, and yet there was that in it which laid upon us a kind of awe. At length it came to an end. Then we saw the white man extinguish the fire upon his stone of sacrifice and wrap up carefully in coverings such things as had been upon it. But our astonishment was greatest when we watched him take off his outer cloak of red and then the long white garment which was girded around him. We saw him then in a large loose robe of black, and this he did not take off. (Note 1.) The other dresses, however, he carefully rolled up in coverings, and while he was doing this the man who was with him—the kehla—lighted a fire, and set upon it a joint of game to roast, evidently the quarter of one of the smaller kinds of buck.

Few, indeed, Nkose, were the white men, except Amabuna, we had seen in those days, and that this was not one of those we felt certain. Mgwali was the first to recover from his astonishment.

“Whau!” he grunted. “I know not how yon isanusi—white though he be—dare come here and make múti without leave from the Great Great One. It may be tagati.”

“No hurt lurks beneath such múti, son of my father: of that I feel sure,” I answered. “But I think it is time to have speech with these.”

“Yeh-bo,” assented Mgwali, grinning. “And I think that quarter of meat roasting yonder seems too large for only two men. Au! but the smell of it is good.”

We went forward, and as we discovered ourselves but small was the surprise shown by these two strangers. The head-ringed man, who was attending to the fire and the roast, returned our salutation in the usual form, not heeding us much. But the other, speaking with our tongue, though haltingly, said:

“Welcome, my sons! Draw near, and seat yourselves; for our morning meal is nearly ready, and there is enough for all.”

Mgwali’s eyes glistened, and his mouth broadened into a grin; for he was younger than I, and hungry; and, in truth, the meat smelt good. He uttered a word or two of emphatic assent, and made a movement to comply. But I, remembering my dignity as an induna of the King, still stood. Then I said:

“First tell me, O white stranger, by whose leave you have entered this country, and made múti in the land of the Great Great One by whose light we live?”

“By whose leave?” he echoed; his face brightening up. “Ha! By the leave—nay, by the order—of the Great Great One in whose light we live.” Then, seeing that I frowned, and looked suspicious, he explained. “I will not pretend to misunderstand you; but I came into the country of your King by favour of even a greater than he.”

“Hau! You are joking, my father!” I answered, with a sneer, though my first thought was that he was speaking of Dingane. “Yet such words uttered here are dangerous, and would mean death to him who uttered them. Where, now, is he who is greater than Umzilikazi, the Mighty Elephant? Our young regiments are consumed with a longing to wet their spears; and there, I think, is the chance. Where is he who is greater than our king?”

“Pezulu!” (up above) replied the stranger, simply, pointing upward to the heavens.

Then I partly understood. I had heard strange tales of certain men among the whites who taught that a great, though invisible, King sat above the blue of the sky, and caused the sun to shine and the rain to fall; whose might was such that beside it the might of Tshaka himself was less than the might of a child. This, then, must be one of them. Yet—the strange ceremonies we had witnessed?

“Wherefore, then, wert thou making múti yonder, beneath the rock, O father of the red múti cloak? To what end was this?” I asked.

“To the end that all good might fall upon your King, and his people, and his land. With that object and intention were we making múti, as ye call it, children of this nation,” he answered, looking us fearlessly in the eyes.

And there was that about his glance which satisfied me that we might safely eat meat with him; nor did the ceremony which he and the other went through before partaking of it, and which was very like what we had seen during their strange act of sacrifice, avail to destroy this assurance. And, indeed, when, having finished, we rose up, to proceed at once to the presence of the Great Great One, we left nothing behind us but bones; for Mgwali had a fine appetite—nor came I far behind him in that way—and a quarter of buck is not quite too much among four men.

Note 1. From Untúswa’s description, it seems certain that he and his brother were witnessing an open-air celebration of Mass; and the strange white man would appear to have been a travelling missionary-priest of French nationality—probably a Jesuit.

Chapter Fourteen.

The White Isanusi.

We were not far from Kwa’zingwenya, Nkose, when this meeting took place, and as we came in among the people on the outskirts of the great kraal the excitement was intense. All gazed curiously to see whom we had brought with us, and we could hear the cries of wonder which broke forth from the people as they beheld a white man. Yet, though they gazed in astonishment, they did not draw near and crowd around us to gaze, for such is not our custom as regards strangers.

Now, this white man and he who attended him, bearing their burdens, walked on contentedly by our sides, and as we entered the gates of Kwa’zingwenya I sent a message to the King, reporting the strange discovery we had made. Then, having taken the strangers to my own hut, where my wives speedily set tywala before them, I went at once to learn the Great Great One’s pleasure concerning them.

“And the man is not of the Amabuna, son of Ntelani,” he said, when I had told my tale.

“Not so, Black Elephant. He says he is of a race which comes from far over the sea.”

“Ha! And the man with him, he is of ourselves?”

“He is, Father, and yet not. He is of the Aba-gaza.”

“Hau! Of the Abagaza? I would fain hear something of that people. See now, Untúswa, when these strangers are rested, I will talk with them here.”

I saluted and withdrew. When I regained my hut the white isanusi was reading from a book softly to himself. Whau! I have seen many books since, but at that time never, and it looked wonderful. At last he ceased, and, making one of those strange turns of his hand such as we had before noticed, he closed the book and looked up. Then I spoke the King’s message, and he rose to his feet, declaring he was ready.

Umzilikazi was seated outside the isigodhlo as we drew near. The white man halted in front of the King, and, inclining his head slightly, raised his hand aloft and said, “Bayéte!” The Gaza, however, bent low to the ground, murmuring words of bonga even as one of ourselves. Him the King began to question first:

“Who art thou, who art of us and yet not of us? How art thou named?”

“Ngubazana, son of Tumela, of the people of Gaza, Great Great One,” replied the man.

“And wherefore hast thou left thine own country—thou a kehla? Art thou an induna?”

“No induna am I, Black Elephant of the Amendebeli. I have left my country to follow my father here.”

“And the feet of those who pursue thee? When a man forsakes his country, is it not that he may travel faster than the feet of those who run behind him?” said Umzilikazi, with meaning.

“None such are behind me, Serpent of Wisdom,” replied the man. “In due time I return to my own country again, and to my wives. No evil have I done there that I should not return.”

“Ha! Thy wives?” said the King. Then, turning to the white man—

“And thou, stranger? They say of thee that thou art an isanusi—though white—that thou wert making múti of a wonderful and unheard-of-kind?”

“That is true, O King.”

“And wherefore was this múti?”

“Let the King listen,” answered the white man. “When the izanusi of the peoples of the Zulu offer sacrifice of cattle to the spirits of departed chiefs and kings, they do so to gain something. Is not this true, Great Great One?”

“It is no lie,” answered Umzilikazi.

“When I offer sacrifice, it is of a different kind, for it is offered to the Mighty Ruler of the world who dwells above the heavens. The sacrifice which the induna Untúswa beheld me offering amid the rocks in the forest was also to gain something—very especially to gain something.”

“And what was that?”

“The peace and welfare and happiness of the people who dwell in this land, and of the King who reigns over them.”

“Hau!” burst from all who heard these strange words. And for a space all sat gazing at this white man in silence, as he stood there in his black robe, which was torn and patched and soiled as with hard travel. His face was as the face of a good man, and in height he was not quite so tall as our warriors. Now he stood there looking round upon us all with the eyes of a friend.

“Thy words are good, white stranger,” said the King. “But there is one thing that sounds strange to our ears, and that is that thou shouldst seek to gain us peace. For we are a nation of warriors, and what have such to do with peace? Would they not speedily be eaten up, even as these miserable peoples whom we have swept from our path? No; peace is not a thing to desire for such as we.”

We who heard greeted the King’s words with a shout of assent—I, especially, gripping my hand, as though I held the great Assegai, the royal gift.

“Yet peace is good,” said the white isanusi, speaking pleasantly. “Under its shadow nations prosper and grow great.”

“Atyi! were ever such words heard!” we cried, shaking our heads. “Grow great beneath the shadow of peace! Ca-bo—Ca-bo!” And we laughed scornfully.

“I think thy words please not the ears of my children, white stranger,” said the King, with a grim smile. “It is war by which nations grow great—not peace—war, wherein they destroy all their enemies. The nation which does this is the greatest nation; and such is ours.”

“All their enemies?” repeated the white man softly, with head slightly on one side and his eyes fixed upon those of the Great Great One.

“All their enemies did the King say?”

“All—all whom they can reach.”

“Ah! But what of those who would reach them? With every nation, however great, there is at least one other which it has cause to fear—at least one other which is stronger than itself, or which any day may become so.”

Now the cry of anger, of disgust, which arose to our lips was checked, for beyond a lightening up of the eyes the King’s face showed no sign that he had grasped the full meaning of this speech. For we knew—we izinduna—that in his heart of hearts Umzilikazi was uneasy on the subject of the Amabuna and Dingane, but especially Dingane. He knew that, sooner or later, the arm of Dingane would be long enough to reach him; and it was for this reason that such immense pains were taken to keep up the strength and efficiency of our army. Even then, nearly half of it was composed of slaves reared among base peoples. How should these withstand, in the day of trial, the pure blood and disciplined numbers of the impis of Dingane? We had overthrown Tshaka’s impi among the mountain passes, but that was a running fight, and but for the cloud which descended upon the crests of Kwahlamba and rested there for days the end might well have been different, and to-day there might have been no new nation ruled over by the son of Matyobane. It was a dangerous speech to utter into the ears of the Great Great One, for a King likes not to be reminded that there may be a mightier king than himself. It was a speech which, coming from the lips of many a man, might well have amounted to a prayer for death.

“Nations are like lions,” replied Umzilikazi; “the stronger drives out the weaker, that it may keep its hunting-grounds for itself alone. The weaker, in turn, drives out the weaker still; and so things go on, and ever will go on.”

“Not so, Black Elephant. The time will come—has come in some parts of the earth—when the strong no longer drive out the weak, but both shall sit down side by side in peace. There is One who gave His life that this should come to pass, and that all should be turned into the way of the truth. And He who thus suffered death to save a world was the Son of a King—a King beside whom the might of the mightiest King the earth ever saw is less than the weakness of a child beside the strength of an elephant. For He was the Son of God.”

“What was He like? How did He die, the son of this mighty King?” said Umzilikazi.

“Thus, ruler of a nation which loves war. Thus.”

And the white isanusi drew from his robe something we had beheld sticking in it, and had deemed some portion of his múti, and held it out towards the King. And we, too, all saw it. It was a black cross, and upon it, fashioned in some shining metal, was stretched the Figure of a Man.

A gasp of astonishment went up from every throat; for we Zulus, Nkose, are always anxious to hear something new. Au! This was something new, if ever anything was.

“Seat thyself, father of the red múti cloak,” said Umzilikazi, after we had gazed awhile upon this strange object. “Seat thyself, and tell us the tale of this marvel. I would fain hear of the doings of a King whose house was mightier than that of Senzangakona.”

So the white stranger seated himself there beside the King and told his tale; and a wonderful tale it was, and long did it take in telling. Whau, Nkose! It was new then, though I have more than once heard it since from the lips of white preachers, but never did they tell it as this man told it whom we found, my brother and I, making strange múti and offering sacrifice in the forest.

But there was one side of that story which pleased not any of us, which pleased not the King, and this was the teaching that all men should live at peace. We looked at one another, we war-captains, and shook our heads as we tried to imagine ourselves even more helpless than the cowardly Bakoni, whose ways were the ways of peace. We looked at the Great Great One too, though guardedly, at those parts of a story which set forth that there could be a mightier King than himself. Au! The tale was good, as a tale; but these were not teachings we liked to listen to, we chief men among a warrior race whose greatness lay in war.

“It is a great tale!” said Umzilikazi, when we had listened for a long time; “a wonderful tale. And now, my father, I would fain behold this making of múti such as my induna Untúswa witnessed unawares. I would fain see thee offer sacrifice. Shall we go forth into the forest, or can it be offered here?”

“It can be offered anywhere, Elephant of the Amandebeli, by one who is qualified to offer it,” answered the white isanusi. “But it is a very high and holy act, and cannot be offered twice upon the same day except under certain conditions, but not at all if food has been partaken of on that day.”

This answer satisfied the King. But there were some among us who murmured that the will of the Great Great One should thus be crossed, saying it brought back the day when old Masuka first came into our midst, who, being desired to make múti, refused, on the ground that the moment was not propitious.

Now, whether Umzilikazi was thus reminded, or whether his ears caught some of our murmurings, I know not. But he gave orders that the Mosutu should be called.

“Here is another isanusi, Masuka,” he said, when the old man appeared, murmuring words of bonga. “He is white, but I am not sure he is not a greater than thou.”

“I am not the greatest of my kind the world ever saw, Lord. Perchance there may be greater,” answered Masuka, darting a quick glance at the stranger with his bright and piercing eyes. “But can he make fire out of nothing, Great Great One? Can he make the thunder roar forth balls of flame into a buck smoke out of nothing? Can he make the countenances of the enemies of the King show clear in a bowl? Can he do these things, O Elephant?”

But the white man showed no dismay, no anxiety. There was nothing about him of the isanusi who fears a more powerful rival still. He looked straight in the old Mosutu’s face, and in his own was nothing but friendliness.

“Not in such spells do I deal, old man of a stranger race,” he answered. “The Great Great One whom I serve loves not such. Yet thou—the múti thou usest is not generally for ill, and thy divinations are in favour of right and justice and for the well-being and safety of thy King and adopted nation. While this is so may it go well with thee.”

“Ha!” we cried, amazed that this stranger should thus describe Masuka’s múti with such wonderful exactness. And the King was greatly pleased at that saying, and the white man made a friend of the old Mosutu, who saw at once—as what did he not see?—that here was no rival claiming to be greater than himself and to steal away the favour of the King from him. In truth, also, Nkose, the words of the stranger were well said, for since Masuka had been made the father of the King’s magic, few indeed of our people had been smelt out, and then only when they had been guilty of evil-doing, as in the case of the conspirators of Ncwelo’s pool, whereas, formerly, our own izanusi were ever clamouring for “witch-findings,” ever hungry as vultures for the flesh of men; wherefore, our nation loved the old Mosutu, and we who heard were glad because there was not to be another set up in his place.

“I see that the heart of the King is good towards me, and I rejoice,” said the white man before he withdrew. “For I would fain sow the seed of the Word of Life among this people before I travel South. Then there are those who shall return, and water and tend it, before a long time has gone by.”

We saw a look steal over Umzilikazi’s face at these words, and it was a look we knew.

“So it is thy purpose to travel to the South, my father?” said the King, speaking softly and low.

“Such is my purpose, Black Elephant,” was the answer.

“Ha! the journey to the southward is long, and not over-safe,” went on the King. “There are bad peoples and tribes who will do thee hurt, my father.”

“That I must brave, Great Great One; for the soldiers of Him whom I serve often meet with hurt, and even death, in His service.”

“Something was said but now about sowing the seed of the Word of Life among this people, my father,” went on the King, still speaking softly, and with a strange look upon his face, as he gazed fixedly at the other. “Now, why should it not be sown among this people as well as among the peoples of the South?”

The face of the white isanusi lighted up for joy at these words. He replied:

“Great is the Mighty One who dwells above; who has put such into the mind of the King! Here, then, will I dwell for a while, and the people of the Amandebeli shall drink by degrees of the Fountain of Life.”

But while he thus praised, we, who listened, laughed secretly within ourselves, for we knew what thoughts were within the real mind of the King. And these were, that the day when the white isanusi was to start upon his travels for the dwellings of the peoples to the South should arrive never—no, never!

Chapter Fifteen.

“Lost!”

Now, as time went by, this white isanusi still continued to dwell in our midst in great contentment, for the King ordered that his treatment should be of the best; and, indeed, it was so. From time to time he and the Gaza would offer sacrifice together, as we had first beheld it. Howbeit, he did not importune us with this new teaching, but busied himself in going in and out among the people, talking to them, and acting as a friend to all—even among the very lowest of the Amaholi and enslaved captives. To these he taught that there would come a time when they should be free—but the way to such freedom lay through the gates of death; and this caused the slaves to shake their heads and jeer. Their lives were hard, and they wanted to be free; but if the land of freedom was only to be reached through the gates of death, why, then they preferred to remain in the land of the Amandebeli. Yet among all was this white isanusi loved, because his words were ever soft and kind; and soon the name by which he became known among the people was that of “Father.” There was one thing, too, which he never failed to bring into his teaching—and this was that, although the King was equally subject to the Great Great One who dwelt above the skies, yet the people were none the less bound to obey the “word” of the King and the orders of his indunas and captains. And, this being so, he retained the favour of Umzilikazi, who had set spies to watch him secretly, and report what his teachings really were.

It happened that a few days after his arrival among us the white stranger was with the King, for often would the Great Great One invite him to an indaba, that he might listen to wonderful tales of far countries beyond the sea. Yet when the isanusi would tell once more that marvellous tale which he had first told, and begin to set forth its teachings, Umzilikazi would laugh softly to himself, and bring round the talk to other matters. It happened, Nkose, that on the day I named, an idea seemed to strike the King.

“See, now, father of the strange múti,” he said. “Do all the white people believe that great tale?”

We who were watching the stranger’s face saw a troubled look come over it, as he answered that nearly all did.

“Do the Amabuna believe it?” went on the King.

“They believe it, Great Great One—but not the whole of it.”

“Ha! Not the whole of it! They are a lying and treacherous race, deadly as a swarm of locusts! Say, my father, if they believed the whole of it, they would lie, and steal land, and make slaves no more?”

“That is so, Black Elephant.”

The King smiled grimly to himself as he took snuff. We, too, smiled. Here were teachings which would never do for us—for although we of the Zulu race did not lie, yet we took land and slaves, even as the Amabuna did, and made war. Now these were customs we could not by any possibility give up. Then the Great Great One leaned over, and whispered a word to me.

Now the little white child we had taken from among the Amabuna was fast becoming one of ourselves. Yet not; for those with whom she played she would somehow cause to konza to her, even in their games, as though she were born to rule. If they played at building kraals, she it was whose hut was always the largest. If the boys were playing soldiers, it was always before her they came, singing the mimic war-song, and forcing the defeated side to konza. She reigned among them as a little queen. Even my two younger wives, who had the care of her, she seemed to rule. They would not, however, allow her to run wild with our children, but, as her clothing wore out, they made her garments of the softest of dressed fawn-skins, ornamented largely with the most valued of beads. And now, as in obedience to the word of the King, I led the little one forth into his presence, and the stranger looked for the first time upon the fair skin and flower-like little face—the heaven-blue eyes, and hair like a stream of sunlight falling down the beaded robe of the child—he made as though he would have leaped from his seat.

“See now, my father,” said the King, as the little one put up her hand and cried the Bayéte, “here is one of thine own colour, though but a tiny child. See now if thy story of the God of Peace is known in any way to her.”

Now the white isanusi hardly waited for the word of the King, and the change which came upon him was strange indeed. He sprang to his feet, and advanced to the little one, who stared at him with her great blue eyes, yet did not shrink from him as in fear of a stranger. Then he put his hand over her head, and, looking upward and then down at her, his lips moved.

“Au! he is placing a spell upon her,” growled one who sat near me.

“It is not a spell that will harm,” murmured another in reply. But no more was said, for now the stranger was talking quick and fast in his own language, and the little one might have been his own child, long, long lost; for tears stood in his eyes as he talked, and soon rolled down upon his great beard. Haul It was a strange sight. He wept, this white man who knew not fear: yes, here, in the presence of the King, and of we izinduna and war-captains, he wept, and that at the sight of a little blue-eyed child!

But here was another strange thing. The little one’s face wore a blank look. Clearly she did not understand a word of what he was saying. Truly a strange thing! These two white people—the old man and the tiny girl—meeting thus by chance in the midst of our nation, understood not each other’s tongue!

“Speak to her with the tongue of the Amabuna, my father,” said the King.

But of this language the white isanusi had but scant knowledge, and in the end the only tongue with which these two whites could converse was that of the Amazulu. No, Nkose, not as yours was the tongue in which that isanusi spake. It was quicker—far quicker—and accompanied with more movements, like that of ourselves.

“There, my father,” said Umzilikazi. “The little one is of thine own colour. Now begin with her, and teach her about this strange God, which seems to me to be teaching more fitted for her than for us black ones.”

The white man’s face lighted up with joy at this permission, and he poured forth many words of praise for the goodness of the King. And we, too, we echoed the words of bonga with a loud voice. And the little one, she too seemed glad because of those words; and not long after, in the presence of the King, and all who were then at Kwa’zingwenya, the white isanusi performed strange ceremonies over her, of which the principal seemed the sprinkling of water, and declared she was now especially a child of that great God of whom he had spoken. This Umzilikazi was very willing to sanction, for was not the child white—and a girl? But when it came to teaching warriors a belief that peace was better than war—Au! that was a very different matter.

Now I had been kept so busy all this while, attending to the affairs of the King and the nation, that no time had I to visit the mountain of death and her who dwelt in the secret chamber thereof. Yet my mind was ever in flight thither as I beheld its flat top standing out through the haze afar off. Wherefore I resolved, for good or for ill, to journey thither, as though to hunt.

Once well beyond the last outpost of our people I began to run, travelling with a speed worthy the days when I was the King’s chief runner. At length I stood beneath the mountain and began to ascend its slopes, and I sang softly to myself a song of gladness and of love as I thought how soon I should be drinking in the strange sweet sorcery of Lalusini’s words and looks.

I had nearly gained the summit when a loud and savage growl brought me up motionless in my own footprints, and, taking the great Assegai in my right hand and advancing my small shield forward a little in the left, I peered eagerly in search of the enemy.

Not a moment had I to look. The flaming eyes, the long, yellow shape, the shaggy mane, almost blurred up as they were by the brown of the mountain-side, represented nothing less than a lion—an enormous one, crouching for a spring. There was no turning aside. Face to face we had come, in this narrow gully. Neither could give way. One must advance over the body of the other.

Whau, Nkose! This was no light matter; for to kill a full-grown lion, single-handed, with spears only, is a business we never willingly undertake. But this one gave me no choice, for, with a savage snarl, he launched himself into the air.

I know not how I avoided that onslaught; but I was quick in those days, Nkose, quick as any wild beast. What I did was to run in upon him, flinging myself right under his spring. Then, as he flew over me, I flashed upright, and, poised on tip-toe, quick as lightning I hurled one of my casting spears. It sang, quivering on its way, striking the mighty beast slantwise in the ribs and sinking deep. With terrible roars and snarls he rolled over and over, snapping at the spear-haft, and biting his own skin in the agony of his pain, and, the more he struggled, the deeper sank the spear. Now I saw what I would do. It would be quicker and far safer, and I did not want to brave over much danger just then. A great mass of loose rock stood poised upon a firmly embedded one immediately above the body of the lion, which, with hideous roars, was writhing and struggling beneath. Running to this, I mustered all my strength for a push. It swayed and tottered. Another mighty effort, the huge stone swung over and went crashing down the slope. The aim was good. With a frightful yell the great beast yielded up his life, and lay with ribs and spine shattered, while the rock tore down the mountain-side in leaps and bounds, splitting into fragments as it rolled.

“Bayéte!” I cried, in my exultation; for I had done something really great. “Hail, king of the plain and the mountain! A short burial shall first be thine.”

Collecting stones, I piled them upon the sinewy frame of the mighty beast to protect it from the vultures; for I desired not to tarry then, so eager was I once more to behold Lalusini. Then, having gained the flat summit of the mountain, I took my way cautiously to the secret entrance of the sorceress’s retreat.

And now, as I threaded the dark passage through the earth, I began softly to sing a song of love, which should let Lalusini know that I was coming. But there came back no answering song. Whau, Nkose! Warrior as I was, I felt weak then, and my pulses began to beat. I sprang down into the great rock hollow. It was empty.

Then I felt like a man who would willingly die, so strong was the witchery of the spell which this sorceress of Zulu blood had woven around me. I called her by name, first softly, then louder, for I thought she might be doing this to try me, and, even then, might be watching me from somewhere, and laughing to herself at my discomfiture. Still, no answer.

Then a hideous thought took possession of my mind. That great lion I had slain! Had not Lalusini herself made mention of having heard its voice rolling upon the mountain at night? Had she not expressed some fear lest the beast might find its way in through the tunnel? As a man who has gone mad, I sprang to the hole and examined the ground for traces. But there were none—none such as would have been left by a lion forcing his way in, and returning, dragging a heavy body. So the possession of my senses returned, and I fell to making an investigation of the place. Ha! The mystery was a mystery no longer. Lalusini had, indeed, gone, but she had departed of her own free will, for most of the articles necessary to her comfort, such as clothing, cooking utensils, and so forth, had disappeared.

Yes, Nkose; my heart was sore within me. Whither had she gone? Was it to return once more to that great, yet distant, people, among whom she had promised to make me great? Wearied with the length of time I had been forced to leave her unvisited—in the light of my hesitation to agree to throw in my lot with hers under such mad circumstances of peril and hazard—had she decided to leave me altogether? It seemed like it. Yet, I would track her—would find her. And then I laughed at myself for a fool, for how knew I, after all this time, which way to turn to seek her? She might be far away by that time.

Sore at heart, I went up into the outer day again, and there upon the summit of the mountain I sought long and hard for footprints. But I sought in vain. There were none. Lalusini might have vanished like a bird into the air.

All that day I searched. There might be other hiding-places upon the mountain, even more secret than the one which was known only to me and to her. But if this was so I know not. I only know that, search as I would, no trace could I find of such.

Then I went down again into the rock hollow to pass the night, thinking she might chance to return. But when I lay down to sleep, sleep would not come, or if it did, only so lightly as to be more wakefulness than sleep; and it seemed that the face of the beautiful sorceress hung over me in my dreams, but when I would start to clasp her, calling her by name, there was nothing, no sound but the howling of beasts, ravening upon the mountain slopes throughout the night. And when the sun rose at last, then mounted higher into the sky, and still Lalusini did not return, I knew then that I had lost her forever, that never would I behold her more.

So, with heart heavy and sore, I dragged myself away from the place, and returning to where I had left the dead lion, cut off the head and forepaws and the tail-tuft of the mighty beast, and, thus laden, took my way back to Kwa’zingwenya, sorrowing exceedingly for the loss of her who had thus bewitched me.

Note. That this travelling priest was of French nationality was somewhat confirmed, for on hearing that language spoken, although unable to recognise any specific word, Untúswa declared that it seemed to bring back to his mind something of the stranger’s speech.

Chapter Sixteen.

A Life for Ten Lives.

I returned to Kwa’zingwenya with the head and paws of the great lion I had slain, and those who beheld it envied, crying, “What a hunter is Untúswa! In the chase, as in war, his is the weapon beneath which falls the mightiest!” The King, too, was pleased when he beheld those trophies. But Nangeza, seeing them, said:—

“Ah, ah, Untúswa. Thy skill is in truth wonderful, who went forth to find a young heifer and found an old lion.”

This she said jeering, and with her eyes upon my face. But I, while affecting not to notice, found food for much thought in the words. Had Nangeza indeed discovered my secret? Was she concerned in the disappearance of Lalusini? Ha! I resolved to watch her narrowly, and were my suspicions verified, why then, indeed, there would be room in my house for a new inkosikazi.

Now at this time, things being quiet and our nation settling down in its new land, I gained the King’s leave to build myself a kraal some little distance from Kwa’zingwenya, and thither I removed with all my possessions—my cattle and my wives—and my brother Mgwali also came with me with his wives, and two other sons of my father, and soon I was the head of a large kraal of a score and a half of huts. But as time went on, and my duties in the way of seeing to the strength and efficiency of my own half of the army became greater, so far from beginning to think less of Lalusini I thought of her more. In the sunshine, darting in gold through the forest trees, it seemed that I could see her eyes, in the soft whispers of the wind at evening I could hear her voice. In my dreams I beheld her, was with her. Au! I was bewitched indeed. But although I made more than one journey again to the mountain of death, never did I discover any sign which should show she had revisited her hiding-place. All there had fallen more and more into decay, as though she had gone never to return.

“Of a truth, Untúswa, thou shouldst be an isanusi thyself,” said the King one day when we were sitting alone together in debate. “Thou hast a gift for finding izanusi and bringing them hither—first Masuka, now this white stranger; concerning which last my mind is in darkness, for I know not what to do with him.”

“Is he not content, Black Elephant? Does he not fare well among us, teaching those who care to listen—ah, ah! those who care to listen?” I added with meaning.

“For a time yes,” said Umzilikazi. “But the day will come when he will desire to travel again.”

“Let him travel back by the way he came, Calf of a Black Cow,” I answered, still with meaning. “For him the way of the South is not safe. There indeed are peoples that would do him harm.”

The Great Great One shook his head in discontent.

“Verily, Untúswa, I know not how this will end,” he said.

“Let be for the present, my father,” I answered. “The stranger is happy now, teaching the slaves. It may be that things will right themselves in this matter.”

I spoke darkly, Nkose, not seeing light. But both I and the Great Great One little guessed in what manner things would right themselves, and that at no great distance of time—ah, no! little could we we foresee that.

Now this was the meaning which underlay my words relating to the white isanusi and his teaching of the slaves. The last thing the King desired was that this white man should journey South, to bear, mayhap, the word to the Amabuna or to Dingane: “Yonder, to the North, in a fair and well-watered land, dwells Umzilikazi, and his warriors number so many, of whom a large proportion are of no account—being dogs and slaves.” The white stranger and the Gaza, Ngubazana, were but two men: what easier than to kill them secretly and thus end all trouble? There were not wanting some among the izinduna who spoke darkly to this end. But to such counsels Umzilikazi’s ears were shut. The white stranger was his friend. He was not of the race of the greedy, lying Amabuna; moreover, for himself it was easy to see he desired nothing, neither lands nor possessions; and though his teachings were not such as to be accepted by a warrior nation, there was no harm in them, no subversion of the greatness of the King. Not upon any considerations should he be harmed—neither the Gaza, his follower.

But he must be kept among us; and in furtherance of this end the King gave secret orders that a few of the lowest of the slaves should listen to his teaching, and slowly and by degrees bring themselves to accept it, or pretend to. Then a few more were added to these; but ever with caution, lest the white isanusi should suspect. But he did not suspect; on the contrary, his heart was filled with joy at the readiness wherewith, these received his teaching, and at length—for this took time—he put them under the same rites as those which he had performed over the little white girl. So he was content to dwell with us; and while we laughed among ourselves over the trick we had played upon him, yet we were glad that this other road lay open to him besides that to the South, which would have caused us trouble, and that into the Dark Unknown, which might have caused it to him.

I had left Kwa’zingwenya after this indaba with the King, and was returning to my own kraal along the river bank, sad at heart, and pondering ever upon the disappearance of the Bakoni sorceress, when I came upon an old man, stumbling along, bent double, nosing and peering on the ground. It was old Masuka.

“Greeting, my father!” I cried. “Are you seeking múti herbs?”

“Perhaps I am seeking for that which shall give sleep, son of Ntelani,” he replied, laughing at me out of his eyes. “Ha! my dreams were strange last night—strange, and they were about thee, Untúswa, about thee!”

“About me, my father?” I cried.

“E—hé! But, first give me gwai, thou holder of the King’s Assegai, for I have none left.”

I took out the long horn snuff-box which was stuck through the lobe of my ear, and, squatting down, we both took snuff in silence. Then the old man burst into a chuckle.

“My dreams took me to the summit of the mountain of death, son of Ntelani. The ghost of Tauane was there—searching for something.”

“For what was it searching, my father?”

“For a strange thing. For an outward chamber in the cliff, like unto the place of an eagle’s nest.”

“Ha!” I cried, staring at him wildly, my snuff-spoon in mid-air.

How his old eyes laughed; for my confusion was great. And well it might be, for these were the very words wherewith I had taunted the chief of the Blue Cattle on his flaming bed of death. Yet old Masuka had been nowhere near at that time, nor had any who understood that tongue.

“And why could not the ghost of Tauane find that place, my father?” I said. “Being a ghost, he could fly through the air until he found the chamber in the cliff like an eagle’s nest.”

“Not thus would he find it, destroyer of the Bakoni,” was the answer. “‘Through the darkness of the earth’—such were his words.”

“Ha! Was it for good or for ill he spoke thus? Were those all the words of Tauane’s ghost my father?”

“Not so, Untúswa. Soon the ghost went winging through the air, crying and wailing that the place like an eagle’s nest was there, but that the she-eagle had flown away. Why art thou sad of late, son of Ntelani?”

“Thy múti is wonderful, father,” I replied. “Will the she-eagle return? Tell me. Will it return?”

“It will return. Ha! yonder alligators are hungry. They shall be fed. Oh, yes, they shall be fed. The she-eagle will return.”

I liked not his tones, Nkose, and my blood ran chill. For his speech, though dark, could have but one meaning. Lalusini I should behold again; but one or both of us should find death in the alligators’ pool. Well, what matter? One could but die once; and so great was the spell cast over me by the Bakoni sorceress that it seemed, once more to behold her, once more to have speech with her, I would gladly pay the price of death.

“I have a black cow, well in milk, which is one too many in my herd, father,” I said. “It shall be driven forth to-morrow to the place where thy cattle graze.”

But he paid scant heed, which was strange, for he loved cattle, and always welcomed such gifts. With his head on one side, as though listening intently, he repeated softly to himself:

“Yonder alligators are hungry. They shall be fed; oh, yes, they shall be fed!”

You will remember, Nkose, a certain pool in the river, which the King and I had lighted upon one evening soon after arriving at our new resting-place, and into which he had caused some calves to be driven that the alligators might seize them. Now this pool had been turned into a place of execution. No longer were those adjudged to doom led forth to die beneath the knobsticks of the slayers, as formerly, but were forced to leap, or were thrown into the pool, and from it none emerged alive. As I sat and talked with Masuka, I remembered that the Pool of the Alligators lay at no great distance from us, and between ourselves and the great kraal. Upon it the old Mosutu seemed to be concentrating his attention; and, as I listened, sounds were wafted thence.

“Evil-doers are about to meet death!” he said, at last. “Come, we will witness it.”

We rose and took our way along the river-bank. As we crested the rise, which brought us near the brow of the cliff from which the victims were thrown, we saw a multitude streaming down from the great kraal, and in the forefront of the crowd were men armed with sticks, and driving before them two other men, who were bound.

These were already half-dead with fear, and could scarcely walk, but the blows of the slayers urged them onward until they stood right upon the spot whence they should leap into the jaws of the hungry alligators. We could see at a glance that they were slaves, and sadly, indeed, they looked. From the people we learned that these two, being in charge of a flock of the King’s goats, had suffered wild dogs to break into the fold at night, whereby upwards of a score were slain. So Umzilikazi, declaring that if his goats were only fit to feed wild dogs with, assuredly to base Bakoni were only fit two feed alligators with; and they had been led forth.

Now, this scene did not move us in any way, Nkose, for the death of a slave more or less was nothing. But we just lingered to see these leap in.

Yet they would not. When driven to the edge they hung back, then cast themselves on the ground weeping and groaning for mercy. Already the surface of the pool below was alive with slimy, stealthy life. Widening lines upon the water told that the alligators well understood the cause of the tumult overhead. They moved silently to and fro, awaiting the plunge which should bring them the prey they had learned to love best—the flesh of men.

Now the slayers had grasped the screaming wretches, and were about to fling them out, when between the cliff brow and the victims a figure suddenly sprang forth, arising, as it were, by magic. All gave a shout of wonder, and the executioners paused in their work. The black robe, the long, flowing beard, the countenance stamped with a great horror and pain, were known to all. It was the white isanusi.

“Hold! my children!” he cried. “Hold! I beg of you!”

The slayers hesitated, and growled to each other. With arms outstretched, there the white man stood on the cliff brow between the hideous, hungry reptiles and their weeping, shivering victims. To fling these in was impossible without flinging him in too.

“It is the King’s will, father,” growled the chief of the slayers. “Know you not that did we hesitate we should be even as these? Stand aside.”

“Not yet, not yet,” he pleaded; and there was weeping in his voice. “Not yet. Wait—only until I hasten to the King! He will hear me, for he has given me the lives of such as these!”

“It may not be, father,” was the answer, made now with more alarm. “Whau! it is on us the izingwenya will feed, if not on these. Stand now aside.”

“Ah! have pity! Untúswa will take my side,” he cried in a glad voice, catching sight of my face. “Stay their hands, Untúswa, if only for a while, till I bring back the King’s pardon.”

“It may not be, father,” I, too, replied. “The King’s sentence has been given. It is even as the men say. Their lives are as the lives of these if they hesitate. Would you doom to death many men where two will suffice? Let them do their work.”

Now, I know not, Nkose, how this thing would have ended; for the white isanusi still continued to stand and plead, and none dare remove him by force, remembering in what high honour he was held by the Great Great One. But just then loud shouting made itself heard upon the outskirts of the crowd, which bent low suddenly, like a forest struck by a gale. And there advancing, with his head thrown back and a light in his eyes such as none of us cared to behold, came the Great Great One himself.

He stalked straight up to where stood the white isanusi, to where lay the doomed ones and the executioners, who, having hesitated to perform their work, counted themselves already dead. He was attended by the old induna Mcumbete, to whom he now turned.

“See,” he said, in a voice which made many tremble, “I am no King. I am only the lowest of the Amaholi. For the word of a King is obeyed; yet my word, though long since uttered, is not obeyed. Hau! What sort of a King ami?”

And the terrible frown of anger upon his face took in the white man, even as it did ourselves.

“Mercy! Great Great One! Mercy for these!” cried the stranger, pointing to the doomed slaves.

We who watched trembled for the life of the speaker; those of us who did not tremble for our own—and of these there could be but few—for this was a terrible thing which had happened, such a thing as had never before been known, that any man, white or black, should dare to interfere between the King’s decrees and their execution. But still the white priest stood upon the brink of that grisly pool of death pleading forgiveness, not for himself, but for those two miserable slaves. Ha! That was a sight indeed.

“You do not know us yet, O stranger!” went on Umzilikazi, now in bitter and sneering tones; “else had you not thought to save the lives of these two by any such means. For now have you doomed many to death, even all those whose errand it was to carry out my sentence and have allowed themselves to hesitate in doing so. For they, too, are dead men.”

A gasp of horror, which was almost a sob, ran through the multitude. The izimbonga bellowed aloud in praise of the King’s justice; but even their voices were not without a quaver. But the white priest stood facing the angry countenance of the King; and upon his own was stamped a great and deep sadness, but never a trace of fear.

“Be merciful, thou ruler of a great nation!” he pleaded more earnestly. “Mercy is the quality by which a King may show himself truly great. We have been friends. Oh, slay not these men, when the fault is entirely mine.”

“Not entirely. The fault of the man who hesitates to obey my word is entirely his own, and the penalty thereof he knows,” said Umzilikazi, pitilessly. “We have been friends, white stranger; but of what sort is the friendship which teaches those who are my dogs to laugh at me? Friend as thou art, I know not how thine own life shall be left thee after such an act as this.”

Something in the words seemed to strike the white isanusi. His face lightened up.