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Child of Storm by H. Rider Haggard

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This etext was prepared by Christopher Hapka, Sunnyvale, California.

Digital Editor's Note:

Italics are represented in the text with _underscores_. In the
interest of readability, where italics are used to indicate
non-English words, I have silently omitted them or replaced them
with quotation marks.

Haggard's spelling, especially of Zulu terms, is wildly inconsistent;
likewise his capitalization, especially of Zulu terms. For example,
Masapo is the chief of the Amansomi until chapter IX; thereafter his
tribe is consistently referred to as the "Amasomi". In general, I
have retained Haggard's spellings.

Some diacriticals in the text could not be represented in 7-bit
ASCII text and have been approximated here. To restore all
formatting, do the following throughout the text:

Replace the pound symbol "#" with the English pound
currency symbol
Place a circumflex accent over the first "e" and
an acute accent over the second "e" in "melee"
Place an acute accent over the first "e" in "ancetres"
Place an umlaut over the "o" in "aas-vogel"
Place an acute accent over the first "e" in "bayete"

CHILD OF STORM

by H. RIDER HAGGARD

DEDICATION

Dear Mr. Stuart,

For twenty years, I believe I am right in saying, you, as Assistant
Secretary for Native Affairs in Natal, and in other offices, have been
intimately acquainted with the Zulu people. Moreover, you are one of
the few living men who have made a deep and scientific study of their
language, their customs and their history. So I confess that I was the
more pleased after you were so good as to read this tale--the second
book of the epic of the vengeance of Zikali, "the
Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born," and of the fall of the House of
Senzangakona*--when you wrote to me that it was animated by the true
Zulu spirit.

[*--"Marie" was the first. The third and final act in the drama is yet
to come.].

I must admit that my acquaintance with this people dates from a period
which closed almost before your day. What I know of them I gathered at
the time when Cetewayo, of whom my volume tells, was in his glory,
previous to the evil hour in which he found himself driven by the
clamour of his regiments, cut off, as they were, through the annexation
of the Transvaal, from their hereditary trade of war, to match himself
against the British strength. I learned it all by personal observation
in the 'seventies, or from the lips of the great Shepstone, my chief and
friend, and from my colleagues Osborn, Fynney, Clarke and others, every
one of them long since "gone down."

Perhaps it may be as well that this is so, at any rate in the case of
one who desires to write of the Zulus as a reigning nation, which now
they have ceased to be, and to try to show them as they were, in all
their superstitious madness and bloodstained grandeur.

Yet then they had virtues as well as vices. To serve their Country in
arms, to die for it and for the King; such was their primitive ideal.
If they were fierce they were loyal, and feared neither wounds nor doom;
if they listened to the dark redes of the witch-doctor, the trumpet-call
of duty sounded still louder in their ears; if, chanting their terrible
"Ingoma," at the King's bidding they went forth to slay unsparingly, at
least they were not mean or vulgar. From those who continually must
face the last great issues of life or death meanness and vulgarity are
far removed. These qualities belong to the safe and crowded haunts of
civilised men, not to the kraals of Bantu savages, where, at any rate of
old, they might be sought in vain.

Now everything is changed, or so I hear, and doubtless in the balance
this is best. Still we may wonder what are the thoughts that pass
through the mind of some ancient warrior of Chaka's or Dingaan's time,
as he suns himself crouched on the ground, for example, where once stood
the royal kraal, Duguza, and watches men and women of the Zulu blood
passing homeward from the cities or the mines, bemused, some of them,
with the white man's smuggled liquor, grotesque with the white man's
cast-off garments, hiding, perhaps, in their blankets examples of the
white man's doubtful photographs--and then shuts his sunken eyes and
remembers the plumed and kilted regiments making that same ground shake
as, with a thunder of salute, line upon line, company upon company, they
rushed out to battle.

Well, because the latter does not attract me, it is of this former time
that I have tried to write--the time of the Impis and the witch-finders
and the rival princes of the royal House--as I am glad to learn from
you, not quite in vain. Therefore, since you, so great an expert,
approve of my labours in the seldom-travelled field of Zulu story, I ask
you to allow me to set your name upon this page and subscribe myself,

Gratefully and sincerely yours,

H. RIDER HAGGARD.

Ditchingham, 12th October, 1912.

To James Stuart, Esq.,
Late Assistant Secretary for Native Affairs, Natal.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Mr. Allan Quatermain's story of the wicked and fascinating Mameena, a
kind of Zulu Helen, has, it should be stated, a broad foundation in
historical fact. Leaving Mameena and her wiles on one side, the tale of
the struggle between the Princes Cetewayo and Umbelazi for succession to
the throne of Zululand is true.

When the differences between these sons of his became intolerable,
because of the tumult which they were causing in his country, King
Panda, their father, the son of Senzangakona, and the brother of the
great Chaka and of Dingaan, who had ruled before him, did say that "when
two young bulls quarrel they had better fight it out." So, at least, I
was told by the late Mr. F. B. Fynney, my colleague at the time of the
annexation of the Transvaal in 1877, who, as Zulu Border Agent, with the
exceptions of the late Sir Theophilus Shepstone and the late Sir Melmoth
Osborn, perhaps knew more of that land and people than anyone else of
his period.

As a result of this hint given by a maddened king, the great battle of
the Tugela was fought at Endondakusuka in December, 1856, between the
Usutu party, commanded by Cetewayo, and the adherents of Umbelazi the
Handsome, his brother, who was known among the Zulus as
"Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti", or the "Elephant with the tuft of hair," from a
little lock of hair which grew low down upon his back.

My friend, Sir Melmoth Osborn, who died in or about the year 1897, was
present at this battle, although not as a combatant. Well do I remember
his thrilling story, told to me over thirty years ago, of the events of
that awful day.

Early in the morning, or during the previous night, I forget which, he
swam his horse across the Tugela and hid with it in a bush-clad kopje,
blindfolding the animal with his coat lest it should betray him. As it
chanced, the great fight of the day, that of the regiment of veterans,
which Sir Melmoth informed me Panda had sent down at the last moment to
the assistance of Umbelazi, his favourite son, took place almost at the
foot of this kopje. Mr. Quatermain, in his narrative, calls this
regiment the Amawombe, but my recollection is that the name Sir Melmoth
Osborn gave them was "The Greys" or "Upunga."

Whatever their exact title may have been, however, they made a great
stand. At least, he told me that when Umbelazi's impi, or army, began
to give before the Usutu onslaught, these "Greys" moved forward above
3,000 strong, drawn up in a triple line, and were charged by one of
Cetewayo's regiments.

The opposing forces met, and the noise of their clashing shields, said
Sir Melmoth, was like the roll of heavy thunder. Then, while he
watched, the veteran "Greys" passed over the opposing regiment "as a
wave passes over a rock"--these were his exact words--and, leaving about
a third of their number dead or wounded among the bodies of the
annihilated foe, charged on to meet a second regiment sent against them
by Cetewayo. With these the struggle was repeated, but again the
"Greys" conquered. Only now there were not more than five or six
hundred of them left upon their feet.

These survivors ran to a mound, round which they formed a ring, and here
for a long while withstood the attack of a third regiment, until at
length they perished almost to a man, buried beneath heaps of their
slain assailants, the Usutu.

Truly they made a noble end fighting thus against tremendous odds!

As for the number who fell at this battle of Endondakusuka, Mr. Fynney,
in a pamphlet which he wrote, says that six of Umbelazi's brothers died,
"whilst it is estimated that upwards of 100,000 of the people--men,
women and children--were slain"--a high and indeed an impossible
estimate.

That curious personage named John Dunn, an Englishman who became a Zulu
chief, and who actually fought in this battle, as narrated by Mr.
Quatermain, however, puts the number much lower. What the true total
was will never be known; but Sir Melmoth Osborn told me that when he
swam his horse back across the Tugela that night it was black with
bodies; and Sir Theophilus Shepstone also told me that when he visited
the scene a day or two later the banks of the river were strewn with
multitudes of them, male and female.

It was from Mr. Fynney that I heard the story of the execution by
Cetewayo of the man who appeared before him with the ornaments of
Umbelazi, announcing that he had killed the prince with his own hand.
Of course, this tale, as Mr. Quatermain points out, bears a striking
resemblance to that recorded in the Old Testament in connection with the
death of King Saul.

It by no means follows, however, that it is therefore apocryphal;
indeed, Mr. Fynney assured me that it was quite true, although, if he
gave me his authorities, I cannot remember them after a lapse of more
than thirty years.

The exact circumstances of Umbelazi's death are unknown, but the general
report was that he died, not by the assegais of the Usutu, but of a
broken heart. Another story declares that he was drowned. His body was
never found, and it is therefore probable that it sank in the Tugela, as
is suggested in the following pages.

I have only to add that it is quite in accordance with Zulu beliefs that
a man should be haunted by the ghost of one whom he has murdered or
betrayed, or, to be more accurate, that the spirit ("umoya") should
enter into the slayer and drive him mad. Or, in such a case, that
spirit might bring misfortune upon him, his family, or his tribe.

H. RIDER HAGGARD.

CONTENTS

I. ALLAN QUATERMAIN HEARS OF MAMEENA
II. THE MOONSHINE OF ZIKALI
III. THE BUFFALO WITH THE CLEFT HORN
IV. MAMEENA
V. TWO BUCKS AND THE DOE
VI. THE AMBUSH
VII. SADUKO BRINGS THE MARRIAGE GIFT
VIII. THE KING'S DAUGHTER
IX. ALLAN RETURNS TO ZULULAND
X. THE SMELLING-OUT
XI. THE SIN OF UMBELAZI
XII. PANDA'S PRAYER
XIII. UMBELAZI THE FALLEN
XIV. UMBEZI AND THE BLOOD-ROYAL
XV. MAMEENA CLAIMS THE KISS
XVI. MAMEENA--MAMEENA--MAMEENA!

CHAPTER I

ALLAN QUATERMAIN HEARS OF MAMEENA

We white people think that we know everything. For instance, we think
that we understand human nature. And so we do, as human nature appears
to us, with all its trappings and accessories seen dimly through the
glass of our conventions, leaving out those aspects of it which we have
forgotten or do not think it polite to mention. But I, Allan
Quatermain, reflecting upon these matters in my ignorant and uneducated
fashion, have always held that no one really understands human nature
who has not studied it in the rough. Well, that is the aspect of it
with which I have been best acquainted.

For most of the years of my life I have handled the raw material, the
virgin ore, not the finished ornament that is smelted out of it--if,
indeed, it is finished yet, which I greatly doubt. I dare say that a
time may come when the perfected generations--if Civilisation, as we
understand it, really has a future and any such should be allowed to
enjoy their hour on the World--will look back to us as crude,
half-developed creatures whose only merit was that we handed on the
flame of life.

Maybe, maybe, for everything goes by comparison; and at one end of the
ladder is the ape-man, and at the other, as we hope, the angel. No, not
the angel; he belongs to a different sphere, but that last expression of
humanity upon which I will not speculate. While man is man--that is,
before he suffers the magical death-change into spirit, if such should
be his destiny--well, he will remain man. I mean that the same passions
will sway him; he will aim at the same ambitions; he will know the same
joys and be oppressed by the same fears, whether he lives in a Kafir hut
or in a golden palace; whether he walks upon his two feet or, as for
aught I know he may do one day, flies through the air. This is certain:
that in the flesh he can never escape from our atmosphere, and while he
breathes it, in the main with some variations prescribed by climate,
local law and religion, he will do much as his forefathers did for
countless ages.

That is why I have always found the savage so interesting, for in him,
nakedly and forcibly expressed, we see those eternal principles which
direct our human destiny.

To descend from these generalities, that is why also I, who hate
writing, have thought it worth while, at the cost of some labour to
myself, to occupy my leisure in what to me is a strange land--for
although I was born in England, it is not my country--in setting down
various experiences of my life that do, in my opinion, interpret this
our universal nature. I dare say that no one will ever read them;
still, perhaps they are worthy of record, and who knows? In days to
come they may fall into the hands of others and prove of value. At any
rate, they are true stories of interesting peoples, who, if they should
survive in the savage competition of the nations, probably are doomed to
undergo great changes. Therefore I tell of them before they began to
change.

Now, although I take it out of its strict chronological order, the first
of these histories that I wish to preserve is in the main that of an
extremely beautiful woman--with the exception of a certain Nada, called
"the Lily," of whom I hope to speak some day, I think the most beautiful
that ever lived among the Zulus. Also she was, I think, the most able,
the most wicked, and the most ambitious. Her attractive name--for it
was very attractive as the Zulus said it, especially those of them who
were in love with her--was Mameena, daughter of Umbezi. Her other name
was Child of Storm (Ingane-ye-Sipepo, or, more freely and shortly,
O-we-Zulu), but the word "Ma-mee-na" had its origin in the sound of the
wind that wailed about the hut when she was born.*

[*--The Zulu word "Meena"--or more correctly "Mina"--means "Come here,"
and would therefore be a name not unsuitable to one of the heroine's
proclivities; but Mr. Quatermain does not seem to accept this
interpretation.--EDITOR.]

Since I have been settled in England I have read--of course in a
translation--the story of Helen of Troy, as told by the Greek poet,
Homer. Well, Mameena reminds me very much of Helen, or, rather, Helen
reminds me of Mameena. At any rate, there was this in common between
them, although one of them was black, or, rather, copper-coloured, and
the other white--they both were lovely; moreover, they both were
faithless, and brought men by hundreds to their deaths. There, perhaps,
the resemblance ends, since Mameena had much more fire and grit than
Helen could boast, who, unless Homer misrepresents her, must have been
but a poor thing after all. Beauty Itself, which those old rascals of
Greek gods made use of to bait their snares set for the lives and honour
of men, such was Helen, no more; that is, as I understand her, who have
not had the advantage of a classical education. Now, Mameena, although
she was superstitious--a common weakness of great minds--acknowledging
no gods in particular, as we understand them, set her own snares, with
varying success but a very definite object, namely, that of becoming the
first woman in the world as she knew it--the stormy, bloodstained world
of the Zulus.

But the reader shall judge for himself, if ever such a person should
chance to cast his eye upon this history.

It was in the year 1854 that I first met Mameena, and my acquaintance
with her continued off and on until 1856, when it came to an end in a
fashion that shall be told after the fearful battle of the Tugela in
which Umbelazi, Panda's son and Cetewayo's brother--who, to his sorrow,
had also met Mameena--lost his life. I was still a youngish man in
those days, although I had already buried my second wife, as I have told
elsewhere, after our brief but happy time of marriage.

Leaving my boy in charge of some kind people in Durban, I started into
"the Zulu"--a land with which I had already become well acquainted as a
youth, there to carry on my wild life of trading and hunting.

For the trading I never cared much, as may be guessed from the little
that ever I made out of it, the art of traffic being in truth repugnant
to me. But hunting was always the breath of my nostrils--not that I am
fond of killing creatures, for any humane man soon wearies of slaughter.
No, it is the excitement of sport, which, before breechloaders came in,
was acute enough, I can assure you; the lonely existence in wild places,
often with only the sun and the stars for companions; the continual
adventures; the strange tribes with whom I came in contact; in short,
the change, the danger, the hope always of finding something great and
new, that attracted and still attracts me, even now when I _have_ found
the great and the new. There, I must not go on writing like this, or I
shall throw down my pen and book a passage for Africa, and incidentally
to the next world, no doubt--that world of the great and new!

It was, I think, in the month of May in the year 1854 that I went
hunting in rough country between the White and Black Umvolosi Rivers, by
permission of Panda--whom the Boers had made king of Zululand after the
defeat and death of Dingaan his brother. The district was very
feverish, and for this reason I had entered it in the winter months.
There was so much bush that, in the total absence of roads, I thought it
wise not to attempt to bring my wagons down, and as no horses would live
in that veld I went on foot. My principal companions were a Kafir of
mixed origin, called Sikauli, commonly abbreviated into Scowl, the Zulu
chief Saduko, and a headman of the Undwandwe blood named Umbezi, at
whose kraal on the high land about thirty miles away I left my wagon and
certain of my men in charge of the goods and some ivory that I had
traded.

This Umbezi was a stout and genial-mannered man of about sixty years of
age, and, what is rare among these people, one who loved sport for its
own sake. Being aware of his tastes, also that he knew the country and
was skilled in finding game, I had promised him a gun if he would
accompany me and bring a few hunters. It was a particularly bad gun
that had seen much service, and one which had an unpleasing habit of
going off at half-cock; but even after he had seen it, and I in my
honesty had explained its weaknesses, he jumped at the offer.

"O Macumazana" (that is my native name, often abbreviated into
Macumazahn, which means "One who stands out," or as many interpret it, I
don't know how, "Watcher-by-Night")--"a gun that goes off sometimes when
you do not expect it is much better than no gun at all, and you are a
chief with a great heart to promise it to me, for when I own the White
Man's weapon I shall be looked up to and feared by everyone between the
two rivers."

Now, while he was speaking he handled the gun, that was loaded,
observing which I moved behind him. Off it went in due course, its
recoil knocking him backwards--for that gun was a devil to kick--and its
bullet cutting the top off the ear of one of his wives. The lady fled
screaming, leaving a little bit of her ear upon the ground.

"What does it matter?" said Umbezi, as he picked himself up, rubbing his
shoulder with a rueful look. "Would that the evil spirit in the gun had
cut off her tongue and not her ear! It is the Worn-out-Old-Cow's own
fault; she is always peeping into everything like a monkey. Now she
will have something to chatter about and leave my things alone for
awhile. I thank my ancestral Spirit it was not Mameena, for then her
looks would have been spoiled."

"Who is Mameena?" I asked. "Your last wife?"

"No, no, Macumazahn; I wish she were, for then I should have the most
beautiful wife in the land. She is my daughter, though not that of the
Worn-out-Old-Cow; her mother died when she was born, on the night of the
Great Storm. You should ask Saduko there who Mameena is," he added with
a broad grin, lifting his head from the gun, which he was examining
gingerly, as though he thought it might go off again while unloaded, and
nodding towards someone who stood behind him.

I turned, and for the first time saw Saduko, whom I recognised at once
as a person quite out of the ordinary run of natives.

He was a tall and magnificently formed young man, who, although his
breast was scarred with assegai wounds, showing that he was a warrior,
had not yet attained to the honour of the "ring" of polished wax laid
over strips of rush bound round with sinew and sewn to the hair, the
"isicoco" which at a certain age or dignity, determined by the king,
Zulus are allowed to assume. But his face struck me more even than his
grace, strength and stature. Undoubtedly it was a very fine face, with
little or nothing of the negroid type about it; indeed, he might have
been a rather dark-coloured Arab, to which stock he probably threw back.
The eyes, too, were large and rather melancholy, and in his reserved,
dignified air there was something that showed him to be no common
fellow, but one of breeding and intellect.

"Siyakubona" (that is, "we see you," anglice "good morrow") "Saduko," I
said, eyeing him curiously. "Tell me, who is Mameena?"

"Inkoosi," he answered in his deep voice, lifting his delicately shaped
hand in salutation, a courtesy that pleased me who, after all, was
nothing but a white hunter, "Inkoosi, has not her father said that she
is his daughter?"

"Aye," answered the jolly old Umbezi, "but what her father has not said
is that Saduko is her lover, or, rather, would like to be. Wow!
Saduko," he went on, shaking his fat finger at him, "are you mad, man,
that you think a girl like that is for you? Give me a hundred cattle,
not one less, and I will begin to think of it. Why, you have not ten,
and Mameena is my eldest daughter, and must marry a rich man."

"She loves me, O Umbezi," answered Saduko, looking down, "and that is
more than cattle."

"For you, perhaps, Saduko, but not for me who am poor and want cows.
Also," he added, glancing at him shrewdly, "are you so sure that Mameena
loves you though you be such a fine man? Now, I should have thought
that whatever her eyes may say, her heart loves no one but herself, and
that in the end she will follow her heart and not her eyes. Mameena the
beautiful does not seek to be a poor man's wife and do all the hoeing.
But bring me the hundred cattle and we will see, for, speaking truth
from my heart, if you were a big chief there is no one I should like
better as a son-in-law, unless it were Macumazahn here," he said,
digging me in the ribs with his elbow, "who would lift up my House on
his white back."

Now, at this speech Saduko shifted his feet uneasily; it seemed to me as
though he felt there was truth in Umbezi's estimate of his daughter's
character. But he only said:

"Cattle can be acquired."

"Or stolen," suggested Umbezi.

"Or taken in war," corrected Saduko. "When I have a hundred head I will
hold you to your word, O father of Mameena."

"And then what would you live on, fool, if you gave all your beasts to
me? There, there, cease talking wind. Before you have a hundred head
of cattle Mameena will have six children who will not call _you_ father.
Ah, don't you like that? Are you going away?"

"Yes, I am going," he answered, with a flash of his quiet eyes; "only
then let the man whom they do call father beware of Saduko."

"Beware of how you talk, young man," said Umbezi in a grave voice.
"Would you travel your father's road? I hope not, for I like you well;
but such words are apt to be remembered."

Saduko walked away as though he did not hear.

"Who is he?" I asked.

"One of high blood," answered Umbezi shortly. "He might be a chief
to-day had not his father been a plotter and a wizard. Dingaan smelt
him out"--and he made a sideways motion with his hand that among the
Zulus means much. "Yes, they were killed, almost every one; the chief,
his wives, his children and his headmen--every one except Chosa his
brother and his son Saduko, whom Zikali the dwarf, the
Smeller-out-of-evil-doers, the Ancient, who was old before Senzangakona
became a father of kings, hid him. There, that is an evil tale to talk
of," and he shivered. "Come, White Man, and doctor that old Cow of
mine, or she will give me no peace for months."

So I went to see the Worn-out-Old-Cow--not because I had any particular
interest in her, for, to tell the truth, she was a very disagreeable and
antique person, the cast-off wife of some chief whom at an unknown date
in the past the astute Umbezi had married from motives of policy--but
because I hoped to hear more of Miss Mameena, in whom I had become
interested.

Entering a large hut, I found the lady so impolitely named "the Old Cow"
in a parlous state. There she lay upon the floor, an unpleasant object
because of the blood that had escaped from her wound, surrounded by a
crowd of other women and of children. At regular intervals she
announced that she was dying, and emitted a fearful yell, whereupon all
the audience yelled also; in short, the place was a perfect pandemonium.

Telling Umbezi to get the hut cleared, I said that I would go to fetch
my medicines. Meanwhile I ordered my servant, Scowl, a humorous-looking
fellow, light yellow in hue, for he had a strong dash of Hottentot in
his composition, to cleanse the wound. When I returned from the wagon
ten minutes later the screams were more terrible than before, although
the chorus now stood without the hut. Nor was this altogether
wonderful, for on entering the place I found Scowl trimming up "the Old
Cow's" ear with a pair of blunt nail-scissors.

"O Macumazana," said Umbezi in a hoarse whisper, "might it not perhaps
be as well to leave her alone? If she bled to death, at any rate she
would be quieter."

"Are you a man or a hyena?" I answered sternly, and set about the job,
Scowl holding the poor woman's head between his knees.

It was over at length; a simple operation in which I exhibited--I
believe that is the medical term--a strong solution of caustic applied
with a feather.

"There, Mother," I said, for now we were alone in the hut, whence Scowl
had fled, badly bitten in the calf, "you won't die now."

"No, you vile White Man," she sobbed. "I shan't die, but how about my
beauty?"

"It will be greater than ever," I answered; "no one else will have an
ear with such a curve in it. But, talking of beauty, where is Mameena?"

"I don't know where she is," she replied with fury, "but I very well
know where she would be if I had my way. That peeled willow-wand of a
girl"--here she added certain descriptive epithets I will not
repeat--"has brought this misfortune upon me. We had a slight quarrel
yesterday, White Man, and, being a witch as she is, she prophesied evil.
Yes, when by accident I scratched her ear, she said that before long
mine should burn, and surely burn it does." (This, no doubt, was true,
for the caustic had begun to bite.)

"O devil of a White Man," she went on, "you have bewitched me; you have
filled my head with fire."

Then she seized an earthenware pot and hurled it at me, saying, "Take
that for your doctor-fee. Go, crawl after Mameena like the others and
get her to doctor you."

By this time I was half through the bee-hole of the hut, my movements
being hastened by a vessel of hot water which landed on me behind.

"What is the matter, Macumazahn?" asked old Umbezi, who was waiting
outside.

"Nothing at all, friend," I answered with a sweet smile, "except that
your wife wants to see you at once. She is in pain, and wishes you to
soothe her. Go in; do not hesitate."

After a moment's pause he went in--that is, half of him went in. Then
came a fearful crash, and he emerged again with the rim of a pot about
his neck and his countenance veiled in a coating of what I took to be
honey.

"Where is Mameena?" I asked him as he sat up spluttering.

"Where I wish I was," he answered in a thick voice; "at a kraal five
hours' journey away."

Well, that was the first I heard of Mameena.

That night as I sat smoking my pipe under the flap lean-to attached to
the wagon, laughing to myself over the adventure of "the Old Cow,"
falsely described as "worn out," and wondering whether Umbezi had got
the honey out of his hair, the canvas was lifted, and a Kafir wrapped in
a kaross crept in and squatted before me.

"Who are you?" I asked, for it was too dark to see the man's face.

"Inkoosi," answered a deep voice, "I am Saduko."

"You are welcome," I answered, handing him a little gourd of snuff in
token of hospitality. Then I waited while he poured some of the snuff
into the palm of his hand and took it in the usual fashion.

"Inkoosi," he said, when he had scraped away the tears produced by the
snuff, "I have come to ask you a favour. You heard Umbezi say to-day
that he will not give me his daughter, Mameena, unless I give him a
hundred head of cows. Now, I have not got the cattle, and I cannot earn
them by work in many years. Therefore I must take them from a certain
tribe I know which is at war with the Zulus. But this I cannot do
unless I have a gun. If I had a good gun, Inkoosi--one that only goes
off when it is asked, and not of its own fancy, I who have some name
could persuade a number of men whom I know, who once were servants of my
father, or their sons, to be my companions in this venture."

"Do I understand that you wish me to give you one of my good guns with
two mouths to it (i.e. double-barrelled), a gun worth at least twelve
oxen, for nothing, O Saduko?" I asked in a cold and scandalised voice.

"Not so, O Watcher-by-Night," he answered; "not so, O
He-who-sleeps-with-one-eye-open" (another free and difficult rendering
of my native name, Macumazahn, or more correctly, Macumazana)--"I should
never dream of offering such an insult to your high-born intelligence."
He paused and took another pinch of snuff, then went on in a meditative
voice: "Where I propose to get those hundred cattle there are many more;
I am told not less than a thousand head in all. Now, Inkoosi," he
added, looking at me sideways, "suppose you gave me the gun I ask for,
and suppose you accompanied me with your own gun and your armed hunters,
it would be fair that you should have half the cattle, would it not?"

"That's cool," I said. "So, young man, you want to turn me into a
cow-thief and get my throat cut by Panda for breaking the peace of his
country?"

"Neither, Macumazahn, for these are my own cattle. Listen, now, and I
will tell you a story. You have heard of Matiwane, the chief of the
Amangwane?"

"Yes," I answered. "His tribe lived near the head of the Umzinyati, did
they not? Then they were beaten by the Boers or the English, and
Matiwane came under the Zulus. But afterwards Dingaan wiped him out,
with his House, and now his people are killed or scattered."

"Yes, his people are killed and scattered, but his House still lives.
Macumazahn, I am his House, I, the only son of his chief wife, for
Zikali the Wise Little One, the Ancient, who is of the Amangwane blood,
and who hated Chaka and Dingaan--yes, and Senzangakona their father
before them, but whom none of them could kill because he is so great and
has such mighty spirits for his servants, saved and sheltered me."

"If he is so great, why, then, did he not save your father also,
Saduko?" I asked, as though I knew nothing of this Zikali.

"I cannot say, Macumazahn. Perhaps the spirits plant a tree for
themselves, and to do so cut down many other trees. At least, so it
happened. It happened thus: Bangu, chief of the Amakoba, whispered into
Dingaan's ear that Matiwane, my father, was a wizard; also that he was
very rich. Dingaan listened because he thought a sickness that he had
came from Matiwane's witchcraft. He said: 'Go, Bangu, and take a
company with you and pay Matiwane a visit of honour, and in the night, O
in the night! Afterwards, Bangu, we will divide the cattle, for
Matiwane is strong and clever, and you shall not risk your life for
nothing.'"

Saduko paused and looked down at the ground, brooding heavily.

"Macumazahn, it was done," he said presently. "They ate my father's
meat, they drank his beer; they gave him a present from the king, they
praised him with high names; yes, Bangu took snuff with him and called
him brother. Then in the night, O in the night--!

"My father was in the hut with my mother, and I, so big only"--and he
held his hand at the height of a boy of ten--"was with them. The cry
arose, the flames began to eat; my father looked out and saw. 'Break
through the fence and away, woman,' he said; 'away with Saduko, that he
may live to avenge me. Begone while I hold the gate! Begone to Zikali,
for whose witchcrafts I pay with my blood.'

"Then he kissed me on the brow, saying but one word, 'Remember,' and
thrust us from the hut.

"My mother broke a way through the fence; yes, she tore at it with her
nails and teeth like a hyena. I looked back out of the shadow of the
hut and saw Matiwane my father fighting like a buffalo. Men went down
before him, one, two, three, although he had no shield: only his spear.
Then Bangu crept behind him and stabbed him in the back and he threw up
his arms and fell. I saw no more, for by now we were through the fence.
We ran, but they perceived us. They hunted us as wild dogs hunt a
buck. They killed my mother with a throwing assegai; it entered at her
back and came out at her heart. I went mad, I drew it from her body, I
ran at them. I dived beneath the shield of the first, a very tall man,
and held the spear, so, in both my little hands. His weight came upon
its point and it went through him as though he were but a bowl of
buttermilk. Yes, he rolled over, quite dead, and the handle of the
spear broke upon the ground. Now the others stopped astonished, for
never had they seen such a thing. That a child should kill a tall
warrior, oh! that tale had not been told. Some of them would have let
me go, but just then Bangu came up and saw the dead man, who was his
brother.

"'Wow!' he said when he knew how the man had died. 'This lion's cub is
a wizard also, for how else could he have killed a soldier who has known
war? Hold out his arms that I may finish him slowly.'

"So two of them held out my arms, and Bangu came up with his spear."

Saduko ceased speaking, not that his tale was done, but because his
voice choked in his throat. Indeed, seldom have I seen a man so moved.
He breathed in great gasps, the sweat poured from him, and his muscles
worked convulsively. I gave him a pannikin of water and he drank, then
he went on:

"Already the spear had begun to prick--look, here is the mark of
it"--and opening his kaross he pointed to a little white line just below
the breast-bone--"when a strange shadow thrown by the fire of the
burning huts came between Bangu and me, a shadow as that of a toad
standing on its hind legs. I looked round and saw that it was the
shadow of Zikali, whom I had seen once or twice. There he stood, though
whence he came I know not, wagging his great white head that sits on the
top of his body like a pumpkin on an ant-heap, rolling his big eyes and
laughing loudly.

"'A merry sight,' he cried in his deep voice that sounded like water in
a hollow cave. 'A merry sight, O Bangu, Chief of the Amakoba! Blood,
blood, plenty of blood! Fire, fire, plenty of fire! Wizards dead here,
there, and everywhere! Oh, a merry sight! I have seen many such; one
at the kraal of your grandmother, for instance--your grandmother the
great Inkosikazi, when myself I escaped with my life because I was so
old; but never do I remember a merrier than that which this moon shines
on,' and he pointed to the White Lady who just then broke through the
clouds. 'But, great Chief Bangu, lord loved by the son of Senzangakona,
brother of the Black One (Chaka) who has ridden hence on the assegai,
what is the meaning of _this_ play?' and he pointed to me and to the two
soldiers who held out my little arms.

"'I kill the wizard's cub, Zikali, that is all,' answered Bangu.

"'I see, I see,' laughed Zikali. 'A gallant deed! You have butchered
the father and the mother, and now you would butcher the child who has
slain one of your grown warriors in fair fight. A very gallant deed,
well worthy of the chief of the Amakoba! Well, loose his spirit--only--'
He stopped and took a pinch of snuff from a box which he drew from a
slit in the lobe of his great ear.

"'Only what?' asked Bangu, hesitating.

"'Only I wonder, Bangu, what you will think of the world in which you
will find yourself before to-morrow's moon arises. Come back thence and
tell me, Bangu, for there are so many worlds beyond the sun, and I would
learn for certain which of them such a one as you inhabits: a man who
for hatred and for gain murders the father and the mother and then
butchers the child--the child that could slay a warrior who has seen
war--with the spear hot from his mother's heart.'

"'Do you mean that I shall die if I kill this lad?' shouted Bangu in a
great voice.

"'What else?' answered Zikali, taking another pinch of snuff.

"'This, Wizard; that we will go together.'

"'Good, good!' laughed the dwarf. 'Let us go together. Long have I
wished to die, and what better companion could I find than Bangu, Chief
of the Amakoba, Slayer of Children, to guard me on a dark and terrible
road. Come, brave Bangu, come; kill me if you can,' and again he
laughed at him.

"Now, Macumazahn, the people of Bangu fell back muttering, for they
found this business horrible. Yes, even those who held my arms let go
of them.

"'What will happen to me, Wizard, if I spare the boy?' asked Bangu.

"Zikali stretched out his hand and touched the scratch that the assegai
had made in me here. Then he held up his finger red with my blood, and
looked at it in the light of the moon; yes, and tasted it with his
tongue.

"'I think this will happen to you, Bangu,' he said. 'If you spare this
boy he will grow into a man who will kill you and many others one day.
But if you do not spare him I think that his spirit, working as spirits
can do, will kill you to-morrow. Therefore the question is, will you
live a while or will you die at once, taking me with you as your
companion? For you must not leave me behind, brother Bangu.'

"Now Bangu turned and walked away, stepping over the body of my mother,
and all his people walked away after him, so that presently Zikali the
Wise and Little and I were left alone.

"'What! have they gone?' said Zikali, lifting up his eyes from the
ground. 'Then we had better be going also, Son of Matiwane, lest he
should change his mind and come back. Live on, Son of Matiwane, that
you may avenge Matiwane.'"

"A nice tale," I said. "But what happened afterwards?"

"Zikali took me away and nurtured me at his kraal in the Black Kloof,
where he lived alone save for his servants, for in that kraal he would
suffer no woman to set foot, Macumazahn. He taught me much wisdom and
many secret things, and would have made a great doctor of me had I so
willed. But I willed it not who find spirits ill company, and there are
many of them about the Black Kloof, Macumazahn. So in the end he said:
'Go where your heart calls, and be a warrior, Saduko. But know this:
You have opened a door that can never be shut again, and across the
threshold of that door spirits will pass in and out for all your life,
whether you seek them or seek them not.'

"'It was you who opened the door, Zikali,' I answered angrily.

"'Mayhap,' said Zikali, laughing after his fashion, 'for I open when I
must and shut when I must. Indeed, in my youth, before the Zulus were a
people, they named me Opener of Doors; and now, looking through one of
those doors, I see something about you, O Son of Matiwane.'

"'What do you see, my father?' I asked.

"'I see two roads, Saduko: the Road of Medicine, that is the spirit
road, and the Road of Spears, that is the blood road. I see you
travelling on the Road of Medicine, that is my own road, Saduko, and
growing wise and great, till at last, far, far away, you vanish over the
precipice to which it leads, full of years and honour and wealth, feared
yet beloved by all men, white and black. Only that road you must travel
alone, since such wisdom may have no friends, and, above all, no woman
to share its secrets. Then I look at the Road of Spears and see you,
Saduko, travelling on that road, and your feet are red with blood, and
women wind their arms about your neck, and one by one your enemies go
down before you. You love much, and sin much for the sake of the love,
and she for whom you sin comes and goes and comes again. And the road
is short, Saduko, and near the end of it are many spirits; and though
you shut your eyes you see them, and though you fill your ears with clay
you hear them, for they are the ghosts of your slain. But the end of
your journeying I see not. Now choose which road you will, Son of
Matiwane, and choose swiftly, for I speak no more of this matter.'

"Then, Macumazahn, I thought a while of the safe and lonely path of
wisdom, also of the blood-red path of spears where I should find love
and war, and my youth rose up in me and--I chose the path of spears and
the love and the sin and the unknown death."

"A foolish choice, Saduko, supposing that there is any truth in this
tale of roads, which there is not."

"Nay, a wise one, Macumazahn, for since then I have seen Mameena and
know why I chose that path."

"Ah!" I said. "Mameena--I forgot her. Well, after all, perhaps there
is some truth in your tale of roads. When _I_ have seen Mameena I will
tell you what I think."

"When you have seen Mameena, Macumazahn, you will say that the choice
was very wise. Well, Zikali, Opener of Doors, laughed loudly when he
heard it. 'The ox seeks the fat pasture, but the young bull the rough
mountainside where the heifers graze,' he said; 'and after all, a bull
is better than an ox. Now begin to travel your own road, Son of
Matiwane, and from time to time return to the Black Kloof and tell me
how it fares with you. I will promise you not to die before I know the
end of it.'

"Now, Macumazahn, I have told you things that hitherto have lived in my
own heart only. And, Macumazahn, Bangu is in ill favour with Panda,
whom he defies in his mountain, and I have a promise--never mind
how--that he who kills him will be called to no account and may keep his
cattle. Will you come with me and share those cattle, O
Watcher-by-Night?"

"Get thee behind me, Satan," I said in English, then added in Zulu: "I
don't know. If your story is true I should have no objection to helping
to kill Bangu; but I must learn lots more about this business first.
Meanwhile I am going on a shooting trip to-morrow with Umbezi the Fat,
and I like you, O Chooser of the Road of Spears and Blood. Will you be
my companion and earn the gun with two mouths in payment?"

"Inkoosi," he said, lifting his hand in salute with a flash of his dark
eyes, "you are generous, you honour me. What is there that I should
love better? Yet," he added, and his face fell, "first I must ask
Zikali the Little, Zikali my foster-father."

"Oh!" I said, "so you are still tied to the Wizard's girdle, are you?"

"Not so, Macumazahn; but I promised him not long ago that I would
undertake no enterprise, save that you know of, until I had spoken with
him."

"How far off does Zikali live?" I asked Saduko.

"One day's journeying. Starting at sunrise I can be there by sunset."

"Good! Then I will put off the shooting for three days and come with
you if you think that this wonderful old dwarf will receive me."

"I believe that he will, Macumazahn, for this reason--he told me that I
should meet you and love you, and that you would be mixed up in my
fortunes."

"Then he poured moonshine into your gourd instead of beer," I answered.
"Would you keep me here till midnight listening to such foolishness when
we must start at dawn? Begone now and let me sleep."

"I go," he answered with a little smile. "But if this is so, O
Macumazana, why do you also wish to drink of the moonshine of Zikali?"
and he went.

Yet I did not sleep very well that night, for Saduko and his strange and
terrible story had taken a hold of my imagination. Also, for reasons of
my own, I greatly wished to see this Zikali, of whom I had heard a great
deal in past years. I wished further to find out if he was a common
humbug, like so many witch-doctors, this dwarf who announced that my
fortunes were mixed up with those of his foster-son, and who at least
could tell me something true or false about the history and position of
Bangu, a person for whom I had conceived a strong dislike, possibly
quite unjustified by the facts. But more than all did I wish to see
Mameena, whose beauty or talents produced so much impression upon the
native mind. Perhaps if I went to see Zikali she would be back at her
father's kraal before we started on our shooting trip.

Thus it was then that fate wove me and my doings into the web of some
very strange events; terrible, tragic and complete indeed as those of a
Greek play, as it has often done both before and since those days.

CHAPTER II

THE MOONSHINE OF ZIKALI

On the following morning I awoke, as a good hunter always should do,
just at that time when, on looking out of the wagon, nothing can be seen
but a little grey glint of light which he knows is reflected from the
horns of the cattle tied to the trek-tow. Presently, however, I saw
another glint of light which I guessed came from the spear of Saduko,
who was seated by the ashes of the cooking fire wrapped in his kaross of
wildcatskins. Slipping from the voorkisse, or driving-box, I came
behind him softly and touched him on the shoulder. He leapt up with a
start which revealed his nervous nature, then recognising me through the
soft grey gloom, said:

"You are early, Macumazahn."

"Of course," I answered; "am I not named Watcher-by-Night? Now let us
go to Umbezi and tell him that I shall be ready to start on our hunting
trip on the third morning from to-day."

So we went, to find that Umbezi was in a hut with his last wife and
asleep. Fortunately enough, however, as under the circumstances I did
not wish to disturb him, outside the hut we found the Old Cow, whose
sore ear had kept her very wide awake, who, for purposes of her own,
although etiquette did not allow her to enter the hut, was waiting for
her husband to emerge.

Having examined her wound and rubbed some ointment on it, with her I
left my message. Next I woke up my servant Scowl, and told him that I
was going on a short journey, and that he must guard all things until my
return; and while I did so, took a nip of raw rum and made ready a bag
of biltong, that is sun-dried flesh, and biscuits.

Then, taking with me a single-barrelled gun, that same little Purdey
rifle with which I shot the vultures on the Hill of Slaughter at
Dingaan's Kraal,* we started on foot, for I would not risk my only horse
on such a journey.

[*--For the story of this shooting of the vultures by Allan Quatermain,
see the book called "Marie."--EDITOR.]

A rough journey it proved to be indeed, over a series of bush-clad hills
that at their crests were covered with rugged stones among which no
horse could have travelled. Up and down these hills we went, and across
the valleys that divided them, following some path which I could not
see, for all that live-long day. I have always been held a good walker,
being by nature very light and active; but I am bound to say that my
companion taxed my powers to the utmost, for on he marched for hour
after hour, striding ahead of me at such a rate that at times I was
forced to break into a run to keep up with him. Although my pride would
not suffer me to complain, since as a matter of principle I would never
admit to a Kafir that he was my master at anything, glad enough was I
when, towards evening, Saduko sat himself down on a stone at the top of
a hill and said:

"Behold the Black Kloof, Macumazahn," which were almost the first words
he had uttered since we started.

Truly the spot was well named, for there, cut out by water from the
heart of a mountain in some primeval age, lay one of the most gloomy
places that ever I had beheld. It was a vast cleft in which granite
boulders were piled up fantastically, perched one upon another in great
columns, and upon its sides grew dark trees set sparsely among the
rocks. It faced towards the west, but the light of the sinking sun that
flowed up it served only to accentuate its vast loneliness, for it was a
big cleft, the best part of a mile wide at its mouth.

Up this dreary gorge we marched, mocked at by chattering baboons and
following a little path not a foot wide that led us at length to a large
hut and several smaller ones set within a reed fence and overhung by a
gigantic mass of rock that looked as though it might fall at any moment.
At the gate of the fence two natives of I know not what tribe, men of
fierce and forbidding appearance, suddenly sprang out and thrust their
spears towards my breast.

"Whom bring you here, Saduko?" asked one of them sternly.

"A white man that I vouch for," he answered. "Tell Zikali that we wait
on him."

"What need to tell Zikali that which he knows already?" said the sentry.
"Your food and that of your companion is already cooked in yonder hut.
Enter, Saduko, with him for whom you vouch."

So we went into the hut and ate, also I washed myself, for it was a
beautifully clean hut, and the stools, wooden bowls, etc., were finely
carved out of red ivory wood, this work, Saduko informed me, being done
by Zikali's own hand. just as we were finishing our meal a messenger
came to tell us that Zikali waited our presence. We followed him across
an open space to a kind of door in the tall reed fence, passing which I
set eyes for the first time upon the famous old witch-doctor of whom so
many tales were told.

Certainly he was a curious sight in those strange surroundings, for they
were very strange, and I think their complete simplicity added to the
effect. In front of us was a kind of courtyard with a black floor made
of polished ant-heap earth and cow-dung, two-thirds of which at least
was practically roofed in by the huge over-hanging mass of rock whereof
I have spoken, its arch bending above at a height of not less than sixty
or seventy feet from the ground. Into this great, precipice-backed
cavity poured the fierce light of the setting sun, turning it and all
within it, even the large straw hut in the background, to the deep hue
of blood. Seeing the wonderful effect of the sunset in that dark and
forbidding place, it occurred to me at once that the old wizard must
have chosen this moment to receive us because of its impressiveness.

Then I forgot these scenic accessories in the sight of the man himself.
There he sat on a stool in front of his hut, quite unattended, and
wearing only a cloak of leopard skins open in front, for he was
unadorned with the usual hideous trappings of a witch-doctor, such as
snake-skins, human bones, bladders full of unholy compounds, and so
forth.

What a man he was, if indeed he could be called quite human. His
stature, though stout, was only that of a child; his head was enormous,
and from it plaited white hair fell down on to his shoulders. His eyes
were deep and sunken, his face was broad and very stern. Except for
this snow-white hair, however, he did not look ancient, for his flesh
was firm and plump, and the skin on his cheeks and neck unwrinkled,
which suggested to me that the story of his great antiquity was false.
A man who was over a hundred years old, for instance, surely could not
boast such a beautiful set of teeth, for even at that distance I could
see them gleaming. On the other hand, evidently middle age was far
behind him; indeed, from his appearance it was quite impossible to guess
even approximately the number of his years. There he sat, red in the
red light, perfectly still, and staring without a blink of his eyes at
the furious ball of the setting sun, as an eagle is said to be able to
do.

Saduko advanced, and I walked after him. My stature is not great, and I
have never considered myself an imposing person, but somehow I do not
think that I ever felt more insignificant than on this occasion. The
tall and splendid native beside, or rather behind whom I walked, the
gloomy magnificence of the place, the blood-red light in which it was
bathed, and the solemn, solitary, little figure with wisdom stamped upon
its face before me, all tended to induce humility in a man not naturally
vain. I felt myself growing smaller and smaller, both in a moral and a
physical sense; I wished that my curiosity had not prompted me to seek
an interview with yonder uncanny being.

Well, it was too late to retreat; indeed, Saduko was already standing
before the dwarf and lifting his right arm above his head as he gave him
the salute of "Makosi!"* whereon, feeling that something was expected of
me, I took off my shabby cloth hat and bowed, then, remembering my white
man's pride, replaced it on my head.

[*--"Makosi", the plural of "Inkoosi", is the salute given to Zulu
wizards, because they are not one but many, since in them (as in the
possessed demoniac in the Bible) dwell an unnumbered horde of
spirits.--EDITOR.]

The wizard suddenly seemed to become aware of our presence, for, ceasing
his contemplation of the sinking sun, he scanned us both with his slow,
thoughtful eyes, which somehow reminded me of those of a chameleon,
although they were not prominent, but, as I have said, sunken.

"Greeting, son Saduko!" he said in a deep, rumbling voice. "Why are you
back here so soon, and why do you bring this flea of a white man with
you?"

Now this was more than I could bear, so without waiting for my
companion's answer I broke in:

"You give me a poor name, O Zikali. What would you think of me if I
called you a beetle of a wizard?"

"I should think you clever," he answered after reflection, "for after
all I must look something like a beetle with a white head. But why
should you mind being compared to a flea? A flea works by night and so
do you, Macumazahn; a flea is active and so are you; a flea is very hard
to catch and kill and so are you; and lastly a flea drinks its fill of
that which it desires, the blood of man and beast, and so you have done,
do, and will, Macumazahn," and he broke into a great laugh that rolled
and echoed about the rocky roof above.

Once, long years before, I had heard that laugh, when I was a prisoner
in Dingaan's kraal, after the massacre of Retief and his company, and I
recognised it again.

While I was searching for some answer in the same vein, and not finding
it, though I thought of plenty afterwards, ceasing of a sudden from his
unseemly mirth, he went on:

"Do not let us waste time in jests, for it is a precious thing, and
there is but little of it left for any one of us. Your business, son
Saduko?"

"Baba!" (that is the Zulu for father), said Saduko, "this white Inkoosi,
for, as you know well enough, he is a chief by nature, a man of a great
heart and doubtless of high blood [this, I believe, is true, for I have
been told that my ancestors were more or less distinguished, although,
if this is so, their talents did not lie in the direction of
money-making], has offered to take me upon a shooting expedition and to
give me a good gun with two mouths in payment of my services. But I
told him I could not engage in any fresh venture without your leave,
and--he is come to see whether you will grant it, my father."

"Indeed," answered the dwarf, nodding his great head. "This clever
white man has taken the trouble of a long walk in the sun to come here
to ask me whether he may be allowed the privilege of presenting you with
a weapon of great value in return for a service that any man of your
years in Zululand would love to give for nothing in such company?

"Son Saduko, because my eye-holes are hollow, do you think it your part
to try to fill them up with dust? Nay, the white man has come because
he desires to see him who is named Opener-of-Roads, of whom he heard a
great deal when he was but a lad, and to judge whether in truth he has
wisdom, or is but a common cheat. And you have come to learn whether or
no your friendship with him will be fortunate; whether or no he will aid
you in a certain enterprise that you have in your mind."

"True, O Zikali," I said. "That is so far as I am concerned."

But Saduko answered nothing.

"Well," went on the dwarf, "since I am in the mood I will try to answer
both your questions, for I should be a poor Nyanga" [that is doctor] "if
I did not when you have travelled so far to ask them. Moreover, O
Macumazana, be happy, for I seek no fee who, having made such fortune as
I need long ago, before your father was born across the Black Water,
Macumazahn, no longer work for a reward--unless it be from the hand of
one of the House of Senzangakona--and therefore, as you may guess, work
but seldom."

Then he clapped his hands, and a servant appeared from somewhere behind
the hut, one of those fierce-looking men who had stopped us at the gate.
He saluted the dwarf and stood before him in silence and with bowed
head.

"Make two fires," said Zikali, "and give me my medicine."

The man fetched wood, which he built into two little piles in front of
Zikali. These piles he fired with a brand brought from behind the hut.
Then he handed his master a catskin bag.

"Withdraw," said Zikali, "and return no more till I summon you, for I am
about to prophesy. If, however, I should seem to die, bury me to-morrow
in the place you know of and give this white man a safe-conduct from my
kraal."

The man saluted again and went without a word.

When he had gone the dwarf drew from the bag a bundle of twisted roots,
also some pebbles, from which he selected two, one white and the other
black.

"Into this stone," he said, holding up the white pebble so that the
light from the fire shone on it--since, save for the lingering red glow,
it was now growing dark--"into this stone I am about to draw your
spirit, O Macumazana; and into this one"--and he held up the black
pebble--"yours, O Son of Matiwane. Why do you look frightened, O brave
White Man, who keep saying in your heart, 'He is nothing but an ugly old
Kafir cheat'? If I am a cheat, why do you look frightened? Is your
spirit already in your throat, and does it choke you, as this little
stone might do if you tried to swallow it?" and he burst into one of his
great, uncanny laughs.

I tried to protest that I was not in the least frightened, but failed,
for, in fact, I suppose my nerves were acted on by his suggestion, and I
did feel exactly as though that stone were in my throat, only coming
upwards, not going downwards. "Hysteria," thought I to myself, "the
result of being overtired," and as I could not speak, sat still as
though I treated his gibes with silent contempt.

"Now," went on the dwarf, "perhaps I shall seem to die; and if so do not
touch me lest you should really die. Wait till I wake up again and tell
you what your spirits have told me. Or if I do not wake up--for a time
must come when I shall go on sleeping--well--for as long as I have
lived--after the fires are quite out, not before, lay your hands upon my
breast; and if you find me turning cold, get you gone to some other
Nyanga as fast as the spirits of this place will let you, O ye who would
peep into the future."

As he spoke he threw a big handful of the roots that I have mentioned on
to each of the fires, whereon tall flames leapt up from them, very
unholy-looking flames which were followed by columns of dense, white
smoke that emitted a most powerful and choking odour quite unlike
anything that I had ever smelt before. It seemed to penetrate all
through me, and that accursed stone in my throat grew as large as an
apple and felt as though someone were poking it upwards with a stick.

Next he threw the white pebble into the right-hand fire, that which was
opposite to me, saying:

"Enter, Macumazahn, and look," and the black pebble he threw into the
left-hand fire saying: "Enter, Son of Matiwane, and look. Then come
back both of you and make report to me, your master."

Now it is a fact that as he said these words I experienced a sensation
as though a stone had come out of my throat; so readily do our nerves
deceive us that I even thought it grated against my teeth as I opened my
mouth to give it passage. At any rate the choking was gone, only now I
felt as though I were quite empty and floating on air, as though I were
not I, in short, but a mere shell of a thing, all of which doubtless was
caused by the stench of those burning roots. Still I could look and
take note, for I distinctly saw Zikali thrust his huge head, first into
the smoke of what I will call my fire, next into that of Saduko's fire,
and then lean back, blowing the stuff in clouds from his mouth and
nostrils. Afterwards I saw him roll over on to his side and lie quite
still with his arms outstretched; indeed, I noticed that one of his
fingers seemed to be in the left-hand fire and reflected that it would
be burnt off. In this, however, I must have been mistaken, since I
observed subsequently that it was not even scorched.

Thus Zikali lay for a long while till I began to wonder whether he were
not really dead. Dead enough he seemed to be, for no corpse could have
stayed more stirless. But that night I could not keep my thoughts fixed
on Zikali or anything. I merely noted these circumstances in a
mechanical way, as might one with whom they had nothing whatsoever to
do. They did not interest me at all, for there appeared to be nothing
in me to be interested, as I gathered according to Zikali, because I was
not there, but in a warmer place than I hope ever to occupy, namely, in
the stone in that unpleasant-looking, little right-hand fire.

So matters went as they might in a dream. The sun had sunk completely,
not even an after-glow was left. The only light remaining was that from
the smouldering fires, which just sufficed to illumine the bulk of
Zikali, lying on his side, his squat shape looking like that of a dead
hippopotamus calf. What was left of my consciousness grew heartily sick
of the whole affair; I was tired of being so empty.

At length the dwarf stirred. He sat up, yawned, sneezed, shook himself,
and began to rake among the burning embers of my fire with his naked
hand. Presently he found the white stone, which was now red-hot--at any
rate it glowed as though it were--and after examining it for a moment
finally popped it into his mouth! Then he hunted in the other fire for
the black stone, which he treated in a similar fashion. The next thing
I remember was that the fires, which had died away almost to nothing,
were burning very brightly again, I suppose because someone had put fuel
on them, and Zikali was speaking.

"Come here, O Macumazana and O Son of Matiwane," he said, "and I will
repeat to you what your spirits have been telling me."

We drew near into the light of the fires, which for some reason or other
was extremely vivid. Then he spat the white stone from his mouth into
his big hand, and I saw that now it was covered with lines and patches
like a bird's egg.

"You cannot read the signs?" he said, holding it towards me; and when I
shook my head went on: "Well, I can, as you white men read a book. All
your history is written here, Macumazahn; but there is no need to tell
you that, since you know it, as I do well enough, having learned it in
other days, the days of Dingaan, Macumazahn. All your future, also, a
very strange future," and he scanned the stone with interest. "Yes,
yes; a wonderful life, and a noble death far away. But of these matters
you have not asked me, and therefore I may not tell them even if I
wished, nor would you believe if I did. It is of your hunting trip that
you have asked me, and my answer is that if you seek your own comfort
you will do well not to go. A pool in a dry river-bed; a buffalo bull
with the tip of one horn shattered. Yourself and the bull in the pool.
Saduko, yonder, also in the pool, and a little half-bred man with a gun
jumping about upon the bank. Then a litter made of boughs and you in
it, and the father of Mameena walking lamely at your side. Then a hut
and you in it, and the maiden called Mameena sitting at your side.

"Macumazahn, your spirit has written on this stone that you should
beware of Mameena, since she is more dangerous than any buffalo. If you
are wise you will not go out hunting with Umbezi, although it is true
that hunt will not cost you your life. There, away, Stone, and take
your writings with you!" and as he spoke he jerked his arm and I heard
something whiz past my face.

Next he spat out the black stone and examined it in similar fashion.

"Your expedition will be successful, Son of Matiwane," he said.
"Together with Macumazahn you will win many cattle at the cost of sundry
lives. But for the rest--well, you did not ask me of it, did you?
Also, I have told you something of that story before to-day. Away,
Stone!" and the black pebble followed the white out into the surrounding
gloom.

We sat quite still until the dwarf broke the deep silence with one of
his great laughs.

"My witchcraft is done," he said. "A poor tale, was it not? Well, hunt
for those stones to-morrow and read the rest of it if you can. Why did
you not ask me to tell you everything while I was about it, White Man?
It would have interested you more, but now it has all gone from me back
into your spirit with the stones. Saduko, get you to sleep.
Macumazahn, you who are a Watcher-by-Night, come and sit with me awhile
in my hut, and we will talk of other things. All this business of the
stones is nothing more than a Kafir trick, is it, Macumazahn? When you
meet the buffalo with the split horn in the pool of a dried river,
remember it is but a cheating trick, and now come into my hut and drink
a kamba [bowl] of beer and let us talk of other things more
interesting."

So he took me into the hut, which was a fine one, very well lighted by a
fire in its centre, and gave me Kafir beer to drink, that I swallowed
gratefully, for my throat was dry and still felt as though it had been
scraped.

"Who are you, Father?" I asked point-blank when I had taken my seat upon
a low stool, with my back resting against the wall of the hut, and lit
my pipe.

He lifted his big head from the pile of karosses on which he was lying
and peered at me across the fire.

"My name is Zikali, which means 'Weapons,' White Man. You know as much
as that, don't you?" he answered. "My father 'went down' so long ago
that his does not matter. I am a dwarf, very ugly, with some learning,
as we of the Black House understand it, and very old. Is there anything
else you would like to learn?"

"Yes, Zikali; how old?"

"There, there, Macumazahn, as you know, we poor Kafirs cannot count very
well. How old? Well, when I was young I came down towards the coast
from the Great River, you call it the Zambesi, I think, with Undwandwe,
who lived in the north in those days. They have forgotten it now
because it is some time ago, and if I could write I would set down the
history of that march, for we fought some great battles with the people
who used to live in this country. Afterwards I was the friend of the
Father of the Zulus, he whom they still call Inkoosi Umkulu--the mighty
chief--you may have heard tell of him. I carved that stool on which you
sit for him and he left it back to me when he died."

"Inkoosi Umkulu!" I exclaimed. "Why, they say he lived hundreds of
years ago."

"Do they, Macumazahn? If so, have I not told you that we black people
cannot count as well as you do? Really it was only the other day.
Anyhow, after his death the Zulus began to maltreat us Undwandwe and the
Quabies and the Tetwas with us--you may remember that they called us the
Amatefula, making a mock of us. So I quarrelled with the Zulus and
especially with Chaka, he whom they named 'Uhlanya' [the Mad One]. You
see, Macumazahn, it pleased him to laugh at me because I am not as other
men are. He gave me a name which means
'The-thing-which-should-never-have-been-born.' I will not speak that
name, it is secret to me, it may not pass my lips. Yet at times he
sought my wisdom, and I paid him back for his names, for I gave him very
ill counsel, and he took it, and I brought him to his death, although
none ever saw my finger in that business. But when he was dead at the
hands of his brothers Dingaan and Umhlangana and of Umbopa, Umbopa who
also had a score to settle with him, and his body was cast out of the
kraal like that of an evil-doer, why I, who because I was a dwarf was
not sent with the _men_ against Sotshangana, went and sat on it at night
and laughed thus," and he broke into one of his hideous peals of
merriment.

"I laughed thrice: once for my wives whom he had taken; once for my
children whom he had slain; and once for the mocking name that he had
given me. Then I became the counsellor of Dingaan, whom I hated worse
than I had hated Chaka, for he was Chaka again without his greatness,
and you know the end of Dingaan, for you had a share in that war, and of
Umhlangana, his brother and fellow-murderer, whom I counselled Dingaan
to slay. This I did through the lips of the old Princess Menkabayi,
Jama's daughter, Senzangakona's sister, the Oracle before whom all men
bowed, causing her to say that 'This land of the Zulus cannot be ruled
by a crimson assegai.' For, Macumazahn, it was Umhlangana who first
struck Chaka with the spear. Now Panda reigns, the last of the sons of
Senzangakona, my enemy, Panda the Fool, and I hold my hand from Panda
because he tried to save the life of a child of mine whom Chaka slew.
But Panda has sons who are as Chaka was, and against them I work as I
worked against those who went before them."

"Why?" I asked.

"Why? Oh! if I were to tell you _all_ my story you would understand
why, Macumazahn. Well, perhaps I will one day." (Here I may state that
as a matter of fact he did, and a very wonderful tale it is, but as it
has nothing to do with this history I will not write it here.)

"I dare say," I answered. "Chaka and Dingaan and Umhlangana and the
others were not nice people. But another question. Why do you tell me
all this, O Zikali, seeing that were I but to repeat it to a
talking-bird you would be smelt out and a single moon would not die
before you do?"

"Oh! I should be smelt out and killed before one moon dies, should I?
Then I wonder that this has not happened during all the moons that are
gone. Well, I tell the story to you, Macumazahn, who have had so much
to do with the tale of the Zulus since the days of Dingaan, because I
wish that someone should know it and perhaps write it down when
everything is finished. Because, too, I have just been reading your
spirit and see that it is still a white spirit, and that you will not
whisper it to a 'talking-bird.'"

Now I leant forward and looked at him.

"What is the end at which you aim, O Zikali?" I asked. "You are not one
who beats the air with a stick; on whom do you wish the stick to fall at
last?"

"On whom?" he answered in a new voice, a low, hissing voice. "Why, on
these proud Zulus, this little family of men who call themselves the
'People of Heaven,' and swallow other tribes as the great tree-snake
swallows kids and small bucks, and when it is fat with them cries to the
world, 'See how big I am! Everything is inside of me.' I am a Ndwande,
one of those peoples whom it pleases the Zulus to call 'Amatefula'--poor
hangers-on who talk with an accent, nothing but bush swine. Therefore I
would see the swine tusk the hunter. Or, if that may not be, I would
see the black hunter laid low by the rhinoceros, the white rhinoceros of
your race, Macumazahn, yes, even if it sets its foot upon the Ndwande
boar as well. There, I have told you, and this is the reason that I
live so long, for I will not die until these things have come to pass,
as come to pass they will. What did Chaka, Senzangakona's son, say when
the little red assegai, the assegai with which he slew his mother, aye
and others, some of whom were near to me, was in his liver? What did he
say to Mbopa and the princes? Did he not say that he heard the feet of
a great white people running, of a people who should stamp the Zulus
flat? Well, I, 'The-thing-who-should-not-have-been-born,' live on until
that day comes, and when it comes I think that you and I, Macumazahn,
shall not be far apart, and that is why I have opened out my heart to
you, I who have knowledge of the future. There, I speak no more of
these things that are to be, who perchance have already said too much of
them. Yet do not forget my words. Or forget them if you will, for I
shall remind you of them, Macumazahn, when the feet of your people have
avenged the Ndwandes and others whom it pleases the Zulus to treat as
dirt."

Now, this strange man, who had sat up in his excitement, shook his long
white hair which, after the fashion of wizards, be wore plaited into
thin ropes, till it hung like a veil about him, hiding his broad face
and deep eyes. Presently he spoke again through this veil of hair,
saying:

"You are wondering, Macumazahn, what Saduko has to do with all these
great events that are to be. I answer that he must play his part in
them; not a very great part, but still a part, and it is for this
purpose that I saved him as a child from Bangu, Dingaan's man, and
reared him up to be a warrior, although, since I cannot lie, I warned
him that he would do well to leave spears alone and follow after wisdom.
Well, he will slay Bangu, who now has quarrelled with Panda, and a
woman will come into the story, one Mameena, and that woman will bring
about war between the sons of Panda, and from this war shall spring the
ruin of the Zulus, for he who wins will be an evil king to them and
bring down on them the wrath of a mightier race. And so
'The-thing-that-should-not-have-been-born' and the Ndwandes and the
Quabies and Twetwas, whom it has pleased the conquering Zulus to name
'Amatefula,' shall be avenged. Yes, yes, my Spirit tells me all these
things, and they are true."

"And what of Saduko, my friend and your fosterling?"

"Saduko, your friend and my fosterling, will take his appointed road,
Macumazahn, as I shall and you will. What more could he desire, seeing
it is that which he has chosen? He will take his road and he will play
the part which the Great-Great has prepared for him. Seek not to know
more. Why should you, since Time will tell you the story? And now go
to rest, Macumazahn, as I must who am old and feeble. And when it
pleases you to visit me again, we will talk further. Meanwhile,
remember always that I am nothing but an old Kafir cheat who pretends to
a knowledge that belongs to no man. Remember it especially, Macumazahn,
when you meet a buffalo with a split horn in the pool of a dried-up
river, and afterwards, when a woman named Mameena makes a certain offer
to you, which you may be tempted to accept. Good night to you,
Watcher-by-Night with the white heart and the strange destiny, good
night to you, and try not to think too hardly of the old Kafir cheat who
just now is called 'Opener-of-Roads.' My servant waits without to lead
you to your hut, and if you wish to be back at Umbezi's kraal by
nightfall to-morrow, you will do well to start ere sunrise, since, as
you found in coming, Saduko, although he may be a fool, is a very good
walker, and you do not like to be left behind, Macumazahn, do you?"

So I rose to go, but as I went some impulse seemed to take him and he
called me back and made me sit down again.

"Macumazahn," he said, "I would add a word. When you were quite a lad
you came into this country with Retief, did you not?"

"Yes," I answered slowly, for this matter of the massacre of Retief is
one of which I have seldom cared to speak, for sundry reasons, although
I have made a record of it in writing.* Even my friends Sir Henry
Curtis and Captain Good have heard little of the part I played in that
tragedy. "But what do you know of that business, Zikali?"

[*--Published under the title of "Marie."--EDITOR.]

"All that there is to know, I think, Macumazahn, seeing that I was at
the bottom of it, and that Dingaan killed those Boers on my advice--just
as he killed Chaka and Umhlangana."

"You cold-blooded old murderer--" I began, but he interrupted me at
once.

"Why do you throw evil names at me, Macumazahn, as I threw the stone of
your fate at you just now? Why am I a murderer because I brought about
the death of some white men that chanced to be your friends, who had
come here to cheat us black folk of our country?"

"Was it for _this_ reason that you brought about their deaths, Zikali?"
I asked, staring him in the face, for I felt that he was lying to me.

"Not altogether, Macumazahn," he answered, letting his eyes, those
strange eyes that could look at the sun without blinking, fall before my
gaze. "Have I not told you that I hate the House of Senzangakona? And
when Retief and his companions were killed, did not the spilling of
their blood mean war to the end between the Zulus and the White Men?
Did it not mean the death of Dingaan and of thousands of his people,
which is but a beginning of deaths? Now do you understand?"

"I understand that you are a very wicked man," I answered with
indignation.

"At least _you_ should not say so, Macumazahn," he replied in a new
voice, one with the ring of truth in it.

"Why not?"

"Because I saved your life on that day. You escaped alone of the White
Men, did you not? And you never could understand why, could you?"

"No, I could not, Zikali. I put it down to what you would call 'the
spirits.'"

"Well, I will tell you. Those spirits of yours wore my kaross," and he
laughed. "I saw you with the Boers, and saw, too, that you were of
another people--the people of the English. You may have heard at the
time that I was doctoring at the Great Place, although I kept out of the
way and we did not meet, or at least you never knew that we met, for you
were--asleep. Also I pitied your youth, for, although you do not
believe it, I had a little bit of heart left in those days. Also I knew
that we should come together again in the after years, as you see we
have done to-day and shall often do until the end. So I told Dingaan
that whoever died you must be spared, or he would bring up the 'people
of George' [i.e. the English] to avenge you, and your ghost would enter
into him and pour out a curse upon him. He believed me who did not
understand that already so many curses were gathered about his head that
one more or less made no matter. So you see you were spared,
Macumazahn, and afterwards you helped to pour out a curse upon Dingaan
without becoming a ghost, which is the reason why Panda likes you so
well to-day, Panda, the enemy of Dingaan, his brother. You remember the
woman who helped you? Well, I made her do so. How did it go with you
afterwards, Macumazahn, with you and the Boer maiden across the Buffalo
River, to whom you were making love in those days?"

"Never mind how it went," I replied, springing up, for the old wizard's
talk had stirred sad and bitter memories in my heart. "That time is
dead, Zikali."

"Is it, Macumazahn? Now, from the look upon your face I should have
said that it was still very much alive, as things that happened in our
youth have a way of keeping alive. But doubtless I am mistaken, and it
is all as dead as Dingaan, and as Retief, and as the others, your
companions. At least, although you do not believe it, I saved your life
on that red day, for my own purposes, of course, not because one white
life was anything among so many in my count. And now go to rest,
Macumazahn, go to rest, for although your heart has been awakened by
memories this evening, I promise that you shall sleep well to-night,"
and throwing the long hair back off his eyes he looked at me keenly,
wagging his big head to and fro, and burst into another of his great
laughs.

So I went. But, ah! as I went I wept.

Anyone who knew all that story would understand why. But this is not
the place to tell it, that tale of my first love and of the terrible
events which befell us in the time of Dingaan. Still, as I say, I have
written it down, and perhaps one day it will be read.

CHAPTER III

THE BUFFALO WITH THE CLEFT HORN

I slept very well that night, I suppose because I was so dog-tired I
could not help it; but next day, on our long walk back to Umbezi's
kraal, I thought a great deal.

Without doubt I had seen and heard very strange things, both of the past
and the present--things that I could not in the least understand.
Moreover, they were mixed up with all sorts of questions of high Zulu
policy, and threw a new light upon events that happened to me and others
in my youth.

Now, in the clear sunlight, was the time to analyse these things, and
this I did in the most logical fashion I could command, although without
the slightest assistance from Saduko, who, when I asked him questions,
merely shrugged his shoulders.

These questions, he said, did not interest him; I had wished to see the
magic of Zikali, and Zikali had been pleased to show me some very good
magic, quite of his best indeed. Also he had conversed alone with me
afterwards, doubtless on high matters--so high that he, Saduko, was not
admitted to share the conversation--which was an honour he accorded to
very few. I could form my own conclusions in the light of the White
Man's wisdom, which everyone knew was great.

I replied shortly that I could, for Saduko's tone irritated me. Of
course, the truth was that he felt aggrieved at being sent off to bed
like a little boy while his foster-father, the old dwarf, made
confidences to me. One of Saduko's faults was that he had always a very
good opinion of himself. Also he was by nature terribly jealous, even
in little things, as the readers of his history, if any, will learn.

We trudged on for several hours in silence, broken at length by my
companion.

"Do you still mean to go on a shooting expedition with Umbezi, Inkoosi?"
he asked, "or are you afraid?"

"Of what should I be afraid?" I answered tartly.

"Of the buffalo with the split horn, of which Zikali told you. What
else?"

Now, I fear I used strong language about the buffalo with the split
horn, a beast in which I declared I had no belief whatsoever, either
with or without its accessories of dried river-beds and water-holes.

"If all this old woman's talk has made _you_ afraid, however," I added,
"you can stop at the kraal with Mameena."

"Why should the talk make me afraid, Macumazahn? Zikali did not say
that this evil spirit of a buffalo would hurt _me_. If I fear, it is
for you, seeing that if you are hurt you may not be able to go with me
to look for Bangu's cattle."

"Oh!" I replied sarcastically; "it seems that you are somewhat selfish,
friend Saduko, since it is of your welfare and not of my safety that you
are thinking."

"If I were as selfish as you seem to believe, Inkoosi, should I advise
you to stop with your wagons, and thereby lose the good gun with two
mouths that you have promised me? Still, it is true that I should like
well enough to stay at Umbezi's kraal with Mameena, especially if Umbezi
were away."

Now, as there is nothing more uninteresting than to listen to other
people's love affairs, and as I saw that with the slightest
encouragement Saduko was ready to tell me all the history of his
courtship over again, I did not continue the argument. So we finished
our journey in silence, and arrived at Umbezi's kraal a little after
sundown, to find, to the disappointment of both of us, that Mameena was
still away.

Upon the following morning we started on our shooting expedition, the
party consisting of myself, my servant Scowl, who, as I think I said,
hailed from the Cape and was half a Hottentot; Saduko; the merry old
Zulu, Umbezi, and a number of his men to serve as bearers and beaters.
It proved a very successful trip--that is, until the end of it--for in
those days the game in this part of the country was extremely plentiful.
Before the end of the second week I killed four elephants, two of them
with large tusks, while Saduko, who soon developed into a very fair
shot, bagged another with the double-barrelled gun that I had promised
him. Also, Umbezi--how, I have never discovered, for the thing partook
of the nature of a miracle--managed to slay an elephant cow with fair
ivories, using the old rifle that went off at half-cock.

Never have I seen a man, black or white, so delighted as was that
vainglorious Kafir. For whole hours he danced and sang and took snuff
and saluted with his hand, telling me the story of his deed over and
over again, no single version of which tale agreed with the other. He
took a new title also, that meant "Eater-up-of-Elephants"; he allowed
one of his men to "bonga"--that is, praise--him all through the night,
preventing us from getting a wink of sleep, until at last the poor
fellow dropped in a kind of fit from exhaustion, and so forth. It
really was very amusing until it became a bore.

Besides the elephants we killed lots of other things, including two
lions, which I got almost with a right and left, and three white
rhinoceroses, that now, alas! are nearly extinct. At last, towards the
end of the third week, we had as much as our men could carry in the
shape of ivory, rhinoceros horns, skins and sun-dried buckflesh, or
biltong, and determined to start back for Umbezi's kraal next day.
Indeed, this could not be long delayed, as our powder and lead were
running low; for in those days, it will be remembered, breechloaders had
not come in, and ammunition, therefore, had to be carried in bulk.

To tell the truth, I was very glad that our trip had come to such a
satisfactory conclusion, for, although I would not admit it even to
myself, I could not get rid of a kind of sneaking dread lest after all
there might be something in the old dwarf's prophecy about a
disagreeable adventure with a buffalo which was in store for me. Well,
as it chanced, we had not so much as seen a buffalo, and as the road
which we were going to take back to the kraal ran over high, bare
country that these animals did not frequent, there was now little
prospect of our doing so--all of which, of course, showed what I already
knew, that only weak-headed superstitious idiots would put the slightest
faith in the drivelling nonsense of deceiving or self-deceived Kafir
medicine-men. These things, indeed, I pointed out with much vigour to
Saduko before we turned in on the last night of the hunt.

Saduko listened in silence and said nothing at all, except that he would
not keep me up any longer, as I must be tired.

Now, whatever may be the reason for it, my experience in life is that it
is never wise to brag about anything. At any rate, on a hunting trip,
to come to a particular instance, wait until you are safe at home till
you begin to do so. Of the truth of this ancient adage I was now
destined to experience a particularly fine and concrete example.

The place where we had camped was in scattered bush overlooking a great
extent of dry reeds, that in the wet season was doubtless a swamp fed by
a small river which ran into it on the side opposite to our camp.
During the night I woke up, thinking that I heard some big beasts moving
in these reeds; but as no further sounds reached my ears I went to sleep
again.

Shortly after dawn I was awakened by a voice calling me, which in a hazy
fashion I recognised as that of Umbezi.

"Macumazahn," said the voice in a hoarse whisper, "the reeds below us
are full of buffalo. Get up. Get up at once."

"What for?" I answered. "If the buffalo came into the reeds they will
go out of them. We do not want meat."

"No, Macumazahn; but I want their hides. Panda, the King, has demanded
fifty shields of me, and without killing oxen that I can ill spare I
have not the skins whereof to make them. Now, these buffalo are in a
trap. This swamp is like a dish with one mouth. They cannot get out at
the sides of the dish, and the mouth by which they came in is very
narrow. If we station ourselves at either side of it we can kill many
of them."

By this time I was thoroughly awake and had arisen from my blankets.
Throwing a kaross over my shoulders, I left the hut, made of boughs, in
which I was sleeping and walked a few paces to the crest of a rocky
ridge, whence I could see the dry vlei below. Here the mists of dawn
still clung, but from it rose sounds of grunts, bellows and tramplings
which I, an old hunter, could not mistake. Evidently a herd of buffalo,
one or two hundred of them, had established themselves in those reeds.

Just then my bastard servant, Scowl, and Saduko joined us, both of them
full of excitement.

It appeared that Scowl, who never seemed to sleep at any natural time,
had seen the buffalo entering the reeds, and estimated their number at
two or three hundred. Saduko had examined the cleft through which they
passed, and reported it to be so narrow that we could kill any number of
them as they rushed out to escape.

"Quite so. I understand," I said. "Well, my opinion is that we had
better let them escape. Only four of us, counting Umbezi, are armed
with guns, and assegais are not of much use against buffalo. Let them
go, I say."

Umbezi, thinking of a cheap raw material for the shields which had been
requisitioned by the King, who would surely be pleased if they were made
of such a rare and tough hide as that of buffalo, protested violently,
and Saduko, either to please one whom he hoped might be his
father-in-law or from sheer love of sport, for which he always had a
positive passion, backed him up. Only Scowl--whose dash of Hottentot
blood made him cunning and cautious--took my side, pointing out that we
were very short of powder and that buffalo "ate up much lead." At last
Saduko said:

"The lord Macumazana is our captain; we must obey him, although it is a
pity. But doubtless the prophesying of Zikali weighs upon his mind, so
there is nothing to be done."

"Zikali!" exclaimed Umbezi. "What has the old dwarf to do with this
matter?"

"Never mind what he has or has not to do with it," I broke in, for
although I do not think that he meant them as a taunt, but merely as a
statement of fact, Saduko's words stung me to the quick, especially as
my conscience told me that they were not altogether without foundation.

"We will try to kill some of these buffalo," I went on, "although,
unless the herd should get bogged, which is not likely, as the swamp is
very dry, I do not think that we can hope for more than eight or ten at
the most, which won't be of much use for shields. Come, let us make a
plan. We have no time to lose, for I think they will begin to move
again before the sun is well up."

Half an hour later the four of us who were armed with guns were posted
behind rocks on either side of the steep, natural roadway cut by water,
which led down to the vlei, and with us some of Umbezi's men. That
chief himself was at my side--a post of honour which he had insisted
upon taking. To tell the truth, I did not dissuade him, for I thought
that I should be safer so than if he were opposite to me, since, even if
the old rifle did not go off of its own accord, Umbezi, when excited,
was a most uncertain shot. The herd of buffalo appeared to have lain
down in the reeds, so, being careful to post ourselves first, we sent
three of the native bearers to the farther side of the vlei, with
instructions to rouse the beasts by shouting. The remainder of the
Zulus--there were ten or a dozen of them armed with stabbing spears--we
kept with us.

But what did these scoundrels do? Instead of disturbing the herd by
making a noise, as we told them, for some reason best known to
themselves--I expect it was because they were afraid to go into the
vlei, where they might meet the horn of a buffalo at any moment--they
fired the dry reeds in three or four places at once, and this, if you
please, with a strong wind blowing from them to us. In a minute or two
the farther side of the swamp was a sheet of crackling flame that gave
off clouds of dense white smoke. Then pandemonium began.

The sleeping buffalo leapt to their feet, and, after a few moments of
indecision, crashed towards us, the whole huge herd of them, snorting
and bellowing like mad things. Seeing what was about to happen, I
nipped behind a big boulder, while Scowl shinned up a mimosa with the
swiftness of a cat and, heedless of its thorns, sat himself in an
eagle's nest at the top. The Zulus with the spears bolted to take cover
where they could. What became of Saduko I did not see, but old Umbezi,
bewildered with excitement, jumped into the exact middle of the roadway,
shouting:

"They come! They come! Charge, buffalo folk, if you will. The
Eater-up-of-Elephants awaits you!"

"You etceterad old fool!" I shouted, but got no farther, for just at
this moment the first of the buffalo, which I could see was an enormous
bull, probably the leader of the herd, accepted Umbezi's invitation and
came, with its nose stuck straight out in front of it. Umbezi's gun
went off, and next instant he went up. Through the smoke I saw his
black bulk in the air, and then heard it alight with a thud on the top
of the rock behind which I was crouching.

"Exit Umbezi," I said to myself, and by way of a requiem let the bull
which had hoisted him, as I thought to heaven, have an ounce of lead in
the ribs as it passed me. After that I did not fire any more, for it
occurred to me that it was as well not to further advertise my presence.

In all my hunting experience I cannot remember ever seeing such a sight
as that which followed. Out of the vlei rushed the buffalo by dozens,
every one of them making remarks in its own language as it came. They
jammed in the narrow roadway, they leapt on to each other's backs. They
squealed, they kicked, they bellowed. They charged my friendly rock
till I felt it shake. They knocked over Scowl's mimosa thorn, and would
have shot him out of his eagle's nest had not its flat top fortunately
caught in that of another and less accessible tree. And with them came
clouds of pungent smoke, mixed with bits of burning reed and puffs of
hot air.

It was over at last. With the exception of some calves, which had been
trampled to death in the rush, the herd had gone. Now, like the Roman
emperor--I think he was an emperor--I began to wonder what had become of
my legions.

"Umbezi," I shouted, or, rather, sneezed through the smoke, "are you
dead, Umbezi? "

"Yes, yes, Macumazahn," replied a choking and melancholy voice from the
top of the rock, "I am dead, quite dead. That evil spirit of a silwana
[i.e. wild beast] has killed me. Oh! why did I think I was a hunter;
why did I not stop at my kraal and count my cattle?"

"I am sure I don't know, you old lunatic," I answered, as I scrambled up
the rock to bid him good-bye.

It was a rock with a razor top like the ridge of a house, and there,
hanging across this ridge like a pair of nether garments on a
clothes-line, I found the "Eater-up-of-Elephants."

"Where did he get you, Umbezi?" I asked, for I could not see his wounds
because of the smoke.

"Behind, Macumazahn, behind!" he groaned, "for I had turned to fly, but,
alas! too late."

"On the contrary," I replied, "for one so heavy you flew very well; like
a bird, Umbezi, like a bird."

"Look and see what the evil beast has done to me, Macumazahn. It will
be easy, for my moocha has gone."

So I looked, examining Umbezi's ample proportions with care, but could
discover nothing except a large smudge of black mud, as though he had
sat down in a half-dried puddle. Then I guessed the truth. The
buffalo's horns had missed him. He had been struck only with its muddy
nose, which, being almost as broad as that portion of Umbezi with which
it came in contact, had inflicted nothing worse than a bruise. When I
was sure he had received no serious injury, my temper, already sorely
tried, gave out, and I administered to him the soundest smacking--his
position being very convenient--that he had ever received since he was a
little boy.

"Get up, you idiot!" I shouted, "and let us look for the others. This
is the end of your folly in making me attack a herd of buffalo in reeds.
Get up. Am I to stop here till I choke?"

"Do you mean to tell me that I have no mortal wound, Macumazahn?" he
asked, with a return of cheerfulness, accepting the castigation in good
part, for he was not one who bore malice. "Oh, I am glad to hear it,
for now I shall live to make those cowards who fired the reeds sorry
that they are not dead; also to finish off that wild beast, for I hit
him, Macumazahn, I hit him."

"I don't know whether you hit him; I know he hit you," I replied, as I
shoved him off the rock and ran towards the tilted tree where I had last
seen Scowl.

Here I beheld another strange sight. Scowl was still seated in the
eagle's nest that he shared with two nearly fledged young birds, one of
which, having been injured, was uttering piteous cries. Nor did it cry
in vain, for its parents, which were of that great variety of kite that
the Boers call "lammefange", or lamb-lifters, had just arrived to its
assistance, and were giving their new nestling, Scowl, the best doing
that man ever received at the beak and claws of feathered kind. Seen
through those rushing smoke wreaths, the combat looked perfectly
titanic; also it was one of the noisiest to which I ever listened, for I
don't know which shrieked the more loudly, the infuriated eagles or
their victim.

Seeing how things stood, I burst into a roar of laughter, and just then
Scowl grabbed the leg of the male bird, that was planted in his breast
while it removed tufts of his wool with its hooked beak, and leapt
boldly from the nest, which had become too hot to hold him. The eagle's
outspread wings broke his fall, for they acted as a parachute; and so
did Umbezi, upon whom he chanced to land. Springing from the prostrate
shape of the chief, who now had a bruise in front to match that behind,
Scowl, covered with pecks and scratches, ran like a lamp-lighter,
leaving me to collect my second gun, which he had dropped at the bottom
of the tree, but fortunately without injuring it. The Kafirs gave him
another name after that encounter, which meant
"He-who-fights-birds-and-gets-the-worst-of-it."

Well, we escaped from the line of the smoke, a dishevelled trio--indeed,
Umbezi had nothing left on him except his head ring--and shouted for the
others, if perchance they had not been trodden to death in the rush.
The first to arrive was Saduko, who looked quite calm and untroubled,
but stared at us in astonishment, and asked coolly what we had been
doing to get in such a state. I replied in appropriate language, and
asked in turn how he had managed to remain so nicely dressed.

He did not answer, but I believe the truth was that he had crept into a
large ant-bear's hole--small blame to him, to be frank. Then the
remainder of our party turned up one by one, some of them looking very
blown, as though they had run a long way. None were missing, except
those who had fired the reeds, and they thought it well to keep clear
for a good many hours. I believe that afterwards they regretted not
having taken a longer leave of absence; but when they finally did arrive
I was in no condition to note what passed between them and their
outraged chief.

Being collected, the question arose what we should do. Of course, I
wished to return to camp and get out of this ill-omened place as soon as
possible. But I had reckoned without the vanity of Umbezi. Umbezi
stretched over the edge of a sharp rock, whither he had been hoisted by
the nose of a buffalo, and imagining himself to be mortally wounded, was
one thing; but Umbezi in a borrowed moocha, although, because of his
bruises, he supported his person with one hand in front and with the
other behind, knowing his injuries to be purely superficial, was quite
another.

"I am a hunter," he said; "I am named 'Eater-up-of-Elephants';" and he
rolled his eyes, looking about for someone to contradict him, which
nobody did. Indeed, his "praiser," a thin, tired-looking person, whose
voice was worn out with his previous exertions, repeated in a feeble
way:

"Yes, Black One, 'Eater-up-of-Elephants' is your name;
'Lifted-up-by-Buffalo' is your name."

"Be silent, idiot," roared Umbezi. "As I said, I am a hunter; I have
wounded the wild beast that subsequently dared to assault me. [As a
matter of fact, it was I, Allan Quatermain, who had wounded it.] I
would make it bite the dust, for it cannot be far away. Let us follow
it."

He glared round him, whereon his obsequious people, or one of them,
echoed:

"Yes, by all means let us follow it, 'Eater-up-of-Elephants.'

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