Kafir Stories

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But they were not to escape from the toils. Their trail had been
discovered, and the pick of the Makalaka impi was now overhauling them
fast. Yet they had another short respite. It seemed indeed as if Fate
were playing with them. They traveled on through the night, and in the
darkness the pursuers lost their trail.

The Makalakas thought that the Zulus would make for the river at its
nearest point, losing sight of the fact that the latter were strangers,
blindly groping in unfamiliar surroundings; so when morning broke, the
pursuers found that the trail was lost. They soon, however, ascertained
that they were proceeding by a course parallel to that taken by the
fugitives, and about a mile to the right of the latter. In spite of all
they had under-gone, the Zulus were still keeping the lead slightly,
but their limit of endurance had almost been reached. They were now
making down a long, gentle slope towards the river, which was only
about four miles distant. They had abandoned the cattle, and their
formation was lost; in fact, they were just a disorganised mob of
staggering men. The Makalakas were now gaining on them rapidly. The
foremost of the pursuers did not make direct for the Zulus, but for a
point lying between the latter and the river, so as to intercept them.

When Kondwana saw that they were cut off, he called out his men to
halt, so they formed up and then lay down on the ground to rest. On
came the main body of the Makalaka impi, and soon the haggard little
band of Zulus was surrounded by foes outnumbering them by more than ten
to one. At a signal from Kondwana, his men sprang to their feet, and
forming themselves into a ring, faced the enemy on all sides. Under the
stimulus of attack they almost ceased to feel fatigue. They knew they
had now to die, and they burned with fierce resentment against the foes
that had so pitilessly tormented them.

Kondwana gave the order that they were still to make for the river--now
only a few hundred yards distant, keeping, as far as possible, their
circular formation. The circle was formed two deep, the men of the
outer ring sloping their shields outwards and those on the inner ring
sloping their shields inwards, so as to ward off the assegais passing
over the opposite edges of the circle. The Makalakas came on, making a
horrible noise in which a buzzing sound seemed to mingle with a rumble
formed in the throat. In the meantime reinforcements to the Makalakas
came pouring in, and massing principally between the Zulus and the
river, for the Chief had impressed on all the necessity for not
allowing a single Zulu to escape.

The slaughter began with a discharge of assegais from all sides at
once, the Zulus crouched down, covering as much as possible of their
bodies with the shield. A few men fell, but the gaps were at once
filled by the circle shortening in. For some time the Zulus only
resisted passively, the circle slowly moving on towards the
forest-fringe of the river, and consequently the Makalakas became bolder,
and closed in nearer and nearer to the doomed circle. But the Zulus did not
mean to die quietly. All at once they stopped in their slow, silent
progress, and the Makalakas moved in closer, thinking that the time for
finishing them off had arrived. Then the war-cry rang out, and with one
splendid dash the Zulus were amongst the densest mass of their foes.
Nothing could withstand the fury of their onslaught and the Makalakas
tell under their spears like corn to the sickle.

The sun was just sinking. The Zulus had broken almost completely
through the thickest portion of the ring formed by their foes. Only a
few yards before them was the dense river-forest, offering sanctuary.
But escape was not to be.

Having been unable to re-form after the charge, they were practically
defenceless against a tremendous attach on their rear led by the
Makalaka Chief in person, whilst hundreds of assegais were hurled in
with deadly effect from both sides. About twenty bleeding men managed
to reach the forest, but their pursuers leached it at the same time,
and one by one the Zulus died in desperate hand to hand encounters
amidst the twilight of the trees.

As night fell, the Makalakas drew off under the impression that the
last Zulu was dead. Their own loss had been heavy. In the final charge
they had been cut down by wholesale. But the Chief now felt safe from
the avenging wrath of Tshaka.

Three of the Zulus were, however, still alive. Kondwana the induna,
Senzanga--the man without a head-ring, and one other, had fallen into
an old elephant-pit, the surface of which was completely covered over
with brushwood. Dry leaves and twigs had accumulated at the bottom, and
thus the shock of their fall had been lessened. Wounded and bleeding,
they lay in the pit until the howling of the hyaenas told them that the
Makalakas had withdrawn from the field of battle.

Of the four hundred veterans who had, but a few months previously,
departed on the quest of the copper, only these three remained. All the
splendid valour displayed, all the incomparable devotion and endurance
manifested, had been wasted--poured out like their blood on the sand--
sacrificed to the senseless suspicions of a brutal, irresponsible
tyrant.

Nor was any living creature one whit the gainer--save the hyaenas.

IV.

Tshaka, King of the Zulus, sat in his royal kraal one morning in
November, 1816. His Majesty was in a bad temper. Umziligazi and his
clan, the Amandabele, rather than stay and all be killed on account of
a misunderstanding over some loot, had arisen and fled across the
Drakensberg to such a distance, that pursuit--for the present, at all
events--was out of the question. Other things, worries from which the
most despotic a ad irresponsible monarchs are not free, were also
annoying him. Consequently those to whom he had lately been granting
audience had had a bad time of it. In fact the executioners were busy
every day.

One of the chief indunas ventured to communicate the fact that a very
old and strange-looking man, who did not appear to be quite right in
his wits, together with a. slightly younger, though equally weird-looking
companion, craved an audience with the king.

Tshaka shared to the fullest extent those superstitions which form such
a salient characteristic of all the Bantu tribes. Now, all savages
believe that persons whose wits are affected are wizards, whom it is
good policy to propitiate, and whom he may be dangerous to offend.
Therefore the king signified that the strangers might approach.

Two men were then led before Tshaka. They were both fearfully emaciated
and gaunt, and were scarred from head to foot. The elder man could not
walk alone, bur leant upon the shoulder of the younger as he hobbled
along, using the remains of a broken spear, the blade of which was worn
down to a knob, and the shattered handle of which was bound together
with little thongs--as a walking stick. This man (the elder) had the
appearance of great age. His form was bent, and the little hair which
he still retained was quite white. His battered head-ring, being
attached only by one side, shook as if it would fall off on account of
the motion caused by his walking. He appeared to be nearly blind. At
the entrance to the Royal Kraal he had been ordered, according to
established rule, to give up his spear, but he resisted so
energetically that they allowed him to retain it--and, after all, it
could hardly be called a weapon. He carried a small skin wallet slung
to his waist.

The younger man looked old with the oldness that comes not of time but
of suffering. His very flesh seemed to have disappeared, and his eyes
had sunk deep into his head.

Kondwana, and Senzanga had travailed heavily since we left them on the
night after the slaughter, in the elephant-pit on the northern bank of
the Limpopo. After resting in the pit for a short time, the three
survivors crept out and tried to cross the river. Kondwana and Senzanga
succeeded after grievous pains, but the other man, who was desperately
wounded, was swept away in one of the swirls and drowned.

For months that seemed to them like long-drawn years, Kondwana and his
companion crept slowly southward, subsisting on whatever they could
pick up in the way of food. Gum, exuding from the acacias, wild fruits,
birds' eggs, young, nestling birds and honey, formed their principal
fare. "Incinci," the honey-bird, was their best friend and purveyor,
and often led them to where the bees had stored their treasure in
hollow trees, and holes in the donga-banks.

The wild beasts of the desert gazed at them without dread. Great
troops of elephants went trumpeting past, taking no more notice of them
than of the monkeys in the trees. Lions, hyaenas, and jackals came up
and sniffed at them where they lay at night, and then passed on seeking
daintier food.

They reached the land of the Amaswazi, and superstitious dread caused
them to be assisted with food and shelter. They came to their own
country and wandered on, unrecognised by those who had known them well
less than nine months previously. And now they crouched to the ground
at Tshaka's feet.

When they, with difficulty, arose after the obeisance, a change seemed
to have come over Kondwana's face. The presence of the King, and the
sound of his voice seemed to act as a stimulant upon the old man's
torpid mind. In fact, they brought the farther past into stronger
relief than the more recent, and then reality dawned up through the
mists of fantasy that had clouded his brain for so long. His eye
brightened. He remembered the past. He knew clearly where he was, and
why he was there.

Gazing fixedly at the King, Kondwana let the broken spear fall to the
ground, and then with his shaking right hand began fumbling at the skin
wallet. After some little delay, he succeeded in opening this, and then
he drew from it a lump of bright copper ore, about the size of a hen's
egg. This he silently held out to Tshaka.

The King took the lump and examined it, and then looked sharply at the
giver's face for a few seconds. Then in a tone of irritated surprise,
he asked:

"Are you Kondwana?"

"Yes, my King."

"Where are your soldiers, and where are the stones you were sent to
fetch?"

"The soldiers are dead, my King. Only this one and I are living. We
were overcome by the Makalakas and the Balotsi. We slew them in crowds,
but they were too many for us, and we had no food. I have brought the
stone to show that I tried to do your bidding."

When Tshaka recognised Kondwana, his superstitious fears at once
vanished. Here was no wizard potent for evil, but his own man
Kondwana, the induna, whom he hated and had sent away so as to be rid
of him. Besides, Kondwana stood there self-convicted of the deadly sin
which admitted of no pardon; he had returned unsuccessful from an
expedition; he had been defeated. Moreover, Tshaka was in a bad temper
owing to the causes we have specified.

So he signed to one of his ever-ready executioners and said:

"Take them away and kill them."

The executioners approached, but Kondwana drew himself up with
ineffable dignity, signed to them with his hand to pause, and spake in
a firm voice.

"O King, for my own death I thank you, for why should I longer live?
But this man is still young, and has done no evil deed. Let him wash
his spear once in the blood of your enemies, and die at the tip of your
battle-horn."

Tshaka, thoroughly enraged, was a fearsome sight. Like Peter the Great,
his features worked and twitched horribly. Those who beheld him thus,
felt that they were before the very face of Death, embodied and
visible.

All in his presence, except the two doomed men, crouched to the ground
and hid their faces in their hands. Even his mother, 'Mnande, more
privileged than others, and often bolder in interfering in his
counsels, bent down where she was sitting until her forehead touched
the ground.

He glared speechlessly at Kondwana and Senzanga, who, having gone far
beyond the limit of experience where Fear dwells, looked back quietly
at his face. When he at length found his voice, it came in the
semblance of a gasping roar:

"Take them away--Dogs."

Like men released from a spell, the executioners sprang on Kondwana and
Senzanga and dragged them away, two men seizing each of them--one by
each arm. Kondwana was unable to walk, so was dragged along the ground
towards the place of execution, which was at the back of the Royal
Kraal. When they had got out of the King's sight, even the executioners
were moved to pity, so they lifted him on to the shoulders, and thus
carried him to the shambles.

When Kondwana reached the place of execution, Senzanga was already
dead, his neck broken by his head having been twisted round from the
back, the usual mode of dispatch. They set Kondwana down on the
ground, and then one of the executioners seized his head and twisted
it; but it seemed as if on account of the tendons being so relaxed from
emaciation, the spine would not dislocate, although twisted beyond the
usual dislocation point, so the executioner sprang up, and seizing a
club, crushed the skull in with one blow.

So Kondwana, even at the very last, tasted more than his proper share
of the bitterness of death.

GHAMBA.

"That darksome cave they enter, where they find
That cursed man, low sitting on the ground,
Musing full sadly in his sullein mind."

FAERIE QUEENE.

I

WHEN Corporal Francis Dollond and Trooper James Franks of the Natal
Mounted Police, overstayed their ten days' leave of absence from the
camp on the Upper Tugela, in the early part of 1883, everybody was much
surprised; they being two of the best conducted and most methodical men
in the force. But the weeks and then the months went by without
anything whatever being heard of them, so they were officially recorded
as deserters. Nevertheless, none of their comrades really believed that
these men had deserted; each one felt there was something mysterious
about the circumstance of their disappearance. They had applied for
leave for the alleged purpose of visiting Pietermaritzburg. They
started on foot, stating their intention of walking to Estcourt, hiring
horses from natives there, and proceeding on horseback. They had
evidently never reached Estcourt, as nothing could be heard of them at
that village. They were both young men--colonists by birth. Dollond had
an especially youthful appearance. Franks was older. He had joined the
force later in life. He and Dollond, who had only very recently before
his disappearance been promoted, were chums.

Some months later in the same year, when Troopers George Langley and
Hiram Whitson also applied for ten days' leave of absence--likewise to
proceed to Pietermaritzburg--the leave was granted; but the officer in
charge of the detachment laughingly remarked that he hoped they were
not going to follow Dollond and Franks.

Now, neither Langley nor Whitson had the remotest idea of visiting
Pietermaritzburg. It is necessary, of course, for the reader to know
where they did intend going to, and how the intention arose; but before
doing this we must deal with some antecedent circumstances.

Langley was certainly the most boyish-looking man in the force. He had
a perfectly smooth face, ruddy complexion, and fair hair. He was of
middle height, and was rather inclined to stoutness. He was so fond of
talking that his comrades nicknamed him "magpie." A colonist by birth,
he could speak the Kafir language like a native.

Whitson was a sallow-faced, spare-built man of short stature, with dark
brown beard and hair, and piercing black eyes. His age was about
forty. He had a wiry and terrier-like appearance. A "down-East" Yankey,
he had spent some years in Mexico, and then drifted to South Africa
during the war-period which, it will be remembered, lasted from 1877 to
1882. He had served in the Zulu war as a noncommissioned officer in
one of the irregular cavalry corps, with some credit. The fact of his
being a man of extremely few words was enough to account for the
friendship which existed between him and the garrulous Langley. Whitson
was known to be a dead shot with the revolver.

This is how they came to apply for leave. One day Langley was strolling
about just outside the lines looking for somebody to talk to, when he
noticed an apparently very old native man sitting on an ant-heap, and
regarding him somewhat intently. This old native had been several times
seen in the vicinity of the camp, but he never seemed to speak to any
one, and he looked so harmless that the police did not even trouble to
ask him for the written pass which all natives are obliged by law to
carry when they move about the country. The old man saluted Langley and
asked in his own language for a pipeful of tobacco. Langley always
carried some loose leaves broken up in his pocket, so he at once pulled
some of these out and half filled the claw-like hand outstretched to
receive them. The old native was voluble in thanks. There was a large
ant-heap close to the one on which he had been sitting, and on which he
reseated himself whilst filling his pipe. Against this Langley leant
and took a good look at his companion. The man had a most extraordinary
face. His lower jaw and cheek-bones were largely developed, but Langley
hardly noticed this, so struck was he with the strange formation of the
upper jaw. That portion of the superior maxillary bone which lies
between the sockets of the eye-teeth protruded, with the sockets, to a
remarkable degree, and instead of being curved, appeared to be quite
straight. The incisor teeth were very large and white, but it was the
development of the eye-teeth that was most startling. These, besides
being very massive, were produced below the level of the incisors to a
depth of nearly a quarter of an inch. They distinctly suggested to
Langley the tusks of a baboon.

As is very unusual with natives, the man was perfectly bald. His back
was bent, and his limbs were somewhat shrunken, but he did not appear
in the least degree decrepit. His eyelids were very red, and his eyes,
though dim, had a deep and intent look. Ugly as was the man--or perhaps
by virtue of his ugliness--he exercised a strange fascination over
Langley.

The old man, whose name turned out to be Ghamba, proved himself a
talker after Langley's own heart. They discussed all sorts of things.
Ghamba startled his hearer by his breadth of experience and his
shrewdness. He said he was a "Hlubi" Kafir from Qumbu in the territory
of Griqualand East, but that he had for some time past been living in
Basutoland, which is situated just behind the frowning wall of the
Drakensberg, to the south-west of where they were speaking, and not
twenty miles distant.

They talked until it was time for Langley to return to camp. He was so
pleased at the entertainment afforded by Ghamba, that all the tobacco
he had with him found its way into the claw-like hand of that strange-looking
man of many experiences and quaint ideas. So Langley asked him
to come to the ant-heap again on the following day, and have another
talk at the same hour. This, Ghamba, with a wide and prolonged exposure
of his teeth, readily agreed to do.

Langley was extremely voluble to Whitson that night over his new
acquaintance. Whitson listened with his usual impassiveness, and then
asked Langley how it was that "an old loafing nigger," as he expressed
it, had impressed him so remarkably. Langley replied that he did not
quite know, but he thought the effect was largely due to the man's
teeth. But all the same he was "a very entertaining old buffer."

Next afternoon, Langley was so impatient to resume conversation with
his new friend, that he repaired to the ant-heap quite half-an-hour
before the appointed time. He had not, however, long to wait, as Ghamba
soon appeared emerging from a donga a couple of hundred yards away.

Langley was more impressed than ever. Ghamba told him all about the
Basutos, amongst whom he had lived; about the old days in Natal, before
even the Dutch occupation, when Tshaka's impis wiped whole tribes out
of existence; of the recent wars in Zululand and the Cape Colony, and
as to the probability of future disturbances. Charmed as was Langley by
the old man's conversation, he felt that on this occasion there was a
little too much of it, that Ghamba was not nearly so good a listener as
he had been on the previous day, so when the latter at length put a
question to him, thus affording an opportunity for the exercise of his
own pent-up loquacity, Langley felt elated, more especially as several
inquiries were grouped together in the one asking, Ghamba asked whether
anything had been heard of Umhlonhlo; whether the capture of that
fugitive rebel was considered likely, and whether it was true that a
reward of 1500 pounds had been offered by the Government for his
capture, dead or alive.

Umhlonhlo, it will be remembered, was the Pondomise chief who rebelled
in 1880, treacherously murdered Mr. Hope, the magistrate of Qumbu, and
his two companions, and who has since been an outlaw with a price on
his head.

Langley replied to the effect that it was quite true such a reward had
been offered; that nothing as yet had been ascertained as to
Umhlonhlo's whereabouts, but that the Government believed him to be in
Pondoland; that he was sure to be captured eventually; that he,
Langley, only wished he knew where Umhlonhlo was, so as to have the
chance of making five hundred pounds with which to buy a certain nice
little farm he knew of; and that should he ever succeed in obtaining
the reward and consequently taking his discharge and purchasing the
farm, he would be jolly glad if old Ghamba would come and live with
him. This is only some of what he said; when Langley's tongue got into
motion, he seemed to have some difficulty in stopping it.

However, he paused at last, and then Ghamba, looking very intently at
him, said;

"Look here, can you keep a secret?"

Here was a mystery.

"Rather," said Langley.

"Will you swear by the name of God that you will not reveal what I tell
you?"

Langley swore.

Ghamba drew near until his teeth were within a few inches of Langley's
cheek, and said in a whisper;

"I know where Umhlonhlo is."

Langley started, and said in an awed voice;

"Where is he?

"Wait a bit," said Ghamba, "perhaps I will tell you, and perhaps I
won't. I like you, you have given me tobacco, and you are not too proud
to come and talk to a poor old man. Now, you say you would like to make
five hundred pounds and buy a farm?"

"Rather."

"And that you would let me go and live on the farm with you and end my
days in peace?"

"I would, gladly."

"Well then, if I lake you to where Umhlonhlo is, and you kill him and
get the money, will you give me twenty-five pounds, and let me keep a
few goats, and grow a few mealies on your land?"

"I should think I would. But how could one man take or kill Umhlonhlo?
They say he is well armed and that he has a lot of followers with him."

"Umhlonhlo," said Ghamba, glancing anxiously round as if he feared the
very ant-heap were listening, "is hiding in a cave in the mountains,
not three days' walk from here. He has not got a single man with him,
because he fears being given up. He is really in hiding from his own
followers now. My sister is one of his wives, and that is how I know
all about it. I passed the cave where he lives, four nights ago, and
saw him sitting by the fire. He has only a few women with him."

"And how do you think I should take him?"

"Take him? you should kill him. I will guide you to the cave by night,
and then you can shoot him as he sits by the fire."

Langley, although no coward, was not particularly brave. He did not
much relish the idea of alone tackling the redoubtable Umhlonhlo, a
savage of muscle, who was reported to be always armed to the teeth.
Moreover, he had no gun, and was but an indifferent shot with a
revolver. So he thought over the matter for a few moments and then
said:

"Look here, Ghamba. I do not care to tackle this job alone, but if I
can take another man with me, I am on."

"Then you will only get half of the five hundred pounds, and will not
be able to buy the farm. You need not be afraid; you can shoot him
without his seeing you."

"No," said Langley after a pause. "I will not go alone, but if you will
let me take another man with me, it can be managed. It will make no
difference to you; you will get your twenty-five pounds."

"And how about my going to live on the farm with you?"

"Well, I could not buy the farm for two hundred and fifty pounds. Come,
we will give you fifty pounds instead of twenty-five."

Ghamba thought for a while and then said;

"Very well, I consent. But there need be only one other man, and you
will write down on a piece of paper that you will give me the fifty
pounds. When can we start?"

"I must speak to the other man, and then we wilt apply for leave. We
had better start soon, or else Umhlonhlo may have gone to some other
place of hiding."

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