Chapter Nineteen.
The Vengeance of the Refugees.
“An impi sent by Dingane,” was my first thought, as I gassed upon the fierce countenances and the spears poised aloft with threatening flash.
“Who art thou—and whence?” said he who appeared to be the leader, a tall man and savage of mien.
“Rather, who are ye?” I answered, with another question, affronted by the insolent tone employed by the speaker.
“See these,” he answered swiftly. “Speak or die! You are one man, and these are several.”
“Yet I have fought with several before this day, O Unknown,” I retorted, with a swift movement, throwing up my shield in defence, at the same time backing towards the rock, so that they could not get round me. So I stood ready for a merry fight, for the leader alone would have taken up all my attention, so tall and strong was he—and there were others.
To my surprise they did not come on. The leader again spoke.
“Once more, who art thou? He who wanders in the retreat of the Bapongqolo must needs give an account of himself.”
“E-hé!” assented the others.
Then I lowered shield and weapons at once.
“I am Untúswa, the son of Ntelani. Perchance ye have heard of him, ye who are refugees.”
By the look which they exchanged I knew they had heard of me. Then the leader said:
“What seek you here, Untúswa, for in truth that is a name which is known?”
“I seek a refuge among the people who are in refuge,” I said.
“Why then, thou art welcome, Untúswa,” he replied. “I am Sifadu, the son of Kona, and I wielded a sharp spear in the ranks of the Imbele-bele, of which I was a captain. But Tola, that jackal-spawned cheat, did name my father at a witch-finding, and he, being old, died the death of the black ants; but I and the remainder of his house escaped—and here we are.”
“Tola will name no more, Sifadu,” I said. “The knob-sticks of the King’s slayers have put that form of pleasure beyond his reach.”
“He is dead, then! Haul I am glad, and yet not, for one day I had promised myself the delight of having him enticed here that he might die the death my father suffered through him. I would pay ten cows as the price of that pleasure—yes, willingly.” And the look on the face of Sifadu was such that it was perhaps as well for Tola in the long run that he had died the swift and painless death of the knobstick.
Thus we conversed, Sifadu and I, and as we journeyed I told him and the others a great deal of what had happened; of the invasion of the Amabuna, and how we had destroyed many of them. They had heard something of this, but I, who had taken part in it, was able to tell them everything. But what they especially wanted to know about was the rumour of plotting in favour of Mpande. Of this, however, I could not tell them much, because I knew but little myself.
The principal place of the Bapongqolo consisted not of one large kraal, but a number of small ones; and so scattered were these, and so carefully hidden, away in the dense forest which covered the slopes of a vast hollow or bowl, that it would be well-nigh impossible to strike them all at one blow; and to this end was such concealment planned. Impossible, too, would it have been for any considerable number of men to have penetrated the hollow without their advance having been long since known to the inhabitants, so dense and rock-strewn were the approaches; and, indeed, all such were under the observation of small outpost kraals, which served the purposes of pickets.
I gathered that these refugees were counted by hundreds. They were of all ages, from quite old men down to boys. Most of them, however, were middle-aged men in their prime; but whether the fact of being refugees kept them ever on the alert, all had a quick, ready, and fearless look, together with fine and well-knit frames, that stamped them as a warrior clan of no contemptible strength. And to Sifadu all seemed to look up as to a recognised chief.
Of this Sifadu I knew not quite what to make. He was friendly at first, but as time went by he seemed to look at me with jealous and suspicious eyes, as though he thought that a man of my standing and prowess would hardly be content with the position of one among many, wherein he was right, perhaps. Of one thing, however, I was certain. Did I or any other man desire the chieftainship of these outlaws Sifadu would first have to be dead.
For the present, however, I had no such thoughts. I was content to dwell quietly and unmolested, and await the turn events might take. So, as time went by, I seemed to have become as one of the Bapongqolo. Together we hunted the wild game of the forest—together we made descents in search of plunder into the Swazi country or the lands of the Amatonga, or levied tribute from the kraals lying beyond the outskirts of our own fastnesses; and so feared were we that none thought of resistance or retaliation.
“Of a truth, Untúswa, the day might come when Dingane himself would be glad to join us,” said Sifadu to me, as we were returning from one of these forays. “With our help, even we might save him his seat. Then should we not be among the highest of the nation? Then would there not be some who might groan aloud because the son of Kona had returned?”
Such a thought as this had been in my own mind, but I desired not to foster it in that of others, at least, not until I had determined upon my own plans; so to Sifadu I replied lightly on the matter, treating it as of no importance.
Lalusini had kept her word, and twice had arranged that we should meet and hold long converse together. But on the second of these occasions her news was great. The Amabuna had crossed the Tugela in great force, intending to march upon Nkunkundhlovu. There had been a tremendous battle, but the army of Dingane had defeated them and had driven them back; and but for their horses would have stamped them out entirely. Then the English at Tegwini had undertaken to interfere in this quarrel, and had crossed the Tugela with a large impi of Amakafula. These, however, got no further than the bank of the Tugela, for the King’s warriors made meat of that impi until the river ran red with their blood; and, in his wrath and disgust at this breach of faith on the part of the whites at Tegwini, Dingane sent an impi there to eat them up, too. Whau! and they would have been eaten up but that they took to the water—took refuge on a ship that was there—for these whites, Nkose, had no business to interfere in a quarrel which concerned them not. They were not of the blood of the Amabuna, and they had ever been treated as friends by the house of Senzangakona since the great Tshaka had allowed them the use of the lands on which they then dwelt. So they were rightly served.
Now all these tales of war and of great battles fired my blood, for I would fain have been in them; yet here I was, hiding away as a fugitive. But when I would have boldly returned, craving only that Dingane would allow me to wield a spear in the ranks of his troops, Lalusini dissuaded me. The hostility of Tambusa and Umhlela burned as hot against me as ever, and indeed I had fled not any too soon. She bade me wait. She herself was high in favour with the King by reason of the victories which had attended the Zulu arms, for she had foretold them.
Not without risk did I thus meet Lalusini. I could not reveal the real relationship between us, and the suspicions of the fierce Bapongqolo once fairly aroused, I might be slain suddenly and without warning, and no opportunity given me of explanation or self-defence. Indeed, after the first time, I thought I noticed a frost of suspiciousness in the converse of those people towards me as we sat around our fires at night. But the second time something so unlooked for happened that it gave them all something else to think about.
Lalusini had finished telling me all there was of news when, of a sudden, her manner became strange and suspicious.
“We are being watched, Untúswa,” she said quietly.
“Watched? Why then, it will be bad—ah, very bad—for the watcher.”
And hardly had the words escaped me than I darted from her side. I hurled myself through the thickness of the bush, but something was already crashing through it away from me. I made out the form of a man.
“Now, stop!” I cried—a casting assegai poised for a throw. “Stop! or I cleave thee to the heart.”
I was about to hurl the spear fair between the shoulders of the fleeing man—who was now not many paces in front—when he stopped suddenly. I went at him. He turned round and faced me, a glare of hate and fury in his eyes that seemed to scorch—to burn. And I—Whau! I stood as one suddenly turned to stone, the uplifted assegai powerless in my stiffened grasp. For the face was that of a ghost—the dreadful glare of hate and fury that paralysed me was upon the face of a ghost. I was gazing upon one whom I had seen slain, whom my own eyes had beheld clubbed to death by the King’s slayers—Tola, the chief of the witch doctors.
We stood for a moment thus, motionless, I gazing upon the horrible form of one I knew to be dead, as it stood there, shadowed in the gloom of the trees. Then, slowly raising an arm, the voice came, deep and hollow—
“Retire—or I put that upon thee which shall blast and wither thy heart and turn to water thy courage; which shall change the most valiant of fighting-men into the most cowardly of women.”
Awful as were the words, the effect upon me was not that intended. He had better have kept silence, for now I knew him to be alive, and I sprang upon him. He had a spear, and struck furiously at me with it; but I turned the blow, and then we closed. He fought and bit and kicked, and, powerful as I was, the lithe and slippery witch doctor for long defied my efforts to secure him, for I was anxious to take him alive. At last it seemed I should be obliged to kill him, when something was dropped over his head which, the next moment, was rolled round and round in a thick covering of stuff. It was Lalusini’s blanket. She had come to my aid just at the right time. We had no difficulty in securing him now, and with strips cut from his own skin cloak we bound his hands firmly behind him, and his feet. Then we removed the blanket.
“Greeting, Tola!” I said. “I thought thou wert dead; but I had forgotten, a great izanusi such as thou could not die, which is well, for not far off is one who longeth to welcome thee.”
“Have a care, Untúswa, have a care,” he snarled. “Dost thou not fear?”
“Why, no,” I answered. “The múti which protects me is greater than any which can be turned against me. But thou, what canst thou fear, O great izanusi who cannot die?”
I was but mocking him, Nkose, for now I saw through the plot. He had purposely been allowed to escape in the turmoil what time all the other izanusi had been slain; and I laughed at myself for my fears on first beholding him.
We left Tola lying there helpless; and, removing a little distance, we said out all we had to say. Then we took leave of each other.
“Use care, Untúswa, for it is that man’s life or thine,” said Lalusini, as we parted. “On no account let him escape.”
“Have no fear as to that, Lalusini,” I answered. “There is one who will take even better care of him than I could.”
When she had gone I unbound Tola’s ankles, and told him to walk. Now, seeing himself in my power, he began to talk fair. He promised to do all for me if I would but let him go—to rid me of my enemies, to make me the greatest man, next to the King. But I only mocked him.
“A live izanusi may do great things,” I said. “But a dead izanusi—whau!—of what use is he? And, Tola, I seem to remember that thou art dead—dead by order of the Great Great One. How then canst thou serve me?”
Then he began on another story. He could teach me things—could reveal mysteries which would render me all-powerful against every form of harm. But I only laughed at this, saying that he would soon have an opportunity of testing his powers in his own favour; and thus, ever with a watchful eye upon him, we travelled on together until we entered the hollow where were the kraals of the Bapongqolo.
“There are many here who will give thee warm greeting, chief of the izanusi,” I said. “Some even, upon whom thou hast looked before.”
Now people began to crowd around us, and, recognising my prisoner, shouts of hatred and threats were hurled at him. They would have torn him from me, but I restrained them.
“Go, call Sifadu,” I said. “I have brought him a long-desired guest.”
At the mention of Sifadu’s name the terror stamped upon the face of Tola was frightful to behold. We, standing around, enjoyed this, for scarcely a man there but had seen some relative haled to the place of doom at the bidding of this hyena; some indeed to writhe in torment for long before they died. Then Tola, foaming at the mouth, rolled on the ground in convulsions; but for this they cared nothing, as a mere witch-finding trick. They pricked him with their assegais until he came to again, roaring with laughter the while. And as he came to again, Sifadu appeared.
“Welcome, Tola,” he cried. “Welcome! We have long awaited thee. Ha, and a right warm welcome shall be thine, ah, ah! a right warm welcome.”
And thrusting his face close to that of the witch doctor he gnashed his teeth in a grin of such hardly-to-be-restrained fury that I thought he would have seized the other with his churning jaws like a beast.
“Welcome, Tola,” he went on. “A warm welcome to thee, in the name of all my house whom thou didst eat up. Whau! There were my two young wives. How nicely their tender limbs shrivelled and burned as they died the death of the hot stones as witches, smelt out by thee Tola—by thee, Tola—thou prince of smellers out!” and with the two repetitions he sliced off the witch doctor’s ears with the keen blade of his broad assegai. A frightful howl escaped the sufferer.
“Then there was my mother and another of my father’s wives; they were lashed to death with switches to make them confess—by thy orders. Tola. Haul Does this feel good—and this—and this?” And he lashed the prisoner’s naked body with a green hide thong until the air rang with screams.
“Then there was my father, Kona. He was eaten by black ants—at thy word, Tola—by black ants. It took nearly a day for him to die in that torment, raving and roaring as a madman. And now I think this shall be thine own end. Whau! The black ants—the good black ants—the fierce black ants—the hungry black ants. They shall be fed—they shall be fed.”
Now, Nkose, looking at Sifadu, I thought he came very near being a madman at that moment, so intense was his hate and fury, so difficult the restraint he put upon himself not to hack the vile witch doctor into pieces there and then with his own hand. He foamed at the month, he ground his teeth, his very eyeballs seemed about to roll from their sockets. But the face of Tola, ah! never did I see such terror upon that of any living man. The crowd, looking on, roared like lions, stifling Sifadu’s voice. They called to him the death of relatives—of fathers, of brothers, of wives, all of whose deaths lay at the doors of the izanusi. They wished that this one had a hundred lives that they might take a hundred days in killing him. There were several nests of black ants at no distance. Then somebody cried out that there was a particularly large one under a certain tree.
“Under a tree!” cried Sifadu. “Ha. I have an idea! Bring him along.”
They flung themselves upon Tola, whose wild howling was completely drowned by the ferocious yells of the crowd. But as they were dragging him roughly over the ground Sifadu interposed.
“Gahlé, brothers. Do not bruise him. The ants like their meat uninjured.”
Amid roars of delight the miserable wretch was dragged to the place of torment. Already some had knocked the top off the ants’ nest, and were stirring it with sticks to infuriate the insects. Right over the nest grew a long bough a little more than the height of a tall man from the ground. Now Sifadu’s idea took shape.
A wedge of wood was inserted between the victim’s teeth. This had the effect of holding his jaws wide open, nor by any effort could he dislodge the gag. Then his ankles being strongly bound together, he was hoisted up to the branch above, and left hanging by the feet, so that his head and gaping mouth just touched the broken top of the ant heap. Then as he writhed and twisted and howled in his agony—for the infuriated insects swarmed all over him—into his nostrils, mouth, severed ears, everywhere—the Bapongqolo crowded around gloating over his torments, and shouting into his ears the names of those whom he himself had doomed to a like torment. It was long indeed before he died, but though I have seen many a terrible form of death, never did I see any man suffer as did this one. And yet, Nkose, it was just that he should, for had not he himself been the means of dooming many innocent persons to that very death? Wherefore the revenge of the refugees was a meet and a just one.