Chapter Nineteen.
Metilulu Expresses his Gratitude—His Revenge—The Lost Found.
Scarcely had morning dawned, than Metilulu, surrounded by his counsellors, coming up, warmly thanked me in words full of the sincerest gratitude for having saved the lives of his tribe, as assuredly, but for my warning, they would all have been massacred before the men could have even had time to seize their weapons in defence. The little Chief seemed indeed so vastly pleased that I thought his praises would never cease, and I began to be rather tired of listening, when he suddenly put to me a question, which I had expected he would from the first. This was, “How it happened that I had been so lucky to see the enemy’s approach at so late an hour?” Of course, I dared not give the right reason; but, on the contrary, seized the opportunity this occasion offered to improve my position and consequence in Metilulu’s eyes by saying,—
“That I had been much concerned respecting the drought, which threatened such great suffering to his people and cattle, particularly after sending the message to him regarding the coming rain. The thought that he would fancy I only intended to deceive him made it impossible for me to sleep; therefore, I had walked outside the huts to note what aspect the moon would possess on rising, feeling sure, if she displayed the slightest mistiness on her disc, that rain could not be far off. It was at the time when so engaged that, happening to glance through an opening in the fence towards the bush, I had become conscious of dark, moving figures in the distance, and, guessing foul play, had immediately given the alarm to the kraal.”
Metilulu listened very attentively, as did his counsellors, and, when I had finished, asked with much anxiety,—
“Did you see the moon rise? If so, what was its appearance?”
“It appeared with a slight halo about it,” I rejoined.
“We shall have rain, then?” he said interrogatively.
To answer this in the affirmative, I had only to look up to the heavens, without any aid from my previous knowledge of the halo, and I told him that I believed rain would fall very shortly, perhaps even before night.
He smiled with great satisfaction at this, saying, if it proved true, I should be his rain-maker for the future. Then taking his leave, I saw him proceed direct to the prophet and address that withered, sour specimen of humanity.
I learned afterwards, from Tugela, that Metilulu had accused him of wishing to destroy the man who had turned out to be the best friend the tribe had, while he ended by asserting, on the strength of my word alone, that the rain was coming, and very speedily too, though the white man yet lived. The rain-maker, perceiving the champion I had in the Chief, had muttered out something about a mistake; it must have been some one of their own people, whose evil spirit had caused his spells to fail till now. I rather admired that “till now,” the conceit was so extremely cool.
Such a flagrant act of imposture as this in our country would have speedily ruined all the prestige of a conjuror, much less a prophet; but there it had not the least effect, and if the rain had not come as I had predicted, no doubt the prophet would have triumphed enormously, and again been set to work to smell out another unfortunate victim, if he had not still persisted—as very likely he might—that the worker of all this evil was myself.
As it was, however, plenteous and refreshing rains fell that day; the rivers again began to flow, and the springs and wells to fill—all of which had an effect wonderful to behold upon the natives. They danced, they shouted, they sang, and fairly embraced each other and their dear cattle, the destruction of their kraal appearing to sink into quite a minor affair. It was far from doing so with Metilulu, a brave little fellow, despite his obesity. Before the day was out, he had called his chief warriors together, to arrange with them how and when to take dire vengeance upon his enemy. Not one of the tribe was loathe to do this; therefore, it was determined that, directly they could erect a kraal sufficiently large to keep the cattle and women in safety, the whole body of Kaffirs, with Metilulu himself at their head, should, leaving only enough behind to protect the women and cows, depart for the enemy’s dwellings, upon whom they swore to have a terrible retribution.
Consequently three days after, when an isibaya had been hurriedly constructed for the cattle and huts for the females, children, and those who were to remain as their guards, the war party set out, I among their number, by permission of the chief, who now seemed ready to grant anything I desired—a willingness on his Majesty’s part which I hoped soon to put to a great test, by stating my earnest desire to return to my own people and land.
We set forth after sun-down, so as to reach the enemy’s quarters in the middle of the night, which we succeeded in doing, for after having marched for nearly four hours, we came abruptly on the kraal, laying, bathed in moonlight, all silent and still just at the foot of a slight incline.
I think it need not be stated that I had no intention to play any part in the affair about to take place, for the men I was with were acting no better than had those who had attacked them, while from experience I knew they could be quite, as cruel. But aware my presence or absence could do neither harm nor good, I had really come hoping thereby to gain still further Metilulu’s friendship, so that perhaps he might the more readily grant my request to be passed on to a white settlement.
Falling back, therefore, to the rear as the Kaffirs advanced, I manoeuvred to remain in the shadow of the bush while they went on. In the kraal before me there was, unfortunately, no wakeful eye to warn the sleepers of their danger, and the Kaffirs, approaching silently with the stealthy tread of a cat, had even scaled the fences before a sound was heard. Then the dogs began to bark and the cows to low, for in Caffraria cattle can at times be made to serve in place of the watchful canine animals themselves; but, before their masters could be aroused by the warning, they were startled into consciousness of their peril by their huts being pierced by the assagais of the enemy, whose loud yells of triumph rang awfully through the still air.
A terrible scene ensued—warriors who had had only time to seize their weapons issued forth but to be slaughtered, while women and children mostly shared the same fate. Some of the fragile huts were crushed down altogether—the inmates under them—into which heaps the enemy frequently thrust their spears to destroy the miserable beings beneath.
I waited impatiently for an end to this frightful scene of bloodshed, and each moment expected to see the cattle drawn out to a place of safety and the kraal set on fire as ours had been; but there appeared no signs of this. Owing to the unfairness of the fight, it speedily began to subside; yet the cattle remained in the isibaya. Had the enemy been exterminated, or had they yielded?
I waited yet a little longer, then became certain one or other was the case, for the fight seemed over, while Metilulu’s regiment were already forming into order. Consequently, thinking it as well now to join them, I hastened from the bush and entered the kraal. It presented a horrible sight to one who, like myself, was unused to bloodshed and battlefields, though no doubt it was not so ghastly as that presented by one of our civilised engagements; for here were no shattered limbs, no torn gaping wounds, no headless trunks, and bodies rent in twain by cannon shot. The assagai, or, occasionally, the knob-kerrie, had alone been used; and strewn over the ground were the dead forms of the Kaffirs, the spears which had caused their deaths yet remaining buried deep up the shaft in the victims, the victors not having had time to collect them. In some parts, where the fight had been the thickest, they laid in heaps; yet, with but few exceptions, the positions of all retained a look of graceful, easy repose. Notwithstanding, to me, it was a sickening sight to behold so many who, but an hour before, had been full of healthful life, now lying there extended on the plain—dead.
On going a little further I perceived Metilulu standing in the isibaya, inspecting the numbering the cattle by some of his men, while others were forming the survivors into their proper regiments, to discover which of the tribe had fallen. Having no wish to join either I strolled on, wondering in my own mind as to what they intended to do with the slain, for to leave them where they were under the tropical sun of day would soon render the spot unbearable and detrimental to the existence of the survivors.
Just at this moment I chanced to come across Tugela, bearing a message from Metilulu to one of his warriors, and, as I was going his way, I asked him with some curiosity, “How the fight had terminated.”
“All those who had not been slain,” he said, “had finally yielded and consented to submit to Metilulu, accepting him for their chief. Therefore, as the kraal was ready for immediate occupation, and stood in a much better situation regarding vegetation and water than his, the little Chief had issued orders for all the huts to be taken care of, as he intended at once to make the place his own abode, while the vanquished were to build themselves a kraal a little distance off.”
“But what will you do with these heaps of slain?” I asked. “If they remain here long the air will be full of pestilential vapours.”
“Those who like to bury their friends have permission to do so,” rejoined Tugela, “The others will be dragged far into the bush for the wild beasts to devour, or thrown into the rivers for the crocodiles. We never bury them as you English do.”
Saying which he hurried on with his message; and, even as he went, I perceived numerous parties of “boys” removing the fallen men for the purpose Tugela had stated. Whether they ascertained if all they took were really dead, particularly when the bodies were those of the enemy, I cannot tell, but I rather think not.
On being once more alone I continued my walk, and had the satisfaction of relieving from under the débris of a fallen hut a poor woman with an assagai wound in her side, who immediately, with much chattering, scurried off to the bush, clasping a baby in her arms, and leaving me no time to tell her that she would be quite safe if she liked to remain at the kraal.
It was soon after this that I came to a second demolished dwelling, from whence I fancied there issued murmuring sounds of life. Thinking I might be so fortunate as to rescue another unfortunate being, I listened attentively, and speedily, by the slight upheaving of the rubbish, was convinced some person was beneath—whereupon I set to work as fast as I could to clear away the heap so as to make an opening, all the while assuring those inside that there was no cause for fear, the fight was over, and peace concluded. I had nearly effected my purpose, when suddenly a grizzled head was thrust up into the moonlight—the ruined hut looking something like a hencoop fastened about the neck. After glancing quickly round, the possessor of the head exclaimed, to my utter amazement, “Well, jib-booms and top-sails, but this is a queer scene, this is.”
I reeled back mute with astonishment at the words, which recalled to me the apparition’s attention, and he continued—
“Well, you black nigger, how long are you going to stand there? Why don’t you help a fellow out, instead of jabbering your confounded lingo, which I don’t understand a word of, though I’ve heerd nothin’ but it for nigh a year, and what’s more, I won’t understand it if I stay another; for it’s the devil’s own tongue itself, that it are.”
By this time I had recovered myself, and, dashing forward, tore away the remains of the ruins; then, as the other started up, I threw myself on his neck overcome with emotion.
“Now, I say, you nigger, what are you up to?” he exclaimed.
“Oh, Thompson. Dear old Jack. My old, old companion,” I cried, while actual tears rolled from my eyes, “don’t you know me—me, Dick Galbraith?”
“Dick Galbraith! and alive! By the Lord, is it possible; but how—how could I know you, dear Dick, my boy, with your face like a nigger’s, and rigged out in those queer togs. Oh, lor’! I’m glad of this indeed,” exclaimed the old fellow, laughing and crying at the same time as he hugged me and I hugged him, while both of us sobbed like very children for joy at once more looking into the face of a white man—and a friend.