Chapter Seventeen.
Home Thoughts—The Drought and the Rain-Maker—I Receive Terrible News.
It was some time after the above that I sat just outside my hut enjoying a smoke, or rather I should not say enjoying, for I happened to be extremely sad at heart. I had now been nearly a year in Caffraria, and no doubt had long been supposed dead by my wife and friends, for the news of the wreck could not fail to have reached them by this time, accompanied no doubt by the sad intelligence that all the crew had perished.
I pictured to myself my wife’s despair on hearing it; how her pretty face would be bathed in tears; how she, in her great sorrow, might earnestly pray for death, till recalled from the wife’s grief, by the mother’s duties, she would clasp my children to her bosom, and, overcoming her heart-broken agony, resolve, if only for my sake, to live for them.
My little house, with its small comfortable parlour, all rose up clearly before me. There on the wall hung the curiosities I had brought from distant parts to Kate, and which she dusted so carefully every morning, while here on the mantelpiece stood the old clock, with its wooden case as black as ebony, supported right and left by a China shepherd and shepherdess, which were supported in their turn by little China vases containing spills ready for me, Dick Galbraith, when at home, to light my pipe as I sat on one side of the pleasant fire-grate, a glass of grog at my right hand, and Katie busily darning or mending the family linen opposite, chatting of village gossip—how Dan, the fisherman, had nearly been capsized in the last squall; or what a great haul he had had, which had put him into such a good humour that he had actually bought his missus a new gown; or, when not talking, listening so attentively to my yarns respecting the places I had visited and the people I had seen. Strange stories enough I should have to tell her this time!
A sigh escaped my lips as this reminded me how long it would be before I should smoke my pipe, if I really ever did again, in that comfortable, snug little parlour, with the smell of the briny sea in the air, and Katie by my side, while the children slumbered overhead, rocked to sleep, as their father had been before them, by the soothing lullaby of the ocean.
Such thoughts, as may be imagined, were not very conducive to the increase of my comfort where I was, and I felt in a very desponding mood, when, happening suddenly to raise my eyes, I became aware that Zenuta, carrying a gourd of corn she had been crushing to mix with amasi for my dinner, was standing motionless some little distance off, and gazing steadfastly, sadly upon me.
I somehow felt an unwillingness to meet her glance, so, lowering my eyes, appeared to be busy refilling my pipe. But what woman in the world, even including Kaffirland, will be put off if they have anything to say? Thus a moment after, Zenuta approaching placed her gourd upon the ground, then sitting down said plaintively, “You are thinking of your home far away, Galbrth. You are thinking of your wife.”
I could not, nor did I wish to deny it, so I said, “Yes, Zenuta, I am. It is very sad to be separated from all those whom I have loved, and who have loved me from childhood. Fancy how you would feel it.”
“I would go anywhere with you. I would leave all,” rejoined the girl earnestly, as she looked into my face.
“My dear Zenuta,” I said, taking her hand, “you must not speak thus for my sake. You do not know what our land is compared to yours—how different it is: you would be unhappy there.”
“Have you not told me,” she answered quickly, “that it is a better land—that its people know more; that they are kinder; that they are what you call civilised?”
“Yes, truly, they are all this; but, Zenuta, you would be a stranger among them—strange to their customs, strange to their language.”
“So were you when you came here,” she interrupted, “yet we were kind to you. You have become a hunter—almost one of us.”
I could not deny this, and warmly confessed that I had been most hospitably treated; “and yet,” I had it on my lips to say, “I am not happy, Zenuta, neither would you be were you in England;” but as I looked into the poor girl’s eager, earnest eyes, I had not the heart to make the speech, and she continued most touchingly—
“Besides, I should not be alone, Galbrth; you would still be kind to me would you not? And your wife, too, I would like her for your sake.”
I do not mind owning that tears dimmed my eyes as Zenuta spoke, and, with some emotion, I pressed her hand, saying—
“You are a good, affectionate girl, Zenuta, and, believe me, I will ever be a friend to you.”
They were simple words, and not much, considering the deep love she bestowed in return; yet they might have been the most affectionate expressions lover ever uttered to have seen the light of joy which quickly lit up her eyes and whole face, then, suddenly seizing my hand, she raised it to her lips and kissed it passionately; after which, getting up, without another word, she entered the hut with the crushed corn for my dinner.
I have forgotten to say that I had once detected Zenuta in administering a love powder to me, so that she might thus obtain the affection she felt she could not get otherwise; and it was with some difficulty, having even to resort to assumed anger, that I prevented her continuing this unpleasant practice; for I had no desire to swallow some mysterious compound concocted by a Kaffir witch-doctor. Afterwards I took an early opportunity to reason with her upon this foolish superstition, I fancy with some success, for, either through my arguments or fear of my anger, she never, to the best of my belief, had recourse to the charms again. I had reason to imagine, however, that she communicated my opinion respecting these superstitions to the witch-doctor himself, thereby making me a most dangerous enemy, and the time was drawing near when this was to be most disagreeably proved.
Zenuta had scarcely left me than, not feeling disposed to resume my former reverie, I got up to take a stroll through the kraal. There had been few hunting parties lately, owing to the necessity of driving the cattle every day a great distance to obtain water, as for some time past the neighbourhood of our dwelling had been suffering from drought—a terrible affair to both natives and cattle. No sooner do the signs show than the dread of famine immediately seizes the people, and not without reason, for owing to the pasturage growing scarce, being quickly scorched up by the fierce rays of the tropical sun, many cows perish; consequently the milk—the staff of life to the Kaffir—considerably fails in quantity. Both men and women are in horror, for the rivers begin to dry, then the wells and springs.
Such had been the state of things for some time with us, and Metilulu at last had recourse to the power of the prophets, or rain-makers; for they fully believe that these men are capable of bringing the rain they so desire.
There is little doubt that these rain-makers can read the nature of the clouds even better than the majority of the people, though all understand it pretty well, as most tribes do who live in a wild state and are much in the open air; yet it is certain that these men are very often at fault, and the rain will not come for all their arts. Of course they must feel aware of this, and, to prevent losing the good opinion of their devotees, they will demand almost impossible forms to be gone through, or things given them, to work their charms, averring that they could never succeed without.
I had had this proved to me by experience, as for the last few days the rain-maker—his lank, skeleton-like figure clothed in an attire something similar to the witch-doctors—had from the top of a high hill been beckoning to the clouds, which did not come. Sheep, goats, and other animals, had been sacrificed, but to no effect; the blue sky remained quite as clear, save where the sun, like a glowing furnace, shot his beams, of a white-heat intensity, down upon the parched land.
Owing to what I have stated above, the whole tribe were extremely downcast, while the cattle perished daily. Famine seemed inevitable. There yet was one more chance. The rain-maker had declared the next morning he would mention what he would require for another sacrifice, and this time he knew that he should succeed: the clouds would no longer be able to resist his power, but, on the contrary, would pour their sweet supply of refreshing life upon the earth, bringing pasturage and plenty to the tribe.
What the prophet required proved to be the hearts of three koodoos, cut from the animals while alive. I felt extremely disgusted and indignant at this cruel and absurd request, but I was yet to learn that these men could ask wilder things than this, and get them speedily obeyed by the miserable, ignorant people over whom they exert such arbitrary power.
This ceremony, the obtaining the koodoo’s hearts, had taken place three days before my talk with Zenuta, yet no rain had fallen, nor did there seem the least likelihood of its coming, as far as my nautical knowledge went. I had made no enquiry that day respecting the rain-maker’s prophecy, nor whether he had made any other requests, as his last had so signally failed; indeed, I took but little interest in the impostor, impostor even to himself, but my brain still occupied by those home thoughts, which I could not banish, I wandered indifferently about the kraal. Once or twice, however, I could not help fancying that several of the Kaffirs whom I passed looked upon me in a strange manner, while others, at my approach, dropping quickly on their knees, crept into their huts as if to avoid a meeting.
I was at the time too busy with other things to pay much, if any, attention to these signs, but having made the circuit of the kraal, came once more in sight of my own dwelling. As I did so I perceived Tugela abruptly issue from it, spring in to an erect position, and hurry off. Not having seen him all day, I hastened after to overtake him, but his speed being greater than mine, he soon distanced me, so giving the chase up, I entered my home with a very good appetite for my dinner.
It being ready, I sat down to it at once, and had somewhat allayed my hunger when, with a sudden cry, Zenuta cast herself beside me, apparently in an agony of grief, for looking down I saw tears rolling down her cheeks. In much concern I raised her from her kneeling position, and asked the cause of her emotion. For a few moments, however, sobs checked her utterance, then she let fall several brief, disconnected sentences, which made me sure that some imminent danger was threatening me. Earnestly I besought her to speak more clearly, even having recourse to the infallible reasoning, the love which she had so often expressed for me. The latter, as usual, had the effect I so anxiously desired, and sobbing as if her heart would break, she said how she had just learned from Tugela—what it now seemed the whole kraal had known some hours before—that the rain-maker, in an interview with Metilulu, had declared that the drought was entirely caused by the white man who was among them, whose disbelief in his (the prophet’s) power had also made his charms fail, and never would they succeed, nor rain come, till the Englishman had been removed—removed, meant death.
No one but those who had witnessed the barbarous cruelty and ignorance of these people, combined with their utter regardlessness to the suffering of others, can imagine the effect this intelligence had upon me. The first feeling that seized me was the certainty that after all my escapes my hour had come at last, and I was really never to see old England again, and the dear ones it contained. Zenuta, seeing my horror and despair, clung entreatingly to me, and with true woman’s tenderness, which is the same in all lands when their hearts are concerned, tried to calm and soothe me, by saying Tugela had also told her that Metilulu had seemed most averse to letting me suffer, and had even informed the prophet that he would defer his answer respecting the subject, and perhaps would talk to the white man himself, and see what his opinions really were upon the point.
These words gave me the relief which the affectionate girl desired, for they were to me what a respite is to a condemned man.—It showed me I had a few hours to reflect and to determine how to act; so, for the first time pressing my lips to Zenuta’s dusky forehead, for I could not but be deeply moved by the warm affection which she showed me, I bade her go about her household duties, and leave me awhile, as I wished to think how best to answer the Chief Metilulu on the morrow.
With a glow of intense happiness on her face at this token of friendship, she silently obeyed, while I, throwing myself on the ground, began to reflect how I could manage to escape from the awful danger impending over me.