Chapter Thirteen.
Unpleasant News—Death of Anzutu—Funereal Rites.
The sun had not risen very high before the hunting party was astir and preparing to return to the kraal. The head of the elephant was left where it was to decompose, which, under such a sun, it would not take long doing, when the tusks could easily be removed. It may appear strange that so valuable a portion of the animal should be left unguarded in the bush; but there is a great amount of honour between Kaffir hunters, and each strictly respects the mark of the other. The Kaffir whose property they had become by right of the first wound—though the chief being present I found they were to be presented to him—was a great hunter, as could be seen by the leopard tails which formed his aprons and the teeth of wild beasts of which his necklaces and bracelets were composed; for in Caffraria, if a man wants to dress in these much-prized ornaments, he cannot purchase them, but must first slay their natural possessors. So proud is the hunter of these trophies of his prowess, that he will rarely part with them save to his chief or the exacting witch-doctor.
On nearing the kraal I remarked a sudden change in my companions’ manner, which I could not but attribute to the appearance of, or signs made by, some Kaffirs who stood at the entrance to the huts, evidently watching for our return, for no sooner did we come in sight than they advanced towards us. As they approached, I saw that they were divested of all ornaments, while they wore the oldest aprons and karosses they possessed. Guessing there must be some cause for this, I awaited the result with much curiosity.
The two parties had now advanced near enough to exchange sentences, and no sooner were the first uttered than a mournfully dolorous cry arose from the hunters, who frantically began tearing off their ornaments, even to the Chief Metilulu, who, instantly taking the lead, hurried on as fast as his obesity would permit.
Remembering how the Jews of old, on the illness or death of those dear to them, rent their garments and cast dust upon their heads, I could not help fancying that this removal of all decorations, accompanied by the cries of sorrow, must be occasioned by the same cause, and making my way to Tugela, I put the question as to the reason of the sudden change in the hunters to him.
He answered that during our absence Anzutu had been taken much worse, and was not expected to recover. He told me this in a round-about way, for the Kaffir avoids the word “death” as an Englishman might the plague, and it is not considered etiquette to mention it ever in a chief’s presence. Though a Kaffir has no idea of time, and regards his life as not his own, but his chief’s, who may order his execution at, any moment he please yet they, greatly dread death when it comes naturally, and would give anything, to conceal those precursors to old age—grey hairs.
When I heard that Anzutu would probably die after all, I could not help thinking that the death of the wretched wizard had not done much good. Whether Tugela had divined my thoughts I do not know, but when he spoke again he certainly answered them.
“Had Metilulu applied to the witch-doctor sooner,” he said, “this might not have been; the wizard had got too much power before he was stopped.”
We had now entered the kraal, where I found both men and women attired in their oldest aprons, without ornament, and all betraying the deepest signs of grief. Metilulu, attended only by his chief warriors, had hurried to his own hut to await further bulletins, which soon came, for we had not returned an hour before the news spread through the community that Anzutu was dead.
Never shall I forget the tremendous noise that then arose. Shriek after shriek—howl after howl—groan after groan. Had Pandemonium broken loose it could not have been worse. Work was suspended entirely, and, stranger still for a Kaffir, eating and drinking also. There they sat howling. Feeling myself, as a spectator, rather out of place in such a scene, I retired to my hut, and watched proceedings from the entrance.
Soon the news that Metilulu’s favourite wife had ceased to exist travelled to other kraals, and, to my consternation—for I was almost deafened by the noise already—fresh parties kept arriving all day, and, taking their places, added their voices to the rest; for it appeared Metilulu was a powerful chief among the tribes. The whole day and night they still kept coming, and the noise continued, while never did I see one of the people seek refreshment. Fortunately for myself, I had some dried eland flesh in my hut, with which I stayed my hunger, and so the most miserable twenty-four hours I had yet spent in Caffraria.
In the morning the cries had not ceased; but I went forth, feeling sure that some ceremony—perhaps the burial—would take place after such an uproar, as they could scarcely support it longer. I had seen a wedding—I had seen a Kaffir baby just after birth, and found it to be almost as white as an European’s, the skin darkening rapidly afterwards,—and now I desired to witness a funeral.
Proceeding towards Metilulu’s huts—that is, his own and those of his wives—I found him outside, dressed in full warrior costume, as were those who stood about him. They were engaged in singing a wild native song; then the chief issued some orders. I had no need to understand the language to learn what they were, as they were instantly followed by the execution of several of the tribe, this evidently being a custom. The poor fellows received their fate without a murmur; for, as before stated, in Caffraria the chief’s word is law, and one which his people obey even on some occasions with rejoicing. Indeed, as the miserable beings were now being executed, I perceived by the expression of their faces that they were uttering praises of the fat despot.
Since I saw this, I have read that, upon the death of persons of rank, frequently a general massacre will take place, not only by the chief’s direct orders, but rather as if by it the people wish to show their sympathy with him.
When the executions were over, the cries continued, till I beheld many fall down insensible from exhaustion; and glad enough I was when that day and night also came to an end, for I hoped it would be the last of it, as the following morning the remains of Anzutu were to be consigned to the earth; for it is a singular fact that the custom of burying the dead is prevalent all over the world, save in India with the Parsees, where the funeral pyre is raised and the body consumed by fire.
While speaking upon this subject, I may as well say a few words upon the ordinary rite of burial; for it must be remembered that I am here recounting the death and interment of a person of rank, and in that case the show ceremonies are as different in Caffraria as in our own land, where the plain hearse and mourning coach tell of a poor person’s demise, and waving feathers, velvet trappings, a long string of carriages, men with gilt-tipped rods, announce that of a rich man, who, even in death, cannot surrender the pomp and vanities of this world, but would, as it were, strive to prove the falsity of the saying, “In death all are equal.” But to return to the Kaffirs. On the death of a chief, the people mourn and fast, as above described, till the dead man is buried in the isibaya, where only the head men are permitted to be interred, and where women are never permitted to enter, dead or alive. The commoners are buried in a hole outside the kraal. A hole too, is the proper word to use, for it is small and deep, the body not lying horizontally, but in a sitting position, with the knees close up to the chin. By its side are buried the weapons it used in life, the points being bent to render them useless; while if it be a chief, and rich, oxen are at times killed at the grave.
The next morning all turned out to attend the funeral, I, of course, making one of the number, though I did not mingle with the chief mourners.
A very large hole had been made—about seven feet square,—which caused me to think, if it were for Anzutu, she must have far exceeded her husband in bulk; but my horror was again excited when I found that, as Metilulu desired to show every possible honour to his departed wife, he had issued an order that half-a-dozen young girls were to be buried alive with her.
I had often heard of the custom of immolating victims at the grave of a chief in savage countries, and I had read the adventures of that Marco Polo of Eastern romance, Sinbad, wherein he had, according to the custom of the country, been buried with his dead wife; but I had never known till now that the terrible rite of interring the living with the dead existed in Caffraria.
As I have, I believe, previously stated, female beauty in that part of the world where I then was is anything but prepossessing to European eyes; yet I felt my flesh creep, and my pulses throb with impotent rage, as any Englishman’s would, at the sight of these young girls being, without the least resistance, buried alive. The thought was too horrible, and, starting up, I determined to expostulate with Metilulu, regardless of the consequences, upon the performance of such a barbarous rite.
Hastening on, I came across Tugela, to whom, as I should require his assistance, I naturally confided my intention. He looked at me first in surprise; then most earnestly persuaded me, for my own safety, to refrain from such an absurd proceeding, affirming that, whatever I might say, Metilulu, in his present state of grief, would not listen, but, on the contrary, would very likely have me executed too for trying to insult the memory of his wife. Despite these assertions, I was yet persisting in my plan, when Tugela put a stop to it entirely by saying that if I was resolved, so was he not to interpret correctly a sentence of my request.
Therefore I had to give up my attempt, consoling myself with the belief—which was no doubt correct—that my words would have had little if any effect upon the despotic ruler. Meanwhile the rites went on, the awful burial took place, a special guard was placed over the spot to watch there for one year, and the mourners returned to the kraal, where another ceremony consequent upon a death took place, which again reminded me of the Jewish laws regarding cleansing and purification.
The prophets, or doctors, of the kraal, on the people’s return, sent them to bathe in an adjacent stream, and afterwards administered medicine to each, while those who had actually touched the body had to undergo this purification twice before they could resume their usual every-day’s labour; for a Kaffir has a great repugnance to touch a corpse. It is only their love which will make them do so at all, and cases are frequent, where the affection has not been great, that the relations of the dying person, not waiting for their demise, have cast them into a river, to save the necessity of handling the dead body a few hours later.
Oxen were now killed and prepared for the funereal feast, during the preparation of which the company unceasingly bewailed the loss of the departed; then, having heartily partaken of the meal, all repaired to their different kraals.
I was no little pleased to see an end of it, and, when all at last seemed quiet, I set out for a saunter, hoping to come across Tugela. This I soon did, and, after a little while, put to him the question which my curiosity—that feeling which, since the time of Mrs Bluebeard, has so often led both men and women into danger—urged me to. This was, why Metilulu had taken my refusal so indifferently, never, indeed, having noticed it.
Tugela explained the mystery in a few words, and to this effect—
“The wife Metilulu has chosen for you,” he said, “is the daughter of a head man, who died some time ago, leaving this only child. As there were no relations to take charge of her, Metilulu adopted Zenuta himself. When she grew old enough he proposed several suitors to her, but she refused all. Now, however, she has fallen in love with you, and has asked the chief to let you be her husband.”
“I feel deeply flattered by the lady’s preference,” I said, “but, as I have previously said, Tugela, having a wife already, by the laws of my religion I should commit a great crime by taking another, therefore must decline her advances. But this does not explain your chief’s silence.”
“That arises because Metilulu does not care about her marriage with a white man, and also that he has had trouble of his own since. No doubt he has forgotten the affair, but he will not for long.”
“Why not?”
“Because Zenuta is impetuous. She will remind him.”
“What will he do then?”
“Why, if he accepts your refusal, she will be enraged. He might offer you her only to attend upon you—not as a wife in that case.”
“If so, what would you advise me to do?” I asked.
“Take her,” he rejoined; “it may preserve you from Metilulu’s anger, for Zenuta makes a dreadful turmoil among the wives, and worries him.”
The latter news made me have but a poor opinion of the lady’s temper; yet I thought if I were compelled to accept her as my drudge—for the Kaffir’s wife is little more,—I might at least make the girl’s life happier by making her duties light.
To change the subject, I then told Tugela that, as my European garments were no longer worthy the name, I should much like to procure some skins of any kind to make myself others. He said he would see to it, and the next day got permission to take me out hunting, when I was fortunate enough to kill an eland, out of the skin of which I managed, after a fashion, only having an assagai-head for a knife and fibre for thread, to construct a garment something similar to that often seen in pictures upon ancient Britons—that is, a narrow skirt reaching from the waist to the knee, while a broad strip of the same material came over the right shoulder, and fastened again to the skirt behind.
Had any one in my native village seen me in that strange costume, with arms and legs burnt to a dark brown, as was my face and neck, and my black hair grown till it fell over my shoulders, while my beard and moustache, all in one, formed a flowing appendage over my breast, they would never have recognised Richard Galbraith, the once neat, trim, clean-shaven, but for the framework of short whisker and beard, English sailor.