Chapter Twenty One.
Staying a Kaffir Execution—I Ask Metilulu’s Permission to Leave—The Boomslange—The Chief’s Answer.
As may be easily conceived, the talk of our past lives, and our delight at once more being in each other’s company, carried us far into the night before we would surrender ourselves to sleep; yet we were up nearly as early as any in the kraal the next morning, and gladly fell to upon some biltongue and amasi which had been found in the huts; then, hearing that Metilulu was inspecting his regiments, we thought it but politeness to be present. On arriving at the place, however, the review had nearly finished, the brave had been rewarded, and only the unworthy remained to be punished. Of the latter it happened that there was but one, and he had not been guilty of cowardice, but of a crime punishable by death in Caffraria.
The criminal was one of the finest specimens of the race I had ever seen, being tall, exquisitely formed, graceful, and majestic. Silently he knelt before Metilulu, his head bent submissively, awaiting the sentence. From a little distance, but within hearing range, we stood to learn what that would be. It came very speedily: the prisoner had already pleaded guilty, and the verdict was that he should be cast alive to the crocodiles, who on the river banks, not far off, gnashed their terrible jaws, apparently conscious of the prey destined for them.
Scarcely had the sentence been uttered, and the Kaffir had arisen, without a murmur, for it to be put into execution, than Mr Ferguson, suddenly quitting my side, walked, erect and unhesitatingly, up to Metilulu. Guessing his intent, and fearful of the consequences, I, beseeching hot-brained Jack to keep back, hurried after him. On drawing near I found I was correct in my surmise. The young missionary, in earnest, eloquent terms, was pleading the prisoner’s cause, and praying for a commutation of the sentence.
Metilulu looked and listened in silent astonishment; but, as I anxiously marked his features, I fancied they gradually assumed a pleased, friendly expression, quite the reverse of anger at being interfered with. As I came up Mr Ferguson was saying—
“You, Metilulu the great!—you, the recognised mighty Chief of the numerous tribes dwelling in this vast and beautiful land of Caffraria—has not your victory been complete? Has not but a few hours back triumph been given you over those who but lately would have made you captive? Why, then, should one so favoured stain the day of rejoicing by condemning to a horrible death, for a slight offence, one of those warriors to whose bravery, to whose devotion, he partly owes that triumph? Truly you are strong, you are courageous, but one arm alone could not have crushed the tribe of Kabela. You had need of warriors, and you found them, brave, willing, and submissive. Surely, then, noble Metilulu, you will let your hand dispense mercy as well as justice. This is no time to speak of the power of Heaven and the Rewarder of all great deeds, for the ground of your heart has as yet been prepared by no refreshing dews; but all grand souls must recognise the mighty power of mercy, and surely you will forgive this man in honour of the day of victory, if for nothing else.”
Mr Ferguson finishing, earnestly, respectfully waited a reply, when, thinking my turn had come to put in a word for the poor fellow, I hurried forward, and kneeling, according to Kaffir custom, said—
“Noble Metilulu, if my friend’s prayers to save this warrior have not had sufficient weight with you, then let mine be added to his. Let him be spared; extend your hand in mercy towards him. It is the white men who beseech your clemency; for their sakes grant it.”
Metilulu was silent a moment; then replied, “You white men are a strange people, yet I have listened to your words with pleasure; you are soft-hearted, but you are friends to the Kaffir. Umatula,” he added, turning to the warrior, “I reverse your sentence—you may live. These, my friends, have interceded for you; thank them, not me, as it is because of them that I pardon you. Live, and show by future deeds your sorrow for your past crime.”
His dusky face beaming with delight, Umatula bowed low till his forehead touched the ground before Metilulu—afterwards to us—then, starting up, proudly grasped his shield and assagais, exclaiming—
That, to show his gratitude for the Chief’s gracious pardon, no warrior in Metilulu’s regiments should ever outrival him in warlike deeds, while he reckoned his life to belong to the noble-hearted white faces. They had but to ask him for it, and it was theirs to do with it as they would.
This over, Metilulu, dismissing the troops, bade us sit down, he evidently being inclined for a chat. I was no little pleased that it should be so, for during our long talk the previous night it had been arranged that I should try to obtain leave for myself and Thompson to make our way to a white settlement, which Mr Ferguson said he knew was not very far off, and might be easily attained with a native guide. Both Jack and I had earnestly besought the minister to accompany us, but he firmly refused, saying he believed Providence had had a purpose in casting him on that shore, where he had already found that his words had not fallen entirely on stony places; therefore he should be but a poor soldier of heaven, indeed, did he leave so fair and promising a work uncompleted.
No moment, it appeared, could have been more opportune than that I had chosen to speak about my departure, for the Chief was in the most obliging of humours. When, however, after a long talk respecting Kaffir affairs, I managed, by Mr Ferguson’s aid, to bring the subject round to our own land and my strong desire to visit it—ending by stating how I had heard from my friends that a white settlement was not far off—if he would but grant me a guide and his royal permission to return, his face grew grave and my heart sunk.
Neither, however, refusing nor acquiescing, he asked why it was I could not be happy there. To which I answered, “that all who were dear to me, all who made life worth living, in my eyes, were in England, and my heart was pining for them. Indeed, I felt I could not exist, but must die, if kept longer in uncertainty of their fate.”
I spoke as eloquently as I could, and Mr Ferguson also did what he was able, but Metilulu seemed in no way ready to grant the request. He said he liked me, that he had proved this even more than I knew—of course he referred to the rain-maker’s evil prophecy—and he thought I was so happy that I would never have wished to leave the tribe.
In return to this really kind speech, I warmly acknowledged the extreme kindness and hospitality which had been shown me, and confessed that I had not expected it, adding how great would be my pride when in England, if he would permit me to return there, to recount to my countrymen his noble behaviour to a poor shipwrecked sailor.
This appeared rather to please him, and after a pause he said,—
“Then you all wish to leave me?”
“Not so,” broke in Mr Ferguson, “if you will grant me permission, I would desire yet to remain with your tribe.”
Metilulu, who had, I fancied, already taken a liking to the minister, as he frequently addressed himself to him, nodded approval; then saying he could not give his decision at that moment, he gave us permission to withdraw, appearing no longer desirous to continue a conversation which had taken so unpleasant a turn.
I could not help feeling rather flattered by the decided aversion Metilulu showed to part with me, and yet also I was grieved at causing him any regret, after the real friendship and generosity I had experienced at his hands, and tried to show these feelings as plainly as I could, both in speech and expression, when I arose with Mr Ferguson and Thompson to take our leave.
On retiring, instead of returning to the kraal, we went towards the bush, and there, under the shadow of the trees, sat down to talk of our own affairs, and what was the likely answer Metilulu would give. Mr Ferguson said he believed it would be in the affirmative, though he did not like my going.
“If it be so,” I rejoined, “how would you counsel us to proceed?”
“Why, to make your way as fast as you can to the white settlement; then to the coast—to Cape Town if possible, for there it will be more probable to get a ship back to England.”
“Ah! a ship, bless her,” broke in Thompson. “When I feel the deck once more beneath my feet, and see the well-remembered, tapering spars running up with their net-work of rigging into the blue sky, then I shall begin to feel once more like a Christian—a Christian escaped from purgatory—especially if I can get another suit of togs in place of these outlandish garments.”
“It was of those I meant to speak,” I said. “How can we change them without a farthing in our pockets?”
“I believe I can aid you there,” rejoined Mr Ferguson. “I think in the settlement you will pass through, just about where the Bechuana tribes are located, a kind of missionary station is established—if so, I know there you can obtain both help and clothes. I will give you a message in case, for I would also like them to send to me some articles, with which I may be able to win my way with, and instruct these people, for even in heavenly matters we must sometimes call in the aid of earth, to touch the hearts of man.”
We had been chatting thus respecting our proceedings for some little while, the interchange of thought with civilised humanity being far too agreeable for either of the three to bring it to a close, when, uttering a sharp cry, I sprang erect and seized my knob-kerrie.
“What on earth’s the matter?” exclaimed Jack, following my example; while Mr Ferguson also rose to his feet.
“See,” I exclaimed: “look along the branch of that tree just above our heads, that olive coloured snake. If there be one thing I have a downright horror of, it is a snake, so pray let us leave the reptile to itself, for I am not sure enough with my knob-kerrie to knock it over.”
“Stay,” said Mr Ferguson, placing his hand upon my shoulder; “there is no fear, Dick.”
“No fear!” I ejaculated in surprise. “Why, the natives affirm that sort of snake is very poisonous!”
“Then, Dick, they are wrong,” he answered quietly. “The posterior teeth certainly resemble fangs, but they are perfectly harmless, and are merely used to seize their prey. Yes,” he added, after a closer inspection, “it is the Bucephalus Capensis, or, as these people call it, the Boomslange. It is generally found upon trees, where it goes in search of food. Here, draw back awhile and watch; you may perhaps see a proof of that fascination which has so often been spoken about, respecting these reptiles’ eyes.”
As he spoke our attention was attracted by the piercing cries of several birds which were flying as if in abject terror about the tree, while the Boomslange coiled about the branch, its head raised about ten inches, its mouth open, its throat inflated, fixed its full large eyes upon the poor little trembling victims. Fascinated ourselves by the sight, we watched anxiously the result.
Round and round the poor flutterers went, each time, I perceived, drawing nearer the cruel mouth, till I shuddered as one, with a sweep, almost touched the reptile’s lips—the next moment, drawn by that wonderful and inexplicable fascination, it was in its terrible jaws; and, unable to bear it longer, I let fly my knob-kerrie, striking the snake from the tree, but I did not hurt him much, for, with the speed of light, he had wriggled into the bush, carrying its miserable prey in its mouth.
The sight made us loth to sit down near the spot again, so we returned to the kraal, Mr Ferguson telling us on the way, that a few days back, he, with a party of Kaffirs, had come across a python; but the natives would not touch it, owing to a superstition they have, that misfortune would be sure to overtake any one who injured these monstrous reptiles.
On reaching the huts, we found the Kaffirs busily engaged in restoring the ruined ones, so we lent them our aid, and thus managed both to win their favour and while away the time, which, owing to my anxiety respecting Metilulu’s answer, I found hang heavily on my hands. At the dinner hour, however, we went to the minister’s hut, which had still been left him, where, after refreshing ourselves, we remained talking of that never-tiring subject, home, and waiting the chief’s reply.
It was quite sunset before the latter arrived, then Tugela brought it.
Metilulu had sent me permission to leave for the white settlement when I pleased, and also gave for a guide the warrior whose life he had that day spared because of our prayers.
“Did he grant this willingly, Tugela?” I asked.
“Not at all; he seems much vexed.”
“I am sorry,” I said, “for I must go. Well, Tugela, express my sincere thanks to Metilulu, and say that I have no means now of showing my gratitude, but, if he will allow me, I should like to send him back by the guide some presents, if he would honour me by their acceptance.”
Tugela, replying he had no doubt this would much please the chief, willingly took the message; and no sooner had he gone than, casting myself on the ground, I actually cried for joy at the thought of the possibility of once again embracing my dear wife and little ones; while even Jack’s eyes grew dim though, as he said, he had nothing else but his country and his ship to love and care for; and, he added, “by jingo, I’ll be true to ’em, that I will, or I’m a black nigger of a Kaffir.”
Poor Zenuta; at that moment I did not even give her a single thought.