Not until he entered the kraal did they make the discovery that he was alone, and even then, to a quick suspicious query as to what had become of his companion, Dawes’s reply that he supposed the latter had gone back to the waggons for something he had forgotten, suggested no distrust. These white men had been their prisoners for weeks, they thought, and the guard on the ridge was as strong to-night as ever.
Familiar as he was with such sights, the appearance of the Igazipuza kraal as he rode into it that night, struck John Dawes as about the most wild and terrific aspect of savagery unchecked as he had ever beheld. The great open space of its inner circle was crowded with figures. Equidistant from each other, far enough from the palisade to be safe from accident, and yet sufficiently at the side to be out of the way of the dancers, four huge fires were burning. Facing each other in two great crescents, fully armed with shield and assegai, knobkerrie and battle-axe, their leaders standing out a little in advance of the lines, the warriors stood, and the red gushing flames of the great fires, lighting up the wild fantastically arranged figures with a truly demoniacal glare, imparted to these raving, howling human wolves an aspect of indescribable ferocity. Starting, softly at first, by the leaders of the chorus, the fierce thrilling chant of the war-song, taken up by the ranks, gathered in strength with every repetition, soon rising to a perfect roar of deep chest notes as the savages, rattling their shields and weapons, threw themselves into the excitement of the thing, beating time with the rhythmic thunder of their feet as the tread of one man, turning themselves hither and thither, muscles quivering, eyeballs rolling in the fierce frenzy of the stimulating exercise. The while the women, squatted around against the palisade, were keeping up a high, shrill accompaniment to the deep-throated roar of the warriors, but never for a moment did that fierce, wild thrilling chant lose its rhythm or degenerate into discord.
Ingonyama, with four or five indunas stood at the upper end of the kraal overlooking the ceremonies. The chief was arrayed in a war-shirt of flowing hair. Over this he wore the magnificent lion’s skin purchased from Dawes. It was arranged in such wise that the grinning open jaws crowned him as a head-dress, which, with the sweeping black mane falling around his shoulders, and the skin and tail, trailing far behind him on the ground, gave him a most formidable and ferocious appearance, as of course he intended it should. In his hand he held a short-handled, heavy battle-axe, and between his eyes was painted the small red disk.
He took no notice of Dawes, as the latter rode up and dismounted. Indeed his attention was occupied with other matters, for the dance had ceased, and the warriors, forming up into companies, were marching up to where he was seated with his attendants. Then halting before their chief they began to sing, in long-drawn recitative, a series of strophes in which he was hailed by every extravagant title, and endowed with every attribute of wisdom and valour and ferocity. This being ended, shields and weapons were raised aloft, and the companies, wheeling, filed back into the central place, and falling into their crescent formation took up the war-dance again with unabated vigour.
Ingonyama, not ill-pleased that his white “guest” should witness this testimony to his power and influence, sank back into a sitting posture, and motioned to the latter to follow his example. But Dawes pretended not to notice the invitation, and remained standing. He did notice, however, the shield-bearer holding the great white shield behind the chief, which instance of affectation of royal state he stored up for future use.
“Greeting, Jandosi,” said Ingonyama, graciously, for by this time the native corruption of the trader’s name had leaked out through his servants, and by it he was now known to all. “Where is your brother?” meaning Gerard.
“Where?” repeated Dawes, taming to look round, as it were with indifferent surprise. “He should be here, though. He most have returned to the waggons for something. Still, he should be here.”
It happened that just at that moment the chant of the dancing song had sunk rather low. Borne upon the still night air, faint and distant, there floated to the ears of those who were not taking part in the revelry, a long-drawn roar.
“Igazi—pu—za.”
“Hau!” exclaimed Ingonyama, with a start, listening intently.