But Silawayo did not seem to hear this question. He descanted learnedly on the suddenness of the mountain storms, and told tales of more than one impi which had set forth in all its warlike ardour, and had found here a stiff and frozen bed whereon its people might rest for all time.
The while keenly alert to take in all the features of the route, Laurence affected the greatest interest in the conversation of those around him. But there was that about the dark ruggedness of this stupendous pass that weighed heavily upon his mind—that depressed, well-nigh appalled him. It was as though he were passing through some black and gloomy gate which should shut him forever from the outside world, as they wound their way now where the cliffs beetled overhead so as to shut out the heavens, now along some dizzy ledge, with the dull roar of the mountain stream wafted up on icy gusts from far below. He suffered severely from the cold too, he who had breathed the moist, torrid heat of equatorial forests for so long,—and his wound became congealed and stiff. Yet he bore himself heroically, even as the Ba-gcatya themselves, who, their scanty clothing notwithstanding, seemed to feel the cold not one whit, chatting and laughing and singing while they marched. Finally the ground descended once more, and at length—while he was nodding in slumber at the dawn of day, during one of their brief rests—Ngumúnye touched him on the shoulder and beckoned that he should accompany him. Laurence complied, and when they had gained the brow of a gently rising ridge beyond, an exclamation of wonder and admiration burst from his lips.
"Lo!" said the induna, pointing down with his knob-stick. "Lo! there lies the land of the People of the Spider; there rests the throne of the Strong Wind that burns from the North. Lo! his dwelling,—Imvungayo."
CHAPTER XXI.
"THE STRONG WIND THAT BURNS FROM THE NORTH."
From where they stood the ground fell away in great wooded spurs to a broad level valley, or rather plain,—shut in on the farther side by rolling ranges of forest-clad hills. The valley bottom, green and undulating, was watered by numerous streams, flashing like bands of silver ribbon in the golden glow of the newly risen sun. Clustering here and there, five or six together, were kraals, circular and symmetrical, built on the Zulu plan, and from their dome-shaped grass huts blue lines of smoke were arising upon the still morning air. Already, dappling the sward, the many coloured hides of innumerable cattle could be seen moving, and the long drawn shout and whistle of these who tended them rose in faint and harmonious echo to the height whence they looked down. Patches of broad, flag-like maize, too, stood out, in darker squares, from the verdancy of the grass, and bird voices in glad note made merry among the cool, leafy, forest slopes. Coming in contrast to the steamy heat, the dank and gloomy equatorial vegetation, the foul and noisome surroundings of the cannibal villages, this smiling land of plenty did indeed offer to him who now first beheld it a fair and blithesome sight.
But another object attracted and held the attention of the spectator even more than all. This was an immense kraal. It lay on the slope at least ten miles away, but with the aid of his glass, which had been returned to him from among the slavers' loot, Laurence could bring it very near indeed. The yellow-domed huts lay six or seven deep between their dark, ringed fences, the great circular space in the middle—the isigodhlo, or inclosure of royal dwellings partitioned off at the upper end—why, the place might have been the chief kraal of Cetywayo or Dingane miraculously transferred to this remote and unexplored region.