“There are dogs who bark and turn away, and there are dogs who bite. There are dogs who are brave when it is a matter of pulling down an antelope, but who put down their tails and slink away when it is a lion who fronts them. Of which are ye?
“Lo, the spirit of the Great Great One who founded this nation is still alive. His serpent still watches over those whom he made great in the art of war. Shall you shame his name, his memory? Of a truth, no.
“Yonder comes the white army—nearer, nearer day by day. Soon it will be here. But first it will have to pass over the bodies of the lions of Matyobane. Shall it do so? Of a truth, no!”
The King ceased. And upon the silence arose mighty shouts. To the death they would oppose this invasion. The King, their father, might sit safe, since his children, his fighting dogs were at large. They would eat up these whites—ha—ha! a mere mouthful, and the race of Matyobane should be greater than ever among the great nations of the world.
Then again a silence fell suddenly, and immediately from a score of points along the lines, voices began to lead off the war-song:
“Woz’ubone!
Woz’ubone, kiti kwazulu!
Woz’ubone! Nantz’indaba.
Indaba yemkonto.
Jjí-jjí! Jjí-jjí!
“Nantz’indaba? Indaba yezizwe?
Akwasimuntu.
Jjí-jjí! Jjí-jjí!
“Woz’ubone! Nantz’indaba.
Indaba ka Matyobane.”
(See Note 1.)
Louder and louder, in its full-throated cadence, the national war-song rolled forth, thundrous in its wild weird strophes, to the accompaniment of stamping feet and clashing of shields—the effect of the deep humming hiss of the death chorus alone appalling in its fiendlike intensity. The vast crescent of bedizened warriors swayed and waved in its uncontrollable excitement, and the dust clouds streamed overhead as an earnest of the smoke of burning and pillage, which was wont to mark the fiery path of this terrible race in its conquering progress. Louder, louder, the song roared forth, and then, when excitement had reached its highest pitch, silence fell with a suddenness as startling as the mighty outburst which had preceded it.
For the King had advanced from where he had been standing. Facing eastward he now stood. Poising the long, slender, casting assegai in his hand with a nervous quiver, he hurled it far out over the stockade.
“Go now, children of Matyobane!” he cried in tones of thunder.