Accordingly, having by his help satisfied my hunger, I left the hut with him, and soon heard that the witch-doctor had declared Anzutu’s illness arose from the hatred of one of the tribe—a wizard,—and that that person, having possessed himself of some article touched by the sufferer—a shell, some beads, or tuft of hair,—had buried it, and, by constantly repeating spells over the place, was occasioning the failing health of the chief’s wife, whose illness would certainly end in death if the wizard were not detected.
For the latter purpose, orders had been issued that all the Kaffirs should assemble together—the chief himself being present—at a given time, though time seems a strange term, for Caffraria knows little about it. The natives are aware that they wake in the morning, and, if the chief wills it, they may be dead before night; for the head man’s power is absolute, and the victim suffers without a murmur. Therefore with them time and life are very precarious possessions.
Advantageously placed by Tugela where I could see and not be seen, I soon beheld the space which had been selected for the trial begin to fill with Kaffirs, each with a very serious cast of countenance.
My common-sense told me that it was a farce I was about to witness—a farce which proved to have a terrible conclusion. I felt that the idea of these doctors detecting wizards must be an imposture, though the actors might even deceive themselves; and it seemed strange to me how the natives could put confidence in the infallibility of these men, when, by their faces, each dreaded that he would be the one accused, though knowing himself to be innocent.
Silently they all met; and my fat friend Metilulu, attended by a guard of “boys,” armed with knob-kerries, advanced and took a seat apart, smoking profoundly.
All, squatting down Kaffir fashion, awaited with evidently breathless suspense for the witch-doctor’s coming. At last he appeared, and a more hideous object I never beheld. He was of a most haggard, cadaverous aspect, and his lean body attenuated. In one hand he carried a stick—his wand,—to the top of which was fastened the tail of some animal. His garments consisted of the front and back fur aprons. About his neck was coiled a dead serpent, numerous tails of wild beasts hung over his breast and shoulders, while feathers of various hues adorned his issikoko, from which depended several charms; but the most striking sight was his face, which, like his body, had been daubed over with white earth; and the effect of this on the dark skin can be hardly conceived.
The entrance of this repulsive personage into the circle was received by a shout of welcome—a compulsory one it must have been, for none could have cared to have seen him. I did not, even from my place of concealment, and often thought that his horrible eyes, made startlingly apparent by the white earth, glared through the bushes and detected me.
With a slow pace the wizard made his circuit, quickening his speed as he went till it grew into a wild dance; while all the time he uttered some native chant, which increased in loudness as his movements did in rapidity. That any man could have been able to move his limbs with such swiftness, or leap so high, I never would have believed. It was rather the wild dance—the wild song of insanity. Song, did I say? The little melody it had at first possessed speedily vanished, and was replaced by frantic shrieks and cries as of a maniac; while tears actually streamed down his face, doing sad havoc with the white earth. First he sprang to this side, then to that—all cowering as he approached,—while he snuffed up the air, as if discovering the criminal by that means. I watched each movement with suspended breath, for I had been told that his wand would fall upon the victim, or the guilty person, according to these benighted people’s idea. Once he paused, and I saw those near him shiver perceptibly; then he fled off with a bound in another direction.
How long the scene lasted I cannot tell; but I know the excitement was beginning to tell upon me, when, with a sudden swoop, he struck the shoulder of one of the Kaffirs, then darted away. In an instant, like a swarm of locusts, the guard of knob-kerries were upon the unfortunate victim, preventing any attempt to escape; while I was afterwards told that the witch-doctor, dashing off, entered each hut he came across, sniffing violently to discover the spot where the charm was buried, and followed by a wondering awe-inspired crowd. Abruptly halting at one spot, he cast down an assagai, and ordered the people to dig—an operation which produced, as it generally did, a tuft of fur and some beads. This, in the Kaffirs’ opinion, proved the truth of the witch-doctor’s accusation; but, in mine, I fully believe that the articles had been placed there by himself previously.
All praise, say I, to those self-sacrificing men, the missionaries, who go among these people to improve them. Surely any one who can turn them a hair’s-breadth from their benighted ignorance is to be applauded. I am aware that some men, being utterly unsuited to the task, do more harm than good; but such men as Dr Livingstone—that truly noble missionary—we ought to honour with all our heart, as we should any man who will try to make civilisation take the place of such horrible barbarity as I have to record in the next chapter.