There, on the grass, apparently dead, murdered, laid the body of the young wife. The horror I experienced at the sight was not seemingly felt by my companions, rage being the only feeling they exhibited, as, taking up the inanimate body, in which we yet detected signs of life, we bore it back to the kraal. A large wound was on the skull, while there were others about the body, such as, with an European, might in all probability have caused death, but to my surprise Tugela said that he had no doubt the woman would soon get over it.
“But who could have tried to murder her?” I asked.
“The other wives,” he replied coolly.
“The other wives! In Heaven’s name, why?”
“From jealousy. Old wives do not like young ones.”
“And what will they get for doing it?”
“Stick, a great deal of stick.”
Tugela was right; the wives did get stick considerably; while, a few days after, I saw the young wife working in the kraal as if nothing had happened. The tenacity of life in these people, I confessed, was great indeed.