History of the Zulu war and its origin

by Frances Ellen Colenso

But this was not all. Another point struck the Bishop very forcibly, namely, the perpetual recurrence of one phrase from various witnesses. “He (Langalibalele) was afraid, remembering what was done to Matshana,” and “he was afraid that he should be treated as Matshana was, when he was summoned to appear by Government.” Such expressions, used in excuse of the Chiefs conduct, would, of course, have been inquired into had the prisoner been allowed counsel, or had any one watched the case on his behalf. But although the court judged the excuse of “fear” to be an added fault on the Chiefs part, and although perpetual allusions were made by witnesses to a specific cause for this fear, no question was asked, and no notice taken by those present of the perpetually recurring phrase. The Bishop, however, in the interests of justice and truth, made inquiries amongst his own natives as to the meaning of these allusions. He knew, of course, in common with the rest of the inhabitants of Natal, that, in the year 1858, a native chief named Matshana had got into some trouble with the Government of Natal. A commando had gone out against him, and, after a skirmish with some native troops under Mr. John Shepstone, in which Mr. Shepstone was wounded, and some men on the other side killed, he had escaped with his people into Zululand, where he had lived ever since. The Bishop had never heard the details of the affair, and knew of nothing in connection with this incident which could account for the “fear because of what was done to Matshana.”

“Can you tell me anything of the story of Matshana’s escape from Natal?” was the question put by him at different times to different natives; and everyone thus questioned gave substantially the same account, of what was plainly among them a well-known, and well-remembered incident in the history of the colony.

Matshana, they said, was accused of some offence, and being summoned before the authorities to answer for it, had refused to appear. Mr. John Shepstone, with a native force, of whom this very Langalibalele, then a young chief, with his followers formed a portion, was sent out to endeavour to reduce him to obedience. Mr. Shepstone invited him to a friendly interview, in which they might talk over matters, but to which Matshana’s men were to bring no weapons. In consequence of the reluctance of Matshana to fulfil this condition, the proposed interview fell through several times before it was finally arranged. Matshana’s people, even then, however, brought their weapons with them, but they were induced to leave them at a certain spot a short distance off. The meeting took place; Mr. Shepstone being seated in a chair with his people behind him, Matshana and his men crouched native fashion upon the ground, suspicious and alert, in a semicircle before him. Suddenly Mr. Shepstone drew a gun from beneath the rug at his feet, and fired it (he says, as a signal), whereupon his men, some of whom had already ridden between Matshana’s party and their arms, fell on, and the struggle became general, resulting in the death of many of Matshana’s people. The chief himself, who seems to have been on the look-out for a surprise, escaped unhurt. He was resting upon one knee only when the first shot was fired, and sprang over the man crouching behind him. Another man, named Deke, who was sitting close to him, was wounded in the knee, but is alive to this day.

This story, which in varied form, but substantially as given above, was generally known and believed by the natives, furnished a very complete explanation of why Langalibalele ventured to distrust the good faith and honour of the Government, having himself taken part in, and been witness of, such a disgraceful transaction; which, when it came to the knowledge of the Secretary of State, was emphatically condemned by him. Remembering this circumstance, it is not wonderful that Langalibalele should have taken the precaution of searching the Government messengers for concealed weapons.

It seemed strange that Mr. Shepstone, sitting as judge upon the bench to try a man for his life, should silently allow so great a justification of his chief offence to remain concealed. But it seemed stranger still to suppose him ignorant of any part of an affair carried out under his authority, and by his own brother.

However, the Bishop took the matter privately to him in the first instance, telling him what he had heard, and pointing out what an important bearing it had upon the unfortunate prisoner’s case. He was met by a total denial on Mr. Shepstone’s part that any such act of treachery had ever taken place, or that there were any grounds for the accusation.

Nevertheless, after careful consideration, and on thoroughly sifting the obtainable evidence, the Bishop could not avoid coming to the painful conclusion that the story was substantially true, and was a valid excuse for Langalibalele’s fear. Finding that further appeal on behalf of the prisoner to those on the spot was in vain, he now wrote and printed a pamphlet (giving the usual native version that the first shot fired was at Matshana) on the subject for private circulation, and especially for Lord Carnarvon’s information.[28]

One of the first results of the appearance of this pamphlet was a demand on the part of Mr. J. Shepstone’s solicitor for “an immediate, full, and unqualified retraction of the libel falsely and maliciously published in the pamphlet, with a claim for £1000 damages for the injury done to Mr. J. Shepstone by the same.”

Such an action would have had but a small chance of a decision upon the Bishop’s side at that time in Natal, so, to defend himself—and not, as generally supposed, out of enmity to the Shepstones—he appealed to Lord Carnarvon in the matter, on the grounds that his action had been taken for the public good, and in the interests of justice.

Meanwhile the unfortunate chief and his eldest son Malambule were sent to Robben Island, the former as a prisoner for life, the latter for five years. They were secretly conveyed away from Pietermaritzburg to the port, and every effort made to prevent the Bishop from seeing them, or interfering on their behalf. Other sons, two of them mere lads, who had as yet held no more important position in the tribe than that of herdboys to their father’s cattle, and many of the headmen and indunas, were condemned to imprisonment in the gaol at Pietermaritzburg for terms varying in length from six months to seven years. The two young sons, lads named Mazwi and Siyepu, were kept prisoners for the shortest period named, six months; but it was some little time after they left the gaol before they were really set at liberty. The family at Bishopstowe, where their mothers and many of their other relatives were located, were naturally anxious to have the two boys also, and, as soon as their term of imprisonment was up, applied for the charge of them. Somewhat to their surprise all sorts of difficulties were raised on the point—one would have thought a very simple one—and they were at last curtly informed that the boys did not wish to go to Bishopstowe, and would remain where they were, under surveillance in another district. The Bishop himself was away at the time, but his eldest daughter, acting for him, soon discovered through native sources that in point of fact the boys were extremely anxious to go to Bishopstowe, but were in too terrified a condition to express a wish. The question had been put to them in this form: “So! you have been complaining! you say you want to leave the place you have been sent to, and go to Bishopstowe?” Whereupon the frightened lads, their spirits crushed by all that had befallen them, naturally answered: “We never complained, nor asked to go anywhere”—which, was perfectly true. By dint of a little determination on the part of Miss Colenso, however, the desired permission was at last obtained, and Mazwi and Siyepu entered the Bishopstowe school, which had already been established for the boys of the scattered tribe. Under the treatment which they there received they soon began to recover from their distress, and to lose the terrified expression in the eyes which characterised them painfully at first. But the health of Mazwi, the elder, was broken by hardship and confinement, and he died of consumption a few years after.[29]