The Ruined Cities of Zululand

by Hugh Mulleneux Walmsley

The vast ruin itself was now a shapeless mass, being utterly broken and defaced. The top of the mound was overgrown by bush, interlaced with creeping plants, and, as using their knives, the two cut their way onward, the light of day penetrated feebly into a ruined chamber of vast size. A dead silence reigned therein, and as they paused at the entrance and looked back on the scene which lay below, perhaps the first Europeans who had stood on that weird spot for many ages, the missionary could not but feel dispirited.

“The day-dream of my life realised. I stand among the ruins of the cities of old; but where they begin, or where they end I know not. The forest has re-asserted her old rights, torn from her by the hand of civilisation,” he remarked.

“Look where you will there is nothing to be seen but broken mounds and tottering walls; it would require a brigade of men and years of work to clear these ruins,” replied Hughes.

“Yes, the extent of them is a mystery at present. We can but affirm their existence. What a deep dead silence hangs over the spot. Let us go on.”

They penetrated the ruined chamber, but hardly had they put their feet across the threshold, when bats in vast numbers came sweeping along, raising, as they did so, a fine dust, which was nearly blinding. The ruins seemed their home, and there they lived, bred, and died in countless numbers. Some were of a sickly-looking greenish colour, and of heavy and lumbering flight, often striking against the two explorers as they came along.

At one moment the missionary was surrounded by these tenants of the ruined palace, these winged things which had taken for themselves the abodes of the Pharaohs of old. He struck out in self-defence and killed several, measuring one for curiosity. Its length was only between five and six inches, but when the wings were spread it was at least nineteen from tip to tip. Their numbers seemed to increase, for troops of others, of a dull brownish-red colour, joined their loathsome companions, and then a third species of a chestnut brown, mingled with dingy white, came trooping along. What the building had been it was impossible to tell; but it must have once seemed a mighty pile standing on its platform of stonework, with a flight of broad steps leading to it. These steps had disappeared; but remains of them could be noticed, and from the elevation where the two stood the line which had once been the wall of the town could be traced here and there. There were not any remains of a purely Egyptian character, save a worn arabesque representing the process of maize-grinding; but this was to be seen daily practised among the tribes, and therefore proved nothing, for it remained an open question whether the natives had taken it from the sculptor, or whether he had imitated the natives. Here and there were remains of carvings representing serpents, birds, and beasts of uncouth form, leading to the belief that the building had once been a temple. Passing along, nearly blinded by the fine dust, their knives cut them a way out, and the breeze and sunshine seemed doubly welcome after the dank, confined air of the old ruin. Huge lizards glided away among the broken stones as they emerged from the corridor—for such it seemed—and monkeys were to be seen darting away among the trees as they let themselves down from the platform. These animals had not any tails, resembling those found among the Atlas mountains; while the jackal and hyena, surprised at the sight of human beings in this solitary spot, sneaked away among the masses of fallen masonry, snarling as they looked back. Near the stream the spoor of the elephant was distinctly visible, and it was evident this was one of their favourite feeding grounds, for the banks were strewed with the broken branches of the mashuka-trees, and the débris of the plantains. The tamarind-trees and palmyra grew luxuriantly, and for hours the two wandered among the ruins or, seated on the fallen heaps, lost themselves in conjectures on the past, “It is impossible,” at last said Wyzinski, seating himself, fairly wearied out, “for us to explore further these relics of the past. We can but tell of their existence, I repeat.”

“The axe, or fire—perhaps both—would be necessary before even their extent could be known,” replied Hughes. “Look at that mass of masonry, thickly hedged round with date, camel thorn, and white mimosa. Mark the thick undergrowth and the strange creeping vine-like shrubs running along the ground, and festooning themselves to the trees, and the difficulty will be realised.”

“There seem to me to be caves cut in yonder mountain-side: let us go there.”

In rear of the ruins rose the slopes of the Malopopo hills, and leading in that direction was a kind of passage through a lower range, the river flowing in the middle. On each side rose the rocks, scarped down towards the bed of the stream, from which coal was cropping out. The summits of the hills were worn and rounded by the action of time, and here and there clumps of trees were growing on the river banks. It was up this cut the two advanced, Hughes leading. Stopping as he turned a shoulder of the rock, the missionary joined him. Seven rhinoceroses were sleeping quietly by the water side under the trees, the boughs of which were literally bending under the mass of nests made by the same bright yellow bird which had been seen so numerous on the Sofala river.