The Ruined Cities of Zululand

by Hugh Mulleneux Walmsley

The missionary as usual looked calm, resigned, and confident, but a heavy scowl sat on the soldier’s face. The escort kept on their way, shouting, screaming, and clattering their spears against their shields. About half a mile outside the Amatonga kraal, under a grove of trees, stood a solitary hut. Near it rose a mass of rocks, and the plain around was thick brush. This was the dwelling of Koomalayoo, the dreaded sorcerer of the tribe. It was he who had told of the coming of the white men, and it was his now to decide their fate. The ox was driven into the cattle enclosure belonging to the hut, as a present to Koomalayoo, who at once made his appearance.

This man was an Amatonga, and possessed to a rare degree the distinctive ugliness of the race. His flat nose, monkey-like forehead, and huge slit of a mouth, surmounted a body literally a skeleton. The face was that of the living dead, so emaciated was it; the body seemed a framework, with a black skin drawn tightly over it. The eyes alone were bright and restless. A collar and waist-belt of human bones, with anklets and wristbands of the same material, made a clatter as he walked, while in his hand he held a short wand, apparently of pure gold. Such was the noted Koomalayoo, who now glanced over the group of captives, his restless eyes fixing themselves on Luji’s face, with an expression which boded him no good. A circle was formed, the captives being inside it at one end, Umhleswa and the sorcerer at the other.

Umhleswa now made a long speech, telling of the coming of the strangers, and of their having by chance stumbled upon the sacred ruins, profaning them by their presence. The history of the council was given fairly enough, and of Sgalam’s hatred to the Europeans.

The incident of the monkey and of Luji’s threats was largely dwelt on, and Koomalayoo’s eyes grew intensely bright as he fixed them on the unlucky Hottentot, whose face turned a yellow livid colour with fear. The Umhleswa then proceeded to point out that the white chiefs were not present at the council, again referred to the threats used by Luji, and to the mysterious character of the baboon, winding up artfully with a defence of his policy, because of the benefits which would result from trade with the white men.

Calico, beads, guns, knives, he spoke of as falling to the lot of the poorest Amatonga, and having thus worked on their cupidity, the wily savage ceased speaking.

Koomalayoo rose, and without a word stalked out of the circle, which opening to let him pass, closed again. All kept silence—a deep dead silence—as the diviner entered his hut; and so great was the stillness that his monotonous voice could be heard reciting incantations, as the sorcerer mixed the potion which was to give him clairvoyance. About a quarter of an hour passed—not a soul moving—before he again appeared, holding a gourd in his hand. Whatever were its contents, he drank the whole at a draught, threw the gourd from him, and once more entered the circle, where, seating himself on the ground, he remained silent, his eyes bent downwards, apparently waiting for the coming inspiration. All looks were fixed upon him, and not a word was spoken. At last he suddenly started to his feet and began speaking rapidly, following out the tale from beginning to the end, winding up with the death of the warrior Sgalam. “Sorcery has done this,” he continued. “The strong man does not die in an hour; the warrior’s soul does not start for another land like that of the weakly infant. Is it the men of the Batonga who have done this deed? No. Is it the braves of Manica? No. The Matabele are among us. Does the blow come from them? Mozelkatse’s warrior would scorn the deed. Is it from the Madanda, or the strange tribes of Gorongoza, death has come, or has the evil eye been used by the dwellers on the Maxe, who love us not? No. To none of these does the far-seeing eye of Koomalayoo trace the deed. But white men are with us, white men who are not traders. Have they worked the evil?”

Koomalayoo paused. A subdued murmur ran through the circle. Wyzinski’s face looked calm and natural as usual; but the soldier’s, though unconscious of the meaning of the words, was flushed, and he himself nervous and excited. The murmur died away, and again the sorcerer spoke. A sigh of relief burst from the missionary’s lips as Koomalayoo continued. “I tell you, no. It is not the white men whose blood must atone for that of the dead chief—No.” All at once, whirling round as on a pivot, the arm and hand holding the gold rod fully extended, the diviner span round; then as suddenly stopping, the rod pointed right between Luji’s eyes. “It is the black skin who has come among us, with his familiar demon on his shoulders. Behold the worker of the charm! When the black imp leaped upon our brother among the warriors in council, he spit the venom into his ear. That night our brother died.”

Koomalayoo’s eyes fairly blazed with fury as he looked full at Luji’s quivering, shrinking frame. The man seemed fascinated, and his terror-stricken face turned into bronze as the sorcerer yelled forth the terrible words, “Let fire drive out the demon from among us,” and fell to the ground apparently exhausted.

For a moment there was a deep, dead silence; the rustle of the leaves could be heard as the light wind played through the trees; the next, the circle was broken, the whole mass of the Amatonga precipitating themselves on the doomed Hottentot, throwing down the two white men as they pressed on, and trampling them under foot, while the air, a moment before silent, became filled with yells and discordant shouts, the shrill scream of terror distinctly heard above all.

Hughes, not knowing what was to happen next, had seized the nearest Amatonga brave and was busy throttling him, shouting as he did so as loudly as the rest in his excitement. The man’s eyes were starting out of his head, his tongue was protruding, when a dozen strong hands dragged the soldier from his victim, and thrust him bruised and breathless into the hut. The missionary was there before him, and there too stood the wily Umhleswa, showing his sharply-filed teeth, while his little cunning eyes danced with triumph.