“Around the bones of each of the other three elands—for it proved that not a scrap of meat was left—lay a party of surfeited sleepers, and those we slew as we had slain the others. It was horrible work, but the gall of black anger had risen to our hearts, and we knew that these people had doomed us to a miserable death.
“Day broke just as we had finished the killing, so we struck for home across the mountains. We met Goloza, accompanied by five other men, bringing the cattle for our ransom; they turned back and accompanied us to Makomo’s Great Place—for we went at once to make report of what had happened to the Chief. The war-cry had gone out and men were already assembling. It had been intended to pursue the Bushmen and recover the ransom cattle. There was great astonishment when we related what we had done, and the disgrace of having allowed ourselves to be disarmed and tied up like dogs was regarded as having been wiped out by the blood we had shed.
“You may be sure that Nongala came in for her share of honour. A song, which was sung at every feast for years afterwards, was composed to commemorate the exploit. She became so celebrated that a rumour went forth that Makomo intended to add her to the number of his wives. My own idea is that the grandmother of Nathaniel caused the thing to be talked about through jealousy. I do not know if such be the case, or if the Chief had any such intention, but to avoid the danger Nongala and I ran away together one night and took refuge with the Chief of the Gaika tribe, who received us kindly, feeling that it was to his honour to have such celebrated people under his protection. Three years afterwards I returned to my own country and Makomo received me kindly.
“For my own part, I have always felt ashamed of having surrendered my weapons and allowed myself to be tied up—to say nothing of having wept like a little boy, and beseeched for my life—than proud of the killing. I do not think that until to-day anyone has ever told the whole truth about this matter. Often, when I have heard some of the others at a beer-drink boasting of what they have done, I have walked away or hidden my face in my kaross lest the truth should be revealed by my looks. But all the others are now dead, and I am an old man, so what does it matter?
“Yes, I am an old man, and the sooner I am dead the better. The valleys in which I hunted in the days of my youth are full of the Hottentots to whom the Government gave the land, and I doubt if you would find an ‘iputi’ in the Didima Forest.
“Men can say what they like, but the world is not so good to live in now as it was in the days when I was young. Where has the rain gone to? It has not rained as it used to rain when Makomo was Chief since the Hottentots were given the country.
“Well, it may be as you say, but if Government were to drive the Hottentots out and give back the land to Makomo’s son, I think you would find that the rain would fall again as it used to. But I am an old man, and my kraal is empty. Yes, I have lived too long.”