The morning was cool and bracing, and a wonderful breeze streamed in over the bar at the mouth of the lagoon, where the great ocean-rollers were thundering. A flock of wild geese arose and flew inland after their night’s feeding, uttering wild screams of delight as they soared into the sunlight, which had not yet descended upon us. Seamews and curlews wheeled around with plaintive cries. A couple of ospreys swooped down and settled on a giant euphorbia only a few yards off. Ever and anon vivid halcyons skimmed down the creek. In the forest close at hand the bush-bucks were hoarsely barking, and the guinea-fowls uttering strident cries.
While my companion collected fuel, I took the kettle and forced my way through the bush to the bed of the creek at a spot above the reach of the salt water. On returning I found ’Nqalatè blowing at the fire as only a Kafir can. Lifting his head out of the smoke, he gave a sneeze, and immediately afterwards uttered the exclamation: “Gquma ’ndincede!” This struck me as peculiar. “Gquma,” pronounced “g (click) o-o-ma,” means in the Kafir language, “a roar,” such as the roar of a lion, or of the sea; in this instance I took it to mean the latter, and “’ndincede” means “help me,” or “give assistance.” After speculating upon this strange rudimentary suggestion of the widespread habit according to which divers races of men invoke their respective deities or deified ancestors after the innocuous process of sneezing, my curiosity as to how the roar of the sea came to be invoked in an apparently analogous sense prompted me to question ’Nqalatè on the subject.
“Gquma, whom I invoked,” he replied, “is not the roar of the sea, but a woman of your race who lived many years ago, and whom we, the Tshomanè, look upon as the head of our tribe. You will notice that whenever a Tshomanè sneezes he calls on Gquma.”
“But where did Gquma come from?” I inquired, “and why was she so called?”
“Gquma,” replied ’Nqalatè, “was a white woman who came out of the sea when she was a child. She married our great chief ’Ndepa, and she and he together ruled our tribe. She was the great-grandmother of our chief Dalasilè, who died last year.”
The tide was running out swiftly, and I waited impatiently for it to turn, so that I could re-commence fishing. The sun was now high, and the breeze had died down to a gentle, fragrant breath. Suddenly the water ceased running, and began to sway troublously backward and forward, lapping loudly against the rocks. Then the tide turned, up it came rushing—this strange, cold, pure, bitter spirit pulsating with the ocean’s strenuous life. Like a singing bird it was vocal with wonderful words that no man may understand; with joyful tidings from its habitations in the sea’s most secret places were its murmurs thrilling.
We cast off the boat and let her drift with the current until a good anchorage was reached. Fishing usually affords large opportunities for reflection or conversation, and on this occasion ’Nqalatè related to me all he knew about Gquma, and, moreover, gave reference to certain old men of the tribe, by whom the narrative was subsequently amplified.
Two
One autumn morning early in the eighteenth century, some people of the Tshomanè clan, then occupying that portion of the coast country of what is now Pondoland, which lies immediately to the north-east of the mouth of the Unitati river, were astonished by an unwonted spectacle. The wind had been blowing strongly from the south-east for several days previously, and the sea was running high. Just outside the fringe of breakers an immense “thing” was rolling about helplessly in the ocean swell. This “thing” looked like a great fish, such as on rare occasions had been stranded in the neighbourhood, but it had a flat top from which thick, irregular stumps, like trunks of trees, protruded. Moreover, long strings and objects resembling immense mats were hanging over the sides and trailing in the water. As the rolling brought the flat surface into view, strange creatures resembling human beings could be seen moving about on it.
Such an object had never been seen or heard of by the oldest man of the tribe. The people assembled in crowds and watched, dumb with astonishment. Then a shudder went through them. A faint cry repeated at regular intervals pierced the booming of the surf, and a white fabric, which swelled out as it arose, was seen to ascend the tallest of the protruding stumps. The breeze was now blowing lightly off the land.