The White Hecatomb, and Other Stories

by W. C. Scully

As he reached the top of the ridge, the sound of the bell came floating and quivering up through the limpid air. Being much nearer the church, the ringing sounded more clear and distinct in his ear than on the morning he had spent upon the mountain.

Away to the left, and distant about five miles, the upper half of the Bonxa hill could be clearly seen projecting over an intervening ridge. Matshaka could see the swarm of men around the summit; he knew by experience what that indicated, and a shudder went through him. He sat watching until he saw the crowd break up, descend slowly, and disappear behind the ridge.

The bell rang on, and again Matshaka saw the little knots of people moving in towards the church, like ants towards a nest. Then, suddenly, the doubter recovered his faith. His soul again became flooded with light. He bent his head and wept, partly with shame at his recent doubts, but mostly with relief and joy at the recovering of his faith.

He arose after a while and moved towards the church. After walking a few yards he recollected that he was wearing nothing but his blanket. He did not wish to enter the church unless properly clothed, so he sat down again, his brain reeling with the crowd of thoughts that hurtled through it, and his ears filled with the music of the mission bell.

Glancing to the left, Matshaka noticed a party of about thirty men coming along the footpath which led towards his kraal over the saddle where he was sitting. These men came from the direction of the Bonxa. Wishing to avoid them, Matshaka arose and walked slowly forward in the direction of the Rodè. Looking around again after a few moments, he saw to his surprise that the men had left the path, and were apparently endeavouring to intercept him. He quickened his pace, and they began to run. In an instant he saw what had happened: he had been “smelt out,” and this was the killing party sent to put him to a cruel death.

The instinctive love of life surged up in Matshaka, and he bounded forward in the direction of the church where, like Adonijah, he might catch hold on the horns of the altar. Matshaka well knew that the church was held to be an inviolable sanctuary even by the chiefs most rabid in their hatred of supposed wizards. He had himself helped to hunt a fugitive along the same course under similar circumstances, and had angrily grumbled when the man eluded his clutches.

But Matshaka was an elderly man, whilst several of his pursuers were young and in the prime of their strength. They did not succeed in intercepting him, but as the chase proceeded it could easily be seen that the hunted man was losing ground. He now crossed a shallow valley, the bulging side of which hid the church from view. Running up the hill sorely tried his strength. Glancing back over his shoulder he could see that the three foremost of his pursuers were rapidly gaining on him.

Just then the bell rang out once more to call the people together to a special class meeting held after the conclusion of the ordinary service. The sound nerved Matshaka to fresh effort. He knew that his time had conic—that he would never gain the sanctuary; so he now strove only to reach the top of the ridge from where the church could be seen. This he just succeeded in doing, and then he turned and faced his pursuers, who were only a few yards behind him. Instinctively he had thus far carried his knobbed stick; this he now flung away over the heads of his three enemies, lest he should be tempted to use it.

In a few seconds Matshaka was surrounded by a ring of implacable foes.

He stood as still as his panting would permit, with folded arms, and gazed fixedly at the church. He was quite naked, having long since flung away his blanket in the course of the pursuit. The bell had now ceased ringing, and the minister with his congregation stood bare-headed at the side of the building, sadly expectant of the impending tragedy. They knew they dared not interfere.