The White Hecatomb, and Other Stories

by W. C. Scully

They reached home one cold, misty evening, and it was then that the full significance of their misfortune came home to them for the first time. The friends who had taken charge of the premises during their absence left next morning taking with them a goat, as a reward for their services, and all day long the two miserable creatures sat and hugged their misery. The hearth was cold, the milk-sacks were empty, and the strong arm and shrewd head of Sobèdè were missed at every turn.

The season was early autumn, and the crops were nearly ready to reap, but during their absence the cattle, the birds, and marauding children from kraals in the next valley had so damaged them that they were now hardly worth the reaping. The calves of two of the best cows had died, and consequently milk was scarce. Everything seemed to be falling into disorganisation. A boy of about twelve years of age, a grandson of the old man, was sent to dwell at the kraal for the purpose of assisting in looking after the stock, but the loneliness weighed upon him to such an extent that he repeatedly deserted and ran home, in spite of repeated heavy beatings from his father, who had been promised a cow in payment for the boy’s services.

Mampitizili struggled on bravely, and carried up basket after basket of grain from the depleted field, but when the last cob had been harvested there was hardly enough grain to last half-way through the winter, to say nothing of seed for the ensuing spring.

’Mbopè had another son whose name was Manciya. Manciya’s mother had been the “great wife,” and consequently he took precedence of Sobèdè, whose mother was the wife of ’Mbopè’s “right hand.” All the rest of ’Mbopè’s children were daughters, and they had all long since been married. Sobèdè was ’Mbopè’s youngest child and his favourite.

Manciya and his father did not agree, and consequently ’Mbopè had dwelt with Sobèdè since the latter had married and set up a kraal of his own on a sheltered ledge near the head of a deep valley on the eastern fringe of the Hlangweni location. Manciya had, under pretext of seniority, seized the lion’s share of the cattle. He had, it is true, a right to a great deal of it, but he took more than his share, and it was only after much trouble that he was compelled to disgorge. However, a herd of about twenty head had been rescued from his clutches and formally ceded to Sobèdè as his prospective share in his father’s estate, to be his unconditionally after ’Mbopè’s death.

Manciya now and then called to see his father. His kraal, where he dwelt with his several wives, was situated about five miles away. His visits were not welcome, for the reason that he always appeared to assume that Sobèdè was guilty, and this was resented by both ’Mbopè and Mampitizili. Theft of cattle, especially if it happens to be on a large scale, is probably regarded by the native of to-day more or less as it was regarded by the moss-trooper of the Scotch Border in the sixteenth century. In Sobèdè’s case, however, his wife and his father knew him to be suffering for a sin he had not committed. The ever-present sense of injustice made them sensitive, and they felt the inconvenience of their position most keenly.

Two years passed, full of misery to the widowed wife and the old man who now felt his death approaching, and keenly longed for a sight of his favourite son to carry with him into the grave. They did not even know at which of the convict stations Sobèdè was serving his time, for no word from him had ever reached them since the day of his conviction. The little boy grew strong and tall. He was now able to run about. “Kungayè” was the name given to him. This word means “It was through (or owing to) him.” This name, the significance of which will be obvious, was not given as a reproach, but so that, in after life, the son might remember and deplore his father’s unmerited sufferings, of which he had been the innocent cause.

Three

One evening old ’Mbopè, who had the habit of pottering about digging out medicinal roots with an iron spike, returned and laid himself down on his mat after refusing to eat any supper. The season was again early autumn, and a bitterly cold wind swept down from the snow-flecked Drakensberg range. Next day he was unable to arise, and he lay moaning then and throughout the following night in a burning fever, whilst a cruel cough racked his spent frame. His talk, as he wandered in delirium, was ever of Sobèdè, and the “red chief” who had punished him undeservedly. The poor old man appeared to imagine that he was still giving evidence at the trial. In the early morning he tried to stand up, but fell back dead on his mat.

Manciya came over and buried his father, and then Mampitizili, with little Kungayè, accompanied him back to his kraal. Manciya was now the head of the family, and according to native custom the interests of Sobèdè were vested in him for the time being. The cattle and goats were driven over, and the mats, calabashes, and other lares and penates, with the assegais and clubs of Sobèdè, were taken to Manciya’s kraal. Mampitizili found herself disposed of as joint occupant, with Manciya’s oldest and ugliest wife, of a large hut on the left-hand side of the cattle kraal.