Kitobni o'qish: «The White Shield»

Prologue

We were talking about Rorke’s Drift and of Kambúla, in the battles fought at which places these two warriors had borne arms. They were fine, tall, martial-looking Zulus, and both head-ringed. They carried small shields, and a perfect arsenal of assegais – beautifully-made weapons for the most part. With none of these, however, could they be induced to part.

“What should you white people want with our poor weapons?” said one. “Have you not much better ones of your own? Where is your gun, Umlúngu?”

“Yonder,” I answered, pointing to my wagon, which, far away on the plain beneath, drawn by its span of twelve black Zulu oxen, seemed at that distance to creep along like some great centipede. “But I seldom carry it about, for there is little game in these parts, and a useless gun is much heavier than a stick.”

“And a Zulu spear is no heavier than a stick, but more useful,” cut in the other, with a quizzical laugh.

Then it took some time to explain that the weapon was wanted, not for use, but for show – in short, as a curio – in process of which explanation a voice from behind sang out —

“Au! Nkose¹ is fond of assegais!”

I knew that voice. Turning, I beheld the tall, gaunt form and sinewy limbs, the white-bearded countenance and bright eyes of old Untúswa, some time induna under the great Umzilikazi, Founder and first King of the Matabeli nation.

“Greeting, old friend!” I said, as he plunged eagerly forward to bestow upon me a hearty handgrip; which, by the way, left a sensation as of having shaken hands with a remarkably energetic skeleton. “Greeting to you, son of Ntelani, induna of the Elephant who of late trumpeted in the North! Greeting also to the King’s Assegai!”

“You are my father, Nkose!” cried the old man, sinking down into a sitting posture in our midst. “Yes, the King’s Assegai is still alive, like its old owner,” he said, exhibiting the splendid spear, and balancing it lovingly in his hands. “When I saw yonder wagon and the black oxen which draw it, I said to myself – ‘There goes the white man to whom I told that tale.’”

“True, Untúswa, and a right stirring tale it was. But I seem to remember, that when we parted on the Entonjaneni heights, the word was that other matters, at least as strange, remained to be told, should we behold each other again. And here now we do behold each other again, and the day is yet young. Further, here is good store of tobacco, and if there is anything which constitutes a better accompaniment to a story, why, I never heard of it.”

The eyes of old Untúswa brightened as he received the much-prized gwai, holding out both hands for it, as the courteous custom of this people is, even though the gift be no weightier than a threepenny-piece. For to receive anything with one hand only, would, to the minds of these “barbarians,” imply a contempt alike for the gift and for the giver.

High up on the ill-omened Hlobane Mountain we were seated, whose savage fastnesses I had spent days in exploring. It was early morning, and the weather was grey and depressing, seeming to threaten rain. Beneath lay a great panorama of desolate rolling plain and craggy spurs – treeless, forbidding – with here and there a kraal, dotted at intervals, symmetrical in its circular ring-fences. But here, where we sat, poised high above the world, I had come upon another small kraal, and, turning my pony loose to graze, had, as usual, tarried to make friends with its people.

Now, the older of the two warriors with whom I had been in converse, called aloud, and presently there appeared a couple of stalwart, shapely-limbed damsels, bearing a very large earthen bowl brimming with tywala, or corn-beer, and a basket containing roasted mealies. A goodly portion of the liquor was poured into a smaller bowl and handed to me, after the preliminary sip required by Zulu etiquette, the others taking draughts in common from the large earthen pot.

Zulus, like most uncivilised races, are extremely fond of listening to stories, and hold a good narrator in high repute; therefore, these two sat with faces all animation and heads bent eagerly forward. Then, having taken several copious pinches of snuff, old Untúswa commenced the tale which follows.

Chapter One.
The Chief of the Blue Cattle

You will remember, Nkose, how we of the Royal House of Dingiswayo, of the tribe of Umtetwa, with the Amandebeli, went out from the land of Zulu to found a new nation, and how we shut back the overwhelming number of the spears of Tshaka in the gates of the great Kwahlamba mountains. So, too, you will remember how, having hailed our leader Umzilikazi as king we swept ever onward, to the west and to the north, stamping flat the tribes within our path and laying waste the land, leaving behind us a desert that the cubs of the Lion of Zulu would find difficult of crossing. So, too, you will remember, how we built the great Kraal of Ekupumuleni, and subdued all the tribes round about, and sat in our fair resting-place, feared as a great and mighty people. For of the races around, all came in to konza to Umzilikazi, and to pay tribute, and such as did not – well, it was not long before the trumpeting of the Elephant sounded in their ears, dwelt they even two or three moons distant. But there was one tribe or nation which refused thus to konza, and of it I shall speak presently.

As time went by, our new nation grew in numbers and strength – though the latter might be our weakness in the day of grave trial. For we had incorporated into our army the youth of such tribes as we had conquered and whom the king deemed capable of bearing arms. These Amaholi, or slaves, were really our dogs, and even of this they might have been proud, for in our veins ran the clear unmixed blood of the “People of the Heavens;” (Such is the literal meaning of the word “Amazulu”) but did the spears of Tshaka show upon the skyline there would not be one of these miserable jackals within a day’s march of them by the time they drew near. Howbeit, although they were too cowardly to fight for us, we did not fear lest they should turn and fight against us, for the spears of Tshaka would devour them just as readily as they would ourselves; nay, more readily, for we Amandebeli were as lions, and dealt back blow for blow, were the enemy tenfold our own strength.

Time passed by, and as our impis went farther and farther afield, reports came in of a wonderful land to the north: of a land whose streams were never dry, and where the grass was ever green, and rich, and sweet. Now, around the King’s kraal, Ekupumuleni, it was not always so, and for many moons we had suffered greatly for want of rain; indeed, the King had sent out expressly to take all the rain-makers of every tribe and race and to bring them in. These tried their powers, each and all, and failed, wherefore they were put to death, for Umzilikazi declared that, as they were highly honoured and loaded with gifts when they could perform their office, it was only fair that they should pay forfeit when they could not; and this fate befell most of our own rain-makers, who were tied with their heels round the backs of their necks, and flung into a water-hole. Indeed, the only one who escaped was Masuka, the old Mosutu, whom we took, and whose life I had saved at the burning of certain Bapedi kraals, and who, while declaring himself an isanusi but no rain-maker, yet managed to bring rain, and thus not only escaped death but was advanced to still further honour. He was now of a great age, this old man, and was little else than a human skin loosely covering a skeleton; yet his eyes were as bright and marvellous as ever.

That Masuka stood so high in the king’s favour and in such honour among the people delighted me greatly, for I knew that as long as this was so I was safe from any plots my enemies might lay against me. I was now second fighting induna of the whole army, and a kehla, or ringed man. I had won a place of great power, young as I was, and those whose bitter jealousy would have moved them to compass my downfall and death were many. Moreover Umzilikazi had become suspicious of late, and was inclined to suspect each and all of his principal captains of designs upon his life and seat; and there were times when I fancied his suspicions rested strongly on Kalipe, the chief induna of the army, and myself – but mostly upon myself.

Yet, Nkose, this idea, terrible as it was, did not fill me with unmingled dismay. That I, but yesterday an umfane and unringed, should now be in a position to be suspected of usurping Umzilikazi’s seat, of aspiring to become King of the Aba-ka-zulu; Hau! This indeed would cause my veins to flow and my nerves to thrill with a strange proud tingling. Yet the other side of the picture was grim and dark, for from it loomed the stake of impalement – the death of the hot stones; or, at the mildest, the knob-sticks of the slayers. I remembered, too, the words which, in times past, had been spoken by Nangeza, my chief wife: “A man who is brave and cautious may climb to any height,” – and, indeed, she suffered me not to forget them, for she was as proud and ambitious as ever, and was continually inciting me to supplant Kalipe. Then once I held the army in the hollow of my hand, what easier than —

But at this point I would stop my ears and cry upon her to hold her peace, lest she brought me – brought us all – to a far more fearful and lingering death than that which I extended my breast to meet when I claimed and won the King’s assegai – as I have already told you, Nkose. But Nangeza had a plotting brain and would ever be first – indeed, had the King taken her to wife, she would never have rested until she had made herself King over him or – until she had been led forth to the place of slaughter. Moreover, I would do nothing against Kalipe, whose word and ways were as straight as his path when the King’s enemies lay before him, and although he was much older than I he would never show any jealousy because I had been promoted nearly to an equality with himself.

“It is the weakness of our nation, Untúswa,” he would say, “that we rend and devour each other like a pack of jackals; and every man plots, lest another rise to be a little greater than himself. Now, the man I would sooner see second to me, or even equal with me, is not the oldest, nor yet the richest man, but the bravest; and that man is, I believe, yourself, son of Ntelani, young in years as you are.”

Thus spake Kalipe, and, indeed, he meant his words; and while this was so, and I had old Masuka on my side, I feared the grudges and jealousy of no man.

Now, it was in the mind of the King to abandon Ekupumuleni, and to move farther northward, partly for the reasons I have given, partly that the arm of Tshaka stretched far, and he was never quite certain that we were beyond the reach of it. So he ordered me to take a force of warriors, and make an expedition into the country with the ever-flowing streams, and to verify such reports of it as had come in.

My command was but a small one, comprising perhaps sixty or seventy men – the merest handful, remembering that those through whom our path lay were in countless thousands, and that small cause indeed had they to love us. Yet such was the terror inspired by the very name of the Amandebeli – or Aba-ka-zulu, as these people termed us – that though they were in swarming numbers, they fled from their kraals as our tiny impi drew near, and took refuge among the hills. We laughed and shook our spears at them in proud contempt, and taking whatever we wanted, passed on our way, for we were only the eyes of the lion this time, not his teeth and claws, wherefore we left them their lives and their cattle.

But this was not to last for ever. Day by day as we progressed the country became fairer, swarming as it did with great herds of game – elephant and buffalo and kudu – in the forest tracts, and vast quantities of eland and spring-bok and other game upon the rolling treeless plains. And the cattle which the people owned were round and fat; and the people themselves, though not warriors, were rich and happy. We looked at each other and laughed in our delight. Here was the country we would occupy. Here was the fair land of plenty we had fled from Tshaka’s spears to gain. Here was the land wherein we would set up our new nation, and these people already here should be our dogs – our slaves.

Thus we thought, thus we spake, although we were but a tiny handful among tens of thousands. The cattle of these people covered the land – fat and sleek. It was well. They should be ours. What a nation ours should become!

So resolving, we continued our march, already the proud march of the conqueror. It was evening, nigh to sundown. We had slaughtered oxen at the last kraal we passed, and had seized women and boys to carry our meat for us. We were ascending a long rise, intending to rest in the valley beyond, where a river flowed, when, lo! the crest of the hill was crowned with spears – bright spears – a forest of them moving and extending in waves of light beneath the now sinking sun.

At the sight a deep gasp broke from every chest, and up went every man’s head with distended nostrils. We snuffed battle even as a hound snuffs the warm scent of a buck. We gripped our shields and our weapons, and we massed together, halting to see what the enemy would do next.

“Haul They are surrounding us,” muttered some of the warriors in their deep voices – their eyes glaring like those of hyenas hungering for blood. “Shall we fall upon them, Induna of the King? Shall we fall upon them?”

“Not so,” I answered, leaning on my shield and calmly taking snuff, though the wild expectation of battle and its delights caused my heart to beat and my pulses to thrill, for I was young yet, although so high up in a position of trust. “Not so. Let us see first if they are coming in to konza to the messengers of the Great Great One; but if they mean war, my children, by the head ring of Senzangakona, they shall have as much of it as they can stomach. Let no blow be struck until I give the word, but raise the song of the Great Great One, and advance in battle order. When I give the word we will walk through and through their ranks, leaving a broad path every way.”

So each warrior, striking his shield with his knobstick, raised the war song of Umzilikazi —

 
“Yaingahlabi
Leyo ’nkunzi!
Yai ukúfa!”
 
 
(“That bull did not (merely) gore.
It was death.”)
 

And thus we paced up the slope slowly, and roaring the terrible battle-song, which had told the tidings of blood and fire and widespread death along our nation’s track, and as the excitement spread over us we began to “see red,” and the aspect of each warrior was so grim and ferocious, that those in front, hundreds though they were, hesitated before our unswerving advance, then halted and called for an indaba.

As we still advanced, singing loudly, we began to observe more closely those who opposed us, and all but hemmed us in. They were armed with spears, which seemed well made, with axes, and hard square shields. In aspect they were akin to the Bapedi and the people of old Masuka, but their faces were softer, as those of women, or of men who were not fond of war; their ranks, too, were loose and open, and in no order: indeed, I had little doubt but that, in the event of hostilities, we could carry out our original plan, and hew lanes through and through them. But now a voice called out to us —

“Who are ye, stranger people, who enter the land of the Bakoni? Who are ye? so few, yet singing songs of war?”

Our warriors shook their heads and growled like dogs. They understood not this language, but I understood it moderately well, having been at pains to learn from old Masuka both the tongues and customs of the people around, with all of which he was well-acquainted; and, indeed, it was because of my knowledge of these tongues that the King had sent me in command of such a small impi, which might easily have been led by a chief of far inferior rank.

“Of the Bakoni? Who is your chief, and where is he?” I cried in return.

“Ascend hither, strangers, then you may see and speak with him,” came the reply.

Not a shade of hesitation did our warriors show as I made known this request. They advanced up the hill, marching in rank and singing, as proudly disdainful of the vastly overwhelming numbers in front as though safe at Ekupumuleni. Even the women and boys, staggering under their loads of meat, dared not leave us, although their own people were around them in force and we were but few.

We soon gained the brow of the rise, and spreading out on either hand in two long lines, their spears glittering in the sinking sun, we beheld the battle rank of the Bakoni warriors. But we beheld something more. Beyond the rise whereon we stood, beyond the small river which flowed at its base on the further side, was a wide rolling plain covered with cattle, and beyond the cattle lay the countless huts of an immense town.

Our eyes opened wide, and a deep-throated gasp escaped us. What a place to burn! What countless herds to sweep away! was the thought in each man’s mind.

Behind this town rose a great hill, steep-sided, flat-topped, and belted by lines of cliffs. There were further hills beyond it, but this one stood out from all, seeming to stand by itself upon the plain. We almost forgot the near presence of a great number of enemies. These, however, now closed in around us.

“Draw near, strangers,” said the man who had first hailed us, and who seemed to be a leader of some kind – “the Chief of the People of the Blue Cattle sits before you.”

I beheld, seated upon a leopard skin, a man just past middle age. He was a well-built man, tall and sinewy, and more martial-looking than any of his people. He was seated alone, a few councillors attending him several paces in the background, and save for a battle-axe, no arms were near him. He wore ornaments of gold, as we noticed did quite a number of the people, and the axe itself was profusely inlaid with gold.

“This people,” I thought, “if not warlike, is skilful in making weapons. Good. It shall make weapons for its masters, the conquerors of the world.”

“Greeting, Chief of the Blue Cattle,” I said, taking up the title by which he had been named; and, indeed, looking upon the countless herds which were scattered over the plain, I noticed that the greater number were of a bluish-white colour.

He frowned, thinking I accosted him with scant deference, which was true, for we Amazulu, People of the Heavens, do not bend low before the chiefs of such tribes as this.

“Why do you approach me with weapons in your hand, stranger? Is this a custom among yourselves when approaching a chief?”

“Our weapons were placed in our hands by the Great Great One – the Black Elephant, whose voice trumpets afar. Not until we return into his presence again do we lay them down,” I answered shortly.

All this while I was keenly watching the chief’s face, and I read therein a bragging nature, but a coward spirit underlying it. He, for his part, was noting our large stature and fearless bearing, our great shields and heavy-bladed spears, and I knew he was impressed thereby.

“What do you here, in my country, strangers?” he continued, frowning still deeper. “You enter it armed and slaughter our cattle, and seize upon our women and boys to act as your slaves,” with a glance at the group behind us who had thrown off their loads to rest. “This must be explained.”

“The explanation is short, O Chief of the Blue Cattle,” I answered haughtily, standing straight and with my head thrown back. “We entered this, your country, as we would enter any country, at the bidding of the Great Great One, who sits at Ekupumuleni, the Black Elephant, who is King over the whole world and King over the Bakoni of course. This is the explanation, O Chief of the Blue Cattle.”

At these words an enraged murmur arose from those immediately before us, and rolled along the ranks in a defiant shout. Still, with my head thrown back, I only laughed slightly.

“That is my explanation; now hear my advice,” I went on. “Send back immediately your highest indunas with a large present of girls and cattle to the Great Great One who sits at Ekupumuleni. Then will he fix the terms upon which he will suffer you and your people to live, O Chief of the Blue Cattle.”

To the first shout of rage now succeeded a deafening yell of exasperation as the people caught the gist of these proud words. There was a swift rush and the ranks tightened around us. Spears were shaken towards us, and eyes glared with angry menace. But my little band made scarcely a movement; a hand here and there would shift nearer to the head of the deadly stabbing assegai, or a shield would quiver in sinewy grip. That was all, yet upon every face there glowed the light of battle. A moment and we should be hewing our way through those broad ranks to the inspiration of our fiercely maddening war-cry.

But the chief’s command availed to arrest the rush of his exasperated fighting men, which was well for him; else had he fallen that moment – for I had marked him as first victim, nor could he have escaped me.

“What is thy name, leader of this band of strangers?” he said.

“Untúswa, son of Ntelani, of the tribe of Umtetwa, of the nation of Zulu, is my name. Ponder it well, O Chief of the Blue Cattle, for in truth thou shalt hear it again.”

Once more, a loud and angry shout arose from the warriors. Once more the words of the chief stayed the tumult.

“Look around, Untúswa, son of Ntelani,” he said, rising for the first time. “Yonder is our town – one of many. Behind it rises a hill, which is flat on the top, whereon grows abundant grass, and springs flow. It could carry the cattle of a nation and the fighting men of a nation, and the force who would climb it might just as well think to climb the Heavens themselves, for it is fortified from base to summit. Behold these,” designating the armed warriors; “these are but a handful among the fighting-men who obey my word. Yet I would quarrel with none, wherefore I will not suffer that violence should overtake you – even though you have offered insult to a mighty nation in the person of its chief. Depart now, ye strangers, in peace, while ye may. Farewell!”

“How is it called, this great and mighty town, my father?” I said, somewhat mockingly.

“It is called ‘The Queen of the World,’” he answered proudly.

“Ha! That is good,” I replied. “When the tread of the Elephant – Umzilikazi, the Great Great One, the Founder of Nations – shaketh yonder town, then the King and the Queen of the World will be mated? Till then, farewell, O Chief of the Blue Cattle!”

Then we departed even as we had come – slaves and all – no man hindering us. Yes, the name of Zulu was mighty indeed in those days.