The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier

by Bertram Mitford

  VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

  THE "WORD" OF THE GREAT CHIEF.

  Tired of gazing at the prisoner, and realising, moreover, that there wasnot much fun to be got out of one who took matters so coolly, the womenand children ceased to crowd round him, and he was left very much, tohimself. It was broiling hot, and every now and then upon the sultryhushened air came the discharge of firearms in the far distance.Evidently the rival forces were making targets of each other; but it wasprobably only a slight skirmish with some patrol, and Claverton did notallow himself to hope anything from the circumstance. The Kafirs, too,seemed in no way to trouble themselves about it.

  "Time passes slowly, doesn't it, Lenzimbi?" said Mopela, mockingly. "Itpassed quicker sitting by the pool at midnight, you and the tall darklily at Seringa Vale. How well you looked together! Why didn't youbring her here with you, eh? It would have been much more comfortablefor you, and for us, ha, ha!"

  At that moment Claverton would have bartered his life to be free tospring upon the jibing savage and tear him in pieces with his barehands. But it is safe to worry a chained mastiff, if only the chain isstrong enough.

  "Ha! ha! What will the dark lily say when you do not return to her?"went on Mopela. "When she hears how you were cut in pieces like asheep, or roasted. Once we killed a man by putting red-hot stones uponhim. At last they slid off, but we held them on again with sticks. Hewas two days dying. That was for witchcraft. Another was smeared overwith honey, and a nest of black ants was broken over him. They stunghim, they got into his ears, and nose, and eyes, and stung himeverywhere. He died raving mad. Another was skinned alive, and thenhis skin was sewn round him again. Another was hung by the heels over aslow fire, and his eyes were put out with red-hot fire-sticks. Which ofthese things would you rather have happen to you, Lenzimbi?" concludedthe Kafir with a hideous laugh.

  "Nothing of the kind will happen to me," was the imperturbable reply.

  A low boom of thunder smote upon the air--long, very distant, butdistinctly audible. On the farthest horizon a little cloud was justvisible. The slightest suspicion of a superstitious misgiving was inthe breasts of the bystanders. How could this man preserve such perfectimperturbability unless he were sure of some miraculous deliverance?

  "Will it not?" jeered Mopela. "What will happen then?"

  "Wait and see. If you have been telling me those interesting stories totry and frighten me--well, then, Mopela, you're a bigger fool than evenI took you for, and have been taking a vast deal of trouble aboutnothing. But now, if it's all the same to you, I think I'll go tosleep."

  They stared at him. Here was a marvellous thing. These white men, too,were so afraid of pain; and this one, whom in a few hours they intendedto burn alive, announced his intention of going to sleep. But theyoffered no objection. He was in their eyes a natural curiosity, and tobe studied as such.

  And he actually did sleep, and slept soundly, too, so that two hourslater when the whole kraal was astir and in a commotion, he awoke quiterefreshed. The arbiters of his fate had arrived.

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  The chief, Sandili, a refugee with the remnant of his tribe in thefastnesses of the Amatola forest, was a very different personage to thesleek, well-fed, benevolent-looking old "sponge" who had asked forsixpences when sitting against the wall of the Kaffrarian trading-store.To begin with, he was sober, a state he could rarely plead guilty toduring the piping times of peace. But there were no canteens in theserugged strongholds, and the very limited supply of liquor that could besmuggled in was but as a drop in the bucket to this habitual old toper.His temper, too, was peevish and uncertain, whether owing to thesupplies of grog being cut off, or the reverses sustained by his arms,was open to debate. So when this prisoner stood before him as he sat infront of his hut surrounded by his _amapakati_ [councillors] andattendants, the old chief's countenance wore none of its formerfriendliness and geniality.

  One swift glance at the rows of dark, impassive faces, whose eyes werefixed upon him, keenly noting every point of his demeanour, andClaverton saluted the chief--easily, naturally, and as between equals.A murmur ran through the group in acknowledgment, and every eye was bentupon the prisoner. For some moments they regarded each other insilence, and then Sandili spoke.

  "Who are you, white man, and what are you doing here?"

  "Who am I? The chief will recollect that we have met before. Does henot remember Thompson's store and the man who talked with him there?That was myself."

  Again a hum of assent ran through the group, and the chief sat gazing athis prisoner as if in deep thought. And what an unaccountable turn offate it seemed to Claverton! The last time he had talked with this manhe had felt for him a good-humoured, contemptuous kind of pity as hegave him the trifling gifts which the other had asked for; and Lilian'ssweet eyes had looked upon the old savage with a delicious air ofhalf-frightened interest, much as she might have regarded a tame oldlion, and then they had ridden so light-heartedly away, without muchthought of the evil to come. How vividly that day came back to himnow--now, as he once more stood before the old chief, whose lightestword was sufficient to decide his fate! Verily, the turns in the wheelof Fortune are capricious.

  Seeing that no one was in a hurry to break the silence, Clavertoncontinued:

  "As to what I am doing here, I was brought here, very much against mywill, I admit. Our friends here drove me over a cliff higher than thatone yonder," pointing to one that overhung the hollow; "but I stoppedhalf-way down and got inside. Then I walked down through the heart ofthe earth, and came out at the foot of the cliff, where your peoplefound me."

  "What childishness is this?" said the chief, sternly. "Are we childrenand fools that you tell us such tales, white man?"

  "Ask those who brought me here if it is not as I say," was the coolreply.

  A rapid conversation took place among the Kafirs, many of whom confirmedthe prisoner's statement. It was an unaccountable thing, they said; butthe white man seemed to be something of a sorcerer. Anyhow, all that hesaid about the cliff was true.

  And now a fresh excitement took place in the shape of some new arrivals,some mounted, some on foot. Claverton noticed a stoutly-built man inEuropean clothing, who seemed rather to shrink back as if anxious toavoid observation.

  "Who is that?" he asked of his guards during the slight confusion thatfollowed.

  "Gonya--Sandili's son," was the reply.

  This Gonya, or Edmund Sandili, as he was known to the colonists, hadreceived a civilised education, and, at the time of the outbreak, held apost as clerk and interpreter in the Civil Service of the colony. Thispost he had thrown up in order to cast in his lot with his own people--acourse which, whether that of a traitorous rebel or self-sacrificingpatriot, is a matter of opinion.

  "And who is the _Umfundisi_?" he went on, in an ironical tone, glancingin the direction of a thoroughbred Kafir who was arrayed in a clericalsuit of black, with which, and with the white choker adorning histhroat, the rifle he carried in his hand seemed startlingly out ofkeeping.

  "Ha! that's Dukwana. He's a real _Umfundisi_ at Emgwali. He can praywell, but he can shoot better," replied the barbarian, with a sneeringlaugh. "Ha! there's Matanzima--Sandili's other son. He _is_ awarrior?"

  "Yes, I know him," said Claverton, as he watched his former enemy jointhe group and seat himself near his father. The old chief looked notbest pleased at the interruption as he turned frowningly towards hisimpetuous son.

  "Where is the prisoner?" the latter was saying. "Aha! white man, wehave caught you at last!" he went on, as Claverton again stood beforethe group.

  "Why did you not `catch' me that day in the thorns, when we met in realbattle, Matanzima?" he retorted. "That was a good rough-and-tumble,wasn't it?"

  The other showed all his white teeth and laughed. He had a pleasingface--bold, daring, and reckless. Then they began questioning theprisoner about the colon
ial movements. To each query he replied with areadiness that astonished them.

  "You are not misleading us?" said one of the _amapakati_, threateningly."Why do you tell us all your countrymen's moves so readily?"

  "I am not misleading you, because not the slightest advantage would begained by it; the result will be the same, anyhow. I tell you, Sandili,and all you _amapakati_, that you are going straight to destruction.You had much better make terms before it is too late. You can getbetter terms now than a month hence."

  A murmur of amazement ran round the assembly. Here was a prisoner--abound, helpless prisoner--talking to them, the chiefs and councillors ofthe Gaika nation, like a victorious general dictating terms! It was athing unheard of.

  Suddenly a strange interruption occurred. A figure bounded into themidst--a frightful figure, with long, gaunt limbs and gleaming eyes.From neck, and shoulder, and wrist, and ankle, dangled beads, and cows'tails, and feathers, and magic strings of birds' beaks and claws, whilethe creature's body wae hideously tattooed from head to foot. Of tallstature, a coif, consisting of a huge snake's skin all entwined with theclaws of scorpions, made him look even taller. With a long, wildbeast-like howl, this hideous object stood poised on one foot before thegroup.

  "Treason! Treason!" he mouthed.

  All started; each man, by an involuntary movement, looking uneasily athis neighbour. In one glance Claverton recognised thisdiabolical-looking creature. It was the wizard, Nomadudwana.

  "Treason! Treason?" he repeated, foaming at the mouth and gnashing histeeth.

  "What does the sorcerer mean?" asked Sandili. "Who is the traitor?"

  "There is a white prisoner here," bellowed the wizard. "He belongs tous. He belongs to the nation--to the Great Chief--to me--to us all--forwe shall all take of the war-medicine which I will make out of hisheart. He is a brave man; his heart will make strong war-medicine. TheGreat Chief, Sandili, is our father; but there is treason in his house--in his own house!" And again the hideous wizard broke into a series ofprolonged and diabolical howls. "There is one here who would havedeprived us of our spoil," he went on; "who would have released ourprisoner and enriched himself; who would have gone over to the white menand betrayed us, his brethren--betrayed the Great Chief, his father, andthe head of his father's house!"

  The councillors were visibly agitated. Though their consciences wereclear, it might be in the purpose of Nomadudwana to denounce any one ofthem. A shout of wrath went up from the crowd beyond.

  "Who is the traitor? What is his name? He must be killed!" exclaimedthe Kafirs, gripping their sticks and assegais. "Name him! Name him!"

  The wizard glared around, and many a bold spirit quailed before theglance of those dreaded eyes.

  "The traitor is of the house of the Great Chief--of his own house.Where is Nxabahlana?"

  A loud murmur of mingled amazement and relief arose, succeeded byominous mutterings.

  "Here!" roared the warrior named, springing into the circle andconfronting his denouncer. "Here! What have you to say againstNxabahlana? Liar, fool, juggler! Out with it, before I cut out yourlying tongue!"

  "Stop!" cried Matanzima. "Stop! We must hear what all have to say. IfNxabahlana is true, he need fear nothing. Where is Senhlu?"

  Then stepped forward the suspicious one, and narrated how his leader hadbeen in close confabulation with the captive, whom he--Senhlu--had heardhim agree to release, on condition of receiving five hundred head ofcattle (exaggeration Number 1); further stipulating that, when thewhites were victorious, Sandili and Matanzima should be slain, and he,Nxabahlana, put into their place (exaggeration Number 2). He told howanxious his leader had been to go dangerously near the white men's camp,and how he and Mopela had stirred up the others to resist this plan,feeling sure that their said leader intended to desert and betray them.

  As he concluded, the ominous murmur had risen to angry shouts, and everyeye was bent upon the accused with a glare of vengeful wrath. But theobject of it never quailed. He stood cold, erect, and disdainful--histall, herculean frame looking quite majestic, as with a sneer on hisface he listened unmoved to the shouts of execration around him. AndClaverton, for the time, forgot his own position in the vivid interestwhich this unlooked-for turn of affairs afforded him. He could see thatthe whole thing was a plot, and he felt quite sympathetic towards hiscaptor and would-be deliverer, who he saw was doomed, otherwise nocommon fellow like Senhlu would dare raise his voice against a kinsmanof the Great Chief.

  "It is a lie!" shouted the accused, waving his hand in the air. "It isa lie. Give this lying sorcerer a weapon and let us meet hand to hand.I will kill him and then whip Senhlu like a dog--my dog that turns tobite me. Listen, Ama Nqgika. Who has been in the front rank wheneverwe fought the whites? Nxabahlana. Who has shot three of them with hisown hand, and seven dogs of Fingoes besides? Nxabahlana. Who has lostthe whole of his possessions--cattle, wives, even his very dogs--in thecause of his people? Nxabahlana. Even now," he went on, workinghimself up into a pitch of fervid eloquence, "even now, look at me. AmI afraid? Am I afraid of any man living? Who remained on the watch allnight and captured this white man, when all the rest were afraid of himand had given up the search? Nxabahlana. Well, then--is it likely Ishould wish to let him escape? Is it, I say? Surely none but a foolwould do this. None but a child like Senhlu. None but a covetous,jackal-faced impostor like Nomadudwana. None but a wolf who devours hisown flesh and blood, like Mopela. None but these. Certainly not awarrior. Certainly not Nxabahlana--a warrior, a man of the house ofNqgika. Is the Great Chief, Sandili, a child? Are the _amapakati_children that they should have their ears filled with such childishtales? It is absurd, I say--absurd."

  He ceased, and a hum of mingled doubt and anger greeted his words.

  "Nxabahlana talks well," said Matanzima, with a gleam of malice in hiseyes. "But we know that the whites are very liberal towards traitors.We know that if we are conquered the man who stood the white man'sfriend will be well rewarded. When a prisoner is in our hands we do notgo and look in at the enemy's camp on our way home for nothing.Nxabahlana talks of children. Who but a child would do such a thing asthis?" concluded he, in a tone of significant cunning.

  "A traitor! A traitor!" howled the wizard. "How shall we hold our ownwith a traitor in our midst?"

  And the crowd answered with yells of execration, even the women in thebackground screaming and brandishing sticks.

  "Ha! Matanzima is a boy," replied the accused in scornful accents."Let him be silent when he is by his father's side. Now listen. Hereis the white prisoner himself. Let the Great Chief--let the _amapakati_ask him. Ask him whether I agreed to release him."

  It was a bold stroke. A brief glance at Claverton's face had inspiredthe Gaika warrior that here might lie his chance of safety. It was,indeed, a bold stroke, thus throwing himself upon the mercy of thecaptive. As for Claverton, the unbounded courage of the man filled himwith admiration, and on that account alone he would willingly have savedhis life, apart from any other consideration.

  "Ask him, I say," repeated Nxabahlana. "Ask the prisoner whetheranything passed between us."

  "Ewa! Ewa!" [Yes--yes] echoed the crowd, "ask him?"

  "Is this true, white man?" asked Sandili. "Are the words of Nxabahlanatrue?"

  All eyes were bent upon Claverton, and there was a hush that might havebeen felt. Every ear was strained to catch his answer. It came in abold, clear voice.

  "Yes. They are. The words of Nxabahlana are true."

  "But what of the wizard and Senhlu? You heard what they said."

  "They are liars."

  The whole assembly was taken aback. Not a man present but expected theanswer would be unfavourable to the accused, and it may be added, thatnot a man present believed it now that it was the reverse. WhereforeClaverton went up a hundredfold in their estimation, for had he not justexcelled in one of their most cherished virtues--the art of lying wellwhen convenient; and he,
himself, felt a glow of satisfaction overhaving saved this brave man's life; but even he forgot that among theKafirs it is not necessary to convict a subject obnoxious to his chief,to ensure that subject's condemnation.

  "There!" exclaimed Nxabahlana, triumphantly, drawing his gigantic figureup to its full height. "You hear what the prisoner has said! Now letmy accusers stand forth. Where are they?" and he looked searchinglyaround. There was dead silence. No one moved; but the eyes of thecouncillors were bent upon him with an ominous glance, and, meeting thatglance, Nxabahlana knew that he was a doomed man. Yet he was game tothe very last.

  "Where are they?" he repeated. "Ah, they have hidden themselves, andwell they may. But I appeal to the Great Chief. Let him order mytraducers to stand before my face. I claim my rights. The Great Chiefcannot refuse," and in his eagerness he made two steps towards whereSandili was sitting.

  Now it happened that Nxabahlana held in his hand a kerrie--just such anordinary stick as the Kafirs always carry. He had better have droppedit before approaching his chief; but at the moment he forgot everythingin his excitement. Not that the difference would have been great eitherway, for they were determined to get rid of him.

  "I claim my rights! The Great Chief cannot refuse!" he repeated,standing with outstretched arm, and looking Sandili straight in theeyes.

  The old chief started slightly. A dark expression came into hiscountenance as he gazed upon his audacious subject for a few moments insilence.

  "What!" he exclaimed, in tones of indignation, "What is this? Who isthis that dares to command his chief? Who is this that approaches mewith threats? Who is this that dares to threaten his chief? _Have I nomen_?" and he looked around with a volume of meaning in his fierce eyes.

  Like a spark applied to an explosive the glance told. There was a rashforward on the part of the crowd, a swift flash or two, and a gleam asof the sunlight upon steel. The throng separated, and upon the groundlay the huge frame of Nxabahlana, the hot life-blood welling fromhalf-a-dozen assegai wounds in his chest and sides.

  It was a dastardly act, and, although he knew that the victim had richlydeserved his fate, yet Claverton felt that the weight of evidence was inhis favour, and he should, at any rate, have been allowed to meet hisaccusers face to face. But little time had he to indulge in regrets onanother's behalf, for now all eyes were turned upon him with abloodthirsty glare, and voices began to clamour that the white prisonershould be given over to them.

  And as he looked upon the wild scene it seemed hardly credible toClaverton that scarcely forty-eight hours had gone since he had leftLilian and set his face eastward to carry out his plan of revenge. Heglanced down the line of stern, relentless countenances, where sat thechief and his councillors, the late victim of their tyrannous vengeancebleeding at their very feet; but in the shrewd, rugged features he coulddetect no hope of mercy. Around, hemming him in, crowded the clamouringsavages, their fierce eyes burning with a lust for blood. Behind themhe caught a glimpse of a large fire, wherein a group of women and boyswere heating bits of iron red-hot, and he had small doubt as to the useto which that fire would be put. The only man who might have befriendedhim was lying dead at his feet, and the weapons that had done the deedhad slain his own hopes. His time had come.

  "Give me a drink of water," said the prisoner.

  They brought him some in a bowl. His arms were bound to his sides atthe elbows, but his hands were free, and he took a long, deep drink.This attention conveyed to him no false hopes; he had no doubt as to hisultimate fate. He looked around. The sun, which was nearing itswestern bed, had sunk behind a heavy bank of cloud which loomed upon thehorizon, and a roll of thunder stirred the still, hot afternoon. Thestorm which had been threatening all day was drawing near.

  And now the wizard, decked in all his hideous paraphernalia, boundedinto the midst.

  "Hear, now, Sandili, Great Chief, of the house of Gaika! Hear, ye_amapakati_! Hear, all ye warriors of the race of Gaika!" he cried."For two moons we have been fighting the English. For two moons we haveshed our blood and given our best lives in the endeavour to drive theEnglish into the sea. Have we been successful? We and our brethren,the Ama Gcaleka, who can show twenty warriors for every one of theEnglish, have spent our strength in vain. Whenever we met them theEnglish have driven us back. Even when we met them--a mere handful thatwe ought to have eaten up--we have been driven back before their charmedbullets. They have charmed bullets and charmed guns which they keep onfiring without loading. Why can we do nothing against these English?Listen, and I will tell you. You see the man before you? _He_ is theirsorcerer. _He_ it is who causes our bullets to fly off them withoutharming them. He is in every fight. Who can mention a battle that thisman was not present in? Now we have this sorcerer in our midst. Whatshall we do with him, I say? Shall we let him go? My magic is strongerthan his; I have delivered him into your hands. Will you, then, sufferhim to escape again? Cut his bonds and let him free, and you will allbe destroyed."

  A roar of execration was the answer to this appeal. Weapons werebrandished, and the crowd pressed closer around.

  "Give him to us!" they yelled. "See, there is a fire; we will burn him,one limb at a time."

  "Old men, where are your sons?" went on the wizard. "Young men, whereare your brothers? Where are they? Ask the vulture of the rocks, thewolf and the wild dog of the forest, even the skulking jackal whoburrows in the earth. Ask the breezes of the air, which blow over theirwhitening bones where they lie by thousands, slain by the charmedbullets of the English. Hark; I hear their voices in the wind--thevoices of their spirits crying for vengeance. I hear it in the trees,in the rocks, in yon thundercloud which is drawing nearer and nearer,"and at his words a heavy boom was heard, followed by a spasmodicrustling gust violently agitating the surrounding bush, and stirring upthe air around. With awe-stricken looks, his superstitious listenersbent their heads. "Yes," roared the ferocious demon, working himselfinto a state of frenzy. "Do you not hear them? They arecrying--`Vengeance! Vengeance! Vengeance!' And we, who are left--arewe not hunted like wild beasts? Are we not driven from bush to bush bythese white men--who have not a tenth of our number--by them and ourdogs the Fingoes? Soon shall we follow our brethren, and the name ofGaika will exist no more. Here is a white man! Here is the destroyerof our race. Shall we not make him weep out in tears of blood the woewhich has come upon us? Shall we not make him writhe in torment formany days, to appease the spirits of our slaughtered sons? We await theword of the Great Chief!"

  Every eye was fixed upon the semicircle of grey-bearded councillorsseated round the chief--dark, stern, and immovable. With bodies bentforward, and a wolfish, bloodthirsty grin, the warriors stood scanningthe expression of the impassive countenances before them, eagerlyawaiting the word, which they doubted not would be given. Againreverberated that thunder-roll--nearer still--as half the sky was hiddenbeneath an inky shroud, and the dull red flash gleamed from its depths.One of those storms which, in the hot weather, break with such fearfulviolence over the wilds of Southern Africa, would shortly be upon them.

  But "the word" remained still unspoken. Sandili--whose pliant,vacillating nature ever ready to yield to the pressure of circumstancesor to the advice of whoever had his ear last, was so powerfully appealedto--would have spoken it, and ended the difficulty; but it was evidentthat the councillors were not unanimous on the point. On the one hand,the nation was clamouring for the captive's life; on the other, some ofthe councillors were clearly opposed to the expediency of sacrificingit, and even the Great Chief dared not fly dead in the teeth of theiradvice without some show of debate. So he gave orders that the prisonershould be removed out of hearing while they talked, but that he shouldnot be harmed.

  "We have heard what Nomadudwana, the seer, has told us," said the chief,looking inquiringly around. "Shall we then allow the prisoner to gofree?"

  Now the wizard was hated and despised by the older men of the tribe,though among the
younger he was in the zenith of his popularity as afierce and unswerving preacher of a crusade among the whites.Consequently the mention of his name struck a chord calculated to tunethe whole instrument in Claverton's favour. The mutterings of Matanzimaand a few of the younger men, to the effect that a prisoner ought to betreated in the accustomed way--_i.e._ handed over to the people withoutall this _indaba_--were stifled by the decided and dissentinghead-shakes of many of their seniors.

  Then one of the _amapakati_ spoke. He was a very old man; and anexpectant murmur greeted his appearance.

  "It is Tyala!" murmured the group. "Hear Tyala--he is wise!"

  "My chief, Sandili," began the old man, in a low, earnest voice; "mybrethren, the wise men and councillors of the house of Gaika; mychildren, its warriors--listen to my words, which have always beenspoken for your welfare. Have they not?"

  An emphatic hum of assent having testified to the veneration in whichthe speaker was held, he proceeded:

  "I am an old man now, far older than most of you here, and, as I lookback upon the past of the Gaika nation I look forward all the moregladly to the grave. There was a time when we possessed the land; atime when our chiefs were feared almost from sea to sea; a time when ourpeople dwelt at ease, and their cattle lowed upon a thousand hills; whenthe hearts of our young men were glad, and the songs of our young womenresounded among the rustling corn. All was then well with us. Thefountains gushed from yon cool forests, and the pastures were green, andour eyes were glad, for we dwelt in the fairest land that eye could lookupon. The whites, our neighbours, did not molest us, but traded with usmany things which now we cannot do without. Why did we not keep what wehad got? We could not. There came a demon among us, and we could notsit still. We made war.

  "What was the result? We were beaten, driven back. We lost ourwarriors by hundreds, and our cattle were taken. We lost a portion evenof our lands. Here was a lesson to us--to us who proudly thought wecould eat up the whites because they were so few. But we would notlearn. We made war again; and this time we fought well, but it was ofno use, again we were beaten. And this time the white man gave us backthe land which he had taken from us--gave it us back! Was ever such athing heard of before? Did not this show that he desired to save us--totreat us as his friends? Yet we could not sit still. Evil counselsprevailed among us, false prophets sprang up, and lured the people todestruction. They went--poor blind sheep--they went straight to theslaughter. What could I do--I, Tyala? It was in vain that I warned andentreated; in vain that I lifted up my voice day and night against theirbesotted folly. They even threatened to take my life--my wretched life;that, they were quite welcome to if it would but save them fromthemselves. The counsels of the false prophets prevailed. The war-crywas raised again.

  "Why should I go on? The rest you all know. We lost what we hadretaken before, but even the third time the English forgave us poordeluded people, and then, when the famine came they fed us when we werestarving and crept to their doors to beg for food. Why did they notkill us all then, when we were in their hands? And now look around;look at the fair lands which are about to be taken from us--rather whichwe ourselves have given up because we could not rest quiet upon them.Are they not large enough? Are they not fertile enough? Are ourstreams not abundant enough, and our pastures not rich enough? Yet wehave thrown all this away because the chiefs of the house of Gaika haveallowed themselves to be led astray by a parcel of youths, a parcel ofboys, who had never seen war and must needs clamour for it as for a newplaything. And what is the result? Look at us now--hunted into ourstronghold, tracked like criminals and wild beasts. And yet, I say, itis all our own doing."

  The old man's voice had become strong and firm as he spoke, though itshook slightly with the halting tremor of age. As he paused, many adeep murmur from his auditors told that his words had struck home.

  "Who warned you against all this?--Tyala. Who warned you against thewords of the false prophets?--Tyala. Who warned you against the riflesof the English?--Tyala. Whose voice has ever been raised in yourbehalf, in council, in diplomacy, even in the battle?--That of Tyala.But it has never been heeded. Now listen, my chief Sandili; and you,_amapakati_, my brothers. Here is a chance to stand well with theEnglish, our conquerors; for they are our conquerors, even now. Do notthrow it away. This man, our prisoner, is a man of rank and standingamong his own people. What, then, shall we gain by taking his life?Let us restore him to his own people and say: `The Gaika people are notwolves, when they make war they do not kill the prisoners. Take thisman, whom we found among us unarmed.' The English are generous as wellas brave. They will remember this act when they make terms with us.The man himself will speak well for us. It is an act that will gain ussympathy everywhere. Do I hear it said that Tyala is the white man'sfriend? That is true, he is. But he is still more the friend of hisown people. Have we not seen enough blood? Has not blood been pouredout until the whole of the land is red with it--blood, blood,everywhere, nothing but blood? We are weary of blood-shedding, we wouldfain rest. Now, my chief, do not listen to the clamour of the youngmen, or the boys. Do not allow them to shed the blood of this whiteman. Restore him to his own people alive and well. We shall be glad ofit, when we have done so, and the English will treat us generously.This is the counsel of Tyala."

  The old man ceased, and drawing his blanket around him, sat silent andmotionless. Every word of his speech, illustrated by many a gracefulwave of the hand and inflection of the voice, with here and there anexpressive native ejaculation, was listened to with profound attention.When the murmurs which greeted its conclusion had subsided, anothercouncillor, scarcely the junior of the first either in age orappearance, gave his opinion. His advice, too, was in favour of mercy.Unlike his predecessor he did not recommend the unconditional release ofthe prisoner, but rather that terms should be made beforehand.

  After him, no one seemed inclined to plead the prisoner's cause anyfurther, when, just as the opposite opinion was going to speak,Claverton suddenly found an unexpected advocate. This was Usivulele,the man whom he had held as a hostage, after the fight with theHottentot Levy, when he had allowed the Kafirs to look after theirwounded. He was not a councillor, but being a warrior of considerablestanding, and a man of great shrewdness and sagacity, he was allowed aseat and a voice among that august body. As he had only arrived whenthe prisoner had been removed, the latter had not seen him.

  Beginning with the usual complimentary allusion to the wisdom of hishearers, the speaker followed the lead of Tyala, setting forth withconsiderable power the inexpediency of provoking the vengeance of theEnglish by pushing matters to their bitterest end. He dwelt upon thebravery in the field of the white leader now in their hands--havingwitnessed it in battle himself--upon his humanity to the wounded shownon more than one occasion, as in giving them water with his own hand,and saving their lives from the merciless rage of his own followers.Such men were scarce, and if the Amaxosa rewarded them by torturing andkilling them, others of a different order would be put into their place.Far better let this man go. Then Usivulele went on, with cunninglyveiled sneers, to cast ridicule upon the wizard Nomadudwana, whom theyall hated. These impostors, he said, were gaining more and moreascendancy, till at last it seemed that chiefs and people were to be ledby the nose by this impudent quack, who made pretended war charms, whoseefficiency he had not the courage to test himself. He concluded with apowerful appeal to the chiefs to spare the prisoner's life, if only toshow that they were still chiefs, and as such not to be dictated to by ashouting mob, or influenced by the wretched jugglery of a shamsoothsayer.

  But if men were to be found who had the courage of their convictions,the majority of those who sat there were wedded to the traditions oftheir order and of their race. They, indeed, regarded the wizard as adespicable sham, but then he was necessary to such a nationalinstitution as "smelling out," [Note 1] whereby, for purposes of gain orpolicy, obnoxious individuals might from time to time be got rid of; and
the common people believed in him. It would not do to shake the popularfaith in national institutions; to do so would be to aim a blow atauthority itself, especially at such a time as this, when the ColonialGovernment was strenuously exerting itself to do away with chieftainshipand tribal independence, and to substitute white magistrates everywhere.So one after another spoke at considerable length, combating theopinions of those who advocated mercy. It was a mistake to suppose,they said, that the liberation of this one man would make any differencewhatever. They had reddened their spears, and must take theconsequences; it was of no use thinking to cleanse them in such simpleand easy fashion. There was no reason why this man's life should bespared. He had proved a formidable enemy in battle, and had slaindozens of their warriors; it was only fair, then, to hand him over tothe vengeance of the people. The people were clamouring for him, andthey ought to have him. That was the custom of the nation.

  Thus spake the majority of the _amapakati_. One especially, a grim oldwar-wolf, whose toothless fangs could scarcely mumble out hisbloodthirsty words, did his utmost to influence his hearers in thedirection of vengeance. The English, he said, were not to be trusted.They would probably visit it upon them ten times more heavily for havingtaken the man prisoner at all. Did the English spare the Gaikas whenthey captured them? No, they handed them over to the _Amafengu_ to beput to death by them. Free warriors of the house of Gaika to die at thehands of Fingo dogs! Let this white man be burnt.

  The last consideration told, as the ferocious old ruffian intended thatit should. The councillors were now all but unanimous against theprisoner, and Sandili, whose sympathies, moreover, were with them,yielded, as usual, to the voice of the majority. One or two urged Tyalaagain to speak, but the old man shook his head sadly.

  "No," he said, "I have advised my chief and my people all my life. Theyhave ever rejected my councils, and they have repented of it. Theyreject them now, and they will repent of it. I will say no more," andsinking his chin in his blanket, he sat motionless as a statue, andheedless of what went on around him.

  Meanwhile, outside the notice of the august circle a livelier scene wasbeing enacted.

  When Claverton was ordered to be taken out of hearing, the crowd, seeinghim brought towards them, took for granted that their prey was indeedtheirs at last, and surged forward with a roar like a den of wild beastslet loose. Their longing for blood was about to be gratified.

  "Bring him to the fire!" they yelled. "Bring him to the fire?"

  Some fanned up the flames; others, bending down, drew out bits ofred-hot iron and blew upon them. It was difficult for his guards, amidthat deafening roar, to persuade the mob that the time had not yet come.They pressed forward, weighed on by those behind. They shook theirassegais towards the prisoner, they glared and mouthed upon him, theyhowled and threatened, and all the while the red flames shot up with adull, hungry roar, and the bright caverns glowed around the instrumentsof torture which lay in them. The women were among the most mercilessof that fiendish crowd. Hideous hags brandished knives and skewers,explaining to the prisoner exactly how they meant to begin upon him, andtheir repulsive wrinkled skins, all shaking and perspiring in the heat,gave them the air of toad-like fiends from the nethermost hell. Boysheld up assegai points which had been heated in the fire, and yelledshrilly that they were going to dig them into the white flesh. One imp,with a diabolical leer upon his face, took a bit of hot iron and glidedbetween the guards, intending to apply it to the prisoner's leg.Unfortunately for him, however, some one jostled him, and, instead of"touching up" the captive, the iron was brought into contact with thenaked thigh of one of the guards, who, with a startled exclamation,turned sharply round, and, seizing the youthful fiend, administered tohim such a thrashing that he slunk off, howling like a whipped dog, amidthe jeers and laughter of his fellows. And the said guards had theirwork cut out for them. They dared not, on their peril, allow a fingerto be laid on their charge before the chief's "word" was given, and yetevery moment the mob nearly tore him from their possession. So theylaid about them lustily, whacking the women and children on the backsand shoulders with their assegai shafts, and even threatening some ofthe young men with the blades, and the crowd fell back a little. Thenthey were able to explain that the prisoner still belonged to the chief,and they must wait.

  It was a frightful moment for Claverton; even though he knew that he wasfor the time being safe, yet the position was one calculated to try thestrongest nerves. And it was but delaying the hour. He had small hopesthat the councillors would decide to spare his life. It might be thatthey would elect to keep him prisoner a little longer; there was justthis chance, and it was worth next to nothing at all.

  "Aha, Lenzimbi! Did I not tell you it would come to this?" mockedMopela, gloating over his helpless enemy. "In a few minutes I shall putone of those red-hot irons into your eye--slowly--slowly--like this,"and he illustrated his blood-curdling speech by taking one of the hotnails from the fire and gently boring a hole in the ground. The crowdhad fallen back now, leaving an open space around the prisoner and hisguards.

  "Ha! What is this?" he continued, as something bright was disclosed toview through the open breast of the prisoner's shirt; and, inserting hisfingers, he drew out a chain, at the end of which hung a large andcuriously-wrought locket of steel. The chain was clasped so near to thewearer's throat that there was no getting it off by any method short ofdecapitation, it being fastened by a secret spring. In vain the savagejerked and tugged at the loose end by which the locket hung down onClaverton's chest. It was of strong steel, and showed no signs ofgiving.

  "Haow! Lenzimbi's charm!" he cried. "We must take it away, thenLenzimbi will be weak and full of fear. This is what makes him strong.We must take it away."

  But this was easier said than done, for the chain was made of stoutmetal. At last a pair of pincers was procured, and Mopela wrenched andtwisted with all the strength of his muscular grip.

  "Take care what you are about!" whispered Claverton, his face livid withdeadly rage. "The man who succeeds in taking that off will die on thespot. It is magic. Take care!"

  For answer the savage only laughed, and redoubled his efforts to breakthe chain. A snap--a wrench--another snap--and Mopela sprang to hisfeet, triumphantly holding up the locket, with three inches of chaindangling from his hand, and crying: "Lo! the white man's charm?"Claverton's face was pale as death, white to the very lips, but his eyeswere glowing like coals of fire. The crowd was watching him curiously.Already the removal of the charm had begun to take effect, they thought.

  How it happened he himself could not have told to save his life, but thelocket, which seemed as close as an unbroken egg-shell as Mopela wasturning it over and over in his hands, suddenly flew open, disclosing,to the astonished eyes of the savage, the face of Lilian Strange. Yes,there it was, beautiful and lifelike, an exquisitely-painted miniature--her own work. A tender smile played round the curves of the sweetmouth, and the lovely eyes, opening wide beneath their long lashes,looked out with a calm, glad, trustful air that was inexpressiblybewitching. Even the warm flush beneath the delicate olive skin, andthe soft wealth of bronzed, dusky hair, was true to the very life. Abordering of forget-me-nots, beautifully painted, was wound round theportrait, and in the opposite compartment of the locket reposed a thickcoil of hair, matching exactly that in the miniature, and half hiddenbeneath this was the letter "L," painted in blue upon a white ground.And this token of the purest, holiest love wherewith man was ever blest,was now held in the rude hand and gazed upon by the bold eyes of asavage. The firelight destined to wither up the limbs of her loverglowed upon the sweet, delicate features of Lilian, portrayed there,lifelike in her radiant beauty; and still Mopela stood gazing into thelocket which lay in his hand, fairly lost in wondering amazement.

  "Whaow!" he exclaimed. "Lenzimbi should have brought her here;" andthen his voice was jammed in his throat. He was choking. For amarvellous thing had happened, and a shout arose from the c
rowd--a shoutof awe, and consternation, and warning. The prisoner was free.

  A madman, we know, is at times endowed with superhuman strength.Claverton was for the moment mad, and the stout raw-hide thongs fellfrom him like packthread, as with one tiger bound, he sprang upon Mopelaand bore him to the earth. Then digging his knee into the shoulders ofthe barbarian, who had fallen face downwards, he grasped him by the hairand thrust his head into the blazing fire. It was all done in atwinkling, and a deathly hush was upon the bystanders, who seemedthunderstruck. He might even have escaped; but no thought had he ofanything other than vengeance. He seemed transformed into a wild beast.His eyes started from their sockets, and he gnashed his teeth as heliterally ground the glowing cinders with the face of the prostrate man,till the flesh crackled horribly and roasted in the heat, and even thenhis fury seemed but to increase.

  With a loud shout the Kafirs, recovering from their momentary stupor,threw themselves upon him. He hardly saw them, he continued to beat hisadversary's head into the fierce fire without heeding them. Theydragged him off and secured him, but with difficulty; he was mad. Thensome of them raised Mopela. The huge barbarian presented an awfulappearance. The whole of his face was peeled and blackened--burnt to acinder--and the sight of both his eyes was for ever destroyed. He lay,half insensible, and moaning like an animal.

  "There!" shouted Claverton, in ringing tones. "There! That is myvengeance. That dog lying yonder dared to profane with his filthy eyeswhat was sacred. Now he will never see with those eyes again. They aretaken from him. He will be in darkness until he dies."

  A vengeful murmur rose among his listeners. Suddenly some one cried:

  "The charm--where is the charm?"

  Where, indeed? They looked around--on the ground--in the fire--everywhere. In vain. Of the steel locket there was no sign. It hadcompletely disappeared.

  But the wonder and speculation of the superstitions savages was nippedin the bud by a mandate from Sandili that the prisoner should again bebrought before him.

  And now, once more, Claverton stood before that semicircle of dark,stern countenances, but he read no hope. They were about to doom him totorture and to death. Around pressed the crowd, eager, expectant, thewomen and children jostling against the warriors in front, struggling toobtain a view of the proceedings. Every now and then a red flash oflightning played upon the half-naked figures of the barbarians, and uponassegai points, and rolling eyeballs, and necklaces of jackals' whiteteeth and all the savage paraphernalia wherewith the fierce, lithe formswere decked.

  A silence was upon all as the wizard stood, looking like a figureconjured up from hell, haranguing the assembly. The burden of hisspeech was a mere repetition of the wrongs they had suffered at thehands of the white men in general, and this one in particular, whom henow claimed on behalf of the nation, in pursuance of unvarying custom.And at his words a shout of assent went up from the fierce crew standingaround.

  "Give him to us!" they cried. "Give him to us, Great Chief!"

  Then Sandili was about to speak, to utter the words of doom, when, in astrong, ringing voice which echoed through that savage fastness like thenotes of a clarion, the prisoner cried:

  "Stop! I, too, have something to say; listen to it all of you. Firstof all, who is this Nomadudwana, that claims to direct your councils? Iwill tell you--"

  But he could get no further.

  The cunning wizard was too much for him. Raising a series of terrifichowls and effectually drowning his voice, and the voices of Usivuleleand others, who would fain have allowed him a hearing, Nomadudwana madehis way among the people brandishing his "medicine charms," and cryingout that there was a plot on foot to defraud them of their prey--oftheir lawful vengeance on the white captive--and stirring them up toclamour for him to be delivered over to them. The plan was successful.With one mighty roar every voice was raised besieging the chief with itsbloodthirsty demands. Waiting until the tumult had subsided somewhat,Sandili raised his hand, and pointing his finger at the prisoner said,in slow but distinct tones:

  "_Do with him what you will_."

  Immediately the firm grasp of many hands was upon him, and Clavertonfelt that his time had now come.

  "Wait!" he cried, in a ringing voice. "Wait--I have a message for theGreat Chief."

  His guards paused awe-stricken. A red flash darted into their midst,and loud rolled the thunderpeal immediately overhead. With a swiftglance upward the prisoner continued:

  "Hear me now, Sandili. My magic is greater than that of your mostredoubted wizards. Who stood unseen at Nomadudwana's side in the spiritcave in Sefele's cliff and laughed?--I did. Who was wafted safely downyonder tremendous height and walked forth unhurt?--Ask the spirit ofNxabahlana, and the men who saw me. This is your sentence. Your tribeshall soon be driven from this land, which the English shall enjoy inits place. Your sons, Matanzima and Gonya there, shall work in chainsfor the English for many long years--the best years of their lives--shall slave beneath the hot sun with common convicts, driven like oxenby their taskmasters. And you, yourself," he went on, speaking slowlyand solemnly, as with outstretched hand he pointed at the savagechieftain, "you, Sandili--the Great Chief of the House of Gaika--beforesix moons are dead, you shall meet a dog's death at the hand of a Fingo`dog,' and the chieftainship of the House of Gaika shall become in you athing of the past. This is my `word' to you, Sandili, and to allpresent."

  Nothing but the speaker's reputation as a wizard, who had made his magicfelt, would have obtained for him a hearing. His listeners wereobviously impressed. There was a moment of silence.

  "Whaow!" suddenly exclaimed the Kafirs standing around. "Listen to thewhite man! He dares to revile the Great Chief!"

  The countenance of the old chief became gloomy and troubled as Clavertonfinished speaking. Then again he raised his hand in fatal gesture.

  "_Do with him what you will_."

  What is that frightful crash as if the earth were split in twain, rentby an indescribably terrible blow? What is that dazzling, steely glare,all blue and plum-coloured and liquid in its blinding incandescence?There is a smell of burning in the air, in spite of the rush of delugingrain slanting down like waterspouts on to the earth. Chief,councillors, captive, populace, can hardly see each other as they raisetheir heads, which they have bent, appalled beneath the crashingthunder-note of heaven. The blinding flood pours down upon them,lashing up the ground into a very torrent of liquid mud, as again thatfrightful peal shakes the earth, and the gleam of a fiery sea is intheir eyes. No other thought have they for the moment than that ofrefuge from the fury of the storm. The prisoner is dragged into a hut,and, in a moment, not a single human form is to be seen in the open,while the terrific thunderclaps peal forth, and the lightning gleamsblue upon the rush of water now flowing several inches deep over thesoaked ashes of the fire which, but for this timely interference, wouldeven now be devouring Claverton's limbs.

  The hideous sport of these barbarians must even be deferred tillmorning, for not another stick or straw will be induced by any power onearth to light as the deluging rain still beats down upon the earth inunabated fury--nor can the people stand out in such weather to witnessit, and this is of the very essence of the performance.

  So there in the dark, stuffy Kafir hut, securely bound, jealouslywatched, and the last hope of deliverance fled, lies Arthur Claverton;beyond all reach of his friends; cast off by her of whose love he wasmore certain than of his own life; his hated rival triumphant and securefrom his just vengeance; and he only awaiting the morrow to be draggedforth, in the prime of life, to suffer a slow and lingering death amongunheard-of tortures in order to make sport for a crowd of brutalsavages. Truly his lot is a hopeless one indeed.

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  Note 1. An institution similar to the good old custom of "witchfinding," among ourselves.