Cetshwayo’s response had been entirely predictable, ‘Why does the Governor of Natal speak to me about my laws? Do I go to Natal and dictate to him about his laws? While wishing to be friends with the English I do not agree to give my people over to be governed by laws sent to me by them.’
This response was accepted by Bulwer, who understood the Zulus well enough to respect their desire for independence. But to the newly appointed High Commissioner for Native Affairs in South Africa, Sir Bartle Frere, it was a declaration of war. Frere’s response was to ask Britain for reinforcement troops, a request that was denied. Two days before the refusal reached him, and acting with certainty that he would soon receive at least two more battalions and cavalry to swell existing British regular troops and colonial volunteer units, Frere took the first steps towards what would ultimately end the Zulu empire. He acted without the support of his government and from a desire to expand British influence north of the Thukela River. His urgent need to gain control of fertile Zulu-held territory was compounded by the fact that the Boers were also contemplating action against the Zulus in order to grab their lands.
Frere announced that Blood River, hotly contested between Boer and Zulu since twelve thousand impi had been defeated some forty years earlier defending land that had been annexed without their permission, was to be returned to the Zulus. However, Frere had allowed himself some freedom. In return for recognition of sovereignty, he’d ignored advice, and instead of the Boers being compensated for loss of land by the Transvaal, those who left the area would receive recompense from the Zulus.
In addition, any Zulus who had been involved in border skirmishes with the Boers over the Blood River territory were to be handed over within twenty days with fines totalling six hundred head of cattle paid at that time. Within thirty days, summary executions without trial were to cease. The Zulu army was to be disbanded and their military system broken up. Young men were free to marry on reaching maturity. A British Resident would be located in Zululand to enforce these requirements and no-one was to be expelled from Zululand without his express permission. Any dispute involving a European would be heard in front of both the king and the Resident.
Cetshwayo accepted that those guilty of raids against Boer settlers should be handed over to the British. He even agreed to pay the stipulated fines, despite finding the demand for six hundred head of cattle totally unreasonable. As for the rest of it, the king contemptuously dismissed the British dictums as arrogant interference and a threat to the Zulu way of life.
Because of seasonally flooded rivers, Cetshwayo said it would take him longer than the stipulated twenty days to hand over the men and cattle. Frere took this as evasion and replied that the ultimatum stood. If the king had not complied within the required time, British troops would have no option but to advance into Zululand. Cetshwayo maintained a dignified silence and, on 11 January 1879, Lord Chelmsford’s forces crossed the Thukela.
John Dunn had been advised by Cetshwayo to ‘stand aside’. Settlers in Zululand, Dallas and Lorna among them, were, in the main, undecided about what to do. Zululand was home. The majority enjoyed good relations with their African neighbours. Word had come out that those who took no action against the Zulus need not fear for their safety. But most had deeply rooted connections with Britain. Unlike the generous offer of Cetshwayo that settlers who chose to stay would remain unharmed, Britain used emotional blackmail. It was up to the conscience of every man, the letter stated. They could stay in Zululand and be regarded as traitors, or volunteer their services to a severely understrength British force in its noble quest to gain outright administration of Zululand, thus protecting the very lives of those who lived there.
Stirring rhetoric unless one knew, as Dallas did only too well, that it was all a cover-up for simple land-grabbing greed. He did not approve of the invasion and so, for a time, did nothing. But now came this letter and its blatant patriotic appeal.
‘What are you going to do?’ Lorna had returned to the kitchen and found him, head in hands.
‘About Torben or this?’ He looked up and waved the letter.
‘That.’
‘Christ! I honestly don’t know.’
She joined him at the table. ‘It’s not fair. Why can’t they leave us out of it? The Zulus are willing to.’
‘The Zulus don’t want war. The British declared it and are determined to win at any costs.’
‘Then you have no option, do you?’
‘Not really. Refuse and I’ll be considered a traitor. If I join up, we lose everything here. Cetshwayo granted us this land in good faith and we’ve kept our side of the bargain. This crazy fool, Frere, is hell-bent on war and every able-bodied man is expected to volunteer. I’m no traitor, Lorna, but for the life of me I can’t see the sense of confrontation unless all else has failed. Frere knows he can only push Cetshwayo so far and he’s deliberately exceeding the limits. He’s forcing the Zulus into a war they can’t win. It’s criminal.’
‘And it won’t end there, will it?’
Dallas shook his head. ‘With the Zulus defeated, Britain will have control over the whole region. The Boers won’t stand for that.’
‘Bloody man,’ she burst out, referring to Frere. ‘Damn him and his arrogant Queen and country mentality.’
Dallas often agreed with Lorna’s plainly expressed sentiments. She frequently speculated on what state the world might be in if it were controlled by women. When others pointed out that Britain already was, she would tartly reply that Queen Victoria was nothing but a figurehead surrounded by male advisers.
But the decision was out of Dallas’s hands. Reluctant as he was, he knew he had no option. ‘We’ll have to pack up and leave,’ he told Lorna. ‘You and the children can live in Durban until it’s over.’ He screwed up the letter in anger. ‘Damn it! Whichever way you look at it, we’re betraying someone.’
Lorna stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her chin on his head. ‘Even John has become a scout,’ she said, referring to their friend John Dunn.
‘What else could he do?’ Dallas asked. ‘Cetshwayo’s council of chiefs and princes blame him for the breakdown in communication between Britain and the Zulus. They threatened to kill him. He had nowhere to go but south. Once John was in Natal he had no option. The same will happen to us. I either remain here on the farm and hope for the best, or seek safety in Durban and become eligible for duty. Not much of a choice, is it?’
‘Oh, Dallas.’ She reached over and took his hands in hers. ‘Just when everything is going so well.’
Dallas kissed her fingers, then rose from the kitchen table, his mind made up. ‘Start packing,’ he told Lorna. ‘Like it or not, we really have no choice. Might as well make the best of it.’ He jammed a hat on his head and left to speak with Mister David.
Riding Tosca, the green rolling hills, a wide, picture-blue sky and sparkling rivers seemed to mock him. He’d been warned it couldn’t last. Young, he’d paid no heed, confident that if a time came for him to move on, he could do so without a backward glance. Dallas hadn’t anticipated that the land would creep inside his heart and soul, that his love for the farm would become inextricably enmeshed with love, laughter, children and Lorna until it was impossible to think of one without the other. Leaving hurt. It wasn’t the cattle. In anticipation of this moment, he’d sold most of them. Those left would, he knew, disappear into Zulu hands the moment his back was turned.
It wasn’t the house either, although, God knows, enough blood, sweat and back-breaking labour had gone into its building. It was the memories. Spring mornings, the air crisp and clear, the call of an eagle, the contented lowing of cattle, the smell of wood fires on the day Kate drew her first breath. It was family picnics by the river, the velvet depth of night, smells after rain and a million small recollections blended together in a mosaic back-drop to the life he had chosen. That was it. He had made a choice and now faceless ambitious idiots were interfering. Dallas accepted that
to live without outside influence would be near impossible. He did not, however, have to like it.
In a sour frame of mind, he located Mister David and dismounted. The two men greeted each other then stood side-by-side not speaking, looking out over the distant hills, their thoughts finding a similar theme.
Finally, his induna broke the silence. ‘The king has sent more runners.’
Dallas nodded. ‘I don’t blame him. He needs every man he can get. Have you been called?’
‘Yes. We leave tomorrow.’
Dallas shaded his eyes and stared out at the beauty that was his land. ‘What becomes of this place?’ he asked softly. ‘Whoever wins this damned war, Zululand will never be the same.’
‘I fear you are right. It is not our custom to own land, only the king can do that. But if we are to hold it, our ways must change. We will need your paper proof that it is ours.’
Dallas gave Mister David a questioning glance. ‘What if you lose?’
‘It will not be so. Defeat has no place in our hearts.’
‘Nor in those of your enemy,’ Dallas reminded him.
Mister David shrugged. ‘There is no point in thinking this. No-one can run from the plans of Unkulunkulu.’
Dallas raised his eyebrows and made no comment. Unkulunkulu was the old, old one who created man, beast, flora, weather and all the geological features on earth. His achievements were acknowledged though he was not worshipped as an ancestor. In fact, although Zulus accepted that all men sprang from Unkulunkulu, they also believed he died so long ago that no-one could remember his praise poems. Being the first father of mankind, he was responsible for giving the Zulus the spirits of their ancestors. As such, Unkulunkulu had become a respected yet shadowy deity in Zulu custom.
‘I see you chew long on my words,’ the Zulu commented.
Dallas smiled. ‘I was thinking earlier how I dislike the actions of others affecting my life. You make me see that it is not only the living who interfere. Sometimes we cannot see a reason. You are right. There is no point complaining about that which is beyond our control.’
‘You will fight us?’
‘I must.’
‘So,’ Mister David put out a hand and they shook, African-style, thumb, palm, thumb, clasp. ‘Today we are friends. Tomorrow enemies. What is in our hearts will decide where we stand when the fighting finishes.’
‘Stay safe, Mister David, for I would not like to lose your friendship to something that is not of our making.’
The Zulu looked surprised. ‘If it must happen, it is better that way. In war, these things happen but to cause a friend to die in times of peace would be a burden of great sorrow.’
They walked together to the African kraals. No-one was attending to their duties, nor had Dallas expected it. A summons from the king required an immediate response. However, certain rituals were essential to guard a warrior from harm. Seeing that the men were absorbed, some with their cattle calling on ancestors, others leaping and mock fighting in preparation for battle or fashioning charms for protection, Dallas left them to it. At some stage during the night, they would all depart to join their regiments before assembling at the Great Place, the king’s isigodlo, ready to do their great father’s bidding.
Riding back to the house, Dallas found himself in a reflective mood.
Five years had passed. Better than none but not nearly enough. Would he be allowed back? Would he wish to return? Dallas didn’t know but suspected not. If Britain won, as it surely must, Zululand would be fragmented. The conquerors would deliberately try to prevent unification, relying on old tribal jealousies to keep the country from rising as one. Without a king, the tribes would not bind together. The ensuing faction fighting would ensure that any white man’s future there was uncertain. If, by some miracle, the Zulus prevailed, those settlers who had previously enjoyed both their friendship and Cetshwayo’s protection could very well find themselves regarded as traitors by the Africans. Besides, if the British did lose this war they’d return and fight another day. Far better to walk away now.
Dallas took Tosca to the highest point on the farm. From there, spreading in all directions, was the land he’d come to regard as his. ‘My mistake,’ he told himself. ‘It belongs to the king.’
His mind wandered back to the day Cetshwayo granted him the use of it. With John Dunn he had ridden to Ulundi, where the king was expecting them. After greeting Dunn warmly, intelligent eyes turned to Dallas, assessing the stranger even before introductions were made. Dallas noticed that although Cetshwayo was extremely relaxed in his treatment of John, the latter observed all formalities.
‘Welcome,’ the king said in a strong, deep voice. He looked at Dunn. ‘Does your young friend speak our language?’
John indicated that Dallas should reply.
‘I am still learning, Baba.’
Cetshwayo smiled. ‘Then forgive me if I correct your mistakes for badly spoken Zulu is offensive to my ears.’
The king was casually dressed – that is to say, he was naked save for a slim strip of woven hide around his waist onto which had been sewn an animal skin flap at the back and a bush of genet tails at the front. His only adornments were the isiCoco and a brass bracelet. Although bordering on fat, his body appeared firm and well toned.
‘I see you are surprised to find me looking like one of my less fortunate subjects,’ he said, a twinkle in his large and shining eyes. He gave a laugh and his belly shook. ‘I am at home,’ he explained simply. ‘For whom should I dress to impress?’
‘No-one, Baba,’ Dallas said hastily.
Again, the great belly laugh. ‘Sit. We will drink beer.’
Dunn and Dallas sat on mats while Cetshwayo took a small wooden stool. Dallas remembered how impressed he’d been by the king’s appearance. He had an open and good-natured face, made dignified by a short, neatly trimmed beard. His eyes roved restlessly as if afraid of missing something. He held himself erect and kept his head high, rather like royalty in England, so he always appeared to be looking down his nose. With skin darker than most Zulus, when he smiled, his teeth were startlingly white.
Beer was served, the pot passing between them several times before Cetshwayo raised the reason for their visit.
‘I understand you seek land in the home of my people. Does Britain not have enough already?’
Dallas felt his heart sink. This was not a good start. ‘It is true, Baba, the English hold much land. But it is here that my heart lies.’
‘And mine, white man. This land belongs to me. Why should I deprive my own people by granting some of it to a stranger?’
‘I would take care of it as if it were mine. I would employ many people who would be encouraged to establish their own kraals, cultivate fields and raise cattle for themselves. They would also receive payment for their work.’
Cetshwayo nodded slowly. ‘You speak our words well, white man. By whom were you taught?’
‘He is known to me as Mister David. He worked with David Leslie.’
‘Ah. Then you have a good tutor. I know this man by reputation.’ The king turned to Dunn. ‘The land you spoke of is in the territory of Chief Gawozi kaSilwana. He must be consulted.’
‘Unless I am mistaken, Baba, he has already given his consent,’ Dunn replied.
Cetshwayo roared with mirth. ‘You miss nothing, John Dunn, nothing at all. I had forgotten that three of your wives are of the Mpungose people,’ he said finally, wiping his eyes and turning to Dallas. ‘A good man, Gawozi. I rely on his judgment, though his body is worthless.’
Dunn explained. ‘Chief Gawozi is a cripple. Paralysed. Despite this, he is highly respected. His mind is sharp and fair.’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Cetshwayo interrupted impatiently. ‘It is true that Gawozi has no objections. However, I need to be convinced. Tell me, white man, what else do you bring in return for this land?’
‘I will show you modern farming practices, yet learn of yours. I offer white man’s muthi but respect the ways of
Zulu medicine men. Women may be trained to work in a white man’s house and garden, though encouraged to keep their own traditions at home. Children can learn from an English teacher alongside my own and I would hope that those who teach the Zulu ways would include my family so that the young know and understand both cultures. Your ceremonies and traditions will be upheld and respected. I propose to stock and run a trading store for the convenience of all who live and work on this land.’
Dallas fell silent. It had been a long speech to make completely in Zulu. He was aware of his shortcomings in the language and suspected he’d made many mistakes. Yet Cetshwayo regarded him with something akin to respect.
‘Fine words, white man, if they are to be believed. Are they empty or real?’
‘There is no intention to deceive. I have seen many Zulu ways and often they make more sense than my own.’
‘The British want to take my land for themselves, as do the Boers. How do I know you are different?’
‘I have no words to prove my sincerity, Baba.’
‘Indeed, you do not. But the truth shines from your eyes. Tell me, white man, when this land is in flames, on which side of the river will you stand?’
There was no point in lying, Cetshwayo would see through any attempt to curry favour. ‘On the side of my ancestors, Baba.’
A deep sigh rose from the bare, broad chest. ‘Well said. The land is yours. Treat it respectfully.’ The king looked at John Dunn. ‘The terms are as we agreed. Two hundred rifles.’
‘You will have them in ten days, Baba.’
Cetshwayo looked back at Dallas. ‘One day, Mr Granger, the payment for your land may be turned against you.’
Dallas nodded agreement. ‘In my culture, Baba, there are those who cause change and others who think too much to do anything. I cannot control the future but I can live for the present. That is my way.’
‘And the past?’
‘That is for the conscience of those who lived then.’
‘And when that time comes to you, white man? When your hair is grey and back bent, what will you regret?’
Shadows in the Grass Page 45
