There is no bird in any last year's nest.
_One_.
Whoever has traversed the valley of the Umzinivubu river below the
Tabankulu Mountain, in that vicinity where the Tsitsa, the Tina, and the
Umzimhlava streams have carved their several devious courses almost
through the vitals of the earth to the main water-way, has seen the
roughest part of Pondoland, and seldom feels inclined to repeat the
experience. However, ponies accustomed to such regions will clamber up
and down precipices which would make a domestic cat that is only
habituated to the house-top of civilisation nervous, and accidents on
such journeys seldom occur.
It has been my fortune twice to penetrate these rugged regions, an
interval of a year elapsing between the expeditions. Hence the
following tale.
The season was late autumn. I had made a very early start, and my
horses were tired. I decided, therefore, to camp where I was, between
the precipice from which I had just escaped and another, equally
dangerous, frowning just before me, and which it seemed impossible to
avoid. The place was a small, flat ledge upon a rugged tongue of land
running from the mountain out to a sheer bluff, under which the river,
still slightly swollen from the late summer rains, murmured, hundreds of
feet below.
A native kraal consisting of three huts, a stone cattle enclosure, and a
small goat-pen made of bushes, stood on the ledge. Two of the huts were
occupied by human beings, and the third, ordinarily used as a corn
store, was civilly placed at my disposal by the head of the kraal, an
old Pondo named Zwilibanzi. His son, one Madolo, and the latter's wife
and two children, were the only other occupants of the kraal.
I was particularly struck by the air of cleanliness and neatness
pervading the whole establishment. This was in strong contrast with the
condition of the other kraals I had visited. The Pondos are, it may be
stated, much dirtier in their habits than are other natives. Their huts
are usually ragged and disorderly on the outside, and as to the
interiors--why, the less said about them the better.
The night was cold, so after assisting my after-rider to make the horses
as comfortable as circumstances would permit, I entered the hut of
Madolo, who, with the old man, was sitting on the ground next to a
bright, almost smokeless fire. I then, for the first time, noticed the
two children, one boy named Dhlaka, aged about ten years, and the other
a little girl aged about six, whose name turned out to be Nodada, a
Kafir word meaning "wild duck." The mother was absent, but was
momentarily expected to return.
Nodada was a remarkably pretty child. All she wore in the way of
clothing was a small apron of strung beads, unless a necklet of charms
hung on hairs from the tail of the "ubulunga" cow can be counted as
such. She made friends with me at once, although, as her grandfather
assured me, she had never previously seen a European. The boy, on the
other hand, would not come to terms at all, but crouched on the ground
near the door, ready to spring up and flee, as he did whenever I
attempted to make advances, After a short interval, the mother, a
good-looking woman of about thirty, arrived. Her name was Nomayeshe.
After greeting her husband, her father-in-law, and me (as guest) with
politeness and ease, she turned to the children; the evidently genuine
affection manifested between her and them was truly remarkable. She sat
down on the floor of the hut and they flung themselves upon her. They
were immediately clasped to her breast, with many an endearing epithet.
I could not help wishing at the time that some of those who believe the
Aryan race in South Africa to have a monopoly of the gentler feelings
and emotions could have been present. It could easily be seen that the
warmest feeling on the part of the mother was for the little girl, who,
up to the time when I retired for the night, never left her side.
Next morning, shortly after daybreak, I bade farewell to my kind hosts,
and resumed climbing the anything-but-delectable mountains. In pausing
to take breath just before passing out of sight of the kraal I looked
back, and saw Nomayeshe at the hut door looking after me, and the little
girl holding on to her mother's skin skirt.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Within a few days of a year afterwards, I travelled over the same
course, but in an opposite direction. I had attempted to reach old
Zwilibanzi's, with the view of spending the night there, but when the
sun went down, leaving me still several miles away from that spot, I
found it necessary to seek shelter at another kraal, where my
entertainment was somewhat indifferent. However, I reached Zwilibanzi's
next day at about noon. Even from a distance it was apparent that
things were changed for the worse in comparison with what I had seen a
year previously. The huts looked dilapidated, and there was an
atmosphere of dreariness over the whole establishment. I found old
Zwilibanzi asleep on a mat on the sunny side of his hut, but could see
no sign of another human being. I wakened the old man, but it was some
time before I could bring myself to his remembrance. He was totally
blind and extremely deaf, and had aged considerably in every respect.
At length he remembered me, and then he seemed extremely pleased.
Where were Madolo, Nomayeshe, and the children? I asked. Alas!
Nomayeshe and the little girl Nodada were both dead, Madolo had left the
neighbourhood, and the boy Dhlaka had gone to stay with an uncle at
another kraal. Of the happy family I had so often thought of, only this
old man remained. A nephew, with his two wives, had come to dwell at
the kraal, but I gathered from Zwilibanzi that they were not kind to
him, that the nephew was idle, and too much in the habit of going to
beer-drinks, and the wives lazy, ill-tempered, and fonder of emptying
than of filling the milk-sack and the calabashes.
There was much that was tragic, and some that was sordid, in the old
man's tale. What follows is an account of the tragedy.
_Two_.
It was just at the merging of autumn and winter; the last of the maize
crop was being gathered in, and the first touch of frost was browning
the hill-tops. The field cultivated by Zwilibanzi's family lay in a
ravine a few hundred yards below the northern side of the ledge on which
the kraal was built. Thither Nomayeshe, with another woman who came to
assist at the harvesting, went every day for the purpose of stripping
what remained of the maize-cobs from the withered stalks, and carrying
what they gathered in baskets up to the kraal. At this work Madolo was
not supposed to assist, so he took his departure for the "great place"
of the paramount Pondo chief, for the purpose of attending an
"umkandhlu," or "meeting for talk," of which general notice had been
given.
Early in the afternoon of the second day after Madolo left, there
remained little more than two basketfuls of grain to remove, so
Nomayeshe, with the other woman and Dhlaka, went down with baskets to
fetch it. Some little gleaning had to be done, so they expected to be
away, more or less, for the whole afternoon.
The day was cold, and old Zwilibanzi was lying asleep in his hut, where
a fire had been lighted. Little Nodada, who was very intelligent for
her age, was left behind with instructions to attend to the fire and see
that it neither went out nor endangered the hut by blazing too freely.
This was an occupation to which she was quite accustomed. Thus, when
Nomayeshe and her two companions went to the field, the old man and the
child were the only ones left at the kraal.
The cattle were within sight on the hill-side, and the little flock of
goats was close at hand. Just before he disappeared over the lip of the
ledge, Dhlaka called out to Nodada, asking her to keep her eye on the
goats, among which were a few strange ones that might be liable to
stray.
The sun was still shining when Nomayeshe returned. She found old
Zwilibanzi asleep next to the fireplace, which was quite cold, but
little Nodada was missing. At first she felt no alarm, but rather anger
at the child's disobedience in thus absenting herself, but after the sun
sank behind the 'Ngwemnyama Mountain, and the child was still absent,
she began to feel uneasy. When the shades of night began to darken over
the valley she became alarmed, and began searching all around the edge
of the plateau, calling loudly the child's name. The woman, her
assistant in the harvesting, helped in the search. Up and down the
stony gullies, among the narrow rock fissures, below the precipice with
which the ledge where the kraal was built ended, the frantic mother and
her companion sought with flaming brands throughout the greater part of
the long, cold night, but no trace of the child could they find.
The kraal nearest to that of Zwilibanzi was about three miles away, and
thither Nomayeshe hurried some time before daybreak, upon her
companion's suggestion that the child might have taken refuge there. At
this kraal, however, nothing could be heard of her. When day broke all
the men, women, and children turned out and scoured the country. The
alarm was wailed out to all the surrounding kraals, and the inhabitants
of these joined in the search. When the all too short day drew towards
its close, little Nodada was still missing. The hills resounded with
the shouts of the seekers, and dwellers in the more distant valleys,
flocking in to see what was the matter, had swelled the number of the
searchers to a considerable crowd. But all in vain. The sun again
sank, and night descended from an untarnished sky of throbbing stars,
and the poor little child was still lost in the maze of bare, frowning
peak and yawning chasm.
The unhappy mother was now nearly insane. Throughout the whole day she
had never rested for a moment, and since the previous noon she had not
tasted food. When darkness fell and the seekers returned to their
homes, she kindled a large fire on a stony ridge just above the kraal,
and all night long she wandered about carrying firebrands, and calling
the name of her lost Nodada into the cold ear of the night that mocked
her with wild echoes.
Daylight found the searchers again at work, but the experience of the
second day was only a repetition of that of the first. Late in the
afternoon Nomayeshe fell exhausted to the ground, and was carried
senseless to her dwelling. Then the searchers again wended sadly
homewards, feeling that further effort would be vain.
_Three_.
The kraal of 'Ndondo was built in a particularly inaccessible part of
the valley of the Umzimhlava, and about seven miles from the dwelling of
Zwilibanzi. Here, on the second day after the disappearance of little
Nodada, was held a small and select gathering. A fat ox had been
slaughtered for the occasion, and the pink foam of beer was visible over
the lips of several large earthen pots, some of them nearly three feet
high.
'Ndondo was related to the heads of several important kraals in the
neighbourhood, to which he had only very recently returned. He had, a
few years previously, been "smelt out" upon an accusation of having, by
means of black magic, caused the death of one of the wives of his chief.
Luckily, however, he had got wind of the matter in time, and
accordingly had managed to escape--not alone with his life, but with the
bulk of his cattle--to the Cwera country. His alleged confederate had
not been so lucky. This unhappy man had been tortured to death, his
kraal had been destroyed, and all his property confiscated.
Subsequently, however, 'Ndondo, by means of judicious bribery, had
managed to convince the chief of his innocence, and had accordingly been
permitted to return, as it were, on probation of good behaviour. He was
rich in cattle, and was now celebrated for generosity and hospitality to
the "isanuse" and "inyanga" fraternities, members of which were
generally to be found at his kraal.
On the present occasion, no less than four witch-doctors--one a most
celebrated man, a very Matthew Hopkins among witch-finders--were
present, the occasion being an attempt to cure one of 'Ndondo's
daughters of what was really epilepsy, but which was supposed to be an
attack of "umdhlemnyana," or "love frenzy," believed to have been
induced by a young man of the neighbourhood by means of the casting a
love spell.
It was about mid-day. Long strips of roasted meat were circulating
among the feasters, and the beer, which was of a very heavy brew, was
being handed round freely in small pots, each with a cleft-calabash
spoon floating in it. Then one of the boys who had been herding cattle
on the mountain-side rushed in, breathless, and told a strange tale. He
had, so he said, been seeking honey in a steep gorge, the entrance to
which was visible from the kraal, when he heard cries, as of a child,
issuing from beneath a large flat stone. The gorge was not far off, and
thither the feasters wended, some gazing back ruefully at the liquor and
the baked meats.
They reached the flat stone; it was evidently part of an old land-slip,
and lay as a sort of bridge across the bottom of the gorge. On each
side the ground was flush with the top. Below it were piled stones
which had been carried over by aeons of floods, and above it boulders,
too heavy to admit of their being moved by water over the obstacle, had
lodged. Among these were a few crevices, this being probably due to a
general shifting of the whole mass under exceptionally violent pressure
of water from above.
All the men listened carefully, but at first nothing could be heard.
The boy, however, was evidently in earnest over his tale, so they all
sat down and waited. Sure enough after a few moments they heard a faint
wail issuing from under the stone. Here was a portent which the
witch-doctors welcomed as something coming specially within their
province, and towards an explanation of which they alone could give a
clue.
The most celebrated witch-doctor was asked his opinion. He did not give
an opinion; he gave a full and positive explanation of the case. There
was, he said, undoubtedly a child under the stone, but it had been
placed there by the "imishologu," or spirits of the earth, and under no
circumstances whatever should it be interfered with so long as it was in
their august charge. The "imishologu" might, of course, be asked in
some appropriate and orthodox manner to deliver the child back to the
light of day, but any attempt to violate their domain would certainly be
followed by severe punishment.
The three other witch-doctors at once declared that they had each
independently arrived at exactly the same conclusion.
Upon being asked as to what form the request to the "imishologu" should
take, the most celebrated witch-doctor claimed to have had it as a
direct personal communication from some most potent spirits of this
class, that the sounds most delectable to their shadowy ears were those
caused by the trampling hoofs and clashing horns of cattle, the lowing
of which was also grateful to them, but in a minor degree. He, the
witch-doctor, therefore recommended that the cattle be collected and
driven round and over the spot, so that haply thereby might the
earth-spirits be propitiated to the extent of permitting the imprisoned
child to return to the light of day. So the boys, of whom several were
present, were sent to collect the cattle on the mountain-side, and drive
them down the gorge for the appeasing of the "imishologu."
All this time the pitiful wail of a little child who was dying in the
cold and darkness could be heard coming at intervals from under the
stone, which had lain through immemorial ages, not more deaf to pity, or
more senseless, than the fraud and superstition of man.
The cattle were not far off, so within a short time the lowing herd was
hurried down the gorge by the shouting boys. The men then formed a ring
about a hundred yards in diameter, the flat stone being in the centre,
and in this circle the cattle were driven round and round, the animals
being crowded together so that their horns might clash, and beaten with
sticks to make them low and bellow loudly. This went on for some time;
until, in fact, the afternoon was well spent. Then the cattle were
driven away, and the witch-doctors, jointly and severally, shouted down
the crevices leading under the rock, conjuring the "imishologu" to
permit the imprisoned child to return to the light of day.
But, perchance, the "imishologu" slept, like Baal of old. They gave no
answer, nor did the child come forth. When the sun went down the men
returned to 'Ndondo's kraal, and resumed their feasting.
Next morning one of the minor witch-doctors stated that he had, on a
former occasion, been told by some "imishologu," in a vision, that the
light pattering of the hoofs, the varying bleat, and the rank smell of
goats were things that pleased them. After consultation it was decided
to try the experiment of propitiation by means of goats, where the
cattle had failed. The most celebrated witch-doctor, whilst admitting
the possibility of some result from the goat function, gave it as his
opinion that as the "imishologu" had remained obdurate in spite of the
cattle function, they would not now relent.
The witch-doctors again went up the gorge to the flat stone, the goats
being driven after them by the people of the kraal. They bent over the
cleft and listened carefully. After a while a faint moaning could be
distinctly heard. Then the goats were hurried in, made to crowd over
the stone, and to rush backward and forward. This went on until nearly
noon, when the flock of goats was driven away.
A most solemn invocation of the "imishologu" followed this, but they
were still unappeased. The child did not come forth, nor could any
sounds now be heard issuing from under the stone. Perhaps Death had at
length shown mercy.
The most celebrated witch-doctor now apparently became epileptic, and
soon fell into a trance. Upon awaking, he claimed to have been in
spiritual communication with the "imishologu." The child had, he
declared, been taken by the spirits of the earth, but was being well
treated, and was, in fact, much happier than it ever had been before.
It was now playing in the wonderful underground fields where the sun
never scorched nor wind chilled, with numerous companions. It would
never more suffer hunger, thirst, nor any other pain. It was so happy
that it did not wish to return to the regions of day and night. Much of
this may, after all, have been true.
_Four_.
After Nomayeshe had been carried down to her hut on the afternoon of the
second day of the search for her lost child, she lay long unconscious,
and when she awoke, it was to raging delirium, which lasted until late
in the night, when sleep suddenly overcame her.
Next morning, just after sunrise, she opened her eyes, and lay for a
long time wondering as to what had happened. At length she remembered,
and with a cry she started up for the purpose of going forth again to
search. She staggered out of the hut, only to fall helplessly to the
ground before the doorway. Several women from the nearest kraals had
come to tend her, and these tried to persuade her of the uselessness of
further search. Tears came to her relief, and she became calmer. At
length she was persuaded to drink a little milk, after which she sank to
the floor in a stone-like sleep. When she awoke, it was nearly noon.
It happened just about this time that Dhlaka, who had been out herding
the flock of goats, returned to the kraal with strange news. In the
veldt he had foregathered with other boys, who told him that a child had
been heard crying under a stone near the kraal of 'Ndondo.
When this was communicated to Nomayeshe, she uttered one wild cry in
which hope and agony were blended, and rushed forth. Her weakness had
disappeared, and she climbed the steep, stony hills so fast that the two
women who started with her were soon labouring on with heavy pantings,
some distance behind. The seven miles she had to travel led her through
many a tangled thicket, and along many a dizzy ledge with frowning
buttresses above, and sheer precipices yawning beneath. She plunged
into dark ravines, in the depths of which the light of day was almost
lost, and scaled narrow, knife-back ridges so steep that hands as well
as feet had to be used by the climber.
Nomayeshe reached the kraal of 'Ndondo alone, about the middle of the
afternoon, and probably two hours after the return of the party from the
scene of their unsuccessful attempt at appeasing the "imishologu" by
means of the goats.
These hours had been spent by the men in heavy drinking; all had
endeavoured to make up the time that had been lost, and the beer, being
now fully fermented, was at its point of greatest strength, just before
turning sour.
Nomayeshe, wild-eyed and quivering, strode into the circle and sank
exhausted to the ground before 'Ndondo, who was the only one present
with whom she was acquainted. In disjointed sentences she began asking
about her child, for she knew that the one she had heard of as crying
under the stone must be little Nodada.
'Ndondo was in a very maudlin state, and the only two clear ideas he had
were: that he must on no account whatsoever affront the witch-doctors,
and that the said witch-doctors had stringently forbidden any
interference with the child beneath the stone, under peril of the
vengeance of the "imishologu"; or rather, what concerned 'Ndondo more
nearly, under peril of offending the witch-doctors themselves.
'Ndondo accordingly declared, with drunken emphasis, that he knew
nothing of the matter, and that the account of the child crying under
the stone was an idle tale set current by boys, who should be well
beaten for speaking falsely.
The most celebrated witch-doctor, however, took a different line. He
had reached that stage in his cups which brings to some immense
self-confidence. He arose, albeit somewhat unsteadily, and made a
vigorous and eloquent speech. He recapitulated all he had previously
said about the danger of offending the "imishologu" by interference with
their concerns. He drew attention to an occurrence of a few years back,
which was still fresh in the memories of all present, when the solid
earth had shaken until a bluff of the mountain slid down with thunderous
roarings, and overwhelmed a kraal, not one of the inhabitants of which
had escaped. Continuing, he depicted once more the happy condition of
the child in the subterranean fields. He ended by pronouncing the
direst anathemas upon any one becoming accessory to the impious deed
which the woman contemplated.
Then Nomayeshe went around the circle, grovelling at the feet of each
individual separately, and beseeching that she might be shown the spot
where her Nodada, her little wild duck, the child she had carried in her
womb and suckled at her breast, lay perishing in the cold and darkness.
Some of the men were evidently inclined to tell, but the warning frowns
of the witch-doctors deterred them, and they maintained the cruelty of
silence.
Then Nomayeshe broke out into fierce rage, and cursed all present, and
their fathers and mothers before them as dogs and apes. She wished that
they might die under the spears of an enemy, and that the bodies of
their children might shrivel and hiss under their burning roof-trees.
This outburst came as a great relief to the men. Her invective was
easier to endure than her entreaties, and the drunken crew only laughed
at her fury.
While all this was going on, the two women who had followed Nomayeshe
arrived at the kraal. They had found out, from some other women they
had met, all that Nomayeshe wanted to know. These women described
accurately the situation of the flat stone, so when Nomayeshe staggered
back from the beer-drinkers, and met her two friends outside the circle
of huts, she was led at once by them to the gorge where she knew that
her lost child lay hidden.
It was dusk when they reached the stone. With unerring instinct the
mother made straight for the largest crevice, through which she at once
descended into the darkness. The two women waited in silence, standing
apart from each other. Soon a faint shriek was heard issuing as though
from the bowels of the earth. The women looked at each other with awe
in their eyes... Nomayeshe emerged from the crevice, clasping her dead
child to her bosom.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was past midnight when the three women, carrying Nodada's body,
arrived at Zwilibanzi's kraal. Their return journey was made by a
longer but safer route. Nomayeshe placed the little body on a mat, and
then laid herself down next to it. The two women lit a fire, and
prepared some food. When they went to Nomayeshe to try and persuade her
to eat, they found that she was dead.