It was late in the afternoon when Elijah arrived, somewhat tired from
his long walk. He was a spare, loosely built youth with heavy features
and a gloomy expression of countenance. His mother greeted him with
much tenderness, and his father tried to be genial. But conversation
between this father and son was extremely difficult. The involuntary
mutual foundation of feeling was contempt, and the superstructure of
conventional tolerance which formed their plane of communication was not
conducive to geniality. They had thus got into the habit of having as
little to say to each other as possible, and Noquala usually felt it
necessary to start on one of his rounds of inspection of his "ngqoma"
cattle within a few days of his son's return for the holidays.
On the present occasion the cordiality which usually was maintained
between the mother and son as soon as the father's back was turned was
somewhat impaired. There was a strong restraint on the son's side,
which the mother found it hard to combat. When, however, Elijah had
been at home for a week the cause was made clear in the following
conversation:--"Mother," said Elijah, after an awkward interval, "when
were you at church last?"
Makalipa flashed her keen eyes upon her son's gloomy face for an instant
before she answered--
"You know quite well how it is that I do not go to church."
"Yes, mother, but I want you to go. Think what people must say about
me, a man who wants to be a minister, and who has a mother who, although
she is a Christian, does not go to church."
"Elijah, my son, I do not go to church, it is true, but I can read my
Bible, and I don't remember the chapter in which it teaches that a son
should instruct the mother who bore him. Of course, when you are a
minister it will be different. Then I will go and hear you preach. So
you had better make haste and have a church of your own if you want to
save my soul."
Elijah walked away without replying. The day was warm, so he went and
threw himself down upon his mat in the big hut in which his father and
mother also slept. His mother, remorseful of having snubbed him,
brought him some food a short time afterwards, but he refused to eat and
said that he only wanted to sleep. Makalipa put this down to the
sulks--a complaint to which Elijah had been subject to from earliest
childhood--so she set the food aside and went down to the fields to
superintend the harvesting of the grain.
When she returned the sun was down. Elijah was still lying on his mat,
apparently asleep. His mother tried to arouse him, but he at once
relapsed into a doze, after just murmuring that he had a bad headache.
So Makalipa, after placing some food next to him, retired to bed and
slept soundly until dawn.
When Makalipa arose she noticed that Elijah was still asleep.
Something, however, in his breathing struck her as being strange.
Later, when she attempted to rouse him, she found that his mind was
wandering and that he was in a burning fever.
It was a severe attack of enteric fever that had struck Elijah down. A
week went by, but he became worse and worse. Noquala was still away and
Makalipa became more and more alarmed. At length she made up her mind
to call in a European doctor, so she dug up some money and sent
Zingelagahle in with it to the Magistracy, with a message asking the
District Surgeon to come and visit her son.
The District Surgeon was one who had no sympathy with and therefore did
not command the confidence of the natives. Not making due allowance for
the limitations of the native mind, and its consequent inability to
grasp the importance of attention to detail in illness, he honestly
thought that in serious cases his advice, as well as the medicines he
supplied, were of little avail, and he usually said so when occasion
offered.
It was a long ride from the Magistracy to Noquala's kraal, and when the
District Surgeon arrived the sun had nearly sunk. He meant to obtain a
night's lodging at a mission station a few miles away, but he was not
sure of his road and was very much afraid of being benighted. Thus he
was in a great hurry to get his work over and then proceed on his
journey.
Elijah had just reached the crisis of his disease when the doctor
arrived. The patient was lying with nothing between him and the cold,
hard floor of the hut but a rush-mat and a thin cotton blanket. He
appeared to be almost at the last gasp. The doctor examined him, took
his temperature, and asked as to what description of nourishment the
patient had been getting. The reply he received filled him with wrath
and disgust. He felt that he could do nothing, and he said so.
Makalipa heard with a sinking heart that her son's hours were numbered,
and that it was extremely unlikely that he would live until another sun
arose. Then the doctor mounted his horse and rode away without
administering any medicine, and Makalipa sat on the ground next to her
son, with her heart filled with darkness, awaiting the end.
The doctor was hardly out of sight when Noquala, who had been sent for
several days before, returned. He was somewhat shocked at hearing what
the doctor had said, but a native never gives up hope of recovery so
long as there is life in the patient. Touching Makalipa on the shoulder
he beckoned to her to follow him and stepped out of the hut.
"Your European doctor has said Elijah must die, but I have seen people
get better even after they have looked like that. Let us send for
'Ndakana and see what he can do."
Makalipa nodded; then she went back to the bedside of her son.
Deep down in the mind of every human being is an elementary belief in
the supernatural, and when brought face to face with some terrible,
incalculable danger this is apt to rise to the surface. If this be true
of those who have centuries of civilisation behind them, how much more
so is it in the case of those who are only struggling to emerge from
barbarism? The agitated mind of Makalipa grasped greedily at the
possibility which her husband's words suggested.
'Ndakana was a native "gqira," or doctor, who had made for himself a
considerable reputation locally. His kraal was not more than a couple
of miles distant. Thus, within an hour of being sent for, he was at the
bedside of the sufferer.
The first step in his treatment was the causing of an ox to be
slaughtered. The blood of this animal was sprinkled over the hut,
inside and outside, the patient coming in for a share. Then with a
sharpened stick he made small incisions at different parts of Elijah's
body and limbs, and into these he rubbed some powder which he took from
the horn of an antelope. After this he danced, violently but silently,
around the hut, coming in every now and then, in a state of copious
perspiration, to inquire as to how the patient was.
Soon after this Elijah was reported to be a little better. He had asked
for and drunk a little sweet milk. Then 'Ndakana went home, saying that
he had driven away the evil spirits, and that if the patient were kept
on a milk diet for a week he would surely recover. The "gqira's" words
came true. Elijah improved rapidly, and before the week was over began
to complain bitterly at being allowed nothing but milk to stay his
biting hunger. 'Ndakana was made happy by a fee which took the form of
two of Noquala's best cattle.
Elijah was by no means grateful for the means which had been undertaken
towards his recovery. That he, a Christian and a candidate for the
ministry, should have been practised upon by a magician--one of a class
which formed the greatest obstacle to the spread, of Christianity among
the people--was a bitter reflection. Having been more or less
unconscious throughout his illness, he did not know how bad he had been,
and was thus firmly convinced that he would have recovered without
'Ndakana's assistance.
The mother, however, thought differently. She remembered the sinking of
the heart with which she had heard the European doctor condemn her son
to death, and how the patient had immediately taken a change for the
better when 'Ndakana's treatment once commenced. Thus arose another
cause of estrangement between mother and son.
Elijah was still weak when he decided to return to the seminary, not
wishing to lose the opening of the session. His father lent him a horse
for the occasion, and sent Zingelagahle on foot after him to bring the
animal back.