The circumstance of 'Ndakana's having been so positive that the cattle
would not take the rinderpest might easily puzzle those unacquainted
with the methods of the native doctor, nevertheless it was quite
characteristic. Although a colossal humbug, the "gqira," to a certain
extent, believes in his own powers. As is the case in other walks of
life, he gets so into the habit of deceiving others that he ends by
deceiving himself. Probably, however, in this case 'Ndakana may have
believed the reports which just about that time were current as to the
Cape Government having succeeded in staying the destroying course of the
disease by erecting a fence across the continent and keeping all animals
away from its vicinity. Moreover the accidental resemblance to a bull
which the cloud had taken may easily have been regarded by 'Ndakana's
superstitious mind as a sign that the progress of the disease had been
stayed. Superstition and fraud have in all ages gone hand in hand.
Again, it must be remembered that the reputation of a native doctor can
only be made by taking risks. One lucky guess, one confident prophecy
which happens to be crowned with fulfilment by the capricious Fates, and
a "gqira" may be sent spinning dizzily along the road of success with
such a momentum that many subsequent minor failures are condoned. Of
course, the day comes at length when the luckiest "gqira" makes a
mistake of such importance that he has to flee the neighbourhood and
ever afterwards hide his diminished head. It is a well-known fact that
under the rule of the native chiefs the "gqira" seldom died a natural
death.
Three days of feasting took place at Noquala's kraal, the neighbours
from far and near being bidden to it. Noquala was so pleased at his
cattle having been rendered safe from the threatened scourge that he did
not mind several of his fattest oxen being slaughtered for the occasion.
Just about sundown on the third day one of the herd-boys mentioned that
a certain heifer did not appear to be quite well. Noquala heard the
news without uneasiness; it was seldom that one got such a large herd of
cattle together without some of them becoming afflicted with one or
other of the major or minor ills that bovine flesh is heir to.
However, Noquala left the feasters and, directed by the boy, walked down
the hillside to where the sick heifer was standing. It turned out to be
one of the dun-coloured stock he had recently purchased out of the
proceeds of the sheep, and which had been brought down from the
Drakensberg.
The heifer certainly looked sick--very sick indeed. Its coat was
staring; it was breathing heavily and groaning at intervals. From its
nostrils was running a mass of thick, unclean, mucous discharge; water
copiously ran out of its eyes; its ears hung, not downwards, as is
usually the case with a sick beast, but backwards.
Noquala felt a shaft of sick dread transfix him. He stood before the
poor animal, which was evidently suffering acute pain. Its muzzle
retracted at each breath as one sees the nostrils of a human being
retract in severe cases of asthma. The creature turned an appealing eye
upon him--a large, beautiful dark eye, to which agony had lent a strange
and pathetic intelligence. Noquala's eyes grew moist, and a spasm
contracted his throat. He suffered with the suffering of the thing that
he loved.
While he was regarding the sick heifer Noquala heard the sound of
approaching footsteps, so after hastily getting rid of any signs of
emotion, he turned to meet the comer. This turned out to be a native
policeman, who, executing some message from the magistrate of the
district, had sniffed the feast from afar and turned aside to partake in
it. After he had carefully examined the heifer the policeman returned
to where he had left his horse. Then he informed the company that he
had suddenly remembered something which made it impossible for him to
spend the night, as he had already expressed his intention of doing,
with the feasters. After this he rode away in the direction of the
Magistracy.
Next morning the Magistrate was awakened out of his slumbers by word
that a policeman wanted to see him upon important business. The police
had been carefully warned to examine into and report upon suspicious
cases of bovine disease which might come under their notice. At the
same time the superficial symptoms of rinderpest were explained to the
men so that they might better be able to diagnose cases of illness
coming under their personal notice.
In the present instance the symptoms reported by the constable suggested
rinderpest so exactly that the Magistrate immediately mounted his horse
and rode to Noquala's kraal so as personally to investigate matters. He
was accompanied by four mounted constables for use in the event of the
worst contingency being realised.
Noquala, after contemplating the sufferings of the sick heifer, had no
stomach for the feast. However, darkness had fallen, so nothing more
could be done until the following day. At earliest dawn he was among
his cattle. The dun-coloured heifer was evidently dying. It was lying
down where he had left it on the previous night, with its head turned
back against its shoulder--an attitude which Noquala had never
previously noticed in the case of a sick beast. Its extremities were
cold, its nostrils were inflamed. The soft, suffering glance from the
mild brown eye beamed out through a ring of foul, caked mucus, and
struck a chill into the gazer's soul.
He went with hurried steps to the large cattle-fold. Three other
animals struck him as looking seedy. What he particularly noticed was
the peculiar backward droop of the ears and the copious running from the
eyes and nostrils. He opened the gate and drove out the whole herd.
Then he called the boys and also the man from the Drakensberg, and had
the cattle which had come from there driven back into the enclosure.
The examination did not diminish his uneasiness. Seven animals appeared
to be sick. Every minute the symptoms appeared to increase with
horrible rapidity. 'Ndakana was sent for, and arrived drowsy with
repletion. He made light of the affair, saying that the animals were
probably seedy from a change of pasturage--a thing which often happened
when cattle were brought down from the mountains to the low country.
The Drakensberg cattle were herded together during the day, by afternoon
they were all sick. The heifer was still lingering in agony, but
evidently its hours were numbered. Noquala wandered from one suffering
creature to another, his heart rent with their pangs and his soul
quaking with fear.
Just before sundown the Magistrate arrived and made an examination.
There was, he said, no doubt that the disease was the dreaded
rinderpest. He drew a cordon around the valley in which Noquala's kraal
was situated, and put a chain of guards to see that no animal left the
infected area.
Noquala and 'Ndakana had a long and serious conversation, the result of
which was that the former's fears were somewhat stilled. What did the
Magistrate know of cattle? asked the "gqira." The beasts were all
right. Those from the Drakensberg had apparently eaten of some
poisonous herb on the way down. A few might die, but the others would
recover. He--'Ndakana--would stake his reputation on the correctness of
his view. In the meantime he would go to the bush and dig out some
roots which were an infallible remedy against the results of eating
poisonous bushes.
The infallible remedy was administered, but it had small, if any,
effect. Next day the heifer was dead, and every one of the Drakensberg
cattle appeared to be doomed. Then they began to die, one by one at
first; afterwards by twos and threes. Some appeared to take a turn
towards recovery, only suddenly to succumb. The "gqira" was voluble
over the effects of the poison. He remembered just such a similar case
taking place in the Hlangweni country, where he had once lived. None of
the other cattle showed signs of sickness as yet, so Noquala fully
accepted the poison-bush theory.
But it could be seen that the "gqira" was uneasy. Every morning he
would turn out before any one else, and spend a long time among the
cattle. Then, when the others rose from their slumbers, he would
triumphantly report that there was no sign of disease among any but the
Drakensberg herd. One morning, however, he failed to make his
triumphant report; in fact, when the others arose, there was nothing of
the "gqira" to be seen. One of the boys said that he had been entrusted
with a message from 'Ndakana to the effect that the latter had gone to a
more distant forest to get some roots of greater potency than any
obtainable close at hand.
Noquala went down to the kraal, and noticed that a number of cattle,
besides those of the Drakensberg herd, were showing signs of sickness.
From that morning the kraal of Noquala knew the presence of 'Ndakana the
"gqira" no more.
When the sun went down that day every member of the Drakensberg herd was
dead, and a number of other cattle were sick with symptoms similar to
those they had suffered from.