The agony of Noquala now entered into its acute stage. The guards were
posted around the vale of pestilence and mourning in a pitiless ring.
Dozens of men were at work inside with pick and spade, digging pits for
the interment of the carcases. Soon, however, the deaths became so many
that the diggers could not keep pace with them, so the carcases were
allowed to lie and rot in the sunshine. Later, as the animals fell
sick, they were driven up towards the head of the valley, where the
stench of the dead poisoned their dying breath, and thus added another
pang to those the miserable creatures already suffered from. This
cruelty was rendered necessary by the circumstances of the case. It
was, above all, important to confine the infection within bounds, until
the surrounding herds had been inoculated.
Day by day, hour by hour, the mournful processions would wend, with the
slowness of a funeral, to this ghastly spot, where the swollen carcases
festered over the ground. Sometimes a doomed brute being goaded along
would suddenly take fright at the stench, and, gathering a flicker of
strength from its dismay, rush frantically backwards, until it tumbled
in a heap to the ground. Foul carrion-birds roosted upon every stump
and stone; others, gorged so that they could not fly, would hop ungainly
away when disturbed, and fall into a sick sleep when they stopped at a
few yards' distance.
The effluvium became so bad that it was found impossible to approach
this bovine Golgotha except when the wind was favourable. When the
breeze blew down the valley towards the kraal, the dwellers would be
seized with violent sickness.
Noquala, who had become quite prostrated when he found that the pest had
attacked his main herd and that 'Ndakana had bolted, soon recovered his
self-command, and bore himself with pathetic dignity. His hair and
beard became rapidly greyer; his face grew drawn and haggard; his eyes
took on the look of agony which he read, all day long, in the eyes of
the beasts he loved so well, and the sufferings of which seemed to be
mirrored in his consciousness. Some few--about a tenth of the herd--as
yet showed no sign of infection. The noble, dun-coloured bull still
stalked about majestically, breathing love and defiance in his low.
Well, thought Noquala, surely all his cattle would not die; he would be
left with a few with which to begin again with. Just the dun-coloured
bull and a few cows. It would be a joy once more to build up wealth.
No one ever heard of such a thing as that a multitude of cattle, such as
his, should die out of any disease. Alas! no one with whom Noquala had
foregathered had ever heard an adequate account of the fell effects of
the rinderpest.
But day by day the agony deepened, until at length the time came when
the splendid herd of a couple of weeks back all had expired except a few
sick and staggering creatures, the superior vitality of which had
prolonged for them the agonies of inevitable death. The dun-coloured
bull was one of the last to succumb, but he too vailed his lordly crest
and sank his deep voice to a pitch as pitiful as that of the
two-year-old heifer, his dying daughter, that lay moaning close to him.
The guards came to drive the last survivors to the dreadful spot at the
head of the valley, but Noquala seized his sticks and rushed at them so
fiercely that they fled from before his face. Then Noquala mounted
guard over the last dying remnants of his matchless herd, and none dared
further to disturb their agonies.
The sun went down and the pitiless stars gazed impassively on the valley
of the shadow of death. Noquala remained at his post. Every now and
then would he pass from one to the other of the suffering creatures,
endeavouring distractedly to comfort them with words. The night was
bitterly cold; a white frost thickly covered the grass and struck to the
marrow of the tortured limbs. At the sharp pinch which came just before
dawn, tardy Death finished his work. One by one, within a few fatal
minutes, the remainder of Noquala's cattle expired. The dun-coloured
bull was the last to die. He lingered until a pallid flicker filled the
east. Then he started as if about to rise. For an instant it seemed as
though he would succeed, for he lifted his gaunt trunk upon his front
legs, and swept a dazed and startled gaze from one to the other of the
carcases of his dead companions which lay around him. But he could get
no farther; his hind quarters were paralysed. He remained thus for a
few seconds, then, with a roar that seemed to shake the hills, he sank
back and died.
Noquala was found at daybreak sitting on the ground close to the carcase
of the bull. His head lay forward upon his bent knees; his grey hair
was whitened by the frost. He was so stiff from the cold that he was
unable to move, so had to be carried back to his hut, where they covered
him with blankets and gave him a draught of hot broth, which he drank
mechanically. It was long before he regained normal warmth.
When next Noquala emerged from the hut into the sunlight he was a
cripple. His lower limbs had become cramped and contracted, and it was
found impossible to straighten them. His memory was asleep, and it is
not likely that it will ever waken. One day, as he sat in the sunshine,
a little boy came up and began to play with some clay oxen, close to
him. A bright smile at once lit up Noquala's face; he stretched forth
his hand, seized a couple of the images, and began to fondle them.
He is, apparently, quite happy. Makalipa tends him devotedly, and helps
him to hobble back to the hearth when the sun goes down or a cold wind
springs up, first assisting him to gather up the clay oxen and place
them carefully in a fold of his blanket. She has not the least
objection to digging up her hoards, as occasions arise, and spending the
money freely upon her husband's comfort. Elijah is still at the
seminary, and has not yet heard of what has happened at his home.
The children of the neighbourhood take a pleasure in making clay oxen
for the one-time proud, masterful, and wealthy man who has become their
playmate and companion; they even make expeditions to distant valleys
for the purpose of obtaining various-hued ochres and earths, so as to
manufacture cattle of different colours. Noquala has now quite a large
number of these toys. His only trouble is when one breaks by accident,
but as they are strongly made and afterwards baked in an old ant-heap
which does duty for a kiln, this does not very often occur. He seldom
speaks, except when he sees a stranger approaching. Then he says, in a
high, thin voice, quite different to his former gruff, deep-chested
tones--
"Have you seen 'Ndakana?... He is a great doctor... He went to the
bush for roots... I wonder why he does not come."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The End.