The open space outside the kraal was thronged. Hundreds had collected
in obedience to the word of the chief. More were still coming in, and
the preacher rubbed his fat hands together with smug complacency. Your
educated native is nothing if not conceited, and the Rev Job Magwegwe
was no exception to this rule. Here was an audience for him; a noble
audience, and, withal an appreciative one.
His appearance was greeted by a deep murmur from the expectant crowd,
which at once disposed itself to listen. He had resumed his black coat
and waistcoat and settled his white choker; he was not going to omit any
accessory to his clerical dignity if he knew it.
He led off with a long prayer, to which most of those present listened
with ill-concealed boredom, but the smug self-conceit of the man had
captured his better judgment, and he was only brought up by Babatyana
remarking in an audible aside that the people had not assembled to take
part in a prayer meeting but to hear the news. So he took the hint and
started his address.
He began by sketching the history of the people, within their own time.
Since the days of the old wars they had increased immensely and were
still increasing, so that soon the land would not be able to hold its
population. It would hold them but for the white man. The white man.
But was this the white man's land? Did Nkulunkulu [Literally, "The
Great Guest." one of the names for the Deity] give him this land? No.
The white man came over the sea in ships and took it. Nkulunkulu said
"This is the black man's land and here have I placed him," yet the white
man took it. The whites came over in small numbers, then more. But
even now what were their numbers? Why, a handful, a mere handful. The
whites who ruled them could live in an ostrich's nest, when compared to
the blacks whom they had dispossessed. And why had they been able to
dispossess them? Because there was no unity among the native nations.
Each was jealous of the other and none could combine. The time,
however, was at hand when these dissensions should be of the past; when
all the native nations should unite, when their native land should
belong to them and not to the white man, when the Amazulu and the
Basutu, the tribes in Natal and the Amampondo and the Amaxosa should all
possess their own again, should all dwell together as brothers, none
lording it over the other, should dwell together in peace and unity in
the land which Nkulunkulu had given to them--to them and not to the
white man.
The preacher was working himself up to a pitch of eloquence that
impressed his audience--and a native orator can be very eloquent indeed.
Murmurs of applause greeted his periods, and now as he paused to wipe
his clammy forehead with the white handkerchief of civilisation, these
grew quite tumultuous. Only Manamandhla the Zulu kept saturnine
silence. He knew who, in this wonderful brotherhood of equality, was
going to have the upper hand, and any idea to the contrary moved him to
mirth, as too absurd to be worthy of a moment's consideration.
But the ways of Nkulunkulu--went on the preacher unctuously--though
sometimes slow were always sure, and now He had revealed His will to
some who had come across great distances of sea to bring it to them; not
white men but black like themselves. These had come hither with a
message of deliverance to all the dark races, and he himself was a
humble mouthpiece of such. But there were many such mouthpieces. They
were everywhere, and were being heard gladly. Who could refuse to hear
them? The people of this land were being oppressed and trampled upon;
and so it was wherever the white man set down his foot. Let them look
at the past. Where were the nations that dwelt proudly in their own
lands? Gone, utterly gone, or slaves to the white man; who planted his
own laws upon them and punished them heavily if they did not obey.
The crafty rascal however found it convenient to ignore the fact that
the worst that the white man had ever done to them was a joke when
compared with the treatment formerly meted out to the black man by his
brother black. Then he proceeded to quote from the Scriptures.
There was a fair sprinkling of _amakolwa_ among his audience, i.e. those
who had been converted to Christianity--of a sort--and these now
listened with renewed zest. They would appreciate his arguments, and
afterwards make them plain to their fellow countrymen not so privileged,
in their discussions from kraal to kraal.
He deftly quoted from the history of the Israelites, and their
deliverance from the Egyptian bondage, making out that these were in
similar bondage, that the promises made to Israel were given to them
too. He went further. He even assured them that they were offshoots of
Israel, cleverly citing numbers of their national and tribal customs,
some obsolete but many still in force, which exactly corresponded with
the precepts of the Mosaic law. The great book of the white men which
revealed the will of Nkulunkulu, he declared, was wrongly so called, in
that it was not revealed to white men at all, but to dark men. The
whites had stolen it, as they stole everything.
A deep bass hum of applause broke from his audience. It was a strange
scene. The vast assemblage held spellbound, the preacher, arrayed as
one who preaches the gospel of peace, instead, swaying this multitude of
dark savages with the gospel of revolt and war, and all the ruthless
atrocity of horror which such represents. All spellbound there in the
clear light of the broad moon, flooding down upon ridge and valley, and
loom of mountain misty against the stars.
For upwards of another hour the preacher went on, the entranced audience
drinking in every word. They could have listened to him all night, but
he had too much natural astuteness to risk repeating himself.
"Brothers," he concluded, "I have shown you your bondage. You are
increasing, as the chosen people of old, and the more you are increasing
the more you have to pay in taxes to the white man; the more you have to
submit to his slave-imposing laws. You may say--as many have
said--`What can we do? The white man has cannon and we have the
assegai, what chance then have we?' But even the white man's cannon is
not able to go everywhere, and even if it could, there is a more
powerful weapon still. There are those who rule the whites who will
lift up a voice in your behalf. Who will say--`Stop. This has gone far
enough. We will not have our black brethren butchered solely because
they are black.' I know what I say, for I have seen and talked with
such. `Stop,' they will say. `Bloodshed must cease.' And the nation
will approve because war costs money, and white people are no fonder of
having to pay than are black people. Then when their fighting men are
withdrawn--then we will rise in our might, in one overwhelming black
wave, and sweep all these whites back into the sea, whence they came.
Be patient. You will have `the word' in good time and that time soon.
I have shown you your bondage, now I am showing you your way out, for it
is the will of Nkulunkulu. I have done."
A deep murmur arose. The vast multitude, moved to the core, took some
time to realise that the proceedings were over. Then it broke up. Many
remained on the ground, squatting in groups, eagerly discussing the
points put forward; others broke up, and in twos or threes, or singly,
departed for their homes. Among the latter was Teliso the native
detective.
Not all, however, so went. There was a disposition among some of the
headmen to probe further the speaker's statements. Who were these
rulers among the Amangisi [English] who would call upon their countrymen
to stop the war? enquired the old man who had shown a disposition to
heckle the preacher in Babatyana's hut. He was old, but he had never
heard of the chiefs of any people who would seek to turn that people
back in the moment of their victory. _Whau_! this was wonderful news,
but--who were they?
"M-m! Who are they?" hummed the others. But the Rev Job was not
nonplussed.
"They are among the head indunas of the nation," he replied. "The ways
of the white man are not as our ways, else that which I have been
telling you would seem so much childish folly. Brothers, you will
remember how the indunas of the Amangisi treated the Amabuna [Boers]
when they had conquered them many years ago. They gave them back all
their lands, and went away. They lost hundreds and hundreds of fighting
men at the hands of the Amabuna, yet they gave them back all their
lands, nor did they even exact any tribute. And what happened
yesterday? After three years of fighting, wherein thousands and
thousands of Amangisi were slain, did they not pay the Amabuna largely
to make peace? Are they not preparing even now to give them back their
lands once more? _Whau_! And even so will they deal with us."
"And the King?" put in Babatyana with his head on one side. "The King
of the Amangisi? What will he do with such indunas as they?"
"He will do as his indunas advise, brother, for such is the way with the
Amangisi."
"A king who is ruled by his indunas is as a dog that is wagged by its
tail. U' Tshaka!" returned Baba tyana vehemently, swearing by the name
of the great Zulu. And the others murmured assent.
"Yet it is so, _amadoda_. I, who have seen, I, who know, tell you so."
And the confidence with which the speaker declared this, the certainty
in his whole manner and look, staggered the doubters. In such wise was
the venom drop injected by these snakes in the grass fostered and
educated all unknowingly by the agencies of philanthropy and
civilisation.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Great news have we heard this night, brothers. But, even though we
drive the Amangisi out, have we not to reckon with the Amabuna? They
are terrible fighters. Not all the tribes in the world could drive
_them_ out, _impela_!"
The speaker was Teliso, who had joined a group which was discussing what
they had heard.
"Not all the tribes in the world!" repeated one, derisively. "Hear
that!"
"Even that Lion, Dingane, had to flee before them," urged the detective.
"Ha! Was there not another Lion of Zulu that roared louder, and divided
the nation? But for this they had been driven out themselves."
"M-m!" hummed another. "That is as the preacher says. Combine--do not
divide."
"And this preacher--will he speak again here?" asked Teliso innocently.
"Not here. At Nteseni's Great Place. There will he speak. But many
will go from here to listen."
The detective was on the point of asking whether he was likely to cross
to the other side, and talk with the chiefs in Zululand, but judged it
wise not to seem too curious. He could find that out later, for he had
made up his mind to be one of those who should go on from here to
Nteseni's Great Place.
For Teliso was having a good time. There had been a fair season and
food was plentiful. The people were hospitable; and he was just as fond
of meat and _tywala_ as any other native. He was faithful to his
employers, the Government, according to his lights, but his pay was not
on a luxurious scale, and the risks he ran were at times considerable.
So he made up his mind to combine pleasure with business--to lay himself
out to have a good time. And--who shall blame him?