Four men were seated together within a hut. This hut was one of half a
dozen which constituted a small kraal, standing at the foot of a smooth
perpendicular cliff.
Two of these four we have already seen and two we have not. The former
were Babatyana and Nxala; of the latter, one was Nteseni, an influential
chief whose kraals adjoined those of Babatyana, while the fourth was
Zisiso, a witch-doctor of great, though secret repute. As was to be
expected they were plotting. It was night, and the other inhabitants of
the kraal, if such there were, slept.
"So my _muti_ was not strong enough, Nxala?" the witch-doctor was
saying. "_Au_! I have never known it like that before."
"He who is gone was old, my father, and his hand shook," was the answer.
"Who, then, may say as to the strength of the _muti_ when scattered
upon the floor of a hut? And now Ntwezi has the vessel that contained
it."
"That should have broken in pieces," murmured Zisiso.
"Yet it did not, for it reached not the ground."
"Ntwezi is ever suspicious," commented the old man.
"Ever suspicious. But there is one who serves him who would serve him
no longer. He will be here to-night."
"That is well. We will hear him."
This witch-doctor, Zisiso, was a mild, pleasant, genial-mannered old
man, to all outward appearance, especially when he came in contact with
Europeans. Then, there was no limit to the gentle, self-deprecating
plausibility with which he alluded to himself. Elvesdon, for one, had
been completely taken in by him, and was, in fact, rather partial to
him. More than one missionary had taken him in hand; with conspicuous
success from the point of view of the missionary. But he never attended
their services or meetings. He was too old, he said. Still he was glad
to have heard such a good `word.' He would welcome death now, because
he was longing to see all the beautiful things which the _Abafundisi_
had told him were coming after.
The witch-doctor's trade is forbidden by the laws of the Colony, but it
is carried on for all that. The good old custom of `smelling out' has
of course disappeared, but what may not be done impressively and in the
light of day can be done just as effectively without making any fuss.
Someone obnoxious dies or disappears, there are plenty of ways of
accounting for his absence. He has gone away to the mines to earn
money, or he has trodden on a nail, and contracted tetanus, or his cows
gave diseased milk--and so forth. For old Zisiso was a past master on
the subject of both external and internal poisons.
It may readily be imagined in what respectful dread he was held among
the tribes. Even influential chiefs, such as these here assembled,
dared not incur his ill-will, otherwise it is probable that he would
have met with a violent and mysterious death long before; besides they
never knew when they might not be glad to turn his services to their own
account. Even the educated, semi-civilised natives dared not for their
lives have done anything to arouse his hostility.
The new Ethiopian movement was to Zisiso utterly laughable, and such
exponents of it as the Rev Job Magwegwe too contemptible for words.
But he was too polite to make public his views. A considerable section
of the people had thrown themselves into it, and the movement seemed
spreading. As an _isanusi_ all his instincts were to make a study of it
lest haply he might turn it to account.
Old Zisiso's professional instincts were not in themselves ignoble, in
that they were not dictated by lust of gain, or cupidity, beyond a
certain ingrained acquisitiveness common to all savages. Thanks to his
wide and mysterious powers, to which allusion has been made, he was
already rich in possessions beyond his needs, for he was too old to
_lobola_ for more wives. No, it was sheer pride in his profession,
similar to that which might prompt the civilised man of science to
welcome and investigate any new departure in scientific discovery. But
of course the aim towards which Magwegwe and his associates and
employers were supposed to be working, was, in the shrewd eyes of this
old sorcerer, the veriest humbug.
Personally he had no particular desire to see the whites `driven into
the sea'; an eventuality he was far too astute to believe for a moment
possible. He was old enough to remember how, under former kings in
Zululand, those of his craft, no matter how eminent and skilled, held
their lives and possessions on precarious tenure. Dingane and Mpande,
for instance, expected a great deal--a great deal too much--from their
sorcerers. Cetywayo, to be sure, did not bother his head about them, to
speak of. But there, under the rule of the _Amangisi_, he and his
brother witch-doctors could practise unhindered, always provided they
did so with due care and secrecy. What, then, was to be gained by
trying to upset the existing state of things?
These considerations should, on every ground of reason and
self-interest, have ranged old Zisiso on the side of law and order, yet
they did not. The South African native is a strangely complex animal,
and there are times when it is impossible to tell what line he may or
may not adopt, no matter how powerfully self-interest ought to move him
in a given direction, and such was the case with this one. Most
probably he was actuated by the sheer love of plotting which had
characterised his profession from time immemorial; which in fact, was
absolutely essential to the keeping-up of its very existence.
"He who comes this night," went on Nxala, "he who comes this night, will
bring back the drinking bowl of him who is gone. He has put another in
its place, and when the white doctor sees it, _au_! he will pronounce
that an _isanusi_ of the standing of Zisiso does not know what _muti_
is," he added quizzically.
"I trust not this dog of Ntwezi's," said Nteseni, gruffly. This chief
had a strong and heavy face, and though large of frame, unlike most of
his rank his size was not due to obesity--the result of a great
indulgence in _tywala_ and very little exercise. On the contrary he was
a savage of weight and muscle, and would have proved an uncommonly tough
customer even to a more than average white man if once they got to close
grips.
"Nobody trusts anybody, brother," murmured the old witch-doctor,
pleasantly. "Yet we will hear what he has to say."
"We will hear," echoed Babatyana, getting out his snuff-box, and passing
it round. Nxala prodded the fire with a stick, and the embers flared
up. There was silence as the four sat, taking snuff, the firelight
glinting on the shine of their headrings. Suddenly the raucous yaps of
a superannuated cur were heard outside.
"Here is the man from Ntwezi's, brother," said Babatyana turning to
Nxala. "Go out to him or he may be afraid."
He addressed obeyed. Those within the hut could hear the murmur of deep
tones. Then Nxala reappeared, followed by the stranger.
The latter was clad in European attire. As he stooped through the low,
arched doorway Nteseni gave the fire a vigorous kick. It flared up anew
in a sudden bright light. Nteseni had seen something--a something which
he had expected to see.
The newcomer saluted the chiefs, nor was his greeting of old Zisiso any
less respectful. The latter handed him snuff--then added humorously:
"_Ou_! I am old, I am forgetting. Those who are young, and who dwell
among the whites, take their _gwai_ in the form of smoke. Here is some,
my son," searching for a bag, "and doubtless thou hast a pipe. Fill it
then, and we will talk."
The other murmured a word of acknowledgment, and did as he was told.
Then, from the packet of his jacket--which bulged--he drew forth a
bundle. This he proceeded to undo, revealing many fragments of baked
clay, in short the fragments of a black drinking bowl.
"Here is what I promised my father," he said, addressing the
witch-doctor. "_Whau_! I put another in its place, and now I think the
_Dokotela_ will believe that Ntwezi is laughing at him."
"Yet it were better to have brought it whole," said Nteseni.
"That could I not do," answered the visitor, who was no other than
Elvesdon's native detective, Teliso. "The shape would have betrayed
it."
"M-m!" hummed the listeners.
Now Nteseni took the fragments and with extraordinary ingenuity and
patience began piecing them together. As to the latter--well they had
the whole night before them!
"There is not a piece missing," he pronounced, "no, not even a small
piece. To have left such would have been dangerous."
"Would it not, my father? But I desire the ruin of Ntwezi. He has
reduced my pay, and I would be revenged. Further, he has promised to
thrash me. I will not go back to him."
"No, thou wilt not," returned Nteseni, heavily. "I think thy place is
better here among thine own people."
"_Eh he_! That is true, my father. Among my own people."
Nteseni nodded and went out of the hut. There was nothing extraordinary
in this, and the new arrival sat there, letting his tongue go freely,
uttering, for the most part, sheer inventions--plausible inventions.
The while, he would never fail to pause so as to draw forth the comments
of his hearers. These, on their side, met him upon his own ground;
whether he was taken in or not they could not tell, but by that time it
was to them a matter of sheer indifference either way. Nteseni, who had
long since re-entered, was, for him, the most communicative.
Now Teliso was a brave man, even braver than those of his race who had
distinguished themselves on the battlefield, in that he took risks as a
matter of business and in cold blood, such as they would never have
dreamed of taking. But such risks, great as some of them had been,
especially of late, were as nothing to that which he was taking now.
And--all of a sudden he knew it.
His hand dropped carelessly to the right hand pocket of his coat--he had
acquired European ways so there was nothing extraordinary about this
move. Yet there was nothing whatever to have excited any suspicion on
his part. Not a sound had arisen outside. His entertainers sat as
before; no weapons were even visible. Old Zisiso seemed half drowsy,
and the same held good of Nteseni, while the other two, Babatyana and
Nxala were pursuing the conversation in an even, interested tone of
voice. No--it was hard to say where any suggestion of peril might have
come in, unless it was that wondrous, well-nigh supernatural intuition
characteristic of the savage. Yet at that moment Teliso, realised that
he had never been in deadlier peril in his life; no, not even when as a
very young _umfana_ he had raced, with bursting heart, and stumbling
steps, and labouring lungs, with the flying Native Contingent, for the
roaring, flooded passage of Umzinyati river, driven like dust before the
wind by Cetywayo's pursuing victorious destroyers at Isandhlwana.
At this moment he realised that he had one chance, but a desperate one.
He must shoot down, and that with lightning rapidity, at least two out
of these four, and one of the two must be Nteseni, but--what a
responsibility! Then too, he was but imperfectly skilled in the
handling of the weapon which he had instinctively brought for his own
protection. He hesitated, and--was lost.
"What is that, brother?" said Nteseni, seizing, with a grip of iron, the
wrist of the hand which held the butt of the concealed revolver. At the
same time, Nxala who was seated on the other side had pinioned his arms.
Both were powerful men, and against them Teliso had not the ghost of a
chance, even if Babatyana had not taken the opportunity of slipping the
noose of a hitherto concealed thong round his ankles, and drawing it
tight. Clearly it was useless to struggle, and in a moment he was
securely bound.
"Was this needed among `thine own people,' dog of Ntwezi?" said Nteseni,
holding up the revolver which he had drawn from the prisoner's pocket.
"No longer am! Ntwezi's dog," answered the latter.
"And was it not wisdom to bring away a useful weapon against when the
time comes?"
"Ah--ah! `When the time comes.' But the time has come--for thee, dog
of Ntwezi," sneered the chief. "There are those who talk with the
tongue of the Amangisi who heard Ntwezi himself tell another of thine
errand here to-night."
"And that other?" queried the prisoner.
"I answer no questions," was the contemptuous reply. "Thy treachery
deserves a slow and lingering death, yet we will be merciful."
He called through the doorway in a low tone, and immediately there
entered two men.
"Take him away," said Nteseni.
A wooden gag was thrust into the unfortunate man's mouth and he was
dragged outside, the three chiefs following. The old witch-doctor
remained behind.
Teliso knew that doom awaited him, but now he could not even
expostulate. The thong which bound his feet was relaxed sufficiently to
admit of his taking short steps and thus he was hurried along--whither
he had not the remotest idea.
A red moon, appropriately like a huge globe of blood, was rising over
the great cliff which dominated the kraal. On the brink, silhouetted
against it, a hyena stood and howled.
"He scents meat," said Nxala grimly. "Well he will soon have plenty."
For about half an hour thus they proceeded, their way lighted by the
lurid glow of the blood moon. Then they halted.
They had come to the brink of a high cliff which overhung a wild
desolate ravine.
"I had intended thee to be slaughtered like a goat, Teliso," said
Nteseni. "The death of the spear is not for such as thee."
With a desperate effort the prisoner had managed to slip his gag.
"The _Amangisi_ have many ropes," he said. "Even chiefs will hang by
some of them before long." Nteseni laughed.
"I think not," he answered. "Will yonder moon tell what it has seen?
Well, a high leap in the air is before thee, Teliso. Now--take it."
The unfortunate man hesitated. Those who held him stood aside.
"What? Is it then better to be slaughtered like a goat," said the chief
jeeringly. "Well then, Isazi," to one of the young men, "thy knife."
But the threat was enough. The doomed man closed his eyes, tottered,
then flung himself forward. A crash and a thud came up to the ears of
the listeners.
"You two," went on the chief, "go down yonder and take off the thongs;
his clothing was thick so they will leave no trace. And--I think Ntwezi
will need a new dog."
The redness of the blood moon lightened. Its globe grew golden.