After this they saw nothing of the King. The days went by, growing into
weeks, and still there seemed no prospect of their perilous and irksome
captivity drawing to its end. Though outwardly treated as guests, there
were not wanting downright intimations that they could not come and go
as they pleased, and they received a significant hint that the country
was very unhealthy did they venture out of sight of the stockade. At
first they strove to take an interest in the novelty of their position,
and in the conditions of life of this strange race; but the people were
very reserved, and seemed afraid to say much; so that except through
Kumbelwa they could learn but little about them--and not a great deal
through him. The King's name, they gathered, was Umnovunovu; and yet it
was in reality only a title, like that of the Pharaohs of Egypt, for the
kings of the Inswani had no name, and their former one became very much
_hlonipa_, i.e. not to be uttered.
"You see, Oakley," Haviland said, "there's no end to the curious twists
and turns of native etiquette--and the unformulated, or what would be to
us the unwritten laws, are the strangest of all. In Zululand, for
instance, white men who have had the country and people at their
fingers' ends all their lives have told me that the more certain they
were they knew everything, the more certain something was to occur to
show them they didn't."
"Well, this is a mighty ugly crowd, anyway," answered Oakley, "and, like
Pharaoh of old, Mr Umnovunovu doesn't intend to let us go in a hurry."
They were growing very dejected under their enforced detention. The
climate was not bad, and a great improvement on the steamy heat of the
lower country; indeed, the nights were at times distinctly sharp. But
everything tended to depress them. They had nothing on earth to do,
and, as Oakley said, all their time to do it in. For another thing, the
atmosphere of continuous slaughter and death got very much upon their
nerves. Besides the slaver captives, who were done to death under
varying circumstances of barbarity, at the rate of several a day, and
whose tortured shrieks it was impossible to keep out of their ears,
several of the Inswani were taken out and put to death, as they were
informed, by order of the King. This young savage seemed positively to
wallow in blood and torture; yet, so far from the feet undermining the
loyalty of his subjects, it seemed rather to cement their adherence.
But, though cruel and bloodthirsty, he was of unimpeachable courage, and
more than one tale of heroic valour did Kumbelwa narrate in which the
young King was the central figure.
At times, when they were taking their walks abroad, a sudden hubbub, and
a roaring crowd on the move, would denote that his Majesty was out, and
his faithful subjects were hailing his progress. But they deemed it
expedient to keep out of the way of such demonstrations.
"Hallo!" cried Haviland, one hot morning, as they were lying in their
hut. "Here, quick, give us that box! Why, that's the most whacking big
scorpion I've ever seen, even here."
In a trice the great crawling venomous brute was, like themselves, a
prisoner, savagely walking round and round, and wondering what had
happened.
"It'll be a job to get him into the lethal jar, Oakley! If we use the
tongs on him we're sure to damage his legs, like we did that mammoth
tarantula that was taking a stroll over you the other night. Here, hold
the box a minute."
So for upwards of a quarter of an hour, these two enthusiastic
collectors were busily at work circumventing the ugly venomous insect.
They had forgotten their troubles; the Inswani, the king, Mushad,
everything.
"Well done!" cried Haviland. "We've got him at last. What a specimen!
Poor old Ahern, how he would have enjoyed this! If only he hadn't been
in such a hurry--. Get out of the way, Kumbelwa. You're in our light,"
he added, without looking up, as a shadow darkened the door. With a
smothered grunt this was removed. Then, when at last they did look up,
the figure squatted on the ground was not that of Kumbelwa at all. It
was Dumaliso.
They exchanged greetings, not very cordially on either side. They were
not particularly fond of the chief, whom Oakley defined as "a cruel
brute, who'd cut our throats as soon as look at us, if he dared."
Moreover, they were vexed that he should appear on the scene when he
did, for they had received more than one hint from Kumbelwa that the
Inswani looked with considerable suspicion on their collecting
propensities. None but _abatagati_, or evilly disposed sorcerers, went
about collecting insects and plants, it was argued--of course to work
witchcraft with--and they had deemed it wise to refrain. Their position
was quite risky enough without doing anything to add to its
complications, and now here was one of the most influential men in the
nation--and toward themselves the most hostile--entering just in time to
find them capturing one of the ugliest and most vicious specimens of the
insect world. What could they want with such save for purposes of
witchcraft?
"The King, the Great Great One, has a word unto ye two," began Dumaliso.
They nodded assent.
"With the firearms we have taken from the slave-hunting dogs many of the
King's warriors might be armed. His `word' is that ye shall teach them
to shoot, beginning with myself."
"What do you think of the idea, Oakley?" said Haviland, when he had
translated this to his companion, who was himself picking up a moderate
knowledge of the tongue.
"Seems reasonable. You see, it isn't like arming them against our own
countrymen, because they'll never see any of them, and to arm them
against the slave-hunters is all right. We'd better agree."
"I think so too." Whereupon, turning to the chief, they expressed their
willingness to organise a corps of sharpshooters among the more
promising of the Inswani.
"That is well," said Dumaliso, rising. "And now, O strangers, if you
would see the end of this dog Mushad, the time is at hand."
"Tell him we don't want to see it, Haviland. Brute as Mushad is, I
don't want to see him tortured. It makes me sick."
Haviland at first made no reply. He seemed to be thinking.
"We will go, Oakley," he said at last. "I have got an idea or saving
the poor brute from torture, at any rate."
As they went forth with Dumaliso, a strange subdued roar was arising,
and from every part of the town people were hurrying towards the great
space at the head of which stood the King's throne. In thousands and
thousands the densely packed mass of surging humanity blocked the way,
and it required all Dumaliso's authority to clear a passage. A new
spectacle seemed to be anticipated, and the pitiless crowd thrilled with
delight as it speculated by what particular form of torment their
traditional enemy was to die. It was horrible, and there, thickly
studding the outer stockade, were numerous fresh heads, grinning in
anguished distortion, being those of the slave-hunters, who had been put
to death in batches. And now their leader, the famous and terrible
Mushad, was the last.
There was the usual roaring outburst of _sibonga_ as the King appeared
and took his seat. There were the executioners, savage-looking and
eager, and then--the last of the slave captives was dragged forward.
Heavens! what was this? The bowed and shrunken figure, palsied and
shaking, was that of an old, old man. The snow-white hair and ragged
beard, the trembling claws and the blinking watery eyes--this could
never be Mushad, the keen-eyed, haughty, indomitable Arab of middle age
and iron sinewy frame, whom they had last seen, here on this very spot,
hurling defiance at his captors in general and at the King in
particular. No--no, such a transformation was not possible.
But it was. Ill-treatment, starvation, torture had reduced the once
haughty, keen-spirited Arab to this. Where he had defied, now he
cringed. Yet no spark of ruth or pity did his miserable plight call
forth in those who now beheld him. Brutal jeers were hurled at him.
They had come to see him die in torments. They had looked forward to it
from day to day. They were not to be baulked now.
Of all this Haviland was aware, and an intense pity arose in his heart
as he gazed upon the miserable wreck. He had thought he knew what
savages really were, but now realised that it was reserved for the
Inswani to teach him.
"Ho! Mushad, my dog!" jeered the King, in his deep voice. "Thou who
namedst thyself the scourge of the world. Why, I think the meanest
slave thou hast ever sold would crack his whip over thee now."
"Look yonder," went on Umnovunovu. "Thou seest those four poles? Good.
Thou wilt be tied to those by an ankle and wrist to each, half a man's
height from the ground, with fire beneath thee, and for a whole day thou
shalt rest upon a warm blanket, I promise thee."
The two Englishmen shuddered with horror as they saw what was to happen.
The miserable slave-hunter was to be slowly roasted to death. Then
Haviland spoke, as he admitted to himself, like a fool.
"Spare him, Great, Great One. Spare him the torture. See, he has
undergone enough. Put him to the swift death of the sword."
The King's face was terrible to behold as he turned it upon the
interruptor; no less terrible as they beheld it was the roar of rage
that went up from the spectators.
"Wilt thou take his place upon yon glowing bed, thou fool white man?" he
said with a sneer that was more than half a menacing snarl.
"Haviland, go easy, man," warned Oakley. "This won't do at all. Why
should we sacrifice ourselves for that infernal villain? Haviland,
you're an ass."
The sneer had gone out of the King's face. For a moment he contemplated
the two white men in silence.
"What were his words?" he said, pointing to Oakley. Haviland told him.
"Not so," said Umnovunovu, with an impatient stamp of the foot. "Let
him say the words exactly as he said them. Or--" The last was rolled
out in a roar of menace.
Oakley, greatly wondering, repeated his words. The King, still
wondering, pointed with his spear at Mushad. In a moment the
executioners were upon him, and he was dragged to the place of his
torment and death.
But to make him fast to the poles it was necessary to cut the thongs
which bound his wrists. Mushad, apparently more helpless than a
new-born babe, saw his opportunity and characteristically seized it.
From one of the executioners he snatched a heavy two-edged dagger, and
with all the old determination reviving, in a twinkling he drove it
home--hard, strong, and straight--cleaving his own heart.
It took the spectators some moments to realise that they were cheated of
the glut of revenge for which they were there. Then went up the most
awful ravening roar. The two white men! They had bewitched the Arab!
They it was who had saved him from their vengeance! Let them take the
slaver's place!
For a few minutes the King listened to their frenzied bellowing. Then,
slowly, he raised his spear and pointed at Haviland.