THE DREAM IN THE NORTH
Richard Darrien remembered drinking a bowl of milk in the hut in which
he was imprisoned at Mafooti, and instantly feeling a cold chill run to
his heart and brain, after which he remembered no more for many a day.
At length, however, by slow degrees, and with sundry slips back into
unconsciousness, life and some share of his reason and memory returned
to him. He awoke to find himself lying in a hut roughly fashioned of
branches, and attended by a Kaffir woman of middle age.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I am named Mami,” she answered.
“Mami, Mami! I know the name, and I know the voice. Say, were you one
of the wives of Ibubesi, she who spoke with me through the fence?” and
he strove to raise himself on his arm to look at her, but fell back
from weakness.
“Yes, Inkoos, I was one of his wives.”
“Was? Then where is Ibubesi now?”
“Dead, Inkoos. The fire has burned him up with his kraal Mafooti.”
“With the kraal Mafooti! Where, then, is the Inkosazana? Answer, woman,
and be swift,” he cried in a hollow voice.
“Alas! Inkoos, alas! she is dead also, for she was in the kraal when
the fire swept it, and was seen standing on the top of a hut where she
had taken refuge, and after that she was seen no more.”
“Then let me die and go to her,” exclaimed Richard with a groan, as he
fell back upon his bed, where he lay almost insensible for three more
days.
Yet he did not die, for he was young and very strong, and Mami poured
milk down his throat to keep the life in him. Indeed little by little
something of his strength came back, so that at last he was able to
think and talk with her again, and learned all the dreadful story.
He learned how the people of Mafooti, fearing the vengeance of Dingaan,
had fled away from their kraal, carrying what they thought to be his
body with them, lest it should remain in evidence against them, and
taking all the cattle that they could gather. Every one of them had
fled that could travel, only Ibubesi and a few sick, and certain folk
who chanced to be outside the walls, remaining behind. It was from two
of these, who escaped during the burning of the kraal by the Zulus, or
by fire from the Heavens, they knew not which, that they had heard of
the awful end of Ibubesi, and of his prisoner, the Inkosazana. As for
themselves, they had travelled night and day, till they reached a
certain secret and almost inaccessible place in the great Quathlamba
Mountains, in which people had lived whom Chaka wiped out, and there
hidden themselves. In this place they remained, hoping that Dingaan
would not care to follow them so far, and purposing to make it their
home, since here they found good mealie lands, and fortunately the most
of their cattle remained alive. That was all the story, there was
nothing more to tell.
A day or two later Richard was able to creep out of the hut and see the
place. It was as Mami had said, very strong, a kind of tableland ringed
round with precipices that could only be climbed through a single
narrow nek, and overshadowed by the great Quathlamba range. The people,
who were engaged in planting their corn, gathered round him, staring at
him as though he were one risen from the dead, and greeted him with
respectful words. He spoke to several of them, including the two men
who had seen the burning of Mafooti, though from a little distance. But
they could tell him no more than Mami had done, except that they were
sure that the Inkosazana had perished in the flames, as had many of the
Zulus, who broke into the town. Richard was sure of it also—who would
not have been?—and crept back broken-hearted to his hut, he who had
lost all, and longed that he might die.
But he did not die, he grew strong again, and when he was well and fit
to travel, went to the headmen of the people, saying that now he
desired to leave them and return to his own place in the Cape Colony.
The headmen said No, he must not leave, for in their hearts they were
sure that he would go, not to the Cape Colony, but to Zululand, there
to discover all he could as to the death of the Inkosazana. So they
told him that with them he must bide, for then if the Zulus tracked
them out they would be able to produce him, who otherwise would be put
to the spear, every man of them, as his murderers. The sin of Ibubesi
who had been their chief, clung to them, and they knew well what
Dingaan and Tamboosa had sworn should happen to those who harmed the
white chief, Dario, who was under the mantle of their Inkosazana.
Richard reasoned with them, but it was of no use, they would not let
him go. Therefore in the end he appeared to fall in with their humour,
and meanwhile began to plan escape. One dark night he tried it indeed,
only to be seized in the mouth of the nek, and brought back to his hut.
Next morning the headman spoke with him, telling him that he should
only depart thence over their dead bodies, and that they watched him
night and day; that the nek, moreover, was always guarded. Then they
made an offer to him. He was a white man, they said, and cleverer than
they were; let them come under his wing, let him be their chief, for he
would know how to protect them from the Zulus and any other enemies. He
could take over the wives of Ibubesi (at this proposition Richard
shuddered), and they would obey him in all things, only he must not
attempt to leave them—which he should never do alive.
Richard put the proposal by, but in the end, not because he wished it,
but by the mere weight of his white man’s blood, and for the lack of
anything else to do, drifted into some such position. Only at the wives
of Ibubesi, or any other wives, he would not so much as look, a slight
that gave offence to those women, but made the others laugh.
So, for certain long weeks he sat in that secret nook in the mountains
as the chief of a little Kaffir tribe, occupying himself with the
planting of crops, the building of walls and huts, the drilling of men
and the settling of quarrels. All day he worked thus, but after the day
came the night when he did not work, and those nights he dreaded. For
then the languor, not of body, but of mind, which the poison the old
witch-doctoress had given to Ishmael had left behind it, would overcome
him, bringing with it black despair, and his grief would get a hold of
him, torturing his heart. For of the memory of Rachel he could never be
rid for a single hour, and his love for her grew deeper day by day. And
she was dead! Oh, she was dead, leaving him living.
One night he dreamed of Rachel, dreamed that she was searching for him
and calling him. It was a very vivid dream, but he woke up and it
passed away as such dreams do. Only all the day that followed he felt a
strange throbbing in his head, and found himself turning ever towards
the north. The next night he dreamed again of her, and heard her say,
“The search has been far and long, but I have found you, Richard. Open
your eyes now, and you will see my face.” So he opened his eyes, and
there, sure enough, in the darkness he perceived the outline of her
sweet, remembered face, about which fell her golden hair. For one
moment only he perceived it, then it was gone, and after that her
presence never seemed to leave him. He could not see her, he could not
touch her, and yet she was ever at his side. His brain ached with the
thought of her, her breath seemed to fan his hands and hair. At night
her face floated before him, and in his dreams her voice called him,
saying: _“Come to me, come to me, Richard. I am in need of you. Come to
me. I myself will be your guide.”_
Then he would wake, and remembering that she was dead, grew sure and
ever surer that the Spirit of Rachel was calling him down to death. It
called him from the north, always from the north. Soon he could
scarcely walk southwards, or east or west, for ere he had gone many
yards his feet turned and set his face towards the north, that was to
the narrow nek between the precipices which the Kaffirs guarded night
and day.
One evening he went to his hut to sleep, if sleep would come to him. It
came, and with it that face and voice, but the face seemed paler, and
the voice more insistent.
“Will you not listen to me,” it said, “you who were my love? For how
long must I plead with you? Soon my power will leave me, the
opportunity will be passed, and then how will you find me, Richard, my
lover? Rise up, rise up and follow ere it be too late, for I myself
will be your guide.”
He awoke. He could bear it no more. Perhaps he was mad, and these were
visions of his madness, mocking visions that led him to his death.
Well, if so, he still would follow them. Perhaps her body was buried in
the north. If so, he would be buried there also; perhaps her Soul dwelt
in the north. If so, his soul would fly thither to join it. The Kaffirs
would kill him in the pass. Well, if so, he would die with his face set
northwards whither Rachel drew him.
He rose up and wrapped himself in a cloak of goatskins. He filled a
hide bag with sun-dried flesh and parched corn, and hung it about his
shoulders with a gourd of water, for after all he might live a little
while and need food and drink. As he had no gun he took a staff and a
knife and a broad-bladed spear, and leaving the hut, set his face
northward and walked towards the mouth of the nek. At the first step
which he took the torment in his head seemed to leave him, who fought
no longer, who had seemed obedient to that mysterious summons.
Quietness and confidence possessed him. He was going to his end, but
what did it matter? The dream beckoned and he must follow. The moon
shone bright, but he took no trouble to hide himself, it did not seem
to be worth while.
Now he was in the nek and drawing near to the place where the guard was
stationed, still he marched on, boldly, openly. As he thought, they
were on the alert. They drew out from behind the rocks and barred his
path.
“Whither goest thou, lord Dario?” asked their captain. “Thou knowest
that here thou mayest not pass.”
“I follow a Ghost to the north,” he answered, “and living or dead, I
pass.”
“_Ow_!” said the captain. “He says that he follows a Ghost. Well, we
have nothing to do with ghosts. Take him, unharmed if possible, but
take him.”
So, urged thereto by their own fears, since for their safety’s sake
they dared not let him go, the men sprang towards him. They sprang
towards him where he stood waiting the end, for give back he would not,
and of a sudden fell down upon their faces, hiding their heads among
the stones. Richard did not know what had happened to them that they
behaved thus strangely, nor did he care. Only seeing them fallen he
walked on over them, and pursued his way along the nek and down it to
the plains beyond.
All that night he walked, looking behind him from time to time to see
if any followed, but none came. He was alone, quite alone, save for the
dream that led him towards the north. At sunrise he rested and slept a
while, then, awaking after midday, went on his road. He did not know
the road, yet never was he in doubt for a moment. It was always clear
to him whither he should go. That night he finished his food and again
slept a while, going forward at the dawn. In the morning he met some
Kaffirs, who questioned him, but he answered only that he was following
a Dream to the north. They stared at him, seemed to grow frightened and
ran away. But presently some of them came back and placed food in his
path, which he took and left them.
He came to the kraal Mafooti. It was utterly deserted, and he wandered
amidst its ashes. Here and there he found the bones of those who had
perished in the fire, and turned them over with his staff wondering
whether any of them had belonged to Rachel. In that place he slept a
night thinking that perhaps his journey was ended, and that here he
would die where he believed Rachel had died. But when he waked at the
dawn, it was to find that something within him still drew him towards
the north, more strongly indeed than ever before.
So he left what had been the town Mafooti. Walking along the edge of
the cleft into which Ishmael had leapt on fire, he climbed the walls
built with so much toil to keep out the Zulus, and at last came to the
river which Rachel had swum. It was low now, and wading it he entered
Zululand. Here the natives seemed to know of his approach, for they
gathered in numbers watching him, and put food in his path. But they
would not speak to him, and when he addressed them saying that he
followed a Dream and asking if they had seen the Dream, they cried out
that he was _tagali_, bewitched, and fled away.
He continued his journey, finding each night a hut prepared for him to
sleep in, and food for him to eat, till at length one evening he
reached the Great Place, Umgugundhlovu. Through its streets he marched
with a set face, while thousands stared at him in silence. Then a
captain pointed out a hut to him, and into it he entered, ate and
slept. At dawn he rose, for he knew that here he must not tarry; the
spirit face of Rachel still hung before him, the spirit voice still
whispered—“_Forward, forward to the north. I myself will be your
guide_.” In his path sat the King and his Councillors, and around them
a regiment of men. He walked through them unheeding, till at length,
when he was in front of the King, they barred his road, and he halted.
“Who art thou and what is thy business?” asked an old Councillor with a
withered hand.
“I am Richard Darrien,” he answered, “and here I have no business. I
journey to the north. Stay me not.”
“We know thee,” said the Councillor, “thou art the lord Dario that
didst dwell in the shadow of the Inkosazana. Thou art the white chief
whom the wild beast, Ibubesi, slew at the kraal Mafooti. Why does thy
ghost come hither to trouble us?”
“Living or dead, ghost or man, I travel to the north. Stay me not,” he
answered.
“What seekest thou in the north, thou lord Dario?”
“I seek a Dream; a Spirit leads me to find a Dream. Seest thou it not,
Man with the withered hand?”
“Ah!” they repeated, “he seeks a Dream. A Spirit leads him to find a
Dream in the north.”
“What is this Dream like?” asked Mopo of the withered hand.
“Come, stand at my side and look. There, dost thou see it floating in
the air before us, thou who hast eyes that can read a Dream?”
Mopo came and looked, then his knees trembled a little and he said:
“Aye, lord Dario, I see and I know that face.”
“Thou knowest the face, old fool,” broke in Dingaan angrily. “Then
whose is it?”
“O King,” answered Mopo, dropping his eyes, “it is not lawful to speak
the name, but the face is the face of one who sat where that wanderer
stands, and showed thee certain pictures in a bowl of water.”
Now Dingaan trembled, for the memory of those visions haunted him night
and day; moreover he thought at times that they drew near to their
fulfilment.
“The white man is mad,” he said, “and thou, Mopo, art mad also. I have
often thought it, and that it would be well if thou wentest on a long
journey—for thy health. This Dario shall stay here a while. I will not
suffer him to wander through my land crazing the people with his tales
of dreams and visions. Take him and hold him; the Circle of the Doctors
shall inquire into the matter.”
So Dingaan spoke, who in his heart was afraid lest this wild-eyed Dario
should learn that he had given the Inkosazana to the dwarf folk when
she was mad, to appease them after they had prophesied evil to him.
Also he remembered that it was because of the murders done by Ibubesi
that the Inkosazana had gone mad, and did not understand if Dario had
been killed at the kraal Mafooti how it could be that he now stood
before him. Therefore he thought that he would keep him a prisoner
until he found out all the truth of the matter, and whether he were
still a man or a ghost or a wizard clothed in the shape of the dead.
At the bidding of the King, guards sprang forward to seize Richard, but
the old Councillor, Mopo, shrunk away behind him hiding his eyes with
his withered hand. They sprang forward, and yet they laid no finger on
him, but fell off to right and left, saying:
“Kill us, if thou wilt, Black One, we cannot!”
“The wizard has bewitched them,” said Dingaan angrily. “Here, you
Doctors, you whose trade it is to catch wizards, take this white fellow
and bind him.”
Unwillingly enough the Doctors, of whom there were eight or ten sitting
apart, rose to do the King’s bidding. They came on towards Richard,
some of them singing songs, and some muttering charms, and as they came
he laughed and said:
“Beware! you _Abangoma_, the Dream is looking at you very angrily.”
Then they too broke away to right and left, crying out that this was a
wizard against whom they had no power.
Now Dingaan grew mad with wrath, and shouted to his soldiers to seize
the white man, and if he resisted them to kill him with their sticks,
for of witchcraft they had known enough in Zululand of late.
So thick as bees the regiment formed up in front of him, shouting and
waving their kerries, for here in the King’s Place they bore no spears.
“Make way there,” said Richard, “I can stay no longer, I must to the
north.”
The soldiers did not stir, only a captain stepped out bidding him give
up his spear and yield himself, or be killed. Richard walked forward
and at a sign from the captain, men sprang at him, lifting their
kerries, to dash out his brains. Then suddenly in front of Richard
there appeared something faint and white, something that walked before
him. The soldiers saw it, and the kerries fell from their hands. The
regiment behind saw it, and turning, burst away like a scared herd of
cattle. They did not wait to seek the gates, they burst through the
fence of the enclosure, and were gone, leaving it flat behind them. The
King and his Councillors saw it also, and more clearly than the rest.
_“The Inkosazana!”_ they cried. “It is the Inkosazana who walks before
him that she loved!” and they fell upon their faces. Only Dingaan
remained seated on his stool.
“Go,” he said hoarsely to Richard, “go, thou wizard, north or south or
east or west, if only thou wilt take that Spirit with thee, for she
bodes evil to my land.”
So Richard, who had seen nothing, marched away from the kraal
Umgugundhlovu, and once more set his face towards the north, the north
that drew him as it draws the needle of a compass.
The road that Rachel and the dwarfs had travelled he travelled also.
Although from day to day he knew not where his feet would lead him,
still he travelled it step by step. Nor did any hurt come to him. In
the country where men dwelt, being forewarned of his coming by
messengers, they brought him food and guarded him, and when he passed
out into the wilderness some other power guarded him. He had no fear at
all. At night he would lie down without a fire, and the lions would
roar about him, but they never harmed him. He would plunge into a swamp
or a river and always pass it safely. When water failed he would find
it without search; when there was no food, it would seem to be brought
to him. Once an eagle dropped a bustard at his feet. Once he found a
buck fresh slain by leopards. Once when he was very hungry he saw that
he had laid down to sleep by a nest of ostrich eggs, and this food he
cooked, making fire after the native fashion with sharp sticks, as he
knew how to do.
At length all the swamps were passed and in the third week of his
journeyings he reached the sloping uplands, on the edge of which he
awoke one morning to find himself surrounded by a circle of great men,
giants, who stood staring at him. He arose, thinking that at last his
hour had come, as it seemed to him that they were about to kill him.
But instead of killing him these huge men saluted him humbly, and
offered him food upon their knees, and new hide shoes for his feet—for
his own were worn out—and cloaks and garments of skin, which things he
accepted thankfully, for by now he was almost naked. Then they brought
a litter and wished him to enter it, but this he refused. Heeding them
no more, as soon as he had eaten and filled his bag and water-bottle,
he started on towards the north. Indeed, he could not have stayed if he
had wished; his brain seemed to be full of one thought only, to travel
till he reached his journey’s end, whatever it might be, and before his
eyes he saw one thing only, the spirit face of Rachel, that led him on
towards that end. Sometimes it was there for hours, then for hours
again it would be absent. When it was present he looked at it; when it
was gone he dreamed of it, for him it was the same. But one thing was
ever with him, that magnet in his heart which drew his feet towards the
north, and from step to step showed him the road that he should travel.
A number of the giant men accompanied him. He noticed it, but took no
heed. So long as they did not attempt to stay or turn him he was
indifferent whether they came or went away. As a result he travelled in
much more comfort, since now everything was made easy and ready for
him. Thus he was fed with the best that the land provided, and at night
shelters were built for him to sleep in. He discovered that a captain
of the giants could understand a few words of some native language
which he knew, and asked him why they helped him. The captain replied
by order of “Mother of Trees.” Who or what “Mother of Trees” might be
Richard was unable to discover, so he gave up his attempts at talk and
walked on.
They traversed the fertile uplands and reached the edge of the fearful
desert. It did not frighten him; he plunged into it as he would have
plunged into a sea, or a lake of fire, had it lain in his way. He was
like a bird whose instinct at the approach of summer or of winter leads
it without doubt or error to some far spot, beyond continents and
oceans, some land that it has never seen, leads it in surety and peace
to its appointed rest. A guard of the giant men came with him into the
desert, also carriers who bore skins of water. In that burning heat the
journey was dreadful, yet Richard accomplished it, wearing down all his
escort, until at its further lip but one man was left. There even he
sank exhausted and began to beat upon a little drum that he carried,
which drum had been passed on to him by those who were left behind. But
Richard was not exhausted. His strength seemed to be greater than it
had ever been before, or that which drew him forward had acquired more
power. He wondered vaguely why a man should choose such a place and
time to play upon a drum, and went on alone.
Before him, some miles away, he saw a forest of towering trees that
stretched further than his eye could reach. As he approached that
forest heading for a certain tall tree, why he knew not, the sunset
dyed it red as though it had been on fire, and he thought that he
discerned little shapes flitting to and fro amidst the boles of trees.
Then he entered the forest, whereof the boughs arched above him like
the endless roof of a cathedral borne upon innumerable pillars. There
was deep gloom that grew presently to darkness wherein here and there
glow-worms shone faintly like tapers dying before an altar, and winds
sighed like echoes of evening prayers. He could see to walk no longer,
sudden weariness overcame him, so according to his custom he laid
himself down to sleep at the bole of a great tree.
A while had passed, he never knew how long, when Richard was awakened
from deep slumber by feeling many hands fiercely at work upon him.
These hands were small like those of children; this he could tell from
the touch of them, although the darkness was so dense that he was able
to see nothing. Two of them gripped him by the throat so as to prevent
him from crying out; others passed cords about his wrists, ankles and
middle until he could not stir a single limb. Then he was dragged back
a few paces and lashed to the bole of a tree, as he guessed, that under
which he had been sleeping. The hands let go of him, and his throat
being free he called out for help. But those vast forest aisles seemed
to swallow up his voice. It fell back on him from the canopy of huge
boughs above, it was lost in the immense silence. Only from close at
hand he heard little peals of thin and mocking laughter. So he too grew
silent, for who was there to help him here? He struggled to loose
himself, for the impalpable power which had guided him so far was now
at work within him more strongly than ever before. It called to him to
come, it drew him onward, it whispered to him that the goal was near.
But the more he writhed and twisted the deeper did the cruel cords or
creepers cut into his flesh. Yet he fought on till, utterly exhausted,
his head fell forward, and he swooned away.