CHAPTER II. THE BEE PROPHESIES
CHAPTER III. THE END OF THE HUNT
CHAPTER IV. NANEA
CHAPTER V. THE DOOM POOL
CHAPTER VI. THE GHOST OF THE DEAD
DEDICATION
To the Memory of the Child
Nada Burnham,
who “bound all to her” and, while her father cut his way through the
hordes of the Ingobo Regiment, perished of the hardships of war at
Buluwayo on 19th May, 1896, I dedicate these tales—and more
particularly the last, that of a Faith which triumphed over savagery
and death.
H. Rider Haggard.
Ditchingham.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Of the three stories that comprise this volume[*], one, “The Wizard,” a
tale of victorious faith, first appeared some years ago as a Christmas
Annual. Another, “Elissa,” is an attempt, difficult enough owing to the
scantiness of the material left to us by time, to recreate the life of
the ancient Phoenician Zimbabwe, whose ruins still stand in Rhodesia,
and, with the addition of the necessary love story, to suggest
circumstances such as might have brought about or accompanied its fall
at the hands of the surrounding savage tribes. The third, “Black Heart
and White Heart,” is a story of the courtship, trials and final union
of a pair of Zulu lovers in the time of King Cetywayo.
[*] This text was prepared from a volume published in 1900 titled
“Black Heart and White Heart, and Other Stories.”— JB.
BLACK HEART AND WHITE HEART
A ZULU IDYLL
CHAPTER I
PHILIP HADDEN AND KING CETYWAYO
At the date of our introduction to him, Philip Hadden was a
transport-rider and trader in “the Zulu.” Still on the right side of
forty, in appearance he was singularly handsome; tall, dark, upright,
with keen eyes, short-pointed beard, curling hair and clear-cut
features. His life had been varied, and there were passages in it which
he did not narrate even to his most intimate friends. He was of gentle
birth, however, and it was said that he had received a public school
and university education in England. At any rate he could quote the
classics with aptitude on occasion, an accomplishment which, coupled
with his refined voice and a bearing not altogether common in the wild
places of the world, had earned for him among his rough companions the
_soubriquet_ of “The Prince.”
However these things may have been, it is certain that he had emigrated
to Natal under a cloud, and equally certain that his relatives at home
were content to take no further interest in his fortunes. During the
fifteen or sixteen years which he had spent in or about the colony,
Hadden followed many trades, and did no good at any of them. A clever
man, of agreeable and prepossessing manner, he always found it easy to
form friendships and to secure a fresh start in life. But, by degrees,
the friends were seized with a vague distrust of him; and, after a
period of more or less application, he himself would close the opening
that he had made by a sudden disappearance from the locality, leaving
behind him a doubtful reputation and some bad debts.
Before the beginning of this story of the most remarkable episodes in
his life, Philip Hadden was engaged for several years in
transport-riding—that is, in carrying goods on ox waggons from Durban
or Maritzburg to various points in the interior. A difficulty such as
had more than once confronted him in the course of his career, led to
his temporary abandonment of this means of earning a livelihood. On
arriving at the little frontier town of Utrecht in the Transvaal, in
charge of two waggon loads of mixed goods consigned to a storekeeper
there, it was discovered that out of six cases of brandy five were
missing from his waggon. Hadden explained the matter by throwing the
blame upon his Kaffir “boys,” but the storekeeper, a rough-tongued man,
openly called him a thief and refused to pay the freight on any of the
load. From words the two men came to blows, knives were drawn, and
before anybody could interfere the storekeeper received a nasty wound
in his side. That night, without waiting till the matter could be
inquired into by the landdrost or magistrate, Hadden slipped away, and
trekked back into Natal as quickly as his oxen would travel. Feeling
that even here he was not safe, he left one of his waggons at
Newcastle, loaded up the other with Kaffir goods—such as blankets,
calico, and hardware—and crossed into Zululand, where in those days no
sheriff’s officer would be likely to follow him.
Being well acquainted with the language and customs of the natives, he
did good trade with them, and soon found himself possessed of some cash
and a small herd of cattle, which he received in exchange for his
wares. Meanwhile news reached him that the man whom he had injured
still vowed vengeance against him, and was in communication with the
authorities in Natal. These reasons making his return to civilisation
undesirable for the moment, and further business being impossible until
he could receive a fresh supply of trade stuff, Hadden like a wise man
turned his thoughts to pleasure. Sending his cattle and waggon over the
border to be left in charge of a native headman with whom he was
friendly, he went on foot to Ulundi to obtain permission from the king,
Cetywayo, to hunt game in his country. Somewhat to his surprise, the
Indunas or headmen, received him courteously—for Hadden’s visit took
place within a few months of the outbreak of the Zulu war in 1878, when
Cetywayo was already showing unfriendliness to the English traders and
others, though why the king did so they knew not.
On the occasion of his first and last interview with Cetywayo, Hadden
got a hint of the reason. It happened thus. On the second morning after
his arrival at the royal kraal, a messenger came to inform him that
“the Elephant whose tread shook the earth” had signified that it was
his pleasure to see him. Accordingly he was led through the thousands
of huts and across the Great Place to the little enclosure where
Cetywayo, a royal-looking Zulu seated on a stool, and wearing a kaross
of leopard skins, was holding an _indaba_, or conference, surrounded by
his counsellors. The Induna who had conducted him to the august
presence went down upon his hands and knees, and, uttering the royal
salute of _Bayéte_, crawled forward to announce that the white man was
waiting.
“Let him wait,” said the king angrily; and, turning, he continued the
discussion with his counsellors.
Now, as has been said, Hadden thoroughly understood Zulu; and, when
from time to time the king raised his voice, some of the words he spoke
reached his ear.
“What!” Cetywayo said, to a wizened and aged man who seemed to be
pleading with him earnestly; “am I a dog that these white hyenas should
hunt me thus? Is not the land mine, and was it not my father’s before
me? Are not the people mine to save or to slay? I tell you that I will
stamp out these little white men; my _impis_ shall eat them up. I have
said!”
Again the withered aged man interposed, evidently in the character of a
peacemaker. Hadden could not hear his talk, but he rose and pointed
towards the sea, while from his expressive gestures and sorrowful mien,
he seemed to be prophesying disaster should a certain course of action
be followed.
For a while the king listened to him, then he sprang from his seat, his
eyes literally ablaze with rage.
“Hearken,” he cried to the counsellor; “I have guessed it for long, and
now I am sure of it. You are a traitor. You are Sompseu’s[*] dog, and
the dog of the Natal Government, and I will not keep another man’s dog
to bite me in my own house. Take him away!”
[*] Sir Theophilus Shepstone’s.
A slight involuntary murmur rose from the ring of _indunas_, but the
old man never flinched, not even when the soldiers, who presently would
murder him, came and seized him roughly. For a few seconds, perhaps
five, he covered his face with the corner of the kaross he wore, then
he looked up and spoke to the king in a clear voice.
“O King,” he said, “I am a very old man; as a youth I served under
Chaka the Lion, and I heard his dying prophecy of the coming of the
white man. Then the white men came, and I fought for Dingaan at the
battle of the Blood River. They slew Dingaan, and for many years I was
the counsellor of Panda, your father. I stood by you, O King, at the
battle of the Tugela, when its grey waters were turned to red with the
blood of Umbulazi your brother, and of the tens of thousands of his
people. Afterwards I became your counsellor, O King, and I was with you
when Sompseu set the crown upon your head and you made promises to
Sompseu—promises that you have not kept. Now you are weary of me, and
it is well; for I am very old, and doubtless my talk is foolish, as it
chances to the old. Yet I think that the prophecy of Chaka, your
great-uncle, will come true, and that the white men will prevail
against you and that through them you shall find your death. I would
that I might have stood in one more battle and fought for you, O King,
since fight you will, but the end which you choose is for me the best
end. Sleep in peace, O King, and farewell. _Bayéte!_”[*]
[*] The royal salute of the Zulus.
For a space there was silence, a silence of expectation while men
waited to hear the tyrant reverse his judgment. But it did not please
him to be merciful, or the needs of policy outweighed his pity.
“Take him away,” he repeated. Then, with a slow smile on his face and
one word, “Good-night,” upon his lips, supported by the arm of a
soldier, the old warrior and statesman shuffled forth to the place of
death.
Hadden watched and listened in amazement not unmixed with fear. “If he
treats his own servants like this, what will happen to me?” he
reflected. “We English must have fallen out of favour since I left
Natal. I wonder whether he means to make war on us or what? If so, this
isn’t my place.”
Just then the king, who had been gazing moodily at the ground, chanced
to look up. “Bring the stranger here,” he said.
Hadden heard him, and coming forward offered Cetywayo his hand in as
cool and nonchalant a manner as he could command.
Somewhat to his surprise it was accepted. “At least, White Man,” said
the king, glancing at his visitor’s tall spare form and cleanly cut
face, “you are no ‘_umfagozan_’ (low fellow); you are of the blood of
chiefs.”
“Yes, King,” answered Hadden, with a little sigh, “I am of the blood of
chiefs.”
“What do you want in my country, White Man?”
“Very little, King. I have been trading here, as I daresay you have
heard, and have sold all my goods. Now I ask your leave to hunt
buffalo, and other big game, for a while before I return to Natal.”
“I cannot grant it,” answered Cetywayo, “you are a spy sent by Sompseu,
or by the Queen’s Induna in Natal. Get you gone.”
“Indeed,” said Hadden, with a shrug of his shoulders; “then I hope that
Sompseu, or the Queen’s Induna, or both of them, will pay me when I
return to my own country. Meanwhile I will obey you because I must, but
I should first like to make you a present.”
“What present?” asked the king. “I want no presents. We are rich here,
White Man.”
“So be it, King. It was nothing worthy of your taking, only a rifle.”
“A rifle, White Man? Where is it?”
“Without. I would have brought it, but your servants told me that it is
death to come armed before the ‘Elephant who shakes the Earth.’”
Cetywayo frowned, for the note of sarcasm did not escape his quick ear.
“Let this white man’s offering be brought; I will consider the thing.”
Instantly the Induna who had accompanied Hadden darted to the gateway,
running with his body bent so low that it seemed as though at every
step he must fall upon his face. Presently he returned with the weapon
in his hand and presented it to the king, holding it so that the muzzle
was pointed straight at the royal breast.
“I crave leave to say, O Elephant,” remarked Hadden in a drawling
voice, “that it might be well to command your servant to lift the mouth
of that gun from your heart.”
“Why?” asked the king.
“Only because it is loaded, and at full cock, O Elephant, who probably
desires to continue to shake the Earth.”
At these words the “Elephant” uttered a sharp exclamation, and rolled
from his stool in a most unkingly manner, whilst the terrified Induna,
springing backwards, contrived to touch the trigger of the rifle and
discharge a bullet through the exact spot that a second before had been
occupied by his monarch’s head.
“Let him be taken away,” shouted the incensed king from the ground, but
long before the words had passed his lips the Induna, with a cry that
the gun was bewitched, had cast it down and fled at full speed through
the gate.
“He has already taken himself away,” suggested Hadden, while the
audience tittered. “No, King, do not touch it rashly; it is a repeating
rifle. Look——” and lifting the Winchester, he fired the four remaining
shots in quick succession into the air, striking the top of a tree at
which he aimed with every one of them.
“_Wow_, it is wonderful!” said the company in astonishment.
“Has the thing finished?” asked the king.
“For the present it has,” answered Hadden. “Look at it.”
Cetywayo took the repeater in his hand, and examined it with caution,
swinging the muzzle horizontally in an exact line with the stomachs of
some of his most eminent Indunas, who shrank to this side and that as
the barrel was brought to bear on them.
“See what cowards they are, White Man,” said the king with indignation;
“they fear lest there should be another bullet in this gun.”
“Yes,” answered Hadden, “they are cowards indeed. I believe that if
they were seated on stools they would tumble off them just as it
chanced to your Majesty to do just now.”
“Do you understand the making of guns, White Man?” asked the king
hastily, while the Indunas one and all turned their heads, and
contemplated the fence behind them.
“No, King, I cannot make guns, but I can mend them.”
“If I paid you well, White Man, would you stop here at my kraal, and
mend guns for me?” asked Cetywayo anxiously.
“It might depend on the pay,” answered Hadden; “but for awhile I am
tired of work, and wish to rest. If the king gives me the permission to
hunt for which I asked, and men to go with me, then when I return
perhaps we can bargain on the matter. If not, I will bid the king
farewell, and journey to Natal.”
“In order to make report of what he has seen and learned here,”
muttered Cetywayo.
At this moment the talk was interrupted, for the soldiers who had led
away the old Induna returned at speed, and prostrated themselves before
the king.
“Is he dead?” he asked.
“He has travelled the king’s bridge,” they answered grimly; “he died
singing a song of praise of the king.”
“Good,” said Cetywayo, “that stone shall hurt my feet no more. Go, tell
the tale of its casting away to Sompseu and to the Queen’s Induna in
Natal,” he added with bitter emphasis.
“_Baba!_ Hear our Father speak. Listen to the rumbling of the
Elephant,” said the Indunas taking the point, while one bolder than the
rest added: “Soon we will tell them another tale, the white Talking
Ones, a red tale, a tale of spears, and the regiments shall sing it in
their ears.”
At the words an enthusiasm caught hold of the listeners, as the sudden
flame catches hold of dry grass. They sprang up, for the most of them
were seated on their haunches, and stamping their feet upon the ground
in unison, repeated:—
_Indaba ibomwu—indaba ye mikonto
Lizo dunyiswa nge impi ndhlebeni yaho._
(A red tale! A red tale! A tale of spears,
And the _impis_ shall sing it in their ears.)
One of them, indeed, a great fierce-faced fellow, drew near to Hadden
and shaking his fist before his eyes—fortunately being in the royal
presence he had no assegai—shouted the sentences at him.
The king saw that the fire he had lit was burning too fiercely.
“Silence,” he thundered in the deep voice for which he was remarkable,
and instantly each man became as if he were turned to stone, only the
echoes still answered back: “And the _impis_ shall sing it in their
ears—in their ears.”
“I am growing certain that this is no place for me,” thought Hadden;
“if that scoundrel had been armed he might have temporarily forgotten
himself. Hullo! who’s this?”
Just then there appeared through the gate of the fence a splendid
specimen of the Zulu race. The man, who was about thirty-five years of
age, was arrayed in a full war dress of a captain of the Umcityu
regiment. From the circlet of otter skin on his brow rose his crest of
plumes, round his middle, arms and knees hung the long fringes of black
oxtails, and in one hand he bore a little dancing shield, also black in
colour. The other was empty, since he might not appear before the king
bearing arms. In countenance the man was handsome, and though just now
they betrayed some anxiety, his eyes were genial and honest, and his
mouth sensitive. In height he must have measured six foot two inches,
yet he did not strike the observer as being tall, perhaps because of
his width of chest and the solidity of his limbs, that were in curious
contrast to the delicate and almost womanish hands and feet which so
often mark the Zulu of noble blood. In short the man was what he seemed
to be, a savage gentleman of birth, dignity and courage.
In company with him was another man plainly dressed in a moocha and a
blanket, whose grizzled hair showed him to be over fifty years of age.
His face also was pleasant and even refined, but the eyes were
timorous, and the mouth lacked character.
“Who are these?” asked the king.
The two men fell on their knees before him, and bowed till their
foreheads touched the ground—the while giving him his _sibonga_ or
titles of praise.
“Speak,” he said impatiently.
“O King,” said the young warrior, seating himself Zulu fashion, “I am
Nahoon, the son of Zomba, a captain of the Umcityu, and this is my
uncle Umgona, the brother of one of my mothers, my father’s youngest
wife.”
Cetywayo frowned. “What do you here away from your regiment, Nahoon?”
“May it please the king, I have leave of absence from the head
captains, and I come to ask a boon of the king’s bounty.”
“Be swift, then, Nahoon.”
“It is this, O King,” said the captain with some embarrassment: “A
while ago the king was pleased to make a _keshla_ of me because of
certain service that I did out yonder——” and he touched the black ring
which he wore in the hair of his head. “Being now a ringed man and a
captain, I crave the right of a man at the hands of the king—the right
to marry.”
“Right? Speak more humbly, son of Zomba; my soldiers and my cattle have
no rights.”
Nahoon bit his lip, for he had made a serious mistake.
“Pardon, O King. The matter stands thus: My uncle Umgona here has a
fair daughter named Nanea, whom I desire to wife, and who desires me to
husband. Awaiting the king’s leave I am betrothed to her and in earnest
of it I have paid to Umgona a _lobola_ of fifteen head of cattle, cows
and calves together. But Umgona has a powerful neighbour, an old chief
named Maputa, the warden of the Crocodile Drift, who doubtless is known
to the king, and this chief also seeks Nanea in marriage and harries
Umgona, threatening him with many evils if he will not give the girl to
him. But Umgona’s heart is white towards me, and towards Maputa it is
black, therefore together we come to crave this boon of the king.”
“It is so; he speaks the truth,” said Umgona.
“Cease,” answered Cetywayo angrily. “Is this a time that my soldiers
should seek wives in marriage, wives to turn their hearts to water?
Know that but yesterday for this crime I commanded that twenty girls
who had dared without my leave to marry men of the Undi regiment,
should be strangled and their bodies laid upon the cross-roads and with
them the bodies of their fathers, that all might know their sin and be
warned thereby. Ay, Umgona, it is well for you and for your daughter
that you sought my word before she was given in marriage to this man.
Now this is my award: I refuse your prayer, Nahoon, and since you,
Umgona, are troubled with one whom you would not take as son-in-law,
the old chief Maputa, I will free you from his importunity. The girl,
says Nahoon, is fair—good, I myself will be gracious to her, and she
shall be numbered among the wives of the royal house. Within thirty
days from now, in the week of the next new moon, let her be delivered
to the _Sigodhla_, the royal house of the women, and with her those
cattle, the cows and the calves together, that Nahoon has given you, of
which I fine him because he has dared to think of marriage without the
leave of the king.”