THE GHOST OF THE DEAD
When Nanea leapt from the dizzy platform that overhung the Pool of
Doom, a strange fortune befell her. Close in to the precipice were many
jagged rocks, and on these the waters of the fall fell and thundered,
bounding from them in spouts of spray into the troubled depths of the
foss beyond. It was on these stones that the life was dashed out from
the bodies of the wretched victims who were hurled from above. But
Nanea, it will be remembered, had not waited to be treated thus, and as
it chanced the strong spring with which she had leapt to death carried
her clear of the rocks. By a very little she missed the edge of them
and striking the deep water head first like some practised diver, she
sank down and down till she thought that she would never rise again.
Yet she did rise, at the end of the pool in the mouth of the rapid,
along which she sped swiftly, carried down by the rush of the water.
Fortunately there were no rocks here; and, since she was a skilful
swimmer, she escaped the danger of being thrown against the banks.
For a long distance she was borne thus till at length she saw that she
was in a forest, for trees cut off the light from the water, and their
drooping branches swept its surface. One of these Nanea caught with her
hand, and by the help of it she dragged herself from the River of Death
whence none had escaped before. Now she stood upon the bank gasping but
quite unharmed; there was not a scratch on her body; even her white
garment was still fast about her neck.
But though she had suffered no hurt in her terrible voyage, so
exhausted was Nanea that she could scarcely stand. Here the gloom was
that of night, and shivering with cold she looked helplessly to find
some refuge. Close to the water’s edge grew an enormous yellow-wood
tree, and to this she staggered—thinking to climb it, and seek shelter
in its boughs where, as she hoped, she would be safe from wild beasts.
Again fortune befriended her, for at a distance of a few feet from the
ground there was a great hole in the tree which, she discovered, was
hollow. Into this hole she crept, taking her chance of its being the
home of snakes or other evil creatures, to find that the interior was
wide and warm. It was dry also, for at the bottom of the cavity lay a
foot or more of rotten tinder and moss brought there by rats or birds.
Upon this tinder she lay down, and covering herself with the moss and
leaves soon sank into sleep or stupor.
How long Nanea slept she did not know, but at length she was awakened
by a sound as of guttural human voices talking in a language that she
could not understand. Rising to her knees she peered out of the hole in
the tree. It was night, but the stars shone brilliantly, and their
light fell upon an open circle of ground close by the edge of the
river. In this circle there burned a great fire, and at a little
distance from the fire were gathered eight or ten horrible-looking
beings, who appeared to be rejoicing over something that lay upon the
ground. They were small in stature, men and women together, but no
children, and all of them were nearly naked. Their hair was long and
thin, growing down almost to the eyes, their jaws and teeth protruded
and the girth of their black bodies was out of all proportion to their
height. In their hands they held sticks with sharp stones lashed on to
them, or rude hatchet-like knives of the same material.
Now Nanea’s heart shrank within her, and she nearly fainted with fear,
for she knew that she was in the haunted forest, and without a doubt
these were the _Esemkofu_, the evil ghosts that dwelt therein. Yes,
that was what they were, and yet she could not take her eyes off
them—the sight of them held her with a horrible fascination. But if
they were ghosts, why did they sing and dance like men? Why did they
wave those sharp stones aloft, and quarrel and strike each other? And
why did they make a fire as men do when they wish to cook food? More,
what was it that they rejoiced over, that long dark thing which lay so
quiet upon the ground? It did not look like a head of game, and it
could scarcely be a crocodile, yet clearly it was food of some sort,
for they were sharpening the stone knives in order to cut it up.
While she wondered thus, one of the dreadful-looking little creatures
advanced to the fire, and taking from it a burning bough, held it over
the thing that lay upon the ground, to give light to a companion who
was about to do something to it with the stone knife. Next instant
Nanea drew back her head from the hole, a stifled shriek upon her lips.
She saw what it was now—it was the body of a man. Yes, and these were
no ghosts; they were cannibals of whom when she was little, her mother
had told her tales to keep her from wandering away from home.
But who was the man they were about to eat? It could not be one of
themselves, for his stature was much greater. Oh! now she knew; it must
be Nahoon, who had been killed up yonder, and whose dead body the
waters had brought down to the haunted forest as they had brought her
alive. Yes, it must be Nahoon, and she would be forced to see her
husband devoured before her eyes. The thought of it overwhelmed her.
That he should die by order of the king was natural, but that he should
be buried thus! Yet what could she do to prevent it? Well, if it cost
her her life, it should be prevented. At the worst they could only kill
and eat her also, and now that Nahoon and her father were gone, being
untroubled by any religious or spiritual hopes and fears, she was not
greatly concerned to keep her own breath in her.
Slipping through the hole in the tree, Nanea walked quietly towards the
cannibals—not knowing in the least what she should do when she reached
them. As she arrived in line with the fire this lack of programme came
home to her mind forcibly, and she paused to reflect. Just then one of
the cannibals looked up to see a tall and stately figure wrapped in a
white garment which, as the flame-light flickered on it, seemed now to
advance from the dense background of shadow, and now to recede into it.
The poor savage wretch was holding a stone knife in his teeth when he
beheld her, but it did not remain there long, for opening his great
jaws he uttered the most terrified and piercing yell that Nanea had
ever heard. Then the others saw her also, and presently the forest was
ringing with shrieks of fear. For a few seconds the outcasts stood and
gazed, then they were gone this way and that, bursting their path
through the undergrowth like startled jackals. The _Esemkofu_ of Zulu
tradition had been routed in their own haunted home by what they took
to be a spirit.
Poor _Esemkofu!_ they were but miserable and starving bushmen who,
driven into that place of ill omen many years ago, had adopted this
means, the only one open to them, to keep the life in their wretched
bodies. Here at least they were unmolested, and as there was little
other food to be found amid that wilderness of trees, they took what
the river brought them. When executions were few in the Pool of Doom,
times were hard for them indeed—for then they were driven to eat each
other. That is why there were no children.
As their inarticulate outcry died away in the distance, Nanea ran
forward to look at the body that lay on the ground, and staggered back
with a sigh of relief. It was not Nahoon, but she recognised the face
for that of one of the party of executioners. How did he come here? Had
Nahoon killed him? Had Nahoon escaped? She could not tell, and at the
best it was improbable, but still the sight of this dead soldier lit
her heart with a faint ray of hope, for how did he come to be dead if
Nahoon had no hand in his death? She could not bear to leave him lying
so near her hiding-place, however; therefore, with no small toil, she
rolled the corpse back into the water, which carried it swiftly away.
Then she returned to the tree, having first replenished the fire, and
awaited the light.
At last it came—so much of it as ever penetrated this darksome den—and
Nanea, becoming aware that she was hungry, descended from the tree to
search for food. All day long she searched, finding nothing, till
towards sunset she remembered that on the outskirts of the forest there
was a flat rock where it was the custom of those who had been in any
way afflicted, or who considered themselves or their belongings to be
bewitched, to place propitiatory offerings of food wherewith the
_Esemkofu_ and _Amalhosi_ were supposed to satisfy their spiritual
cravings. Urged by the pinch of starvation, to this spot Nanea
journeyed rapidly, and found to her joy that some neighbouring kraal
had evidently been in recent trouble, for the Rock of Offering was
laden with cobs of corn, gourds of milk, porridge and even meat.
Helping herself to as much as she could carry, she returned to her
lair, where she drank of the milk and cooked meat and mealies at the
fire. Then she crept back into the tree, and slept.
For nearly two months Nanea lived thus in the forest, since she could
not venture out of it—fearing lest she should be seized, and for a
second time taste of the judgment of the king. In the forest at least
she was safe, for none dared enter there, nor did the _Esemkofu_ give
her further trouble. Once or twice she saw them, but on each occasion
they fled from her presence—seeking some distant retreat, where they
hid themselves or perished. Nor did food fail her, for finding that it
was taken, the pious givers brought it in plenty to the Rock of
Offering.
But, oh! the life was dreadful, and the gloom and loneliness coupled
with her sorrows at times drove her almost to insanity. Still she lived
on, though often she desired to die, for if her father was dead, the
corpse she had found was not the corpse of Nahoon, and in her heart
there still shone that spark of hope. Yet what she hoped for she could
not tell.
When Philip Hadden reached civilised regions, he found that war was
about to be declared between the Queen and Cetywayo, King of the
Amazulu; also that in the prevailing excitement his little adventure
with the Utrecht store-keeper had been overlooked or forgotten. He was
the owner of two good buck-waggons with spans of salted oxen, and at
that time vehicles were much in request to carry military stores for
the columns which were to advance into Zululand; indeed the transport
authorities were glad to pay £90 a month for the hire of each waggon
and to guarantee the owners against all loss of cattle. Although he was
not desirous of returning to Zululand, this bait proved too much for
Hadden, who accordingly leased out his waggons to the Commissariat,
together with his own services as conductor and interpreter.
He was attached to No. 3 column of the invading force, which it may be
remembered was under the immediate command of Lord Chelmsford, and on
the 20th of January, 1879, he marched with it by the road that runs
from Rorke’s Drift to the Indeni forest, and encamped that night
beneath the shadow of the steep and desolate mountain known as
Isandhlwana.
That day also a great army of King Cetywayo’s, numbering twenty
thousand men and more, moved down from the Upindo Hill and camped upon
the stony plain that lies a mile and a half to the east of Isandhlwana.
No fires were lit, and it lay there in utter silence, for the warriors
were “sleeping on their spears.”
With that _impi_ was the Umcityu regiment, three thousand five hundred
strong. At the first break of dawn the Induna in command of the Umcityu
looked up from beneath the shelter of the black shield with which he
had covered his body, and through the thick mist he saw a great man
standing before him, clothed only in a moocha, a gaunt wild-eyed man
who held a rough club in his hand. When he was spoken to, the man made
no answer; he only leaned upon his club looking from left to right
along the dense array of innumerable shields.
“Who is this _Silwana_ (wild creature)?” asked the Induna of his
captains wondering.
The captains stared at the wanderer, and one of them replied, “This is
Nahoon-ka-Zomba, it is the son of Zomba who not long ago held rank in
this regiment of the Umcityu. His betrothed, Nanea, daughter of Umgona,
was killed together with her father by order of the Black One, and
Nahoon went mad with grief at the sight of it, for the fire of Heaven
entered his brain, and mad he has wandered ever since.”
“What would you here, Nahoon-ka-Zomba?” asked the Induna.
Then Nahoon spoke slowly. “My regiment goes down to war against the
white men; give me a shield and a spear, O Captain of the king, that I
may fight with my regiment, for I seek a face in the battle.”
So they gave him a shield and a spear, for they dared not turn away one
whose brain was alight with the fire of Heaven.
When the sun was high that day, bullets began to fall among the ranks
of the Umcityu. Then the black-shielded, black-plumed Umcityu arose,
company by company, and after them arose the whole vast Zulu army,
breast and horns together, and swept down in silence upon the doomed
British camp, a moving sheen of spears. The bullets pattered on the
shields, the shells tore long lines through their array, but they never
halted or wavered. Forward on either side shot out the horns of armed
men, clasping the camp in an embrace of steel. Then as these began to
close, out burst the war cry of the Zulus, and with the roar of a
torrent and the rush of a storm, with a sound like the humming of a
billion bees, wave after wave the deep breast of the _impi_ rolled down
upon the white men. With it went the black-shielded Umcityu and with
them went Nahoon, the son of Zomba. A bullet struck him in the side,
glancing from his ribs, he did not heed; a white man fell from his
horse before him, he did not stab, for he sought but one face in the
battle.
He sought—and at last he found. There, among the waggons where the
spears were busiest, there standing by his horse and firing rapidly was
Black Heart, he who had given Nanea his betrothed to death. Three
soldiers stood between them, one of them Nahoon stabbed, and two he
brushed aside; then he rushed straight at Hadden.
But the white man saw him come, and even through the mask of his
madness he knew Nahoon again, and terror took hold of him. Throwing
away his empty rifle, for his ammunition was spent, he leaped upon his
horse and drove his spurs into its flanks. Away it went among the
carnage, springing over the dead and bursting through the lines of
shields, and after it came Nahoon, running long and low with head
stretched forward and trailing spear, running as a hound runs when the
buck is at view.
Hadden’s first plan was to head for Rorke’s Drift, but a glance to the
left showed him that the masses of the Undi barred that way, so he fled
straight on, leaving his path to fortune. In five minutes he was over a
ridge, and there was nothing of the battle to be seen, in ten all
sounds of it had died away, for few guns were fired in the dread race
to Fugitive’s Drift, and the assegai makes no noise. In some strange
fashion, even at this moment, the contrast between the dreadful scene
of blood and turmoil that he had left, and the peaceful face of Nature
over which he was passing, came home to his brain vividly. Here birds
sang and cattle grazed; here the sun shone undimmed by the smoke of
cannon, only high up in the blue and silent air long streams of
vultures could be seen winging their way to the Plain of Isandhlwana.
The ground was very rough, and Hadden’s horse began to tire. He looked
over his shoulder—there some two hundred yards behind came the Zulu,
grim as Death, unswerving as Fate. He examined the pistol in his belt;
there was but one undischarged cartridge left, all the rest had been
fired and the pouch was empty. Well, one bullet should be enough for
one savage: the question was should he stop and use it now? No, he
might miss or fail to kill the man; he was on horseback and his foe on
foot, surely he could tire him out.
A while passed, and they dashed through a little stream. It seemed
familiar to Hadden. Yes, that was the pool where he used to bathe when
he was the guest of Umgona, the father of Nanea; and there on the knoll
to his right were the huts, or rather the remains of them, for they had
been burnt with fire. What chance had brought him to this place, he
wondered; then again he looked behind him at Nahoon, who seemed to read
his thoughts, for he shook his spear and pointed to the ruined kraal.
On he went at speed for here the land was level, and to his joy he lost
sight of his pursuer. But presently there came a mile of rocky ground,
and when it was past, glancing back he saw that Nahoon was once more in
his old place. His horse’s strength was almost spent, but Hadden
spurred it forward blindly, whither he knew not. Now he was travelling
along a strip of turf and ahead of him he heard the music of a river,
while to his left rose a high bank. Presently the turf bent inwards and
there, not twenty yards away from him, was a Kaffir hut standing on the
brink of a river. He looked at it, yes, it was the hut of that accursed
_inyanga_, the Bee, and standing by the fence of it was none other than
the Bee herself. At the sight of her the exhausted horse swerved
violently, stumbled and came to the ground, where it lay panting.
Hadden was thrown from the saddle but sprang to his feet unhurt.
“Ah! Black Heart, is it you? What news of the battle, Black Heart?”
cried the Bee in a mocking voice.
“Help me, mother, I am pursued,” he gasped.
“What of it, Black Heart, it is but by one tired man. Stand then and
face him, for now Black Heart and White Heart are together again. You
will not? Then away to the forest and seek shelter among the dead who
await you there. Tell me, tell me, was it the face of Nanea that I saw
beneath the waters a while ago? Good! bear my greetings to her when you
two meet in the House of the Dead.”
Hadden looked at the stream; it was in flood. He could not swim it, so
followed by the evil laugh of the prophetess, he sped towards the
forest. After him came Nahoon, his tongue hanging from his jaws like
the tongue of a wolf.
Now he was in the shadow of the forest, but still he sped on following
the course of the river, till at length his breath failed, and he
halted on the further side of a little glade, beyond which a great tree
grew. Nahoon was more than a spear’s throw behind him; therefore he had
time to draw his pistol and make ready.
“Halt, Nahoon,” he cried, as once before he had cried; “I would speak
with you.”
The Zulu heard his voice, and obeyed.
“Listen,” said Hadden. “We have run a long race and fought a long
fight, you and I, and we are still alive both of us. Very soon, if you
come on, one of us must be dead, and it will be you, Nahoon, for I am
armed and as you know I can shoot straight. What do you say?”
Nahoon made no answer, but stood still at the edge of the glade, his
wild and glowering eyes fixed on the white man’s face and his breath
coming in short gasps.
“Will you let me go, if _I_ let _you_ go?” Hadden asked once more. “I
know why you hate me, but the past cannot be undone, nor can the dead
be brought to earth again.”
Still Nahoon made no answer, and his silence seemed more fateful and
more crushing than any speech; no spoken accusation would have been so
terrible in Hadden’s ear. He made no answer, but lifting his assegai he
stalked grimly toward his foe.
When he was within five paces Hadden covered him and fired. Nahoon
sprang aside, but the bullet struck him somewhere, for his right arm
dropped, and the stabbing spear that he held was jerked from it
harmlessly over the white man’s head. But still making no sound, the
Zulu came on and gripped him by the throat with his left hand. For a
space they struggled terribly, swaying to and fro, but Hadden was
unhurt and fought with the fury of despair, while Nahoon had been twice
wounded, and there remained to him but one sound arm wherewith to
strike. Presently forced to earth by the white man’s iron strength, the
soldier was down, nor could he rise again.
“Now we will make an end,” muttered Hadden savagely, and he turned to
seek the assegai, then staggered slowly back with starting eyes and
reeling gait. For there before him, still clad in her white robe, a
spear in her hand, stood the spirit of Nanea!
“Think of it,” he said to himself, dimly remembering the words of the
_inyanga_, “when you stand face to face with the ghost of the dead in
the Home of the Dead.”
There was a cry and a flash of steel; the broad spear leapt towards him
to bury itself in his breast. He swayed, he fell, and presently Black
Heart clasped that great reward which the word of the Bee had promised
Him.
“Nahoon! Nahoon!” murmured a soft voice, “awake, it is no ghost, but
I—Nanea—I, your living wife, to whom my _Ehlose_[*] has given it me to
save you.”
[*] Guardian Spirit.
Nahoon heard and opened his eyes to look and his madness left him.
“Welcome, wife,” he said faintly, “now I will live since Death has
brought you back to me in the House of the Dead.”
To-day Nahoon is one of the Indunas of the English Government in
Zululand, and there are children about his kraal. It was from the lips
of none other than Nanea his wife that the teller of this tale heard
its substance.
The Bee also lives and practises as much magic as she dares under the
white man’s rule. On her black hand shines a golden ring shaped like a
snake with ruby eyes, and of this trinket the Bee is very proud.