The Lumisana forest covers many square miles of country, and that the
roughest and most impenetrable country imaginable. Huge tree-trunks,
dense undergrowth, impenetrable thickets of _haak doorn_, that awful
fishhook-like thorn which, like the sword of the Edenic angel, turns
every way, and growing in such close abattis that any one trying to
force his way through it would in a second find not only his clothes but
his skin torn to ribbons and could not get through even then. Where the
ground was comparatively level a way might be made by the following of
game paths; but there were broken, tumbled masses of rocks and cliffs,
and dark ravines falling away suddenly, with lateral clefts running up
from these for long distances, the said clefts so overhung by dense
foliage as to form actual caves into which the light of day could hardly
straggle. A terrible, an appalling place to get lost in, save for those
with a lifetime of veldt-craft at their back, and the means of procuring
wild food. To a new and inexperienced wanderer such a position would be
well-nigh hopeless. Snakes of the most deadly varieties were abundant,
the hyena and the leopard prowled at night--the latter abnormally bold
and fierce, and giant baboons barked raucously from the rocks. Even in
full, broad daylight, with the sun glancing down through the network of
the tree-tops, there was an awesome stillness and an oppressiveness in
the air, breathing of fever; at night the dense solitude and mysterious
voices and rustlings were calculated to get upon the nerves.
To the natives the place was very much _tagati_. It exuded witchcraft
and uncanniness. Even in the daytime they did not care to penetrate
very far into its mysterious depths, and then only in twos or more. At
night they were unanimous in leaving it severely alone.
Yet, here are two of them, threading its most untrodden recesses, under
a broad, full moon, and they are walking as men with a set purpose. One
is a man of tall, splendid physique, the other shorter and older, and
both are flagrantly transgressing the laws of the administration under
which they live, for each is armed with a rifle as well as two or three
assegais.
They hold on their way, with that light, elastic, yet firm Zulu step. A
white man would be tripping and stumbling and floundering here in these
misty shades, but not these. A sort of instinct enables them to grip
the ground, to duck where a great overbranching limb bars the path. And
the air is hot and heavy and feverish, and even their nearly naked
bodies glisten with perspiration.
"_Au_! The way is long. I, who am old, am tired, my father."
The speaker was nearly old enough to be the other's father, but the
title was given in respect to rank.
"I, who am young, am tired, Undhlawafa. Tired of being the white man's
dog," was the sneering reply.
"Yet Opondo is a white man," answered the induna.
"Name him not here; he is great. No, he is not a white man. He was
once."
"He is but little older than me, son of Umlali. Do I not remember him
when we were a nation? He was our friend then, the friend of that Great
One who has gone into night."
"He is our friend now, Undhlawafa," said Sapazani. "That is why we are
answering his `word' to-night."
Another hour of travelling--time is nothing to savages, nor distance
either--and the sudden, deep-toned baying of dogs smote upon both men's
ears. They continued their snake-like course through the dense foliage
and the gloom unhesitatingly. Then the sky lightened. They had emerged
from the forest, and in the moonlight a few domed roofs stood forth
staring and pale. Within the thorn stockade surrounding these the dogs
mouthed and roared. Some one came forth and quieted them, and the two
entered, the gate being immediately closed behind them.
The man who admitted them saluted with respect. Then he dived into a
hut, presently returning with an intimation that they should enter.
Prior to doing so both deposited their weapons upon the ground outside.
This kraal was deep away in the heart of the forest. It was overhung by
a crescent formation of craggy rocks, but over this the growth was so
thick that nothing short of hewing a way for days could have brought
anyone within overlooking range on that side. In front nearly the same
held good, and but that the two who now came to it were past masters in
the art of finding their way through apparently impenetrable undergrowth
they would have missed it again and again. Besides, they had been here
before.
The chief occupant of the hut was a white man.
He was old. His face was hard and worn, and tanned nearly to the
duskiness of the Zulus around him, especially that of Sapazani, who was
light-coloured. He wore a long silvered beard, and his blue-grey eyes
were bright and glittering. There was a light of magnetic command in
them, and indeed in the whole countenance. A strange personality and
rather a terrific one. Him the new arrivals saluted with deference.
"Welcome, son of Umlali. Also Undhlawafa."
The voice was deep-toned and strong. The utterer seemed not as old as
he looked.
"We are here, my father," said Sapazani. "And the news?"
"Give it," turning to a man who sat at his left. Sapazani had been
awarded the place of honour on the right.
He addressed, who was no other than the subsequently famous Babatyana,
did so. His own tribe, the Amahluzi, were armed, so, too, the Amaqwabe,
and several other powerful tribes in Natal were also ready. It was only
a question of acting in concert. And the great parent stock--that of
Zululand--was it ready?
"_He_ has not yet spoken," said Sapazani, referring to the head of the
royal House.
"He is dumb," said Babatyana, "so far."
Sapazani did not immediately reply. He was pondering. This was the
first time he had seen Babatyana, and he was not impressed by him.
There was an irresponsible frothiness about his manner which did not
appeal. Moreover, as a Zulu of the old stock--and a very conservative
one at that--Sapazani could not for the life of him quite throw off the
traditional contempt for a "Kafula," i.e. a Natal native. And the
latter wore European clothes.
"So far it is like a broken chain," he said; "like the white man's
chain. If one link is broken, of what use is the chain?"
"And that link?" asked Babatyana.
"Sigananda and Mehlo-ka-zulu," returned Sapazani.
"Those links can be forged," said the white man. "There are others,
too, which will render the chain a double one."
The plotting went on, till a whole scheme for a simultaneous rising was
most carefully elaborated. It was curious with what solicitude this
white man threw himself into the plan for the slaughter of his own
countrymen. The cruel face grew more hard and cruel as he arranged or
disposed of each detail. Its cold ruthlessness struck even the Zulus,
as he went on elucidating the scheme; would have struck them with
astonishment, but that they knew his history. And yet the presence of
this man in the country at all was barely suspected by those who
administered the said country.
By linking up all the tribes from central Natal right to the north of
Zululand, a sweep downward could be made. The wavering ones would join,
and then--no more officialdom or pass-laws or taxes. They would be free
again, not as the white arch-plotter was careful to explain, by their
force of arms alone, but because those who ruled them from across the
sea were divided among themselves. It was difficult to understand, but
Opondo, [The Horns] for that was his native name, knew everything. He
had been known among them formerly by another name, but that for good
reasons was _hlonipa_, i.e. hidden, now, and the present substitute was,
darkly, near enough to it.
For upwards of an hour they sat listening, hanging on his words, showing
their assent by emphatic exclamations when he made a special point. And
no one was more emphatic than a man who had said very little during the
_indaba_. He was not a chief, but a follower of Babatyana, and his name
was Pandulu; and he had not said much--had only listened.
Now _tywala_ was brought in and distributed. The white man lighted a
pipe, so, too, did Babatyana, a proceeding which brought an
ill-concealed sneer to Sapazani's face, for that conservative chief and
his induna confined themselves to the good old custom of taking snuff.
Pipe smoking and clothes wearing went together, they decided,
contemptuously. With a white man, of course, it was different. Such
things were his custom. But it affected them even further. What about
joining forces with such a decadent as this? A _Kafula_! who wore
clothes--dirty clothes at that--and smoked a pipe!
The _indaba_ had dropped; but now Pandulu, who had spoken but little
before, seemed anxious to revive it. He, too, came under the mistrust
of Sapazani. He, too, smoked a pipe and wore clothes. Then food was
brought in--the usual beef and roast mealies, and all took a hearty hand
at the trencher. By this time the night was wearing on.
Sapazani and his induna got up to leave. They did not wish it to be
known they had been in converse with Opondo, wherefore it was just as
well to be out of the forest before dawn.
Outside in the clear moonlight the dogs began to raise a great clamour,
in the midst of which the white man put an injunction upon Babatyana,
who was sleeping at the kraal, to the effect that he should send his
follower, Pandulu, with Sapazani. He gave no reason--his word was
sufficient.
The trio started.
The owner of the kraal stood alone, gazing forth into the night, and the
hard and cruel expression deepened upon his strong face. His was a
lifelong feud--a feud deadly and vengeful--with his own race. He lived
for that, and for nothing else. His was a terrible and mysterious
personality. He could sway tribes and nations, and yet not appear
himself. Even among the natives themselves there were comparatively few
who had actually seen him, yet every disturbance or rumour of
disturbance he was at the back of.
"Just such a night as this," he murmured to himself, gazing at the full
moon, then at the great sweep of forest with its weird, nocturnal
noises. "Just such a night."
The face softened somewhat at the recollection, then hardened again more
than ever. More blood was to flow, more blood to be poured out upon the
altar of a never-dying vengeance.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The three wended through the labyrinthine shades, finding their way with
almost the instinct of wild animals. Pandulu talked volubly about the
coming rising, but the other two, beyond putting a question or so here
and there, said not much.
"_Whau_!" he exclaimed, looking up. "The moon is sinking. Shall we not
rest and make a fire? This is a place for evil things to happen in the
black darkness."
"For evil things to happen," repeated Sapazani. "For evil things to
happen. _Eh-he_, Pandulu."
There was that in the tone which the man addressed did not like. Or
could it be that a whispered word or two between the chief and Opondo
had not escaped his notice, though he could not hear its burden?
As he had said, the moon was dropping, and more than an hour of black
darkness lay between this and daylight. And darkness under these shades
could be very black indeed. Anyway, he did not like the chief's tone--
no, not a bit. Perhaps he had some secret reason of his own for not
liking it, anyway he suddenly realised that he was in deadly peril.
"Here will we rest," said Sapazani, coming to a sudden halt. They had
gained an open space, which was lighter beneath the dying moon. The
stranger agreed with alacrity.
"I will go and gather sticks for a fire," he said, making a move towards
the thickest part of the bush.
"Move not," said the chief sternly, covering him with his rifle.
This was unanswerable. Yet quick as thought, in sheer desperation,
Pandulu turned and fled. But no bullet stopped his course or whizzed
past him. Dropping his rifle, Sapazani sprang in pursuit.
It was something of a chase. The hunted man fleeing for life itself, as
now he knew, twisted and doubled like a hare, and in running had just as
good a chance as his pursuer. The latter, for his part, realising what
enormous odds were at stake upon this man escaping, put forward every
effort. Even then it is doubtful whether he would have been successful;
but a forest game path is an awkward place for a sprinting match, and
the fugitive's foot catching in some tangle of undergrowth he fell
headlong. In a moment his pursuer was upon him.
Pandulu realised that his end had come. His struggles were useless
beneath the weight and against the powerful grasp of Sapazani, for he
had fallen face downward, and his pursuer had taken care he should not
move from that position.
"Well, traitor! Well, white man's dog!" snarled the chief. "I am going
to pass the remainder of the dark hours beside a fire, and on that fire
thyself. Ha! it will be a warm one. But to begin with--how likest thou
that and that?"
"That and that" represented two long cuts of Sapazani's sharp assegai,
drawn across the fallen man's shoulders. The flesh quivered
convulsively, but no groan escaped the tortured man. Even then he was
calculating his chances, for he still clung desperately to life. In a
few minutes it would be pitch dark, could he not, by a sudden movement,
wriggle himself free? The chances of flight under such conditions would
be all in his favour. And the stakes! He had been promised reward such
as would have made him rich for life, and could he have made such a
discovery as that Sapazani was a leading figure in the plot, why, it
would have meant still more. But another sharp dig from the assegai
again made him writhe.
"Now white man's little-dog who would have betrayed us," went on the
chief in a growling tone, like that of a wild beast. "That other will
find us directly, and then we will make a fire and have a merry roast.
Ha! And that roast shall be thyself. Ha!"
"Spare me the fire, my father, and I will name thee others who have more
to do with this than I," pleaded the captive.
Sapazani was on the alert. He saw through the other's plan. It was a
question of a sudden relaxation of muscle on his part and his victim
would slip through his fingers, and away into the darkness. Ought he
not to kill him at once? If only Undhlawafa were not so old and
slow-footed! He could hold his victim for ever if necessary, but he
could not tie him up and light a fire single-handed.
"Who are `others,' and what part had they?" demanded the chief, with
another admonitory prod.
The victim named two names. Sapazani nodded. Them he could easily get
into his power. Pandulu then began to give details of the scheme under
which the plotters were to be brought within the white man's net, all
unconsciously, and there arrested. He also entered into considerable
detail as to the reward they--the traitors--were to receive. But this
did not hoodwink Sapazani. He felt the creeping tension of the muscles
of his victim, knew that the latter was reckoning on the listener's
physical tension growing merged in his mental interest, so that at the
right moment he should make a spring for life and liberty. He took a
quick glance upward. He could tell by the sky that the moon had nearly
disappeared. No, he could not afford to wait any longer for Undhlawafa.
Just then two tiger wolves howled, answering each other, very near at
hand.
"They wait for thee, Pandulu," he snarled. "Already they smell blood.
Well, go. _Hamba gahle_!"
With the words he drove his assegai down hard between the prostrate
man's shoulders. The body and limbs quivered convulsively, beating the
ground. Hardly had they stilled than the faint light disappeared. It
would not have been safe to have delayed any longer. And in the black
gloom of the grim forest the dead man lay, and before morning the
ravening beasts would have left nothing of him but crunched and
scattered bones.
Those few last words whispered to Sapazani by the white arch-plotter had
contained a death warrant.