THE OATH
We spent three more days at that place. First it was necessary to allow
time to elapse before the gases which generated in their great bodies
caused those of the sea-cows which had been killed in the water, to
float. Then they must be skinned and their thick hides cut into strips
and pieces to be traded for _sjamboks_ or to make small native shields
for which some of the East Coast tribes will pay heavily.
All this took a long while, during which I amused, or disgusted myself
in watching those river natives devouring the flesh of the beasts. The
lean, what there was of it, they dried and smoked into a kind of
“biltong,” but a great deal of the fat they ate at once. I had the
curiosity to weigh a lump which was given to one thin, hungry-looking
fellow. It scaled quite twenty pounds. Within four hours he had eaten
it to the last ounce and lay there, a distended and torpid log. What
would not we white people give for such a digestion!
At last all was over and we started homewards, the man with a broken
leg being carried in a kind of litter. On the edge of the bush-veld we
found the waggon quite safe, also one of Captain Robertson’s that had
followed us from Strathmuir in order to carry the expected load of
hippopotamus’ hides and ivory. I asked my _voorlooper_ if anything had
happened during our absence. He answered nothing, but on the previous
evening after dark, he had seen a glow in the direction of Strathmuir
which lay on somewhat lower ground about twenty miles away, as though
numerous fires had been lighted there. It struck him so much, he added,
that he climbed a tree to observe it better. He did not think, however,
that any building had been burned there, as the glow was not strong
enough for that.
I suggested that it was caused by some grass fire or reed-burning, to
which he replied indifferently that he did not think so as the line of
the glow was not sufficiently continuous.
There the matter ended, though I confess that the story made me
anxious, for what exact reason I could not say. Umslopogaas also, who
had listened to it, for our talk was in Zulu, looked grave, but made no
remark. But as since his tree-climbing experience he had been
singularly silent, of this I thought little.
We had trekked at a time which we calculated would bring us to
Strathmuir about an hour before sundown, allowing for a short halt half
way. As my oxen were got in more quickly than those of the other waggon
after this outspan, I was the first away, followed at a little distance
by Umslopogaas, who preferred to walk with his Zulus. The truth was
that I could not get that story about the glow of fires out of my mind
and was anxious to push on, which had caused me to hurry up the
inspanning.
Perhaps we had covered a couple of miles of the ten or twelve which
still lay between us and Strathmuir, when far off on the crest of one
of the waves of the veld which much resembled those of the swelling sea
frozen while in motion, I saw a small figure approaching us at a rapid
trot. Somehow that figure suggested Hans to my mind, so much so that I
fetched my glasses to examine it more closely. A short scrutiny through
them convinced me that Hans it was, Hans and no other, advancing at a
great pace.
Filled with uneasiness, I ordered the driver to flog up the oxen, with
the result that in a little over five minutes we met. Halting the
waggon, I leapt from the waggon-box and calling to Umslopogaas who had
kept up with us at a slow, swinging trot, went to Hans, who, when he
saw me, stood still at a little distance, swinging his apology for a
hat in his hand, as was his fashion when ashamed or perplexed.
“What is the matter, Hans?” I asked when we were within speaking
distance.
“Oh! Baas, everything,” he answered, and I noticed that he kept his
eyes fixed upon the ground and that his lips twitched.
“Speak, you fool, and in Zulu,” I said, for by now Umslopogaas had
joined me.
“Baas,” he answered in that tongue, “a terrible thing has come about at
the farm of Red-Beard yonder. Yesterday afternoon at the time when
people are in the habit of sleeping there till the sun grows less hot,
a body of great men with fierce faces who carried big spears—perhaps
there were fifty of them, Baas—crept up to the place through the long
grass and growing crops, and attacked it.”
“Did you see them come?” I asked.
“No, Baas. I was watching at a little distance as you bade me do and
the sun being hot, I shut my eyes to keep out the glare of it, so that
I did not see them until they had passed me and heard the noise.”
“You mean that you were asleep or drunk, Hans, but go on.”
“Baas, I do not know,” he answered shamefacedly, “but after that I
climbed a tall tree with a kind of bush at the top of it” (I
ascertained afterwards that this was a sort of leafy-crowned palm),
“and from it I saw everything without being seen.”
“What did you see, Hans?” I asked him.
“I saw the big men run up and make a kind of circle round the village.
Then they shouted, and the people in the village came out to see what
was the matter. Thomaso and some of the men caught sight of them first
and ran away fast into the hillside at the back where the trees grow,
before the circle was complete. Then the women and the children came
out and the big men killed them with their spears—all, all!”
“Good God!” I exclaimed. “And what happened at the house and to the
lady?”
“Baas, some of the men had surrounded that also and when she heard the
noise the lady Sad-Eyes came out on to the stoep and with her came the
two Zulus of the Axe who had been left sick but were now quite
recovered. A number of the big men ran as though to take her, but the
two Zulus made a great fight in front of the little steps to the stoep,
having their backs protected by the stoep, and killed six of them
before they themselves were killed. Also Sad-Eyes shot one with a
pistol she carried, and wounded another so that the spear fell out of
his hand.
“Then the rest fell on her and tied her up, setting her in a chair on
the stoep where two remained to watch her. They did her no hurt, Baas;
indeed, they seemed to treat her as gently as they could. Also they
went into the house and there they caught that tall fat yellow girl who
always smiles and is called Janee, she who waits upon the Lady
Sad-Eyes, and brought her out to her. I think they told her, Baas, that
she must look after her mistress and that if she tried to run away she
would be killed, for afterwards I saw Janee bring her food and other
things.”
“And then, Hans?”
“Then, Baas, most of the great men rested a while, though some of them
went through the store gathering such things as they liked, blankets,
knives and iron cooking-pots, but they set fire to nothing, nor did
they try to catch the cattle. Also they took dry wood from the pile and
lit big fires, eight or nine of them, and when the sun set they began
to feast.”
“What did they feast on, Hans, if they took no cattle?” I asked with a
shiver, for I was afraid of I knew not what.
“Baas,” answered Hans, turning his head away and looking at the ground,
“they feasted on the children whom they had killed, also on some of the
young women. These tall soldiers are men-eaters, Baas.”
At this horrible intelligence I turned faint and felt as though I was
going to fall, but recovering myself, signed to him to go on with his
story.
“They feasted quite nicely, Baas,” he continued, “making no noise. Then
some of them slept while others watched, and that went on all night. As
soon as it was dark, but before the moon rose, I slid down the tree and
crept round to the back of the house without being seen or heard, as I
can, Baas. I got into the house by the back door and crawled to the
window of the sitting-room. It was open and peeping through I saw
Sad-Eyes still tied to the seat on the stoep not more than a pace away,
while the girl Janee crouched on the floor at her feet—I think she was
asleep or fainting.
“I made a little noise, like a night-adder hissing, and kept on making
it, till at last Sad-Eyes turned her head. Then I spoke in a very low
whisper, for fear lest I should wake the two guards who were dozing on
either side of her wrapped in their blankets, saying, ‘It is I, Hans,
come to help you.’ ‘You cannot,’ she answered, also speaking very low.
‘Get to your master and tell him and my father to follow. These men are
called Amahagger and live far away across the river. They are going to
take me to their home, as I understand, to rule them, because they want
a white woman to be a queen over them who have always been ruled by a
certain white queen, against whom they have rebelled. I do not think
they mean to do me any harm, unless perhaps they want to marry me to
their chief, but of this I am not sure from their talk which I
understand badly. Now go, before they catch you.’
“‘I think you might get away,’ I whispered back. ‘I will cut your
bonds. When you are free, slip through the window and I will guide
you.’
“‘Very well, try it,’ she said.
“So I drew my knife and stretched out my arm. But then, Baas, I showed
myself a fool—if the Great Medicine had still been there I might have
known better. I forgot the starlight which shone upon the blade of the
knife. That girl Janee came out of her sleep or swoon, lifted her head
and saw the knife. She screamed once, then at a word from her mistress
was silent. But it was enough, for it woke up the guards who glared
about them and threatened Janee with their great spears, also they went
to sleep no more, but began to talk together, though what they said I
could not hear, for I was hiding on the floor of the room. After this,
knowing that I could do no good and might do harm and get myself
killed, I crept out of the house as I had crept in, and crawled back to
my tree.”
“Why did you not come to me?” I asked.
“Because I still hoped I might be able to help Sad-Eyes, Baas. Also I
wanted to see what happened, and I knew that I could not bring you here
in time to be any good. Yet it is true I thought of coming though I did
not know the road.”
“Perhaps you were right.”
“At the first dawn,” continued Hans, “the great men who are called
Amahagger rose and ate what was left over from the night before. Then
they gathered themselves together and went to the house. Here they
found a large chair, that seated with _rimpis_ in which the Baas
Red-Beard sits, and lashed two poles to the chair. Beneath the chair
they tied the garments and other things of the Lady Sad-Eyes which they
made Janee gather as Sad-Eyes directed her. This done, very gently they
sat Sad-Eyes herself in the chair, bowing while they made her fast.
After this eight of them set the poles upon their shoulders, and they
all went away at a trot, heading for the bush-veld, driving with them a
herd of goats which they had stolen from the farm, and making Janee run
by the chair. I saw everything, Baas, for they passed just beneath my
tree. Then I came to seek you, following the outward spoor of the
waggons which I could not have done well at night. That is all, Baas.”
“Hans,” I said, “you have been drinking and because of it the lady
Sad-Eyes is taken a prisoner by cannibals; for had you been awake and
watching, you might have seen them coming and saved her and the rest.
Still, afterwards you did well, and for the rest you must answer to
Heaven.”
“I must tell your reverend father, the Predikant, Baas, that the white
master, Red-Beard, gave me the liquor and it is rude not to do as a
great white master does, and drink it up. I am sure he will understand,
Baas,” said Hans abjectly.
I thought to myself that it was true and that the spear which Robertson
cast had fallen upon his own head, as the Zulus say, but I made no
answer, lacking time for argument.
“Did you say,” asked Umslopogaas, speaking for the first time, “that my
servants killed only six of these men-eaters?”
Hans nodded and answered, “Yes, six. I counted the bodies.”
“It was ill done, they should have killed six each,” said Umslopogaas
moodily. “Well, they have left the more for us to finish,” and he
fingered the great axe.
Just then Captain Robertson arrived in his waggon, calling out
anxiously to know what was the matter, for some premonition of evil
seemed to have struck him. My heart sank at the sight of him, for how
was I to tell such a story to the father of the murdered children and
of the abducted girl?
In the end I felt that I could not. Yes, I turned coward and saying
that I must fetch something out of the waggon, bolted into it, bidding
Hans go forward and repeat his tale. He obeyed unwillingly enough and
looking out between the curtains of the waggon tent I saw all that
happened, though I could not hear the words that passed.
Robertson had halted the oxen and jumping from the waggon-box strode
forward and met Hans, who began to speak with him, twitching his hat in
his hands. Gradually as the tale progressed, I saw the Captain’s face
freeze into a mask of horror. Then he began to argue and deny, then to
weep—oh! it was a terrible sight to see that great man weeping over
those whom he had lost, and in such a fashion.
After this a kind of blind rage seized him and I thought he was going
to kill Hans, who was of the same opinion, for he ran away. Next he
staggered about, shaking his fists, cursing and shouting, till
presently he fell of a heap and lay face downwards, beating his head
against the ground and groaning.
Now I went to him because I must.
He saw me coming and sat up.
“That’s a pretty story, Quatermain, which this little yellow monkey has
been gibbering at me. Man, do you understand what he says? He says that
all those half-blood children of mine are dead, murdered by savages
from over the Zambesi, yes, and eaten, too, with their mothers. Do you
take the point? Eaten like lambs. Those fires your man saw last night
were the fires on which they were cooked, my little _so-and-so_ and
_so-and-so_,” and he mentioned half a dozen different names. “Yes,
cooked, Quatermain. And that isn’t all of it, they have taken Inez too.
They didn’t eat her, but they have dragged her off a captive for God
knows what reason. I couldn’t understand. The whole ship’s crew is
gone, except the captain absent on leave and the first officer,
Thomaso, who deserted with some Lascar stokers, and left the women and
children to their fate. My God, I’m going mad. I’m going mad! If you
have any mercy in you, give me something to drink.”
“All right,” I said, “I will. Sit here and wait a minute.”
Then I went to the waggon and poured out a stiff tot of spirits into
which I put an amazing dose of bromide from a little medicine chest I
always carry with me, and thirty drops of chlorodyne on the top of it.
All this compound I mixed up with a little water and took it to him in
a tin cup so that he could not see the colour.
He drank it at a gulp and throwing the pannikin aside, sat down on the
veld, groaning while the company watched him at a respectful distance,
for Hans had joined the others and his tale had spread like fire in
drought-parched grass.
In a few minutes the drugs began to take effect upon Robertson’s
tortured nerves, for he rose and said quietly,
“What now?”
“Vengeance, or rather justice,” I answered.
“Yes,” he exclaimed, “vengeance. I swear that I will be avenged, or
die—or both.”
Again I saw my opportunity and said, “You must swear more than that,
Robertson. Only sober men can accomplish great things, for drink
destroys the judgment. If you wish to be avenged for the dead and to
rescue the living, you must be sober, or I for one will not help you.”
“Will you help me if I do, to the end, good or ill, Quatermain?” he
added.
I nodded.
“That’s as much as another’s oath,” he muttered. “Still, I will put my
thought in words. I swear by God, by my mother—like these natives—and
by my daughter born in honest marriage, that I will never touch another
drop of strong drink, until I have avenged those poor women and their
little children, and rescued Inez from their murderers. If I do you may
put a bullet through me.”
“That’s all right,” I said in an offhand fashion, though inwardly I
glowed with pride at the success of my great idea, for at the time I
thought it great, and went on,
“Now let us get to business. The first thing to do is to trek to
Strathmuir and make preparations; the next to start upon the trail.
Come to sit on the waggon with me and tell me what guns and ammunition
you have got, for according to Hans those savages don’t seem to have
touched anything, except a few blankets and a herd of goats.”
He did as I asked, telling me all he could remember. Then he said,
“It is a strange thing, but now I recall that about two years ago a
great savage with a high nose, who talked a sort of Arabic which, like
Inez, I understand, having lived on the coast, turned up one day and
said he wanted to trade. I asked him what in, and he answered that he
would like to buy some children. I told him that I was not a
slave-dealer. Then he looked at Inez, who was moving about, and said
that he would like to buy her to be a wife for his Chief, and offered
some fabulous sum in ivory and in gold, which he said should be paid
before she was taken away. I snatched his big spear from his hand,
broke it over his head and gave him the best hiding with its shaft that
he had ever heard of. Then I kicked him off the place. He limped away
but when he was out of reach, turned and called out that one day he
would come again with others and take her, meaning Inez, without
leaving the price in ivory and gold. I ran for my gun, but when I got
back he had gone and I never thought of the matter again from that day
to this.”
“Well, he kept his promise,” I said, but Robertson made no answer, for
by this time that thundering dose of bromide and laudanum had taken
effect on him and he had fallen asleep, of which I was glad, for I
thought that this sleep would save his sanity, as I believe it did for
a while.
We reached Strathmuir towards sunset, too late to think of attempting
the pursuit that day. Indeed, during our trek, I had thought the matter
out carefully and come to the conclusion that to try to do so would be
useless. We must rest and make preparations; also there was no hope of
our overtaking these brutes who already had a clear twelve hours’
start, by a sudden spurt. They must be run down patiently by following
their spoor, if indeed they could be run down at all before they
vanished into the vast recesses of unknown Africa. The most we could do
this night was to get ready.
Captain Robertson was still sleeping when we passed the village and of
this I was heartily glad, since the remains of a cannibal feast are not
pleasant to behold, especially when they are——! Indeed, of these I
determined to be rid at once, so slipping off the waggon with Hans and
some of the farm boys, for none of the Zulus would defile themselves by
touching such human remnants—I made up two of the smouldering fires,
the light of which the _voorlooper_ had seen upon the sky, and on to
them cast, or caused to be cast, those poor fragments. Also I told the
farm natives to dig a big grave and in it to place the other bodies and
generally to remove the traces of murder.
Then I went on to the house, and not too soon. Seeing the waggons
arrive and having made sure that the Amahagger were gone, Thomaso and
the other cowards emerged from their hiding-places and returned.
Unfortunately for the former the first person he met was Umslopogaas,
who began to revile the fat half-breed in no measured terms, calling
him dog, coward, and other opprobrious names, such as deserter of women
and children, and so forth—all of which someone translated.
Thomaso, an insolent person, tried to swagger the matter out, saying
that he had gone to get assistance. Infuriated at this lie, Umslopogaas
leapt upon him with a roar and though he was a strong man, dealt with
him as a lion does with a buck. Lifting him from his feet, he hurled
him to the ground, then as he strove to rise and run, caught him again
and as it seemed to me, was about to break his back across his knee.
Just at this juncture I arrived.
“Let the man go,” I shouted to him. “Is there not enough death here
already?”
“Yes,” answered Umslopogaas, “I think there is. Best that this jackal
should live to eat his own shame,” and he cast Thomaso to the ground,
where he lay groaning.
Robertson, who was still asleep in the waggon, woke up at the noise,
and descended from it, looking dazed. I got him to the house and in
doing so made my way past, or rather between the bodies of the two
Zulus and of the six men whom they had killed, also of him whom Inez
had shot. Those Zulus had made a splendid fight for they were covered
with wounds, all of them in front, as I found upon examination.
Having made Robertson lie down upon his bed, I took a good look at the
slain Amahagger. They were magnificent men, all of them; tall, spare
and shapely with very clear-cut features and rather frizzled hair. From
these characteristics, as well as the lightness of their colour, I
concluded that they were of a Semitic or Arab type, and that the
admixture of their blood with that of the Bantus was but slight, if
indeed there were any at all. Their spears, of which one had been cut
through by a blow of a Zulu’s axe, were long and broad, not unlike to
those used by the Masai, but of finer workmanship.
By this time the sun was setting and thoroughly tired by all that I had
gone through, I went into the house to get something to eat, having
told Hans to find food and prepare a meal. As I sat down Robertson
joined me and I made him also eat. His first impulse was to go to the
cupboard and fetch the spirit bottle; indeed, he rose to do so.
“Hans is making coffee,” I said warningly.
“Thank you,” he answered, “I forgot. Force of habit, you know.”
Here I may state that never from that moment did I see him touch
another drop of liquor, not even when I drank my modest tot in front of
him. His triumph over temptation was splendid and complete, especially
as the absence of his accustomed potations made him ill for some time
and of course depressed his spirits, with painful results that were
apparent in due course.
In fact, the man became totally changed. He grew gloomy but
resourceful, also full of patience. Only one idea obsessed him—to
rescue his daughter and avenge the murder of his people; indeed, except
his sins, he thought of and found interest in nothing else. Moreover,
his iron constitution cast off all the effects of his past debauchery
and he grew so strong that although I was pretty tough in those days,
he could out-tire me.
To return; I engaged him in conversation and with his help made a list
of what we should require on our vendetta journey, all of which served
to occupy his mind. Then I sent him to bed, saying that I would call
him before dawn, having first put a little more bromide into his third
cup of coffee. After this I turned in and notwithstanding the sight of
those remains of the cannibal feast and the knowledge of the dead men
who lay outside my window, I slept like a top.
Indeed, it was the Captain who awakened me, not I the Captain, saying
that daylight was on the break and we had better be stirring. So we
went down to the Store, where I was thankful to find that everything
had been tidied up in accordance with my directions.
On our way Robertson asked me what had become of the remains, whereon I
pointed to the smouldering ashes of one of the great fires. He went to
it and kneeling down, said a prayer in broad Scotch, doubtless one that
he had learned at his mother’s knee. Then he took some of the ashes
from the edge of the pyre—for such it was—and threw them into the
glowing embers where, as he knew, lay all that was left of those who
had sprung from him. Also he tossed others of them into the air, though
what he meant by this I did not understand and never asked. Probably it
was some rite indicative of expiation or of revenge, or both, which he
had learned from the savages among whom he had lived so long.
After this we went into the Store and with the help of some of the
natives, or half-breeds, who had accompanied us on the sea-cow
expedition, selected all the goods we wanted, which we sent to the
house.
As we returned thither I saw Umslopogaas and his men engaged, with the
usual Zulu ceremonies, in burying their two companions in a hole they
had made in the hillside. I noted, however, that they did not inter
their war-axes or their throwing-spears with them as usual, probably
because they thought that these might be needed. In place of them they
put with the dead little models roughly shaped of bits of wood, which
models they “killed” by first breaking them across.
I lingered to watch the funeral and heard Goroko, the witch-doctor,
make a little speech.
“O Father and Chief of the Axe,” he said, addressing Umslopogaas, who
stood silent leaning on his weapon and watching all, a portentous
figure in the morning mist, “O Father, O Son of the Heavens” (this was
an allusion to the royal blood of Umslopogaas of which the secret was
well known, although it would never have been spoken aloud in
Zululand), “O Slaughterer (Bulalio), O Woodpecker who picks at the
hearts of men; O King-Slayer; O Conqueror of the Halakazi; O Victor in
a hundred fights; O Gatherer of the Lily-bloom that faded in the hand;
O Wolf-man, Captain of the Wolves that ravened; O Slayer of Faku; O
Great One whom it pleases to seem small, because he must follow his
blood to the end appointed——”
This was the opening of the speech, the “_bonga_-ing” or giving of
Titles of Praise to the person addressed, of which I have quoted but a
sample, for there were many more of them that I have forgotten. Then
the speaker went on,
“It was told to me, though of it I remember nothing, that when my
Spirit was in me a while ago I prophesied that this place would flow
with blood, and lo! the blood has flowed, and with it that of these our
brothers,” and he gave the names of the two dead Zulus, also those of
their forefathers for several generations.
“It seems, Father, that they died well, as you would have wished them
to die, and as doubtless they desired to die themselves, leaving a tale
behind them, though it is true that they might have died better,
killing more of the men-eaters, as it is certain they would have done,
had they not been sick inside. They are finished; they have gone beyond
to await us in the Under-world among the ghosts. Their story is told
and soon to their children they will be but names whispered in honour
after the sun has set. Enough of them who have showed us how to die as
our fathers did before them.”
Goroko paused a while, then added with a waving of his hands,
“My Spirit comes to me again and I know that these our brothers shall
not pass unavenged. Chief of the Axe, great glory awaits the Axe, for
it shall feed full. I have spoken.”
“Good words!” grunted Umslopogaas. Then he saluted the dead by raising
_Inkosikaas_ and came to me to consult about our journey.