The royal funeral--The "thunder of the shields"--Not afraid to
die--The witch-doctor's bloody work--What Labotsibeni wanted--The
burial of the indunas--Rain-making and the "rain stone"--Buno's burial
in the caves--Witch-doctors prevent our entering the caves--Labotsibeni
sends for gin.
We had not been in camp more than a few minutes when an induna came to
see Tuys. He said he came from Queen Labotsibeni and that she wanted
him to go and see her. Tuys did not like the idea.
"Tell Queen Labotsibeni that I am here," he said. "If she wants to see
me, let her come to me here!"
As the fires were beginning to glow in the dusk, the old queen came.
She was accompanied by only two or three warriors and several women.
Tuys gave her a bottle of gin, and she took a very large drink before
they started talking. Like all the Swazis, she was inordinately fond
of spirits.
I sat close to Tuys, feeling sure that I would hear something
interesting. Labotsibeni did not want to talk while I was there and
suggested that I go and see the sacrifice. She said she would send her
warriors with me and thus I could see the ten indunas killed. This did
not appeal strongly to me, but Tuys seemed to think I ought not to
miss it.
"Mzaan Bakoor, you won't get another chance soon to see a Swazi king's
burial ceremonies," he said. "You had better go." Then he added in
Dutch, "Don't be afraid, boy. You are perfectly safe with her men. No
one dare touch them."
So I reluctantly went. It was dark by this time, and it seemed as
though all Swaziland was going to attend the sacrifice. We soon found
ourselves in a great crowd, every one armed and in full war costume.
There were no women, these being left behind to mind the fires.
The two warriors who acted as my escort were great grim-faced savages,
both of them a head taller than me. They must have been well over six
feet, and I had to almost trot to keep up with them. Both were
indunas, and from what they said I gathered that a brother of one of
them was to be killed at the sacrifice. Both spoke of his impending
death as though it were a great honor. It was not until the actual
ceremony that I was sure whose brother it was.
The fire in front of Buno's hut was a great blaze. It lighted up the
scores of huts nearby and revealed thousands of warriors drawn up in
rows, more than twenty deep, about it. By using Queen Labotsibeni's
name, my escort forced our way through until we stood on the very edge
of the fire. All about me I could hear the deep-throated voices of the
warriors.
For fully fifteen minutes nothing happened, except that those behind
seemed to press closer. Then suddenly a number of men dashed into the
open space, each bearing a huge bundle of faggots. They waited,
bundles on head, and an expectant hush succeeded the hum of voices.
The only sound was the crackle of the fire.
From where we stood we could see the entrance to Buno's hut, standing
out like a black spot in the illumination. While we watched a strange
figure came out. He was wearing furs and feathers and wore a hideous
mask. It was the head witch-doctor! Behind him came six or seven
lesser witch-doctors bearing the body of the king. They straightened
up, and a second later lifted their burden above their heads. At this
the head witch-doctor threw up his hands and the entire multitude of
warriors gave the triple royal salute. The earth fairly trembled when
their feet came down. Then the faggot-men threw their loads into the
fire and the flames leaped a score of feet into the air. The king's
body was placed on the mats in front of his hut, the witch-doctors
forming a guard on either side. This was the beginning of the real
ceremony. Led by the chief witch-doctor, the dancing began.
Now the Swaziland idea of dancing consists of leaps into the air and
incessant stamping of the feet. Soon thousands were dancing and the
dust became a haze before the bright flames of the fire. I was
probably the only person within sight of Buno's body who was not
dancing. My two bodyguards were leaping wildly, and I noted that they
were most earnest in their exercise.
The dance must have lasted five minutes. It was brought to a sudden
stop by the chief witch-doctor, who threw up his arms and called a
halt. In just as short a time as they had gone dance mad, the entire
assemblage quieted down. The stirring ceased and I could feel the air
of dread expectancy that showed the end of the drama was in sight.
[Illustration: QUEEN TZANEEN, MOTHER OF THE CROWN PRINCE
She is wearing a silk wrap presented to her by Dr. O'Neil. Note the
hair, which is worked up into this peculiar shape upon marriage]
[Illustration: QUEEN TZANEEN WITH SOME ZULU PRINCESSES
They had arrived to present themselves in marriage to the prince. They
are cousins of the queen, as she is a Zulu by birth]
[Illustration: UMZULEK, A RESOURCEFUL AND INFLUENTIAL EXILE
He is living in a territory set aside for him. On his right is Prince
Bilakzi, who is soliciting his assistance for Sebuza in obtaining his
throne]
The witch-doctor gave some sort of a command, and from behind Buno's
hut came ten of the most splendid savages I have ever seen. They were
all indunas and wore the full costume of their rank. On their heads
were great plumes and each carried his shield, knob-kerrie, and
assegai. With steady tramp they passed by their dead king and lined
up, facing his body, in front of the fire.
No sooner were they in place than they gave the royal salute. Then
they did something I had not seen before. With steady rythmic strokes
they beat on their great shields with their knob-kerries. This lasted
for only a moment, but it was like the throbbing of a heart--the heart
of Swaziland, it seemed to me.
When the hollow roar died, the chief witch-doctor stepped out and made
an oration. We could not hear him very plainly. However, I caught a
few phrases.
"Indunas, great heroes of Swaziland," he shouted, illustrating his
words with extravagant gestures and contortions, "You have been chosen
of all our people to die with our king. There is not one present who
does not envy you! Tens of thousands are here, and all covet the honor
that is yours.
"Buno, our great king, the saviour of Swaziland, has gone! Great
indunas, you would not want to live without your peerless leader--life
would mean nothing!"
There was a lot more, but I did not get it. The oration must have
lasted a good half hour, the condemned men standing like statues all
the while. I did not understand the last remarks of the witch-doctor,
but the instant he stopped the royal salute, repeated once, crashed out.
Then the first of the ten indunas stepped out. He raised his shield
and knob-kerrie above his head and saluted the dead king. Immediately
came the "thunder of the shields." Every warrior in the entire crowd
began striking his shield with his knob-kerrie. There was no staccato
to the blows--rather a rubbing, pulling stroke that brought each blow
out with repeated vibrations. In a few moments a cadence was set up
and the strokes came all together at equal intervals. The effect was
terrific; the air seemed to pulsate with the vibrations and it seemed
to catch me right in the pit of the stomach.
The steady drumming slowly rose in a crescendo, and then the induna
turned from the king's body and with one far-flung motion threw his
shield and arms into the fire. Next he turned, threw his head back,
and faced the body. Slowly and firmly he stepped forward until he
stood beside his dead king.
The chief witch-doctor stood a pace or two from him, his right hand
holding a great curved knife which gleamed and shimmered in the bright
light of the fire. There was a tense moment, made doubly painful by
the steady roar of the beaten shields. I was fascinated. I knew what
was coming and dreaded to see it. Yet I found myself powerless to look
away; my eyes were riveted on that murderous knife!
Slowly the witch-doctor raised the knife above his head. Then one step
forward, a lightning thrust, and the induna came down like a falling
tree! He did not stir; there was no convulsive death struggle. The
doctor was an efficient butcher.
Each of the others went to his death in exactly the same way. There
was no flinching, no hesitation; open-eyed and unafraid these savages
went like stoics to their death. The witch-doctor did not bungle; each
stroke brought death and there was no need for the services of his
assistants who stood ready with stabbing spears.
The next to the last man to die was the brother of the fiercest of my
two bodyguards. This was evident from the new energy with which my man
beat his shield. If I had not noticed this, his remark after the knife
went home would have enlightened me.
"A man! A brave man! A warrior!" he said to his companion in a hoarse,
dust-choked voice. "My brother is a brave induna. He is a true son of
my mother!"
When the last man was sacrificed, the witch-doctor made another
speech. It was about what heroes the ten indunas had been and what a
great king they had lost. One sentence I remember.
"So long as warriors are willing to die for Swaziland," he shouted,
"our country is safe! So long as our best face death without fear, we
need not fear the Zulus, Boers, or British. The white men fear death.
They can never stand against our impis if our warriors are led by such
men as those who died to-night!"
The thought came to me that it was rather foolish to kill indunas,
leaders of warriors, in this fashion, but it was the ancient custom
and their brave death made for heroism among those who lived. Each
kraal to which one of the sacrificed indunas belonged gloried in his
death and it became a tradition for the younger warriors to live up to.
The doctor ceased speaking after a little and the crowd began to move
away. The king's body was taken back to his hut and the fire allowed
to burn low. When we left, which we did as soon as we could, the chief
witch-doctor was marching up and down outside the hut and accompanying
his steps with a sort of chant.
My most distinct memory of the sacrifice is the sensation I suffered
when the drumming of the shields reached its height. I shall never
forget this. Every time I hear the bass drum stroked, bringing out all
its bass vibrations, memory jerks me back to the unerring slash of the
sacrificial knife at Buno's kraal in Lebombo. I know that for months
afterward I used to hear those shields in that brief moment between
wakefulness and sleep.
Labotsibeni had gone when I reached camp. Oom Tuys was pacing up and
down, smoking his great pipe and waiting for me. He gave me a hug when
I reached the firelight and seemed quite relieved at seeing me.
"I was worried, you were so long," he said. "Buno's death means
trouble in Swaziland, and I was afraid you might have been captured as
a hostage or even killed. Tell me, what did you see?"
Then I told him all about the sacrifice. I found myself strangely
tired and lay down while I talked. Tuys listened without interruption
until I had finished. Then he asked, "Are you sure there were ten
indunas sacrificed?"
I told him I was sure, because I had mechanically counted them when
they stood before the fire.
"Then I am safe," he replied. "If ten have been killed, there will be
no more. Ten is the royal number, and there must not be one more or
less. Good!"
Then he told me about Queen Labotsibeni's visit. It seems she had
called on "The White King of Swaziland" for his help in a matter of
importance to the state. Buno's death had left the throne vacant.
Queen Tzaneen could not reign because she was not a native-born Swazi.
Her child, if a man, could not become king until he became of age.
Hence the throne was vacant, and Labotsibeni wanted Tuys to use his
influence to have her recognized as queen by the British and Boers.
"The old lady is right," he said. "She is the only one able to rule
Swaziland. Every one knows that she practically ruled as the royal
queen of King Umbandine and during Buno's reign she was always the
power behind the throne. Most of the time she was not very far behind,
either!
"She is very keen. She demanded that I pay the tribute to her in place
of Buno! I told her that she could have the gin, but that I could not
give her the gold without permission from Oom Paul. She didn't like
that very much, but I was able to make her see that I was right.
To-morrow I shall take her the gin and she'll have to be satisfied
with that.
"I shall recommend that Labotsibeni be appointed regent until the
right king is found. Umzulek, I hear, thinks that he ought to succeed
Buno, and there is talk that he will take the throne by force. I shall
have to prevent that."
Exhausted as I was, I found sleep difficult that night. For some time
I lay there listening to Tuys's regular breathing and afraid that he
might snore, as he did sometimes. If he had, I know I could not have
stood it--each deep note would have started the shields drumming again.
We were up at dawn next morning and never did that first cup of coffee
taste so good. Buno was to be buried that day and I hoped to see a
ceremony. Before we had breakfasted a score of Labotsibeni's warriors,
led by a lesser induna, arrived as our escort for the day. They
brought word that Buno would be "taken to the caves when the shadows
were least," or at noon. The indunas who had been sacrificed, however,
were being buried during the morning. So we decided to attend the
funerals.
I was much disappointed. There were no ceremonials. In fact, the most
exciting thing that happened was that one of the junior witch-doctors
was bitten by a snake and speedily died. The indunas were buried in a
tangled patch of brush and tall grass, with a few trees breaking its
monotony. This was set apart for indunas only, the plain people being
buried anywhere they happened to die. All the important chiefs of
Swaziland had been buried there ever since the days of King Umbandine,
yet the place was absolutely unkempt and full of snakes.
When we arrived at Buno's kraal, the bodies of the indunas were laid
out in a row. Near each stood witch-doctors and warriors. Not far away
were a number of women and children. These were the wives of the dead
men.
As we came up an order was given and the warriors lifted up the
bodies. Each band of pall-bearers was led by a witch-doctor, while the
widows and children of each induna fell in behind. There was no
wailing or mourning--the women seemed as stoical as their departed
husbands had been when they faced the knife on the night before.
All the women had their heads shaved as a sign that their husbands
were dead. This is their custom. From her earliest girlhood the Swazi
woman trains her hair to grow in a sort of cone or pyramid. When her
husband dies the hair is shaved right up to this mound, leaving much
of the head bare. The daughters of these widows had their heads
entirely shaved. This also is the custom, so it is quite possible to
tell for whom the Swazi women mourn and also how recent is their loss.
Tuys and I followed the procession to the burial ground--"The Place of
Indunas," they call it--and saw the simple ceremonies. These only
consisted of placing the body in a shallow hole, scratching the dirt
over it, and then piling rocks on top.
Beside each grave was placed a pot of corn-meal and some uncooked
meat, so that the induna might have food if he should come back. This
was the only suggestion of future life. The Swazi is a very primitive
savage; he has no hell or heaven and, under normal circumstances, no
god. Their only supernatural belief is in a sort of evil spirit or
devil. This devil, however, is under the control of the ruler and
usually is most active in sending or holding back the rain so
necessary to the scanty crops grown by the Swazis.
In connection with this devil it is important to know that Queen
Labotsibeni was the "rain-maker" of Swaziland. This gave her great
power, since the natives fully believed in her supernatural powers.
How she gained this control over the devil is an interesting chapter
in Swazi history.
In the old days the Zulu chiefs possessed this rain-making gift, which
was supposed to be vested in a small round stone called the "rain
stone." When Ama-Swazi led the rebellion against the Zulus and broke
away from them, he captured this stone and took it with him. Much of
his ascendancy was based on its possession.
Umbandine, his son, inherited the stone, and Queen Labotsibeni
promptly annexed it on his death. King Buno never owned it, and during
his entire reign his mother provided the rain for Swaziland.
Labotsibeni was wise in her way and made the "rain stone" a source of
revenue. Now and then dry spells strike Swaziland, and the hot sun
burns up the crops and causes much suffering. At such a time the
indunas came to the old queen and begged her to make rain. She always
went through some incantation before assenting, and then announced her
price. It was usually a portion of corn from each kraal, the total
amounting to many bushels. When this was paid, she agreed to make
rain. It is peculiar that she was often successful and that rain
followed shortly after her promise.
If, however, the rain did not come, she would announce that one of her
chiefs was plotting against her and that she had surrendered the rule
of the weather to the devil so that he might punish her people. On
such occasions her wrath was terrible, and this is probably one of the
reasons why she was so feared. Tuys told me that Labotsibeni in a rage
was a "perfect she-devil" and that even her indunas would run to avoid
her. She was a wise old queen; no matter how the weather acted, she
had it arranged so that she could not lose!
On the way out of the indunas' burying-ground, the witch-doctor
stepped on a snake. We came up to him as he sat waiting for death, the
body of the adder beside him with its head crushed. He rocked slowly
back and forth, looking straight ahead and making no sound. I wanted
to do something for him.
"What's the use, lad?" Tuys said. "There is no cure for the
puff-adder's bite, unless you have a drug-shop along. He must die, and
die soon, and he knows it. Come on, unless you want to see him go?"
I most certainly did not, so we went along, keeping our eyes on the
ground lest we run afoul of a snake. I looked back a moment later and
saw that the stricken man had laid down, and then I knew that his
suffering would soon be over. None of the other natives seemed to give
a second thought to him; under Buno's rule they had grown more callous
than ever.
It was almost noon when we reached Buno's kraal, and there was a large
gathering of witch-doctors about his hut. The witch-doctors of our
burial-party joined them, and Tuys informed me that practically all
the witch-doctors in Swaziland were there.
"Now would be a good time for some target practice," he said grimly.
"In about five minutes a few quick shots could remove most of the
sources of trouble in this country. If those witch-doctors were all
killed, Swaziland would be a happier land."
Soon the head witch-doctor--the one who did the butchering so well the
night before--detached himself from the group and began to look at the
sun. He stood his wand on the ground and studied its shadow. After a
time this seemed to satisfy him, and he sent two of the others out of
the kraal on the run. Shortly after came the sound of many feet, and
soon the royal impi filed into the enclosure. The warriors ranged
themselves on either side of the pathway, just as I had so often seen
them do before.
When they were in place the chief doctor went into Buno's hut. Out he
came a few minutes later, with six others carrying the body of the
king. As they swung it to their shoulders the impi saluted. After the
third thud of stamping feet the chief doctor started down the lane of
warriors. Behind him came those bearing the body, with the other
doctors following them. Last of all came a number of unarmed men
carrying fresh-killed beef, corn, and pots of tswala.
This was the king's funeral cortege proper. When it reached the end of
the impi, the warriors turned and followed in marching order, acting
as escort. Tuys and I dropped in behind. I was very curious to see
"the caves" where Buno was to be buried. As we followed the slow
procession, Tuys told me about them.
"No white man has ever entered these caves," he said. "They are a
little distance up the mountain and are said to be immense. The
witch-doctors are the only natives who ever enter them, and they tell
queer tales about what goes on. They say that there are rivers and
smoke and bright lights in some of the caves. I don't believe this, of
course, but they say it. I think that the mystery of the caves is part
of the foolishness practiced by these witch-doctors and is only
trumped up to keep the people away. Not long ago when I asked a
witch-doctor if he would show me King Umbandine's grave in the caves,
he pretended to be much frightened and told me that the devil lived in
the caves and would be angry if a white man entered them.
"Only the kings of Swaziland are buried in the caves. Ama-Swazi was
the first. His body was brought up from his kraal in the low country.
Umbandine is there, and now Buno is going to join them. I suppose
Labotsibeni will have the honor when she dies, although it is quite
likely that the witch-doctors will refuse to allow a woman to be
buried there."
The caves were about four miles from the royal kraal at Lebombo and
much of the trail was uphill. We reached them in about an hour, and I
saw that there were a number of entrances, all fissures in the rocks.
The procession stopped and the bearers were relieved by six others.
The change was made without laying the king's body on the ground. This
was in accordance with the ancient customs--a king's body must not
touch the ground from the time it starts on its last trek until it is
laid at rest in the caves.
The new bearers faced about and raised the body high above their
heads. While they held it there the royal impi gave their dead king
his last salute. Then the witch-doctors took the food from the unarmed
men and a moment later the entire band of "priests" disappeared among
the rocks. That was the last of Buno, rightly called "The Terrible,"
the most powerful and cruel king Swaziland has ever had. The impi
turned and started down the trail at a smart pace, leaving Tuys and me
behind. These great warriors seemed glad that the funeral was over.
They swung by us with light steps, many of them grinning at the white
men as they went by.
Now I was very curious to know what was inside the caves. There was so
much mystery about them that it fired my youthful imagination. I spoke
of this to Tuys and was pleased to find that he also was curious.
"Yes, I'd like to have a look at them," he said. "Buno and Labotsibeni
have told me some queer yarns about them, and they are the one thing
in Swaziland that I am not familiar with. Let's see if we can't get
into them."
The witch-doctors had not come out yet, and we decided to wait until
they did. I suggested that they were engaged in some ceremony, but
Tuys, knowing the native, would not agree with me.
"Those humbugs are probably eating the food and drinking the good
beer," he said, with a snort of disgust. "I'd hate to believe that
they'd let it go to waste. I'll bet that Buno will go hungry if he
comes back!"
Expecting that they would soon come out, we hid behind some rocks,
feeling sure that they would think we had gone back with the impi. Our
guess was good. In a little while we saw them tramping down the trail.
As soon as they passed the bend from beyond which the entrances to the
caves could not be seen, we started on our exploration.
There seemed to be any number of ways into these mysterious caves.
However, Tuys's training led him to follow the footprints of the
witch-doctors. They must have come out by another route, for all the
prints faced inward.
Tuys led, and I noticed that he was carrying his revolver in his hand,
ready for instant use. We passed between a number of great rocks, all
of which seemed to be split by some terrific force. But we did not go
far. There came a sharp turn to the right, and straight in front of us
was the entrance to the caves. In front of it stood six witch-doctors
with assegais drawn back, ready to strike!
Tuys did not hesitate long enough to take one breath. He wheeled in
his tracks and we turned back. We did not run or make unseemly haste,
but we certainly moved faster than we had come in. When we reached the
outside, Tuys made but one remark.
"Serves us right!" he exclaimed. "I ought to have had sense enough to
count those witch-doctors."
I remember that it was a hot walk back to our camp. Probably our
chagrin added to the temperature.
To this day no white man has penetrated the caves. I hope to do so the
next time I visit Swaziland. I never had a chance on my subsequent
visits, but I shall certainly find a way the next time. The thought is
fascinating, but I suppose I shall be disappointed if I ever do
explore this royal burial-place. Like most things in life, it will
fail to come up to expectations.
Not long after we reached our camp several indunas and a small band of
warriors called on Tuys. They were part of the bodyguard of
Labotsibeni and had come on a special errand.
"Nkoos, White King," the chief induna began with much ceremony, "the
great Queen Labotsibeni sends me to you with a message. Even now she,
the mother of Buno, waits your answer."
I was interested to see that he spoke of Buno as though that cruel
ruler still lived. The thought came to me that his infamy would keep
him alive for some time, at least in the memories of those who had
witnessed any of his bloody pastimes.
Tuys did not seem to understand what the induna was driving at, and he
asked several questions. The chief said that the old queen had
instructed him to ask Tuys if her "white brother" did not remember his
promise. She was waiting for him to fulfil what he had said he would
do. There was some more palaver, and then Tuys suddenly woke up.
"Why, the old girl wants her gin!" he said, laughing. Then he got out
four small cases of it and presented them to the induna.
"I'd go along with him," Tuys said to me in Dutch, "if I was not
afraid that I'd have to lie to the old queen. She wants the job of
ruling Swaziland until the question of the new king is decided, and
she expects me to get the British to acknowledge her as regent. I
don't know what I'll be able to do, and if I promise that she will get
the job, and she doesn't get it, I'll be in a fine pickle! I think
I'll avoid her, and we'd better get going to-night and make a break
for Rietvlei."
[Illustration: SWAZI WARRIORS AND WOMEN DANCING
The ceremonies were held when Dr. O'Neil and his companions were
inducted into the royal impi]
[Illustration: PRINCESSES OF ROYAL BIRTH
The fourth from the left is a sister to Crown Prince Sebuza. They are
all dressed up in gaudy colors--clothes which we had presented them]