We crossed Umzinyati above where the Blood River joins it. This was
something of a round but I didn't want to pass through Sirayo's section
of the country; for it so happened I had had a bit of a breeze with him
on a former occasion, and he would remember it; moreover his clan were a
troublesome lot, and likely enough wouldn't stick at trifles--not the
salt of Zululand by any means. So I elected to make a few days of easy
trek outside the border, and then cross over into Zululand a good deal
further north.
Old transport-riders will tell you there is no life so fascinating as
that of the road. With all its hardships and drawbacks--drought, wet,
waterless out-spans, mudholes into which wheels sink axle deep, bad and
flooded drifts, involving hours of labour, and perhaps the borrowing of
a brother trekker's friendly span--heat, cold--everything--yet the sense
of being on the move, the constant change of scene, even of climate--has
a charm all its own. This I can quite believe--because the waggon life
off the road is even more fascinating still, in that the drawbacks are
fewer, and you are more independent. You trek or outspan at your own
sweet will, undeterred by any misgivings as to goods being delayed an
inordinate time in delivery and the potential loss of future commissions
in consequence. And you have time and opportunity to indulge in sport
if there is any to be had, and there generally is when you are right off
the roads, unless the country carries too thick a population.
These advantages held good of our then trek. I had a first-rate tent
waggon of which mention has already been made. This, besides its load
of the lighter kinds of trade goods was fitted up with a _kartel_ and
mattress, for bad weather accommodation--in fine weather we preferred
sleeping on the ground. For the heavier kind, blankets and Salampore
cloth, pots and kettles and so forth, I had loaded up a buckwaggon,
constructed to carry anything up to twelve or fourteen thousand pounds
weight. Thus we travelled--carrying our home along with us.
A surprise had come upon me almost at the last moment, and that was that
by no possibility could I get any natives in our neighbourhood to cross
the Zulu border. Those who had at first engaged to cried off. If I had
been trekking with only one waggon I could have cut the knot of the
difficulty by driving it myself, and making my body servant Tom--who
would have gone to the ends of the earth with me, and to the devil after
that--act as leader, but I had two. Ivondwe I knew would have gone, but
I could not think of taking him away from the Sewins. The thing became
seriously annoying. I appealed to Tyingoza. What was the matter with
all the people? Were they afraid, and, if so, what of?
He was rather mysterious. There were rumours around that the Zulus were
not well disposed towards white people, he hinted, especially those away
on the northern border, where the King's authority was least strong.
That being so those in the position of white men's servants would
undergo risk--grave risk. But he would see what he could do, and in the
result he found me one man who understood driving. This man, whose name
was Mfutela, came from a kraal not far from Maritzburg. He was a ringed
man, and brought with him his son, a youngster of about fifteen, to do
leader. That would do. Things were brightening so far. I could drive
one of the waggons myself, until such time as I had taught Falkner Sewin
enough of the art to enable him to relieve me, and having thus decided I
was all ready to start when--another turned up.
This fellow was something of a mystery, and was not keen on answering
questions, but I gathered that his name was Jan Boom, at least that was
the only name he would own to, and that he was a Xosa from the Cape
frontier--far enough away in all conscience--who had drifted up to these
parts. I suspected he had "drifted" out of gaol, and that before the
time appointed to him for compulsorily serving the Government had
expired; but with this I didn't concern myself at all. He was
first-rate at working with oxen and that was all I cared about.
Falkner Sewin, contrary to my expectations, had given no trouble to
speak of. He would grumble outrageously at first when I turned him out
before it was light so as to be ready for the earliest possible trek,
and on one occasion turned nasty. He hadn't come along as my servant,
he fumed, and wasn't going to take orders from me. So I reminded him
that it was no question of taking orders, but he had even gone so far as
to promise to do all he was told. I pointed out further that I hadn't
asked him to help me in any way, but that if he was going to do anything
to hinder me why there was nothing to prevent him changing his mind and
finding his way home again: we had not come so far that he would meet
with any great difficulty in the way of this. He saw I meant what I
said, and after sulking for half a day he climbed down, which was as
well, for if there was one thing I intended it was to be skipper of my
own ship. All the same he was destined to prove a mighty handful before
I'd done with him.
We trekked easy the first few days, for the grass was not so green as it
might have been, and I wanted to avoid pushing my oxen while the waggons
were loaded at their heaviest, and so far had met with no adventures.
The first was to come, and it came in this wise.
We had crossed the Blood River, and after an extra long morning's trek
had outspanned on one of the small tributaries of that stream. We had
not seen many people hitherto, and the demeanour of such as we had seen
was strange; not exactly hostile, but sullen, and as different as
possible to the light-hearted, good-humoured cordiality I had always
found on previous trips into the Zulu country.
Perhaps this had something to do with the extra caution I laid upon
Falkner, when having resolved to take advantage of our halt to ride over
and visit a neighbouring chief with whom I had former acquaintance I
saddled up with that intent. I took my boy Tom along, more because it
enhances your prestige to move about attended than for any use I had for
him, but Falkner couldn't come to any harm. Jan Boom the Xosa, spoke
fair English, in case any of the natives should visit the outspan, and
their speech require interpreting, and the other driver Mfutela, seemed
a reliable man. Surely, one would think, there was no room for Falkner
to get into any mischief here.
I was away about three hours. When I came in sight of the camp again,
Tom, who was trotting by the side of my horse, said something that made
me start.
I spurred forward. The outspan was hidden again by another rise in the
ground. Topping this here is what I saw.
Standing forth, in an attitude of the noble art of self-defence, was
Falkner Sewin. His fists were clenched, and his rolled up sleeves
showed a really magnificent display of brown and corded muscle.
Confronting him was a big Zulu, equally muscular, and armed with a
formidable knobkerrie and a small shield. For "gallery" but with their
backs to me, squatted in a semi-circle about thirty more Zulus.
Annoyed as I was, for the life of me I could not but feel interested.
Both the contending parties were watching each other intently and it was
clear that so novel a mode of fighting had appealed to this warlike
people to the extent of their allowing their adversary fair play instead
of rushing him by weight of numbers. I had seen the same kind of thing
among them before, notably on that occasion when Tyingoza's son had
accepted the invitation to head a sort of flying invasion of the
opposite side. But now, as then, they were destined to forget the
strict rules of fair play when blood was up.
The Zulu was waltzing round Falkner, but the latter beyond turning to
face him never moved, and his adversary seemed in no hurry to come
within reach of those formidable fists. Then, goaded perhaps by the
jeers of his comrades, who were tiring of a fight wherein no blows were
struck, he feinted at his adversary's head, then quick as thought threw
up his shield and made a terrific sweep at Falkner's leg beneath it.
But the latter was up to this stale dodge--indeed, I myself had put him
up to it. Springing lightly aside, in time to avoid by a hair's-breadth
a blow that would have shattered his kneecap and set him up with a
highly respectable limp that would have lasted him for the term of his
natural life, he shot out his right fist in such wise as to catch his
assailant smack full on the side of the jaw. The big Zulu went down
like a shot buck hit in full course.
"He's out!" cried Falkner. "John, tell 'em to put up their next man."
But before Jan Boom could render this injunction or not render it, the
whole lot had sprung to their feet and a mighty hubbub ensued. They had
seized their weapons, and were gesticulating and pointing at Falkner: in
fact, working themselves up to a state of wild and dangerous excitement.
It was as well, perhaps, that unseen by them I was near enough to
interpose.
"Hold!" I roared. "Hold! What means this? And who are ye that rush
into my camp with weapons in your hands?"
As I said, I had approached unseen, and now the very suddenness of my
appearance availed to stay the tumult, for a moment. But only for a
moment. "Who are we? _Au_! _Mlungu_! that is no matter. Your oxen
have eaten up our corn and now you must make it good. You must make it
good we say."
"_Umlungu_" meaning simply "white man" was impudent, especially as I was
sure some, if not all, of these knew me. At that moment I took in that
they were all young men, of any age not much overtopping twenty,
consequently at the most reckless and mischievous stage of human
existence.
"Go--go," I answered. "Send your fathers here. I talk not with
children."
The hubbub grew deafening and they drew in closer--growling, chattering
in their fine deep voices, pointing viciously at us with their blades.
My taunt had exasperated them to a dangerous degree. One fellow went so
far as to dance out from among the rest and _gwaza_ at me with his
assegai, and all were brandishing theirs and closing in upon us nearer
and nearer. I have always made a point of never being afraid of
savages, but really when you get an irresponsible young ruffian lunging
an eighteen-inch assegai blade within half that distance of your nose,
and he backed up by thirty others, the situation begins to have its
skeery side.
"Keep 'em steady a minute, Glanton, while I get out our `barkers'," said
Falkner. "That'll start 'em to the rightabout double quick."
"No. Better leave that. They're only blowing off steam."
But I wasn't easy: more, I realised that the situation was a
confoundedly ticklish one. They were working each other up into a state
of ungovernable excitement, and simply howling down whatever I was
trying to say. If I had had my pistol on I believe I should have drawn
it, but it was at that moment reposing in one of the waggon pockets,
some twenty-five yards behind us. The same held good of Falkner's. He,
characteristically, now brought matters to a crisis.
"Shut that silly jaw," he growled, seizing the wrist of a fellow who was
doing _gwaza_ with a big assegai close to his face, and, with the other
hand hitting him a terrific blow right between the eyes, felling him.
Then I thought my last hour had come, but no--they fell back as though
scared. Falkner's fighting powers had done us yeoman's service after
all, was the thought that flashed through my mind--and then I saw that
it was not so; that our respite was due to another cause.
Unseen by either party to the turmoil two Zulus had come up--and one of
them I knew, and knowing him, felt devoutly thankful that he was a
pretty considerable chief.
"Now I see men," I said, "men with rings on. Now I can talk. Greeting,
Nonguza."
He answered me with scant cordiality. He was a tall, fine man, but his
face was heavy and sullen, more than that, it was a cruel face. The
glance he shot at Falkner especially was not benevolent.
"I see you, Iqalaqala," he said. "What is this, for my dogs seem to be
barking over loud!"
I told him what I knew, which was little enough, and calling the waggon
drivers we got at the rest of it. They had gone to look after the oxen,
which were turned loose to graze, and had arrived in time to find a
crowd of armed Zulus driving them off. Some had come for themselves,
driving them up to the waggons, threatening them. It was then that
Falkner Sewin had come out, and singling out the spokesman had
challenged him to fight.
Nonguza called to two of the rioters, and ordered them to tell their
story. It was soon told. They had found our oxen eating and trampling
the corn of their father, Magebe, and had driven them off until their
owners should pay for the damage.
Now Magebe proved to be the man who accompanied Nonguza, and on hearing
this he became excited, and must needs rush off to ascertain what damage
had been done. This Jan Boom pronounced to be next to nothing.
"They were hardly in the field at all, Baas," he said in an undertone,
and excellent English. "Zulu nigger one damn great big liar."
The speaker being some shades darker in colour than any Zulu there
present I could hardly restrain a laugh. Falkner couldn't. He guffawed
outright. The chief looked angry.
"Steady, Sewin," I warned. "You're spoiling everything." Then to
Magebe. "We had better all go and look what has been done. Then we can
settle it."
The mealie crop was only just over the rise, so we were there very soon.
I had told Falkner to come too, fearing he might get into more mischief
if left behind: and yet it was almost as bad having him, for he eyed the
two Zulus with a sort of resentful contempt, more than once expressing a
desire to knock their qualified heads together.
Even as Jan Boom had said, the damage proved to be very slight; but
Magebe, an old man and avaricious, set to work to make the most of it.
Half his crop was ruined and so forth. I must pay him two oxen.
Of course I had no intention of doing anything of the sort, so we
adjourned to the waggons again to talk it over. There the discussion
became long and heated, notwithstanding the fact that I opened it by
filling them up with a great deal of black coffee and sugar. Nonguza,
who did most of the talking, and I felt sure would claim the lion's
share of the spoil whatever it might be, was especially curt and
offensive. I got sick of it at last.
"Here," I said, spreading a new green blanket on the ground, and piling
upon it a couple of big butcher knives--which Zulus dearly love--some
strings of black and white beads, a few brass buttons and a goodly
length of roll tobacco. "This is more than twice the damage my oxen
have done. So now, Magebe, take it, and I will send one of my drivers
with these two," pointing to the two young Zulus who had explained
matters, "and he will bring back the oxen."
But Magebe objected that this was not enough, no, not nearly enough.
"There it is. Take it or leave it. If you leave it, then we leave the
Zulu country--walk out of it, for we cannot drag our waggons. Then,
when the Great Great One--he who sits at Undini--is called upon to make
good the loss of two spans of oxen, two waggons and the whole of their
contents--to the Englishmen whose oxen were taken--were taken by
Nonguza, the induna whom he sent to keep order here on the boundary,
what will he say, that Lion--what will he do? Tell me that. What will
he do?"
"I know nothing of your oxen, Umlungu," said Nonguza, sullenly. "It is
not I who have taken them."
"Not you? Ha! When an induna of the King is present, is he greater
than only the head of a kraal--a large kraal certainly--or is he less?
Tell me that, Nonguza?"
It was a good game of bluff to play, and I was about at the end of my
patience. I held trumps and I knew my hand, for I knew perfectly on
what errand this chief was there. Now he turned and gave an order to
those who had lately been threatening us, and I knew that the game was
won. Yet even then, as I noted the look of sullen vindictiveness that
fled swiftly across the chief's face, I was not inclined to exult, for I
was well aware that he would go a good way to be even with me yet, and
in the then unsettled state of the border it would be strange if some
opportunity of making himself disagreeable did not afford itself.
"Well, I'm sick of all this jaw with a couple of snuffy niggers,
Glanton," growled Falkner. "What's going to be done?"
"Oh shut your silly head," I said, irritably, for of course an
unconciliatory tone tells its own tale even though no word is
understood. "I suspect your readiness to bash all and everybody is at
the bottom of the whole bother."
"Well, if a brute comes at me brandishing a stick with a knob like a
cricket ball I've got to do something, haven't I?" he answered, lighting
his pipe and slouching away in the sulks.
I was in no better humour, to tell the truth, but laid myself out to do
the civil to Nonguza, by way of smoothing his ruffled feathers. Then,
as time went by, and I was beginning to feel a little anxious once more,
to my intense relief my ears caught a well-known sound, the trampling of
hoofs to wit, and lo--coming over the rise were my oxen, driven at a run
by those who had taken them. I gave orders at once to inspan, returning
a curt negative to Magebe's inquiries as to whether I would not stop and
trade. I was going _kwa_ Majendwa, I answered. There no mistake would
be made as to who I was.
So we marched forth with all the honours of war, but as the whips
cracked, and the spans tugged out in response I noticed that the cloud
of armed Zulus watching us was increased by others coming over the
ridge--part of Nonguza's impi--and thought we should be lucky if we
escaped further trouble at the hands of these. It was a bad beginning
to our trip--in the temper the people were evidently then in--yes, a bad
beginning.