When Dolf Norbury learned that another white man was coming to
Majendwa's country on trading intent, his first remark was that he was
damned if he should. This statement he followed up with the use of
absolutely unprintable language for the space of many minutes. His
first act was to shy a bottle at the head of his informant, who ducked
in time to avoid disastrous contact with the same, and then to make him
exceedingly drunk with the contents of another bottle, not yet reduced
to its last use--as a missile to wit. This by way of compensation.
The process had another effect, that of making the injured man talk. He
for his part was a young Zulu of no particular account, and what he
stated was perfectly true, he went on to declare. The white man was a
trader known as Iqalaqala, and with him was another white man, a great
fighter, who could knock men senseless with his fists even as one might
do with a large and heavy stick. He who spoke knew, for he had seen it
done--not once only, either. At this Dolf Norbury's language grew
vehement and sultry again, and was interlarded by many aspirations after
just one glimpse of the man who could knock _him_ senseless or knock him
anything else. Only just one glimpse, that was all. The next thing he
did, by way of relieving his feelings was to start in and thrash the
nearest of his native wives--of which he had several--she, unfortunately
for her, being the one of least family standing, and therefore the least
likely to raise resentment on the part of the relatives--or others, a
thing which is bad for trade. Then he opened a bottle of "square face,"
took a very big drink, and putting the bottle in a pocket or his leather
coat went round to the chief's hut.
"I have news, Mawendhlela," he began, when he found himself inside.
"But"--with a look at some others who were seated there--"it will keep."
Not long was it before these took the hint, and stole out, one by one.
The chief's eyes twinkled as he noted the familiar bulge in the pocket
of his visitor.
"_Au_! it is cold," he said, pretending to shiver, "and I am getting on
in years and need warmth."
"This will give it you," said the white man, producing the bottle.
The chief's eyes sparkled as he watched the gurgling rush of the potent
liquid into the calabash drinking vessel. Then he tossed off half of it
with a gasp of contentment.
"That is indeed warm--yes, warm," he said.
"And good. But there will soon be no more."
"No more? Now why, Udolfu?"
"Because I am going--going away."
"Going away? Now that cannot be."
"It can and it is. There is no longer room for me here. There is a cow
at hand who will give you more milk than I can, but not such milk as
this--oh no!"
"Ha!"
"It is Iqalaqala who is the cow that lows at the gate. Iqalaqala does
not trade in strong drink--neither will he bring you any guns or
cartridges or powder and lead. His trade is the trade for women--beads,
coloured cloth, and such."
"M-m! Why then, Udolfu, there is still room for you here, for Iqalaqala
can do the women's trade and you can still do that for men--guns and
cartridges--and drink like this--like this--which warms--ah, ah, which
warms," added the chief finishing his allowance of "square face" and
pushing his calabash meaningly towards the other.
"But I will not. There is no room for two here. I will have all the
trade or none."
Mawendhlela's face fell. He was a man who liked his comfort and the
enjoyment of a daily modicum of "square face" gin, or Natal rum had
become essential to this. As a chief he was not unmindful of certain
plain hints on the part of those very high up indeed in the councils of
the nation, to the effect that those under them were required to obtain
the weapons of the white man as far as this could possibly be done. Yet
here was the man who supplied him with both, threatening to withdraw.
He saw the loss of his beloved drink with dismay, and with even greater
dismay he contemplated the disfavour into which he would fall with those
in high quarters, if his people showed but a poor muster in the way of
firearms. The while Dolf Norbury was reading his thoughts, and could
gauge their drift exactly. He knew, too, that personally Mawendhlela
and many of his people would gladly see the last of him--but, the above
considerations were potent.
"We cannot both trade here," he repeated. "Iqalaqala must not be
allowed to come. That's all."
"What can I do, Udolfu?" answered the chief helplessly. "Majendwa is a
bull that roars louder than I, and he has the ear of the Great Great One
himself. It is to Majendwa you must talk."
"Majendwa?" repeated the white man, with a scowl as though the very name
was unpalatable to him--and, indeed, it was--"Majendwa? _Au_! his kraal
is far enough away. But here, you are chief, you, Mawendhlela. And for
some days the people have been talking of the coming of Iqalaqala!
Well, he must not come."
They looked at each other for a little while in silence. Then the chief
spoke.
"I can do nothing, Udolfu," he repeated. "But you--_au_! you white
people can do everything. And I do not want a white man who only brings
trade for women."
"Then you leave it to me?" said the trader, reaching over the square
bottle and replenishing the calabash.
"It is nothing to me," said Mawendhlela, carefully extracting a
cockroach which had fallen from the thatch into his liquor, and throwing
it into the fire. "No more than that--" as the insect crackled up.
Dolf Norbury chuckled, and took a big drink himself. The life of
another man, a fellow countryman--or, it might be of two men--was no
more to him than that of the burnt insect. They understood each other.
It may be asked how I am able to reproduce a dialogue between two
persons sitting together alone in a hut--alone mind--and I many miles
away at the time. Well, passing over the question as to whether anyone
ever really is alone--especially in a Zulu kraal--rather than that the
veracity of this my narrative be in any wise impugned, I would remind
the reader that at an earlier stage thereof I took him into confidence
so far as to explain that I was wont to derive a considerable amount of
information from native sources, and that such information was
surprisingly accurate. So--there it is, you see!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The while we were trekking by slow and easy stages. There was a
restlessness among the people as to which there could be no mistake.
They were moving about in bands of ten or twenty instead of singly or in
pairs, and fully armed, and now and then two or three men would come up
hurriedly to the waggon, and hardly troubling to drop their weapons as
required by etiquette, would start on again after a few words of inquiry
as to our destination. In short the country seemed about as settled as
an ant's nest the top of which has just been kicked off; and more than
one rumour had it that armed collisions had occurred with the grazing
Boers beyond the Luneburg and Utrecht borders. Towards ourselves the
behaviour of the people was rather offhand and independent, the young
men especially being inclined to treat us to quite an unnecessary
display of swagger. This was a source of anxiety to me, in that it
involved a continuous strain upon my moral influence to keep Falkner
Sewin from his favourite pastime of head punching, and this was
difficult.
So far too, trade prospects seemed but poor. Formerly from each group
of kraals we passed, people would have come eagerly forth to do a deal--
now for ordinary trade goods they seemed to have no hankering. More
than one head-man would ask, talking "dark," if I carried _what they
wanted_, and on assuring themselves that I did not, soon showed no
further desire to trade. Now "what they wanted," done into plain
English, meant firearms and ammunition, and this was a form of illicit
trade from which I had always kept my hands clean. Not that the
temptation was not great at that. The profits were ditto and the risk
to one with my facilities, hardly worth considering, and the same held
good of liquor selling, though as to this latter perhaps considerations
of self interest lay behind my scruples, for it was in no wise to my
interest to bear part in ruining this fine race among whom I lived, and
from whom I drew a living.
For the rest, life was pleasant enough as we moved along easily--
outspanning during the heat of the day for several hours--and then
trekking on until dark. Then the night camp under the stars, when the
savoury game stew--or if we couldn't get any game, the fried rashers of
bacon, had been discussed, and pipes were in full blast--this
constituted not the least pleasant moment of the day, as we sat and
swapped yarns, to the accompaniment of the monotonous crunch-crunch of
ruminating oxen tied to the yokes; or the occasional howl of a hyena, or
the cry of some mysterious night bird coming up out of the surrounding
blackness. All this my companion enjoyed immensely, as well he might.
He did not so much enjoy the reverse side of the medal though, when a
sudden thunderburst and a night of chilly, pelting downpour--which
precluded all thoughts of a fire, or anything hot--drove us to huddle
within the tent waggon, and browse upon biscuit and tinned stuff.
However I had broken him in fairly well by that time, and he was
disposed to take things as they came. Now and again he would try my
patience by some outbreak of mulish cussedness, but I remembered his
character and training, and had no difficulty in keeping myself in hand.
Added to which I believe I entertained a sneaking softness towards the
fellow if only that he constituted a connecting link with those I had
left behind. Those? Well, to be candid, but--never mind.
We were approaching the mountainous regions of the north, and the bushy
valleys and slopes of the lower country had been left behind. The air
grew clear and sharp, and the nights had become downright chilly.
Around, the hills rose in abrupt slopes, their sweep broken up into
great terraces as it were, by tiers of smooth grey cliffs. To all
appearance the country might have been uninhabited, but I knew better:
knew that the great clefts which fell abruptly from the track contained
teeming kraals, whose presence might easily remain unsuspected by the
casual wayfarer: knew, too, that not a mile of our advance but was
carefully watched and duly reported. In the Zululand of those days the
passage of a white man's waggons was an event, and that from more than
one point of view.