"So now, _Nkose_, if you will come forth with me where we shall not be
heard--yes, the nephew of Nyamaki may come, too--for my tale is not for
all ears, you shall hear it."
We needed no second invitation. As we followed him I could not but call
to mind, in deep and thankful contrast, his revelation of two nights
ago--made in the same way and on the same spot.
"You will have heard, _Amakosi_," he began, "of the tribe called
Amazolo, or the People of the Dew, which flourished in Natal before
Tshaka's impis drove the tribes of that land into the mountains or the
sea.
"It was out of this tribe that the principal rainmakers came. So sure
and successful were they in making rain that they were always in
request. Even Tshaka, the Great, came to hear of them, and was never
without some of them at his Great Place, Dukuza, but as to these, well--
he was ever sending for a fresh supply. But he, that Elephant, and
Dingane after him, protected the Amazolo, so that they became looked up
to and respected among all peoples.
"Now Luluzela, the chief of that tribe, was jealous of the first
rain-making doctor, Kukuleyo, for it had come to this--that Luluzela was
chief of the Amazolo but Kukuleyo was chief of him. So Luluzela waited
patiently and watched his chances, for he dare not strike the rain
doctor openly because Dingane favoured him, and had anything happened to
him would soon have demanded to know the reason why. One day
accordingly, knowing some of the mysteries himself, he ordered Kukuleyo
to bring rain. The cattle were dying for want of water, and the crops
were parched. The people would soon be dying too. But Kukuleyo
answered that the moment was not propitious; that anything he did then
would anger the _izituta_ instead of propitiating them, and that when
the time was right a sacrifice must be offered; not of cattle but of
something quite beyond the ordinary. The chief jeered at this, but said
the rain doctors might offer any sacrifice they chose."
"`Any sacrifice they chose?'" echoed Kukuleyo with emphasis.
"Yes. Any sacrifice they chose," repeated the chief, angry and
sneering. But if rain did not come within a certain time why then
Kukuleyo and all those who helped him should suffer the fate which had
always been that of impostors.
"Soon after this, clouds began to gather in the heavens, and to spread
and fly like vultures when they scent death afar. In a roaring
thunder-rush they broke, and the land, all parched and cracked and
gaping, ran off the water in floods. There was rejoicing, and yet not,
for it had all come too quickly and violently, washing away and drowning
the cattle which it should have restored to life, and covering the
cornlands with thick layers of unfruitful sand. The people murmured
against Kukuleyo and his rainmakers, the chief waxed fierce, and
threatened. But his answer was firm and quiet. `Lo, I have brought you
rain.'
"Still, good followed, for when the worst had passed the worst, and the
water was run off, the land was green again, and all things grew and
thrived and fattened. But--then followed consternation on other
grounds. The chief's son, Bacaza, had disappeared.
"He had disappeared, suddenly and in mystery. No trace was left. He
might have gone into empty air. At first Luluzela was angry, then
alarmed. He sent for Kukuleyo.
"But the rain doctor's face was like rock. What had he to do with the
disappearance of people? he said. He was a rainmaker. He was not
trained in unfolding mysteries. The chief of the Amazolo had better
send for an _isanusi_ if he wanted this one unfolded.
"And then, _Amakosi_, a discovery was made. Bacaza, the son of the
chief was found--what was left of him that is. He was spread out
beneath the falling water above a lonely pool, and was so arranged that
the constant flow of water falling upon the back of his head and neck,
slowly wore him to death. But it took days of awful agony such as no
words could tell."
"How do you know that, Jan Boom?" I said, moved to an uneasiness of
horror by the vivid way in which the Xosa was telling his story, for his
eyes rolled and he passed his hand quickly over his face to wipe off the
beads of perspiration. Clearly the recollection was a real and a
terrible one to him.
"I know it, because I have been through it," he answered. "For a whole
night, and part of a day I have been through it. _Hau_! it is not a
thing to look back to, _Amakosi_. But let me tell my tale. When
Luluzela heard what had been done he sent for Kukuleyo, intending to put
him and his rainmakers to a slow and lingering death by fire. But
Kukuleyo was no fool. He appeared armed, and with a great force at his
back, so that that plan could not be carried out. For some time they
looked at each other like two bulls across a kraal fence, then Kukuleyo
said:--
"`Did not the chief of the Amazolo bid us offer any sacrifice we
pleased, in order to obtain the desired rain?'
"`Eh-he, any sacrifice we pleased,' echoed his followers, clamorously.
"`Why then, have I not taken the chief at his word?' went on Kukuleyo,
defiantly. `Nothing less than his son would satisfy the _izituta_, and
his son have we offered. And--has it not rained? Ah! Ah! "Any
sacrifice we pleased," was the word,' he went on mockingly. `The word
of the chief.'
"But Luluzela did not wait to hear more. With a roar of rage, he and
those that were with him, hurled themselves upon the rainmakers. But
these had come prepared, and had a goodly following too, all armed, many
who were dissatisfied with Luluzela's rule--where is there a chief
without some dissatisfied adherents?--and who had benefited by the rain.
Then there was a great fight, and in it the chief was slain, but
Kukuleyo came out without a scratch. This led to other fighting, and
the tribe was broken up, some wandering one way, some another. But ever
since then the Amazolo have been in request. The scattered remnants
thus drifted, but whenever a severe drought occurred some of them were
sure to be found. With them they took the tradition of the sacrifice of
Luluzela's son."
"But," I said. "Do they sacrifice someone every time rain is wanted?"
"Not every time, _Nkose_. Still it is done, and that to a greater
extent than you white people have any idea of. And it would have
continued to be done if Ukozi had not conceived the idea of turning to
white people for his victims. Hence the disappearance of Nyamaki. This
time it was intended to seize Umsindo, but he is a great fighting bull,
and would not only have injured others, but would most certainly have
got injured himself; and it is essential that the victim who is put
through _ukuconsa_ as it is called, shall be entirely uninjured. So
they chose the _Inkosikazi_ instead."
"But, Jan Boom," put in Kendrew. "How on earth did they manage, in the
case of my uncle, to spirit him away as they did--and leave no trace?"
"That I cannot tell you, _Nkose_. You must get that from Ukozi, if he
will tell."
"Here is another thing," I said. "Even if Ukozi belongs to this tribe,
Atyisayo and Ivondwe do not. They are of Tyingoza's people."
"That is true, _Nkose_. But the thing is no longer confined to the
Amazolo. It has become a close and secret brotherhood, and all may
belong. They are called _Abangan 'ema zolweni_, the Comrades--or
Brotherhood--of the Dew. And--it is everywhere. You remember what we
found in Majendwa's country? Well that was a victim of _ukuconsa_ and
it surprised me, because I had not thought the custom had found its way
into Zululand."
"And what of the pool here, and the big serpent, and Ukozi feeding it
with the kid?" I asked, for I had already told him about this.
"The snake embodies the Water Spirit," he said. "It is customary to
feed such with offerings."
"Was there then a snake in the other pool which we found?" I asked,
feeling a creepy, shuddering horror run through me at the thought of the
indescribably ghastly fate which had hung over my darling and from which
we had only just been in time to save her, thanks to the shrewd
promptitude of this staunch fellow, whom I had begun by disliking and
mistrusting.
"That I cannot say, _Nkose_. But I think not. The water torture goes
on for days, and the victim is left just as he is until he falls off or
room is made for a fresh one, as we saw them so make it there."
"But you. How was it you were doomed to it, and how did you escape?"
asked Kendrew.
"That is a long story, and it will I tell another time. I was living in
Pondoland then, not far on the other side of the Umtavuna. Ukozi did
that, but now I shall have revenge. Tell me, _Amakosi_, will not your
people have him lashed before they hang him? If so I should like to see
that."
It was little wonder that this savage should give way to the intensity
of his vindictive feeling. We white men both felt that mere hanging was
too good for these fiends. But we were obliged to assure him that such
was very unlikely.
"When we returned from the Zulu country," he went on, "I began to put
things together. I remembered what we had found up there, and what with
Ukozi being in these parts and the sudden disappearance of Nyamaki, a
little while before, I felt sure that the Brotherhood of the Dew was at
work. I asked you to keep me with you, _Nkose_, because I saw my way
now, by striking at it, to revenge myself upon Ukozi for the torture he
had made me undergo. _Whau_! and it is torture! That of the fire
cannot be worse. I knew that the Brotherhood would be strong, because
among the people here there are so many names that have to do with
water--from Tyingoza and his son downwards--"
I started. Yes, it was even as he said. There were many names of just
that description. But Tyingoza! Could that open-mannered,
straightforward chief for whom I had always entertained the highest
regard, really be one of that black, devilish murder society!
"Moreover," he went on, "I knew whence they would draw their next
victim. I, too, have eyes and ears, _Nkose_, as well as yourself," he
said, with a whimsical laugh, "and I used them. The _Abangan 'ema
zolweni_ were strong in numbers, but otherwise weak. Their brethren
were too young and--they talked--ah--ah--they talked. Hence I was able
to follow Atyisayo to where I guided you. The rest was easy."
"Well, Jan Boom," I said seeing he had finished his story. "You will
find you have done the very best day's work for yourself as well as for
others that you ever did in your life."
"_Nkose_ is my father," he answered with a smile. "I am in his hands."
Neither Kendrew nor I said much as we returned to the house. This
hideous tale of a deep and secret superstition, with its murderous
results, existent right in our midst, was too strange, too startling,
and yet, every word of it bore infinite evidence of truth. Well, it
proved what I have more than once stated, that no white man ever gets to
the bottom of a native's innermost ways, however much he may think he
does.