"Isn't that a perfect picture of savage life, set in a savage
surrounding?" said Lamont, as he stood with his travelling companion
before the door of the hut allotted to them. "It is artistically
complete."
"It is indeed," was the answer.
And it was. The circle of the kraal, with its great open space and the
conical huts, four deep, ringing it in: the dark, lithe forms of its
occupants, unclothed save for a _mutya_ of dangling monkey skins; or in
the case of the women a greasy hide apron: the sinuous movements as the
young men and boys ran in and out among the multi-coloured cattle: the
reek of smoke and kine: the wild background of wooded ridge and craggy
rock, and the swirling streamers of the storm-cloud above, pouring forth
jetty beams of steely blue light and reverberating roll against the
bushy spurs and darksome recesses. All this in the fast-gathering dusk
made up a picture of sombre, impressive grandeur, the very soul of which
seemed to permeate the minds of its two civilised spectators.
Then the full force of the storm broke overhead, and it was as though
the whole world were on fire, and split in twain; what with the
unintermittent electric glare, and the ear-splitting crashes, hardly
more intermittent. But, with it all, not a drop of rain.
"It's grand; but I've a notion it's beastly dangerous," said Lamont.
"We'd better get inside. There's more electricity in us than in a roof.
They say," he went on, as they gained their shelter, "that dry storms
are more dangerous than when it rains, but that may be a popular
superstition. Anyway everyone doesn't share it, for here's somebody
coming."
Even as he spoke, there crept through the low doorway, which had been
left open, a young man followed by two girls, one bearing a basket of
green mealies roasted on the ashes, the other a large bowl of _tywala_.
The youth explained that they were sent by Gudhlusa, who was sorry he
could not send meat, but the people were poor, since Government and the
pestilence had killed all their cattle, and they had no meat.
"We shall do famously," said Lamont. Then to the young man: "We thank
Gudhlusa. And thou, _umfane_, make ready and broil these birds for us.
Here is of the white man's money; for thyself."
"_Nkose_!" cried the youth delightedly, taking up the two francolins.
"It shall be done. My father, Gudhlusa, also said that the chief,
Zwabeka, is not able to see and talk with the _Amakosi_ this night. He
is sick."
Lamont expressed his concern for the chief's health, not believing a
word of the above statement, and the messenger withdrew.
Half an hour or so later they were reclining snugly in their blankets,
beginning on the broiled birds and roast mealies by the light of an old
waggon lantern the boy had rummaged out. "The only thing wanting is
salt," pronounced Lamont. "However, just a grain of this makes a sort
of substitute. Try it."
He cut open one of his cartridges, which were made with black powder,
and poured some of the latter out on to a piece of paper.
"But it does. Why, what a perfect travelling companion you are, Mr
Lamont. You provide us with the salt--with the poultry--with
everything."
Lamont laughed.
"Oh, as to the last," aiming a whack at a native dog, which was skulking
in at the open door with an eye to plunder, "I always carry a shot-gun
when travelling across country. It is an easily portable larder. The
whole land swarms with birds, and you need only get off and shoot if you
want skoff. Once, when I first came up here, I was travelling, and my
horse went lame when I was about three hours from anywhere. I was in a
great state of starve. Then it suddenly occurred to me that the bush
was full of clucking pheasants--why the deuce didn't I shoot one, light
a fire and broil him? Well, I did, then and there. Ever since then
I've always travelled with a shot-gun."
"I, for one, am very glad of it, to-day especially," laughed the priest.
"These birds are delicious."
They did ample justice to the bowl of _tywala_ too, then lit their
pipes, and lay chatting, at ease, the hollow roaring of the receding
storm--or was it another approaching?--enhancing the sense of comfort
within, under the influence of which conversation soon became
disjointed. Father Mathias started as his half-smoked pipe dropped from
his mouth, while his companion was already nodding. Both laughed.
"I think we had better say good-night," said the latter. "For my part,
I feel as if I could sleep till the crack of doom."
The kraal was wrapped in silence, save for an indistinct hum here and
there, where some of its occupants still carried on a lingering
conversation. At last even it died away, and as hour followed hour the
midnight silence was unbroken and profound.
Lamont was rather a light sleeper than otherwise, consequently it is not
surprising that, the burden of his last waking words notwithstanding, a
feeling of something half-scratching, half-tickling his ear, then his
cheek, should start him wide awake. Following a natural impulse, though
not perhaps a wise one, he brushed the thing off, and as he did so a
shudder of loathing and repulsion ran through him, for it had a sort of
feathery, leggy feel that made him guess its identity. Quickly he
struck a light. Sprawling over the floor of the hut was a huge
tarantula, looking more like an animal than an insect in the dim light
of the burning vesta. Then, alarmed, it moved across the floor at a
springy run, and before the spectator had decided how to put an end to
its loathly existence it disappeared within a crevice in the side of the
hut.
"Phew! what an awful-looking beast!" said Lamont to himself, with a
natural shudder at the thought of how the hairy monster had been
actually about to walk over his face in the darkness, and further, of
what a narrow escape he must have had from its venomous nippers as he
brushed it off. "They grow them large here, for that's the biggest I've
ever seen--by Jove it is!"
He struck another match. His companion was sleeping peacefully, but as
for himself all desire for sleep had fled. With his large experience of
sleeping in all sorts of places, it would have been odd if a similar
disturbing incident had not come his way before, and that not once only:
yet the feeling of repulsion was none the less real, none the less
unpleasant, now. He would get through the remainder of the night
outside. The ground was open, and there was no thatch overhead to drop
hairy horrors upon him in his sleep. Taking his blanket, he crept out
through the hole which did duty for a doorway.
All traces of the storm had disappeared, and overhead the stars shone
forth in the blue-black vault in a myriad blaze unknown to cold northern
skies. By their light he could just see the time. It was half-past
one.
The night air was fresh, not to say chilly, and he shivered. No
question was there of further sleep, at any rate not for some time.
Wrapping his blanket around him he decided to walk about a little.
On one side of the hut which had been allotted to them was open ground,
by reason of it being the site of several old habitations which had been
removed to make way for new ones. This would supply him with excellent
space for his sentry-like walk.
So still was the great kraal that it might have been the abode of the
dead--the clustering huts so many mausoleums. Not even a dog was astir,
which might be accounted for by the fact that there were but few in the
place, and they probably away on the farther side. And then it occurred
to Lamont that nocturnal perambulation with no external, and therefore
legitimate, object, especially during the small hours, was an unpopular
form of exercise among natives. Only _abatagati_, or evil-disposed
wizards, prowled about at night, they held, wherefore his present
wandering was injudicious--might even prove dangerous. He had better go
in.
Now, as he arrived at this conclusion, his perambulations had brought
him to the other side of the open space above described--that farthest
removed from his own hut, and as he turned to carry it into effect he
stopped short--a thrill of astonishment tingling through his frame. For
his ear had caught the low murmur of voices and--in among them--the
native version of his own name.
Yes, there it was again, distinctly--`U' Lamonti.' What did it mean?
The whole kraal should by rights have been plunged in slumber, yet here
was quite a conclave of its inhabitants, not only very wide awake, but
engaged in some apparently earnest discussion--in which his own name
seemed to hold no unimportant a place. A curious warning prescience
took possession of his mind, and moved him to adopt a course from which
he would, by every natural instinct, have recoiled with loathing. He
was going to play eavesdropper.
The hut from which the sounds proceeded was an outer one just within the
main circle, standing almost against the thorn stockade. By creeping up
on this side, the shadows of both would be in his favour, and, lying
flat, with his ear as close to the doorway as he dared venture, it would
be hard if he could not catch at any rate the gist of their discussion.
Lying there in the darkness it seemed to the listener that the loudness
of his own heart-beats must betray him, for no sooner was he in position
than the very first words he caught were such as to thrill him through
with excitement and eagerness.
"It is not yet the time for killing," a voice was saying.
"Not the time?" hummed several others.
"Not the time. He has said it. Before the next moon is dead, were the
words of Umlimo. And it is not yet born."
"But that was for the eating up of all Amakiwa," objected another voice.
"These who are in our midst are only two. No one will miss them. Who
saw them come into our midst? None but our own people."
"_Eh! he_!" assented the others.
"U' Lamonti. He has fire-weapons, and we need such," went on the last
speaker. "These will be ours."
The listener lay, cursing himself for a very complete idiot. For the
mention of firearms brought back to him that at the present moment he
was totally unarmed. He had unslung his revolver when he lay down to
sleep, and on coming out of the hut had left it there. Did any of them
discover his presence now he was defenceless!
Now it was urged that the plan of stealing upon and murdering their two
guests in their sleep was a bad one, and impolitic in that it would
cause inquiries to be made, and so put the other Amakiwa on their guard.
Then another voice said--
"You cannot kill the white _isanusi_. His _muti_ is too powerful."
"Ha!"
"Too powerful," went on the speaker. "_Hau_! he is a real _isanusi_
this one. He has a magic house, wherein he brings down fire from the
sky--_lapa gu' Buluwayo_. I know, for I have seen. _Impela_!"
The murmur of wonder or incredulity evoked by this statement having
subsided, the other continued--
"I am not lying. I saw it. The Amakiwa in that house bent to the very
ground, and sang great songs in praise of that wonder--fearing it.
There were captains among them too, ha! Now I would ask if the fighting
Amakiwa feared this _isanusi_ and his _muti_--they fearing nothing--how
then shall we have power against him? It may not be."
Notwithstanding his peril a ripple of mirth ran through the listener, as
he grasped what the speaker was feeling around--and which meant that
that unlearned savage had by some means or other obtained a glimpse into
the church at Buluwayo what time his travelling companion was exercising
his sacerdotal functions, and was now recording his impressions of that
experience.
"But Qubani--he too is an _isanusi_" said another voice. "He can match
his power against that of this white one. Is it not so, Qubani, thou
wise one?"
And from the tone, the listener gathered that the man addressed was held
in great respect. It inspired in him no surprise, only rekindled
interest, for he had heard of this Qubani as an _isanusi_ of some
renown.
"Meddle not with the white _isanusi_" was the laconic but decided
answer. It was received with a hum of respectful assent, followed by a
moment of silence.
"And the other, U' Lamonti. Shall we not kill him, my father?"
Again the listener's nerves thrilled as he crept a little more forward
to catch the answer. It came.
"He may not be hurt--not now. He is under the protection of the white
_isanusi_."
This dictum was accepted without question, and, very considerably
relieved in his mind, Lamont was preparing to creep away, when a new
discussion arose, and the first few words of it were of so momentous and
startling a nature, that he decided to remain and hear more--and that at
any risk. And such risk became graver and graver with every moment.