"THE HORNETS' NEST."
The two men sat there side by side, expecting death.
The crowd of roaring, mouthing, excited savages that ringed them in, was
increasing from without, and still the sea of waving spear-blades
refrained from overwhelming them. The ruffian who had brought this upon
them they could not see for the crush.
"Ho, Muntisi! Ho, Laliswayo!" called out Fleetwood in stentorian tones,
recognising two men whom he knew.
These, who had only just come up and were pushing a way through the
crowd, which parted for them as well as it could, recognised the
speaker.
"What is the meaning of it?" cried the latter. "You Laliswayo, who are
a chief--what does this mean? There is no war."
"Why as to that, nothing is sure, U' Joe," answered the chief. "You,
and Kulisani there, must give up your weapons and you can go."
"And our oxen have all been speared. Can we drag our waggons
ourselves?"
"For that I know nothing nor care," was the answer. "As to the waggons
these will lighten them for you."
A howl of delight went up from the listeners, who had attained to some
degree of quietude while the chief was speaking.
"Take your choice," went on the latter, seeing that they hesitated and
were rapidly conferring together. "Look at these," waving a hand over
the expectant crowd, which having already tasted blood was hungry for
more. "You may kill one or two, or even three, but you cannot kill all.
And then, no swift and easy death will yours be."
The tone of hostility underlying this frank threat, was not disguised.
"You, Laliswayo, will be the first to die."
Fleetwood's tone was sternly determined. He had covered the chief with
his rifle.
"Bid these go away," he went on. "At once, before I count ten, or the
son of Malamu shall go in search of his father. You know I never miss."
The moment was a tense one. A dead hush had fallen upon the crowd, but
the chiefs face was as unfathomable as stone. It looked as if cool,
resolute courage was going to prevail, when there befel one of those
accidents which seem almost to justify a belief in luck, good or bad.
Both men had stood up in front of the waggon box, and now Wyvern,
slightly shifting a foot, managed to lose his balance, and fall heavily
to the ground. Instinctively trying to save himself he cannoned against
Fleetwood, upsetting him too, his rifle going off as he fell--but into
the air. Quick as thought their enemies were upon them. Their weapons
were snatched from their grasp, and they were held down by the sheer
force of many powerful hands, while others fetched reims which hung
about the waggon and in a moment they were bound so tightly that they
could not move.
The roar of mingled rage and exultation that went up, as they were
dragged forth into the open, was indescribable.
"They would have killed the chief! They tried to!" were among the
exclamations of threatening fury which arose on all sides. Laliswayo
strode forward. He was a middle-aged man, tall and well-proportioned,
good-looking too after the clean-run Zulu type, and held himself with
all the dignity of his race and position.
"What was my word to you, U' Joe?" he said, his face coldly dark with
resentment. "That yours should be no swift and easy death. And now you
have tried to kill me even while we were talking together. _Hau_!"
The disgust expressed by this last exclamation evoked another wrathful
outburst. Through it Fleetwood managed to call out:
"That is not true, son of Malamu. By accident did the gun go off."
"By accident!" echoed the listeners. "By accident! _Whau_!" And
shouts of jeering laughter went up at this.
"By accident, I repeat," said Fleetwood, calmly. "See. There must be
not a few here who know me. Have such ever found me a liar?"
But for some reason this appeal met with no response. The threatening
clamour increased, and amid it there were murmurs of death by fire, or
the black ants. The chiefs word had gone forth that no swift and easy
death should fall on those who withstood his terms. How could a chief
go back on his word? It must stand. Thus they murmured.
Fleetwood glanced at Wyvern to see if he had understood, and he hoped
not. But his own heart sank. He knew this Laliswayo, as one of the
most prominent and relentless leaders of the Usutu faction, a man
bitterly hostile to the whites since the war, and, worst of all, a man
who loved popularity. Could he now refuse to accede to the demand of
his followers or restrain their barbarous and bloodthirsty aspirations?
If not, why--they two had better have blown their own brains out while
they could.
Then a diversion occurred.
Mtezani, during the disturbance, had been standing aloof against the
further side of the _scherm_ watching events. That he could have been
of no use whatever to the sorely harassed pair by coming forward he
fully knew, but by keeping in the background until the psychological
moment it was just possible he might be. So with the true philosophy of
the savage he had kept in the background accordingly.
Now they had discovered him. In the tumult of rushing the _scherm_ he
had been overlooked as one of themselves, and now, with the discovery, a
clamour arose that he should be killed. He, a Qulusi, the son of a
chief ilke Majendwa, to go over to the Sibepu and Hamu faction, and take
sides against the King, why death was the least he deserved. Thus they
raved, and a ring of spears and infuriated countenances threatened him.
But Mtezani sitting on the ground, got out his snuff-horn, and passed it
on to Hlabulana as calmly as if they were not there.
Then they jeered at him. He had become the white man's dog--Sibepu's
dog. He was in with those who were supplying arms and ammunition to be
used against them, the side of the nation, the larger side, which was
loyal to its King. And, jeering, their mood grew even nastier than when
angry. _Hau_! A traitor was a coward, of course. Who was there among
them mean enough to kill such. And they made mock to look around among
each other in quest of some one; and their tone, from jeering, became
snarling, and Mtezani's life hung on a hair.
Then Mtezani rose to his feet.
"Where is there one mean enough to kill me?" he repeated, confronting
the numbers of those who threatened him. "_Whau_! Who is there _great_
enough to kill a son of Majendwa? For surely no common man may kill
such." And he threw his shield and weapons on the ground, and stood,
looking at the raging and fast thickening crowd with calm contempt.
There was a momentary stirring among the latter. Then someone was
pushed forward, a fine young warrior, fully armed. Mtezani's face
lightened and he made a move to pick up his weapons. But it was only a
momentary impulse.
"I am Tulaza, the son of Umbelini," said the chosen champion. "Now I
think we have found one great enough to kill a son of Majendwa."
Mtezani uttered a click of contempt.
"Go home, half Swazi dog," he said. "Thou art not even of the Amazulu.
Umbelini! _Whau_! Umbelini!"
This was too much. The one thus insulted hurled a heavy knob-kerrie.
In the same move of ducking to avoid it. Mtezani picked up his shield
and weapons, and then the fight began. None had any doubt as to how it
would end--for the many sons of Majendwa were of noted prowess in deeds
of arms--and as it progressed, gradually feeling went over to the other
side, for, as he had said, Mtezani was one of themselves, and in fact
many of his tribe were present, whereas the other was the son of a
refugee Swazi who had done _konza_ to Cetywayo, and had helped in the
English war. So the flapping of shields together, and the lungeing and
parrying and feinting, caused tremendous excitement among the
spectators, which rose to a perfect uproar, as Mtezani managed to beat
down his adversary's shield and at the same time deal him a crashing
blow on the head which sent him to earth like a felled log.
"It appears," said the victor, looking around, "that the one who is
great enough to kill a son of Majendwa is yet to be found."
"_Eh-he_," assented Hlabulana, who, the white, had been seated taking
snuff, while watching the fight in the capacity of calm, dispassionate
critic. A roar of applause endorsed this. The tide had turned. Nobody
wanted to kill Mtezani now.
Laliswayo, the while, though he had turned his face towards the scene of
the tumult, had not taken the trouble to go over and look into it
personally. Now he turned his attention once more to his prisoners.
"You hear what these cry, U' Joe?" he said, "that my word must stand."
"Oh but, you are doing a grave thing, son of Malamu," answered
Fleetwood. "You are bringing further ruin upon the nation of Zulu than
that which has already befallen it. We are peaceful traders, and there
is no war in the land, yet you rush our camp--as if it was Isandhlwana
over again--kill our oxen and our servants, and treat us with indignity
and even threaten us with death. Do you think our people will allow
that to pass unavenged? _Whau_, Laliswayo! it may mean that such
conduct may make the downfall of the Great Great One, the son of Mpande,
more complete."
"Peaceable traders!" echoed the chief, with an evil sneer, for he was
striving to lash himself up into rage to cover the secret misgiving
which these words caused him. "Peaceable traders, _Whau_! Such do not
join with those like Inxele. You have shot several of our people Is not
that making war?"
"We have not. Look at our guns. Except for mine that went off by
accident they have not even been fired. You can see for yourself. All
the shooting was done by Inxele. Ask him."
"_Yeh-bo_! Inxele," echoed the bystanders. "We will bring him to life
again and ask him," and a rush was made for the spot where Bully Rawson
had fallen, stunned and unconscious.
He was no longer there.
Then, indeed, surprise, consternation, was their portion. Why he had
been almost killed--so nearly so indeed that they had not thought it
worth the trouble of securing him. When he came to they had intended to
put him through a few hours of discomfort in which live ashes would play
a prominent part, as a preliminary to abolishing him from Zululand in
particular and this terrestrial orb in general, and now he had
disappeared. The thing was incredible. It was a thing of _tagati_.
How could it have been? How could he have slipped through and got clean
away? It was true they had forgotten him in the excitement of these
other two whites and the fight between Mtezani and Tulazi, but how could
he get away unseen? Further, he was nearly killed. Well, he could not
have gone far.
With shouts of ferocious anticipation they started to quarter the
surroundings in search of him--the _scherm_ had been pulled down from
the very first. No--he could not have gone far, and when they did find
him, why then a long reckoning would have to be paid for the guns
supplied to the enemies of the King.
Like hounds they quartered the ground in every direction. No sign of
their quest. Then the bush line was entered. Here they would have him.
He could not go far. Oh no. He could not go far.
But whether he could go far or not, certain it was that they failed to
find him. They searched and searched, far beyond the distance he could
possibly have reached within the time, but all to no purpose. Well
there were still two upon whom they could wreak a cruel vengeance, and
now, all the savage aroused within them, they turned back, discussing
what they should do with these other two when the chief had given them
over, as of course he would.