Baffled in their search for Bully Rawson the disappointed savages surged
round their two captives like a swarm of devouring ants; and, in fact,
it was to the awful, torturing death by this instrumentality that they
clamoured the two should be given.
The impi was made up almost entirely of young bloods. There were few
head-ringed men among them, and even Laliswayo, though a chief was young
for that dignity. His sympathies, too, lay far more with them than with
the older and wiser indunas of the nation. In common with young bloods
of whatever nationality demoralised by a generality of public
disturbance, and collected together under arms by reason of the same,
there was a strong element of irresponsible rowdiness among them which
is apt to find its outlet in cruelty; and these were savages. Many
hands fastened upon the bound and helpless white men, and they were
dragged roughly towards one point where the bush line began.
"Ha! The black ants are hungry. The good black ants," was jeered at
them. "Now they shall be fed, fed with white meat Ah-ah--with fresh
white meat."
"But this is how you treat your _abatagati_," [Persons condemned for
witchcraft] Fleetwood managed to get out. "We are not such. Therefore
if we are to die let it be the death of the spear."
But a howl, wrathful and derisive was the only response. They were not
going to be done out of their fun. It would be a novel sight to see how
the black ants would appreciate white meat. An appeal to Laliswayo on
the part of the victims proved equally fruitless, for the simple reason
that the chief had purposely withdrawn into the background of his
followers. He did not want to hear any such appeal.
The full horror of the fate in store for them was equally patent to both
victims. They would be stripped and bound down upon an ants' nest, to
be literally devoured alive by countless thousands of the swarming
insects. It was a mode of torture frequently resorted to by all the
native tribes of Southern Africa in former times, but usually only as
the penalty of supposed witchcraft, and even then rarely among the
Zulus. It spelt hours of indescribable torment and raving madness,
before death brought a merciful relief.
"But ye are _abatagati_," roared the crowd. "It is through your
witchcraft that Inxele has escaped. He was to have fed the ants. He
has gone, therefore you must take his place."
"We are not _abatagati_. We are men," urged Fleetwood. "Let us then
die fighting. Bring any two of your best fighters against each of us--
or three if you will. Then you shall see a far more warrior-like
sight."
Derisive jeers were the only reply to this appeal, and now their
tormentors flung them down on the ground. They had found an ants' nest,
and the black, vicious insects, stirred up with a stick, were swarming
to and fro, their venomous nippers open and extended. An animated
discussion was going on among the savages as to which should be the
first victim, and whether he should be hung by the heels to a tree with
his face just touching the nest, or fastened down straight across it.
"Are they doing this just to scare us?" said Wyvern, through whose mind
the bitterest of thoughts were surging. It was hard to die now just as
that which they had sought was within their reach. But what a death!
Would Lalante ever come to hear of it, he wondered and would she, in
time, when his memory became dim, console herself? And the bitterness
of the idea well-nigh served to blunt the anticipation of the ghastly
torture that awaited. But as though to remind him of it some sportive
savage, not minding a few bites, grabbed a handful of the stuff of which
the nest was made, and incidentally many ants, and dashed the lot into
Wyvern's face. A howl of glee went up as, stung by the venomous bites
of the insects, the victim instinctively started, and his powerful
convulsive efforts to burst his bonds produced a perfectly exquisite
degree of amusement. In fact it suggested a new form of preliminary
fun. Handfuls of the ants, and dust, were gathered, and placed within
the clothing of the sufferers.
Their position was undignified, ignominious. To both of them this
consideration occurred.
"Keep it up, Joe," said Wyvern, with an effort refraining from wincing
under the abominable pain of the stings. "Here we are trussed up like a
pair of damned fowls, but we needn't howl out just yet. Suppose that'll
come later."
Their fortitude seemed to impress the savages. They stared in wonder,
reduced to a temporary silence. Then as the clamour broke out afresh,
that it was time to begin on the real horror, an interruption occurred.
At first it took the form of a weird, long-drawn sort of chant, drawing
nearer and nearer. The Zulus, whose attention had been concentrated on
the two captives now turned it in this direction.
"_Whau_!" they cried. "It is the Snake-Doctor!"
In silence now they stood, as the sound approached, then divided, giving
way to a tall and terrible figure which strode down the lane thus
opened. For the limbs and body of this weird being were alive with
hissing snakes, whose horrible heads and waving necks started forth from
him in every attitude and at every angle, while scarcely anything could
be seen of him for the moving, glistening coils but his face. And that
face! The fell ferocity of it no description could adequately convey,
and to complete its horror it was deeply pitted with small pox.
In awed silence the warriors stood while this dreadful being moved
between their ranks. Of them however it took no notice but advanced
straight to the two helpless white men. And Wyvern, for all the strain
of the peril he was in, was lost in wonder at the sight, for this was
the third time he had gazed on this apparition. The first was on the
occasion of the slaughter of the sheep, the second in the moonlit
wildness of the Third Kloof, and now--here. What did it mean? Could it
be that these people had real powers of witchcraft, or, as some
believed, held real communication with the demon world? It really began
to look as if such might be the case. How had this one escaped what
seemed certain death, and not only that but had obtained power over the
venomous reptiles, one of which ought by all physical laws to have been
his destroyer on that first occasion? Could he have discovered some
wonderful remedy known only to the natives, which had not only cured him
but had rendered him thenceforward immune from their venom? It might be
so; and being so the man might have turned the circumstance to account
by setting up as a magician, and so have wandered up here.
"These are mine!" he mouthed, pointing to the luckless pair. "I claim
them. Now shall my serpents rejoice."
A murmur of respectful assent went up at this, of eager assent. This
would be a new and original mode of amusement, in fact an improvement on
the ants' nest plan.
"This one first," said the Snake-Doctor, designating Wyvern, who in
obedience to another signal was seized and dragged a little further off
to a spot where the ground was quite smooth and open. Those who had
thus dragged him withdrew, not without some alacrity, to a respectful
distance, to watch the fun.
The Snake-Doctor advanced and drawing forth a long reptile, of the
yellow-snake variety, held it by its middle, and, standing over his
victim allowed it to make a vicious dart, which just stopped short of
the latter's face. This was repeated again and again, the while from
the crowd which ringed them around, now in respectful silence, a
deep-chested gasp arose with every strike.
The said victim lay, looking upward at his tormentor. He had first
intended awaiting the death stroke with closed eyes, but a sort of
unaccountable fascination held them open. The black, cruel face,
hideously pock-marked, the wool standing out in fantastic plaits from
the head, like so many horns, made a satanic picture which the writhings
of the satanic reptiles completed. A cold perspiration stood forth upon
his face, as he expected every stroke of the deadly reptile to be the
last. Then the Snake-Doctor desisted, gathering back the thing again.
Now the next act in this drama of torture by anticipation was to begin.
All the loathsome glistening coils which enveloped the person of the
Snake-Doctor like clothing, were in motion as he cast forth some half
dozen of the reptiles. These crawled around the helpless victim, heads
erect and hissing horribly. It was clear that some marvellous magic
controlled them as they moved to and fro, obedient to a scarcely
perceptible hissing chirrup on his part. Then, in obedience to the same
mysterious signal, they approached him, even gliding over his body, but
making no attempt to strike him. The hush of the silence was tense.
The awed spectators, some of whom had seen instances of the
Snake-Doctor's marvellous skill before, watched, still as death,
wondering how soon the white man's nerve would break down, and he would
become a raving madman, such as his tormentor-in-chief they knew to be
at intervals.
There is a period beyond which a state of tense apprehension cannot be
kept up. Until this was reached Wyvern underwent the tensest of its
torments. Instinctively he turned from side to side with every movement
of the horrible reptiles, then, when he found himself staring into the
countenance of a great black mamba within a yard of his own the point of
indifference was reached. He felt capable of no further agony. The
sooner the fatal stroke was dealt the better.
Then the Snake-Doctor began to call in his horrible myrmidons. One by
one they came, and, in silent glide, each once more hung its glistening
coils about the body and limbs of its repulsive master. Again an
awestruck gasp went up from the entranced crowd. What would be the next
trial in store for the victim? Something fearful beyond words, for, had
not the Snake-Doctor claimed him?
But like the movements of the crawling serpents, a very writhe of panic
ran through the riveted spectators. The weird death-hiss broke upon the
silence and down they went in scores before the assegais of the
advancing enemy; who, in the all entrancing abandonment of the novel
spectacle had noiselessly rushed them on all sides, and now was right in
among them, stabbing in every direction. They had been surprised by an
impi of the rival faction, as strong, if not stronger than their own,
now considerably stronger, if only that many, in their fancied security,
and the absorbing interest of their cruel entertainment had thrown down
their weapons and shields, and so were massacred in an absolutely
defenceless state. The din and horror was indescribable as the surprise
became manifest. In among them were the destroyers, stabbing, hacking;
and the death-hiss vibrated upon the air, then the war-shout "Usutu,"
and the flap of shields in counter strife, as the assailed managed to
effect some sort of rally. The chief, Laliswayo, was among the earliest
slain, and the demoralised Usutus, now without a recognised head, were
still making a desperate effort to regain the day.
Wyvern, lying there, expecting immediate death, though now in a
different form, suddenly became aware that his bonds had been cut.
Stiff and bewildered he strove to rise, and found himself staring
stupidly into the face of Mtezani, who was bending over him.
"Take this, Kulisani," said the latter, in the excitement of the moment
levelling down into the use of his native _sobriquet_, and thrusting a
heavy, short-handled knob-kerrie into his hand. "Get away, quick, now--
into the bush--while there is time. I can do no more for you."
They were almost alone. The roll of battle had carried the contending
ranks, like a wave, beyond them. Amid the general confusion none had
any thought to spare for any consideration beyond that of repelling the
attack.
"But--what of U' Joe?" answered Wyvern. "Where is he? I cannot desert
him."
"U' Joe? He is gone," rejoined the young Zulu, impatiently. "Are you
tired of life, Kulisani? If not, go too--while there is time."
Wyvern hesitated no longer. Gripping his rude weapon he jumped up and
made for the nearest cover, just as, his escape being discovered,
several of his late tormentors sprang with shouts in his pursuit.