TRAPPED
Outside in the cool night air I recovered myself, sufficiently at any
rate to be able to think, and saw at once that the thing was an
illusion for which Zikali had prepared my mind very carefully by means
of the young witch-doctoress, Nombé. He knew well enough that this
remarkable woman, Mameena, had made a deep impression on me nearly a
quarter of a century before, as she had done upon other men with whom
she had been associated. Therefore it was probable that she would
always be present to my thought, since whatever a man forgets, he
remembers the women who have shown him favour, true or false, for
Nature has decreed it thus.
Moreover, this was one to be remembered for herself, since she was
beautiful and most attractive in her wild way. Also she had brought
about a great war, causing the death of thousands, and lastly her end
might fairly be called majestic. All these impressions Zikali had
instructed Nombé to revivify by her continual allusions to Mameena, and
lastly by her pretence that she saw her walking in front of me. Then
when I was tired and hungry, in that place which for me was so closely
connected with this woman, and in his own uncanny company, either by
mesmerism or through the action of the drug he threw upon the fire, he
had succeeded in calling up the illusion of her presence to my charmed
sight. All this was clear enough, what remained obscure was his object.
Possibly he had none beyond an impish desire to frighten me, which is
common enough among practitioners of magic in all lands. Well, for a
little while he had succeeded, although to speak truth I remained
uncertain whether in a sense I was not more thrilled and rejoiced than
frightened. Mameena had never been so ill to look upon, and I knew that
dead or living I had nothing to fear from her who would have walked
through hell fire for my sake, would have done anything, except perhaps
sacrifice her ambition. No, even if this were her ghost I should have
been glad to see her again.
But it was not a ghost; it was only a fancy reproduced exactly as my
mind had photographed her, almost as my eyes last saw her, when her
kiss was still warm upon my lips.
Such were my thoughts as I stood outside that hut with the cold
perspiration running down my face, for to tell the truth my nerves were
upset, although without reason. So upset were they that when suddenly a
silent-footed man appeared out of the darkness I jumped as high as
though I had set my foot on a puff-adder, and until I recognized him by
his voice as one of Nombé’s servants who had accompanied us from
Swazi-Land, felt quite alarmed. As a matter of fact he had only come to
tell me that our meal was ready and that the other “high White Ones”
were waiting for me.
He led me round the fence that encircled Zikali’s dwelling-place, to
two huts that stood nearly behind it, almost against the face of the
rock which, overhanging in a curve, formed a kind of natural roof above
them. I thought they must have been built since I visited the place, as
I, who have a good memory for such things, did not remember them.
Indeed, on subsequent examination I found that they were quite new, for
the poles that formed their uprights were still green and the grass of
the thatch was scarcely dry. It looked to me as if they had been
specially constructed for our accommodation.
In one of these huts, that to the right which was allotted to Anscombe
and myself, I found the others waiting for me, also the food. It was
good of its sort and well cooked, and we ate it by the light of some
candles that we had with us, Kaatje serving us. Yet, although a little
while before I had been desperately hungry, now my appetite seemed to
have left me and I made but a poor meal. Heda and Anscombe also seemed
oppressed and ate sparingly. We did not talk much until Kaatje had
taken away the tin plates and gone to eat her own supper by a fire that
burned outside the hut. Then Heda broke out, saying that she was
terrified of this place and especially of its master, the old dwarf,
and felt sure that something terrible was going to happen to her.
Anscombe did his best to calm her, and I also told her she had nothing
to fear.
“If there is nothing to fear, Mr. Quatermain,” she answered, turning on
me, “why do you look so frightened yourself? By your face you might
have seen a ghost.”
This sudden and singularly accurate thrust, for after all I had seen
something that looked very like a ghost, startled me, and before I
could invent any soothing and appropriate fib, Nombé appeared, saying
that she had come to lead Heda to her sleeping-place. After this
further conversation was impossible since, although Nombé knew but few
words of English, she was a great thought-reader and I feared to speak
of anything secret in her presence. So we all went out of the hut,
Nombé and I drawing back a little to the fire while the lovers said
good-night to each other.
“Nombé,” I said, “the Inkosikazi Heddana is afraid. The rocks of this
kloof lie heavy on her heart; the face of the Opener of Roads is
fearful to her and his laughter grates upon her ears. Do you
understand?”
“I understand, Macumazahn, and it is as I expected. When you yourself
are frightened it is natural that she, an untried maiden, should be
frightened also in this home of spirits.”
“It is men we fear, not spirits, now when all Zululand is boiling like
a pot,” I replied angrily.
“Have it as you will, Macumazahn,” she said, and at that moment her
quiet, searching eyes and fixed smile were hateful to me. “At least you
admit that you do fear. Well, for the lady Heddana fear nothing. I
sleep across the door of her hut, and while I who have learned to love
her, live, I say—for her fear nothing, whatever may chance or whatever
you may see or hear.”
“I believe you, but, Nombé, you might die.”
“Yes, I may die, but be sure of this, that when I die she will be safe,
and he who loves her also. Sleep well, Macumazahn, and do not dream too
much of what you heard and saw in Zikali’s house.”
Then before I could speak she turned and left me.
I did _not_ sleep well; I slept very badly. To begin with, Maurice
Anscombe, generally the most cheerful and nonchalant of mortals with a
jest for every woe, was in a most depressed condition, and informed me
of it several times, while I was getting ready to turn in. He said he
thought the place hateful and felt as if people he could not see were
looking at him (I had the same sensation but did not mention the fact
to him). When I told him he was talking stuff, he only replied that he
could not help it, and pointed out that it was not his general habit to
be downcast in any danger, which was quite true. Now, he added, he was
enjoying much the same sensations as he did when first he saw the
Yellow-wood Swamp and got the idea into his head that he would kill
some one there, which happened in due course.
“Do you mean that you think you are going to kill somebody else?” I
asked anxiously.
“No,” he answered, “I think I am going to be killed, or something like
it, probably by that accursed old villain of a witch-doctor, who I
don’t believe is altogether human.”
“Others have thought that before now, Anscombe, and to be plain, I
don’t know that he is. He lives too much with the dead to be like other
people.”
“And with Satan, to whom I expect he makes sacrifices. The truth is I’m
afraid of his playing some of his tricks with Heda. It is for her I
fear, not for myself, Allan. Oh! why on earth did you come here?”
“Because you wished it and it seemed the safest thing to do. Look here,
my boy, as usual the trouble comes through a woman. When a man’s
single—you know the rest. You used to be able to laugh at anything, but
now that you are practically double you can’t laugh any more. Well,
that’s the common lot of man and you’ve got to put up with it. Adam was
pretty jolly in his garden until Eve was started, but you know what
happened afterwards. The rest of his life was a compound of temptation,
anxiety, family troubles, remorse, hard labour with primitive
instruments, and a flaming sword behind him. If you had left your Eve
alone you would have escaped all this. But you see you didn’t, and as a
matter of fact, nobody ever does who is worth his salt, for Nature has
arranged it so.”
“You appear to talk with experience, Allan,” he retorted blandly. “By
the way, that girl Nombé, when she isn’t star-gazing or muttering
incantations, is always trying to explain to Heda some tale about you
and a lady called Mameena. I gather that you were introduced to her in
this neighbourhood where, Nombé says, you were in the habit of kissing
her in public, which sounds an odd kind of a thing to do; all of which
happened before she, Nombé, was born. She adds, according to Kaatje’s
interpretation, that you met her again this afternoon, which, as I
understand the young woman has been long dead, seems so
incomprehensible that I wish you would explain.”
“With reference to Heda,” I said, ignoring the rest as unworthy of
notice, “I think you may make your mind easy. Zikali knows that she is
in my charge and I don’t believe that he wants to quarrel with me.
Still, as you are uncomfortable here, the best thing to do will be to
get away as early as possible to-morrow morning, where to we can decide
afterwards. And now I am going to sleep, so please stop arguing.”
As I have already hinted, my attempts in the sleep line proved a
failure, for whenever I did drop off I was pursued by bad dreams, which
resulted from lying down so soon after supper. I heard the cries of
desperate men in their mortal agony. I saw a rain-swollen river; its
waters were red with blood. I beheld a vision of one who I knew by his
dress to be a Zulu king, although I could not see his face. He was
flying and staggering with weariness as he fled. A great hound followed
him. It lifted its head from the spoor; it was that of Zikali set upon
the hound’s body, Zikali who laughed instead of baying. Then one whose
copper ornaments tinkled as she walked, entered beside me, whispering
into my ear. “A quarter of a hundred years have gone by since we talked
together in this haunted kloof,” she seemed to whisper, “and before we
talk again face to face there remain to pass of years”—
Here she ceased, though naturally I should have liked to hear the
number. But that is just where dreams break down. They tell us only of
what we know, or can evolve therefrom. Of what it is impossible for us
to know they tell us nothing—at least as a general rule.
I woke up with a start, and feeling stifled in that hot place and
aggravated by the sound of Anscombe’s peaceful breathing, threw a coat
about me and, removing the door-board, crept into the air. The night
was still, the stars shone, and at a little distance the embers of the
fire still glowed. By it was seated a figure wrapped in a kaross. The
end of a piece of wood that the fire had eaten through fell on to the
red ashes and flamed up brightly. By its light I saw that the figure
was Nombé’s. The eternal smile was still upon her face, the smile which
suggested a knowledge of hidden things that from moment to moment
amused her soul. Her lips moved as though she were talking to an
invisible companion, and from time to time, like one who acts upon
directions, she took a pinch of ashes and blew them, either towards
Heda’s hut or ours. Yes, she did this when all decent young women
should have been asleep, like one who keeps some unholy, midnight
assignation.
Talking with her master, Zikali, or trying to cast spells upon us,
confound her! thought I to myself, and very silently crept back into
the hut. Afterwards it occurred to me that she might have had another
motive, namely of watching to see that none of us left the huts.
The rest of the night went by somehow. Once, listening with all my
ears, I thought that I caught the sound of a number of men tramping and
of some low word of command, but as I heard no more, concluded that
fancy had deceived me. There I lay, puzzling over the situation till my
head ached, and wondering how we were to get clear of the Black Kloof
and Zikali, and out of Zululand which I gathered was no place for white
people at the moment.
It seemed to me that the only thing was to make start for Dundee on the
Natal border, and for the rest to trust to fortune. If we got into
trouble over the death of Rodd, unpleasant as this would be, the matter
must be faced out, that was all. For even if any witness appeared
against us, the man had been killed in self-defence whilst trying to
bring about our deaths at the hands of Basutos. I could see now that I
was foolish not to have taken this line from the first, but as I think
I have already explained, what weighed with me was the terror of
involving these young people in a scandal which might shadow all their
future lives. Also some fate inch by inch had dragged me into Zululand.
Fortunately in life there are few mistakes, and even worse than
mistakes that cannot be repaired, if the wish towards reparation is
real and earnest. Were it otherwise not many of us would escape
destruction in one form or another.
Thus I reflected until at length light flowing faintly through the
smoke-hole of the hut told me that dawn was at hand. Seeing it I rose
quietly, for I did not wish to wake Anscombe, dressed and left the hut.
My object was to find Nombé, who I hoped would be still sitting by the
fire, and send her to Zikali with a message that I wished to speak with
him at once. Glancing round me in the grey dawn I saw that she was gone
and that as yet no one seemed to be stirring. Hearing a horse snort at
a little distance, I made my way towards the sound and in a little bay
of the overhanging cliff discovered the cart and near by our beasts
tied up with a plentiful supply of forage. Since so far as I could
judge in that uncertain light, nothing seemed to be wrong with them
except weariness, for three of them were still lying down, I walked on
to the gate of the fence which surrounded Zikali’s big hut, proposing
to wait there until some one appeared by whom I could send my message.
I reached the gate which I tried and found to be fastened on its inner
side. Then I sat down, lit my pipe and waited. It was extraordinarily
lonesome in that place; at least this was the feeling that came over
me. No doubt the sun was up behind the Ceza Stronghold that I have
mentioned, which towered high behind me, for the sky above grew light
with the red rays of its rising. But all the vast Black Kloof with its
huge fantastic rocks was still plunged in gloom, whereof the shadows
seemed to oppress my heart, weary as I was with my wakeful night and
many anxieties. I was horribly nervous also and, as it proved, not
without reason. Presently I heard rustlings on the further side of the
fence as of people creeping about cautiously, and the sound of
whispering. Then of a sudden the gate was thrown open and through it
emerged about a dozen Zulu warriors, all of them ringed men, who
instantly surrounded me, seated there upon the ground.
I looked at them and they looked at me for quite a long while, since
following my usual rule, I determined not to be the first to speak.
Moreover, if they meant to kill me there was no use in speaking. At
length their leader, an elderly man with thin legs, a large stomach and
a rather pleasant countenance, saluted politely, saying—
“Good morning, O Macumazahn.”
“Good morning, O Captain, whose name and business I do not know,” I
answered.
“The winds know the mountain on which they blow, but the mountain does
not know the winds which it cannot see,” he remarked with poetical
courtesy; a Zulu way of saying that more people are acquainted with Tom
Fool than Tom Fool is aware of.
“Perhaps, Captain; yet the mountain can feel the winds,” and I might
have added, smell them, for the Kloof was close and these Kaffirs had
not recently bathed.
“I am named Goza and come on an errand from the king, O Macumazahn.”
“Indeed, Goza, and is your errand to cut my throat?”
“Not at present, Macumazahn, that is, unless you refuse to do what the
king wishes.”
“And what does the king wish, Goza?”
“He wishes, Macumazahn, that you, his friend, should visit him.”
“Which is just what I was on my way to do, Goza.” (This was not true,
but it didn’t matter, for, if a lie, in the words of the schoolgirl’s
definition, is an abomination to the Lord, it is a very present help in
time of trouble.) “After we have eaten I and my friends will accompany
you to the king’s kraal at Ulundi.”
“Not so, Macumazahn. The king said nothing about your friends, of whom
I do not think he has ever heard any more than we have. Moreover, if
your friends are white, you will do well not to mention them, since the
order is that all white people in Zululand who have not come here by
the king’s desire, are to be killed at once, except yourself,
Macumazahn.”
“Is it so, Goza? Well, as you will have understood, I am quite alone
here and have no friends. Only I did not wish to travel so early.”
“Of course we understand that you are quite alone and have no friends,
is it not so, my brothers?”
“Yes, yes, we understand,” they exclaimed in chorus, one of them
adding, “and shall so report to the King.”
“What kind of blankets do you like; the plain grey ones or the white
ones with the blue stripes?” I asked, desiring to confirm them in this
determination.
“The grey ones are warmer, Macumazahn, and do not show dirt so much,”
answered Goza thoughtfully.
“Good, I will remember when I have the chance.”
“The promise of Macumazahn is known from of old to be as a tree that
elephants cannot pull down and white ants will not eat,” said the
sententious Goza, thereby intimating his belief that some time or other
they would receive those blankets. As a matter of fact the survivors of
the party and the families of the others did receive them after the
war, for in dealing with natives I have always made a point of trying
to fulfil any promise or engagement made for value received.
“And now,” went on Goza, “will the Inkosi be pleased to start, as we
have to travel far to-day?”
“Impossible,” I replied. “Before I leave I must eat, for who can
journey upon yesterday’s food? Also I must saddle my horse, collect
what belongs to me, and bid farewell to my host, Zikali.”
“Of meat we have plenty with us, Macumazahn, and therefore you will not
hunger on the way. Your horse and everything that is yours shall be
brought after you; since were you mounted on that swift beast and
minded to escape, how could we catch you with our feet, and did you
please to shoot us with your rifle, how could we who have only spears,
save ourselves from dying? As for the Opener of Roads, his servants
have told us that he means to sleep all to-day that he may talk with
spirits in his dreams, and therefore it is useless for you to wait to
bid him farewell. Moreover, the orders of the king are that we should
bring you to him at once.”
After this for a time there was silence, while I sat immovable
revolving the situation, and the Zulus regarded me with a benignant
interest. Goza took his snuff-box from his ear, shook out some into the
palm of his hand and, after offering it to me in vain, inhaled it
himself.
“The orders of the king are (sneeze) that we should bring you to him
alive if possible, and if not (sneeze) dead. Choose which you will,
Macumazahn. Perhaps you may prefer to go to Ulundi dead, which
would—ah! how strong is this snuff, it makes me weep like a woman—save
you the trouble of walking. But if you prefer that we should carry you,
be so good, Macumazahn, first to write the words which will cause the
grey blankets to be delivered to us, for we know well that even your
bones would desire to keep your promise. Is it not a proverb in the
land from the time of the slaying of Bangu when you gave the cattle you
had earned to Saduko’s wanderers?”
I listened and an idea occurred to me, as perhaps it had to Goza.
“I hear you, Goza,” I said, “and I will start for Ulundi on my feet—to
save _you_ the trouble of carrying me. But as the times are rough and
accidents may always happen; as, too, I wish to make sure that you
should get those blankets, and it may chance that I shall arrive there
on my back, first I will write words which, if they are delivered to
the witch-doctoress Nombé, will, sooner or later, turn into blankets.”
“Write the words quickly, Macumazahn, and they will be delivered,” said
Goza.
So I drew out my pocket-book and wrote—
“DEAR ANSCOMBE,—
“There is treachery afoot and I think that Zikali is at the bottom
of it. I am being carried off to Cetewayo at Ulundi, by a party of
armed Zulus who will not allow me to communicate with you, probably
by Zikali’s orders. You must do the best you can for Heda and
yourself. Escape to Natal if you are able. Of course I will help if
I get the chance, but if war is about to break out Cetewayo may
kill me. I think that you can trust Nombé; also that Zikali does
not wish to work you any ill unless he is obliged, though I have no
doubt that he has trapped us here for some dark purpose of his own.
Tell him through Nombé that if harm comes to you I will kill him if
I live, and that if I die, I will settle the score with him
afterwards. God save and bless you both. Keep up your courage and
use your wits.
“Your friend,
“A. Q.”
I tore out the sheet, folded, addressed it and presented it to Goza,
remarking that although it seemed to be but paper, it really was
fourteen blankets—if given at once to Nombé.
He nodded and handed it to one of his men, who departed in the
direction of our huts. So, thought I to myself, Nombé knows all about
this business, which means that it is being worked by Zikali. That is
why she spoke to me as she did last night.
“It is time to start, Macumazahn, and I think you told us that you
would prefer to do so on your feet,” said Goza, looking suggestively at
his spear.
“I am ready,” I said, rising because I must. For a moment I
contemplated the door in the kraal fence, wondering whether it would be
safe to bolt through it and take refuge with Zikali. No, it was not
safe, since Zikali sat there in his hut pulling the strings and
probably might refuse to see me. Moreover, it was likely enough that
before I could find him one of those broad spears would find my heart.
There was nothing to be done except submit. Still I did call out in a
loud voice—
“Farewell, Zikali. I leave you without a present against my will who am
being taken by soldiers to visit the king at Ulundi. When we meet again
I will talk all this matter over with you.”
There was no answer, and as Goza took the opportunity to say that he
disliked the noise of shouting extremely, which sometimes made him do
things that he afterwards regretted, I became silent. Then we departed,
I in the exact centre of that guard of Zulus, heavy-hearted and filled
with fears both for myself and those I left behind me.
Down the Black Kloof we tramped, emerging on the sunlit plain beyond
without meeting any one. A couple of miles further on we came to a
small stream where Goza announced we would halt to eat. So we ate of
cold toasted meat which one of the men produced from a basket he
carried, unpalatable food but better than nothing. Just as we had
finished I looked up and saw the soldier to whom my note had been
given. He was leading my mare that had been saddled. On it were my
large saddle-bags packed with my belongings, also my thick overcoat,
mackintosh, waterbottle, and other articles down to a bag of tobacco, a
spare pipe and a box of wax matches. Moreover, the man carried my
double-barrelled Express rifle and a shot-gun that could be used for
ball, together with two bags of cartridges. Practically nothing
belonging to me had been forgotten.
I asked him who had collected the things. He replied the doctress Nombé
had done so and had brought him the horse saddled to carry them. He did
not know who saddled the horse as he had seen no one but Nombé to whom
he had given the writing which she hid away. In answer to further
questions, he said that Nombé had sent me a message. It was—
“I bid farewell to Macumazahn for a little while and wish him good
fortune till we meet again. Let him not be afraid in the battle, for
even if he is hurt it will not be to death, since those go with him
whom he cannot see, and protect him with their shields. Say to
Macumazahn that I, Nombé, remember in the morning what I said in the
night and that what seems to be quite lost is ofttimes found again.
Wish him good fortune and tell him I am sorry that I had not time to
cause his spare garments to be cleansed with water, but that I have
been careful to find his little box with the white man’s medicines.”
I could extract nothing more from this soldier, who was either very
stupid, or chose to appear so; nor indeed did I dare to put direct
questions about the cart and those who travelled in it.
Soon we marched again, for Goza would not allow me to ride the horse,
fearing that I should escape on it. Nor would he let me carry either of
the guns lest I should make use of them. All day we travelled, reaching
the Nongoma heights in the late afternoon. On this beautiful spot we
found a kraal situated where afterwards a magistracy was built when we
conquered the country, whence there is one of the finest views in
Zululand. There was no one in the kraal except two old women who
appeared to be deaf and dumb for all I could get out of them. These
aged dames, however, or others who were hidden, had made ready for our
arrival, since a calf lay skinned and prepared for cooking, and by it
big gourds filled with Kaffir beer and “maas” or curdled milk.
In due course we ate of these provisions, and after we had finished I
gave Goza a stiff tot of brandy, of which Nombé, or perhaps Anscombe,
had thoughtfully sent a bottle with my other baggage. The strong liquor
made the old fellow talkative and enabled me to get a good deal of
information out of him. Thus I learned that certain demands, as to
which he was rather vague, had been made upon Cetewayo by the English
Government, and that the King was now considering whether he should
accede to them or fight. The Great Council of the nation was summoned
to attend at Ulundi within a few days, when the matter would be
decided. Meanwhile all the regiments were being gathered, or, as we
should say, mobilized; an army, said Goza, greater than any that Chaka
had ever led.
I asked him what I had to do with this business, that I, a peaceful
traveller and an old friend of the Zulus, should be made prisoner and
dragged off to Ulundi. He replied he did not know who was not in the
council of the High Ones, but he thought that Cetewayo the king wished
to see me because I was their friend, perhaps that he might send me as
a messenger to the white people. I asked him how the king knew that I
was in the country, to which he replied that Zikali had told him I was
coming, he did not know how, whereon he, Goza, was sent at once to
fetch me. I could get no more out of him.
I wondered if it would be worth while to make him quite drunk and then
attempt to escape on the horse, but gave up the idea. To begin with,
his men were at hand and there was not enough brandy to make them all
drunk. Also even if I succeeded in winning away here in the heart of
Zululand, it would not help Anscombe or Heda and I should probably be
cut off and killed before I could get out of the country. So I
abandoned the plan and went to sleep instead.
Next morning we left Nongoma early in the hope of reaching Ulundi that
evening if the Ivuna and Black Umfolozi Rivers proved fordable. As it
chanced, although they were high, we were able to cross them, I seated
on the horse which two of the Zulus led. Next we tramped for miles
through the terrible Bekameezi Valley, a hot and desolate place which
the Zulus swear is haunted. So unhealthy is this valley, which is the
home of large game, that whole kraals full of people who have tried to
cultivate the rich land, have died in it of fever, or fled away leaving
their crops unreaped. Now no man dwells there. After this we climbed a
terrible mount to the high land of Mahlabatini, and having eaten,
pushed on once more.
At length we sighted the great hill-encircled plain of Ulundi which may
be called the cradle of the Zulu race as, politically speaking, it was
destined to be its coffin. On the ridge to the west once stood the
Nobamba kraal where dwelt Senzangacona, the father of Chaka the Lion.
Nearer to the White Umfolozi was Panda’s dwelling-place, Nodwengu,
which once I knew so well, while on the slope of the hills of the
north-east stood the town of Ulundi in which Cetewayo dwelt, bathed in
the lights of sunset.
Indeed it and all the vast plain were red as though with blood, red as
they were destined to be on the coming day of the last battle of the
Zulus.