THE KRAAL JAZI
Now I shall pass over all the Zulu record of the next four years, since
after all it has nothing to do with my tale and I do not pretend to be
writing a history.
Sir Garnet Wolseley set up his Kilkenny cat Government in Zululand, or
the Home Government did it for him, I do not know which. In place of
one king, thirteen chiefs were erected who got to work to cut the
throats of each other and of the people.
As I expected would be the case, Zikali informed the military
authorities of the secret hiding-place in the Ingome Forest where he
suggested to Cetewayo that he should refuge. The ex-king was duly
captured there and taken first to the Cape and then to England, where,
after the disgrace of poor Sir Bartle Frere, an agitation had been set
on foot on his behalf. Here he saw the Queen and her ministers, once
more conquering, as it had been prophesied that he would by her who
wore the shape of Mameena at the memorable scene in the Valley of Bones
when I was present. Often I have thought of him dressed in a black coat
and seated in that villa in Melbury Road in the suburb of London which
I understand is populated by artists. A strange contrast truly to the
savage prince receiving the salute of triumph after the Battle of the
Tugela in which he won the kingship, or to the royal monarch to whose
presence I had been summoned at Ulundi. However, he was brought back to
Zululand again by a British man-of-war, re-installed to a limited
chieftainship by Sir Theophilus Shepstone, and freed from the
strangling embrace of the black coat.
Then of course there was more fighting, as every one knew would happen,
except the British Colonial Office; indeed all Zululand ran with blood.
For in England Cetewayo and his rights, or wrongs, had, like the Boers
and their rights, or wrongs, become a matter of Party politics to which
everything else must give way. Often I wonder whether Party politics
will not in the end prove the ruin of the British Empire. Well, thank
Heaven, I shall not live to learn.
So Cetewayo came back and fought and was defeated by those who once had
been his subjects. Now for the last scene, that is all with which I
need concern myself.
At the beginning of February, 1884, business took me to Zululand; it
had to do with a deal in cattle and blankets. As I was returning
towards the Tugela who should I meet but friend Goza, he who had
escorted me from the Black Kloof to Ulundi before the outbreak of war,
and who afterwards escorted me and that unutterable nuisance, Kaatje,
out of the country. At first I thought that we came together by
accident, or perhaps that he had journeyed a little way to thank me for
the blankets which I had sent to him, remembering my ancient promise,
but afterwards I changed my opinion on this point.
Well, we talked over many matters, the war, the disasters that had
befallen Zululand, and so forth. Especially did we talk of that night
in the Valley of Bones and the things we had seen there side by side. I
asked him if the people still believed in the Inkosazana-y-Zulu who
then appeared in the moonlight on the rock. He answered that some did
and some did not. For his part, he added, looking at me fixedly, he did
not, since it was rumoured that Zikali had dressed up a white woman to
play the part of the Spirit. Yet he could not be sure of the matter,
since it was also said that when some of Cetewayo’s people went to kill
this white woman in the Black Kloof, Nomkubulwana, the Princess of
Heaven herself, rose before them and frightened them away.
I remarked that this was very strange, and then quite casually asked
him whom Zikali had dressed up to play the part of the dead Mameena
upon that same occasion, since this was a point upon which I always
thirsted for definite intelligence. He stared at me and replied that I
ought to be able to answer my own question, since I had been much
nearer to her who looked like Mameena than any one else, so near indeed
that all present distinctly saw her kiss me, as it was well known she
had liked to do while still alive. I replied indignantly that they saw
wrong and repeated my question. Then he answered straight out—
“O Macumazahn, we Zulus believe that what we saw on that night was not
Nombé or another dressed up, but the spirit of the witch Mameena
itself. We believe it because we could see the light of Zikali’s fire
through her, not always, but sometimes; also because all that she said
has come true, though everything is not yet finished.”
I could get no more out of him about the matter, for when I tried to
speak of it again, he turned the subject, telling me of his wonderful
escapes during the war. Presently he rose to go and said casually—
“Surely I grow old in these times of trouble, Macumazahn, for thoughts
slip through my head like water through the fingers. Almost I had
forgotten what I wished to say to you. The other day I met Zikali, the
Opener of Roads. He told me that you were in Zululand and that I should
meet you—he did not say where, only that when I did meet you, I was to
give you a message. This was the message—that when on your way to Natal
you came to the kraal Jazi, you would find him there; also another whom
you used to know, and must be sure not to go away without seeing him,
since that was about to happen in which you must take your part.”
“Zikali!” I exclaimed. “I have heard nothing of him since the war. I
thought that by now he was certainly dead.”
“Oh! no, Macumazahn, he is certainly not dead, but just the same as
ever. Indeed it is believed that he and no other has kept all this
broth of trouble on the boil, some say for Cetewayo’s sake, and some
say because he wishes to destroy Cetewayo. But what do I know of such
matters who only desire to live in peace under whatever chief the
English Queen sends to us, as she has a right to do having conquered us
in war? When you meet the Opener of Roads at the kraal Jazi, ask him,
Macumazahn.”
“Where the devil is the kraal Jazi?” I inquired with irritation. “I
never heard of such a place.”
“Nor did I, therefore I cannot tell you, Macumazahn. For aught I can
say it may be down beneath where dead men go. But wherever it is there
certainly you will meet the Opener of Roads. Now farewell, Macumazahn.
If it should chance that we never look into each other’s eyes again, I
am sure you will think of me sometimes, as I shall of you, and of all
that we have seen together, especially on that night in the Vale of
Bones when the ghost of the witch Mameena prophesied to us and kissed
you before us all. She must have been very beautiful, Macumazahn, as
indeed I have heard from those who remember her, and I don’t wonder
that you loved her so much. Still for my part I had rather be kissed by
a living woman than by one who is dead, though doubtless it is best to
be kissed by none at all. Again, farewell, and be sure to tell the
Opener of Roads that I gave you his message, lest he should lay some
evil charm upon me, who have seen enough evil of late.”
Thus talking Goza departed. I never saw him again, and do not know if
he is dead or alive. Well, he was a kindly old fellow, if no hero.
I had almost forgotten the incident of this meeting when a while later
I found myself in the neighbourhood of the beautiful but semi-tropical
place called Eshowe, which since those days has become the official
home of the British Resident in Zululand. Indeed, although the house
was not then finished, if it had been begun, Sir Melmoth Osborn already
had an office there. I wished to see him in order to give him some
rather important information, but when I reached a kraal of about fifty
huts some five hundred yards from the site of the present Residency, my
wagon stuck fast in the boggy ground. While I was trying to get it out
a quiet-faced Zulu, whose name, I remember, was Umnikwa, informed me
that Malimati, that is Sir Melmoth Osborn’s native name, was somewhere
at a little distance from Eshowe, too far away for me to get to him
that night. I answered, Very well, I would sleep where I was, and asked
the name of the kraal.
He replied, Jazi, at which I started, but only said that it was a
strange name, seeing that it meant “Finished,” or “Finished with joy.”
Umnikwa answered, Yes, but that it had been so called because the chief
Umfokaki, or The Stranger, who married a sister of the king, was killed
at this kraal by his brother, Gundane, or the Bat. I remarked that it
was an ill-omened kind of name, to which the man replied, Yes, and
likely to become more so, since the King Cetewayo who had been
sheltering there “beneath the armpit” of Malimati, the white lord, for
some months, lay in it dying. I asked him of what he was dying, and he
replied that he did not know, but that doubtless the father of the
witch-doctors, named Zikali, the Opener of Roads, would be able to tell
me, as he was attending on Cetewayo.
“He has sent me to bid you to come at once, O Macumazahn,” he added
casually, “having had news that you were arriving here.”
Showing no surprise, I answered that I would come, although goodness
knows I was surprised enough, and leaving my servants to get my wagon
out of the bog, I walked into the kraal with the messenger. He took me
to a large hut placed within a fence about the gate of which some women
were gathered, who all looked very anxious and disturbed. Among them I
saw Dabuko the king’s brother, whom I knew slightly. He greeted me and
told me that Cetewayo was at the point of death within the hut, but
like Umnikwa, professed ignorance of the cause of his illness.
For a long while, over an hour I should think, I sat there outside the
hut, or walked to and fro. Until darkness came I could occupy myself
with contemplating the scenery of the encircling hills, which is among
the most beautiful in Zululand with its swelling contours and rich
colouring. But after it had set in only my thoughts remained, and these
I found depressing.
At length I made up my mind that I would go away, for after all what
had I to do with this business of the death of Cetewayo, if in truth he
was dying? I wished to see no more of Cetewayo of whom all my
recollections were terrific or sorrowful. I rose to depart, when
suddenly a woman emerged from the hut. I could not see who she was or
even what she was like, because of the gloom; also for the reason that
she had the corner of her blanket thrown over her face as though she
wished to keep it hidden. For a moment she stopped opposite to me and
said—
“The king who is sick desires to see you, Macumazahn.” Then she pointed
to the door-hole of the hut and vanished, shutting the gate of the
fence behind her. Curiosity overcame me and I crawled into the hut,
pushing aside the door-board in order to do so and setting it up again
when I was through.
Inside burned a single candle fixed in the neck of a bottle, faintly
illuminating that big and gloomy place. By its feeble light I saw a low
bedstead on the left of the entrance and lying on it a man half covered
by a blanket in whom I recognized Cetewayo. His face was shrunken and
distorted with pain, and his great bulk seemed less, but still without
doubt it was Cetewayo.
“Greeting, Macumazahn,” he said feebly, “you find me in evil case, but
I heard that you were here and thought that I should like to see you
before I die, because I know that you are honest and will report my
words faithfully. I wish you to tell the white men that my heart never
really was against them; they have always been the friends of my heart,
but others forced me down a road I did not wish to travel, of which now
I have come to the end.”
“What is the matter with you, King?” I asked.
“I do not know, Macumazahn, but I have been sick for some days. The
Opener of Roads who came to doctor me, because my wives believed those
white medicine-men wished me dead, says that I have been poisoned and
must die. If you had been here at first you might perhaps have given me
some medicine. But now it is too late,” he added with a groan.
“Who then poisoned you, King?”
“I cannot tell you, Macumazahn. Perhaps my enemies, perhaps my
brothers, perhaps my wives. All wish to have done with me, and the
Great One, who is no longer wanted, is soon dead. Be thankful,
Macumazahn, that you never were a king, for sad is the lot of kings.”
“Where, then, is the Opener of Roads?” I asked.
“He was here a little while ago. Perhaps he has gone out to take the
King’s head” (i.e., to announce his death) “to Malimati and the white
men,” he answered in a faint voice.
Just then I heard a shuffling noise proceeding from that part of the
hut where the shadow was deepest, and looking, saw an emaciated arm
projected into the circle of the light. It was followed by another arm,
then by a vast head covered with long white hair that trailed upon the
ground, then by a big, misshapen body, so wasted that it looked like a
skeleton covered with corrugated black skin. Slowly, like a chameleon
climbing a bough, the thing crept forward, and I knew it for Zikali. He
reached the side of the bed and squatted down in his toad-like fashion,
then, again like a chameleon, without moving his head turned his deep
and glowing eyes towards me.
“Hail, O Macumazahn,” he said in his low voice. “Did I not promise you
long ago that you should be with me at the last, and are you not with
me and another?”
“It seems so, Zikali,” I answered. “But why do you not send for the
white doctors to cure the king?”
“All the doctors, white and black, in the whole world cannot cure him,
Macumazahn. The Spirits call him and he dies. At his call I came fast
and far, but even I cannot cure him—although because of him I myself
must die.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Look at me, Macumazahn, and say if I am one who should travel. Well,
all come to their end at last, even the
'Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born.’”
Cetewayo lifted his head and looked at him, then said heavily—
“Perchance it would have been better for our House if that end had been
sooner. Now that I lie dying many sayings concerning you come into my
mind that I had forgotten. Moreover, Opener of Roads, I never sent for
you, whoever may have done so, and it was not until after you came here
that the great pain seized me. How did it happen,” he went on with
gathering force, “that the white men caught me in the secret place
where you told me I should hide? Who pointed out that hidden hole to
the white men? But what does it matter now?”
“Nothing at all, O Son of Panda,” answered Zikali, “even less than it
matters how I escaped the spear-head hidden in your robe, yonder in my
hut in the Black Kloof where, had it not been for a certain spirit that
stood between you and me, you would have murdered me. Tell me, Son of
Panda, during these last three days have you thought at all of your
brother Umbelazi, and of certain other brethren of yours whom you
killed at the battle of the Tugela, when the white man here led the
charge of the Amawombe against your regiments and ate up three of
them?”
Cetewayo groaned but said nothing. I think he had become too faint to
speak.
“Listen, Son of Panda,” went on Zikali in an intense and hissing voice.
“Many, many years ago, before Senzangacona, your grandfather, saw the
light—who knows how long before—a man was born of high blood in the
Dwandwe tribe, which man was a dwarf. Chaka the Black One conquered the
Dwandwe, but this man of high blood was spared because he was a dwarf,
an abortion, to whom Chaka gave the name of the
'Thing-that-never-should-have-been-born,’ keeping him about him to be a
mock in times of peace and safety, and because he was wise and learned
in magic, to be a counsellor in times of trouble. Moreover, Chaka
killed this man’s wives and children for his sport, save one whom he
kept to be his ‘sister.’
“Therefore for the sake of his people and his butchered wives and
children, this wizard swore an oath of vengeance against Chaka and all
his House. Working beneath the ground like a rat, he undermined the
throne of Chaka and brought him to his death by the spears of his
brethren and of Mopo his servant, whom Chaka had wronged. Still working
in the dark like a rat, he caused Dingaan, who stabbed Chaka, to murder
the Boer Retief and his people, and thus called down upon his head the
vengeance of the Whites, and afterwards brought Dingaan to his death.
Then Panda, your father, arose, and his life this
'Thing-that-never-should-have-been-born’ spared because once Panda had
done him a kindness. Only through the witch Mameena he brought sorrow
on him, causing war to arise between his children, one of whom was
named Cetewayo.
“Then this Cetewayo ruled, first with his father Panda and afterwards
in his place, and trouble arose between him and the English. Son of
Panda, you will remember that this Cetewayo was in doubt whether to
fight the English and demanded a sign of the
Thing-that-never-should-have-been-born. He gave the sign, causing the
Inkosazana-y-Zulu, the Princess of Heaven, to appear before him and
thereby lifting the spear of War. Son of Panda, you know how that war
went, how this Cetewayo was defeated and came to the
‘Thing-that-never-should-have-been-born’ like a hunted hyena, to learn
of a hole where he might hide. You know, too, how he strove to murder
the poor old doctor who showed him such a hole; how he was taken
prisoner and sent across the water and afterwards set up again in the
land that had learned to hate him, to bring its children to death by
thousands. And you know how at last he took refuge beneath the wing of
the white chief, here in the kraal Jazi, and lived, spat upon, an
outcast, until at length he fell sick, as such men are apt to do, and
the Thing-that-never-should-have-been-born was sent for to doctor him.
And you know also how he lies dying, within him an agony as though he
had swallowed a red hot spear, and before him a great blackness peopled
by the ghosts of those whom he has slain, and of his forefathers whose
House he has pulled down and burned.”
Zikali ceased, and thrusting his hideous head to within an inch or two
of that of the dying man, he glowered at him with his fierce and fiery
eyes. Then he began to whisper into the king’s ear, who quivered at his
words, as the victim quivers beneath the torturer’s looks.
At that moment the end of the candle fell into the bottle which was of
clear white glass, and there burned for a little while dully before it
went out. Never shall I forget the scene illumined by its blue and
ghastly light. The dying man lying on the low couch, rocking his head
to and fro; the wizard bending over him like some grey vampire bat
sucking the life-blood from his helpless throat. The terror in the eyes
of the one, the insatiable hate in the eyes of the other. Oh! it was
awful!
“Macumazahn,” gasped Cetewayo in a rattling whisper, “help me,
Macumazahn. I say that I am poisoned by this Zikali, who hates me. Oh!
drive away the ghosts! Drive them away!”
I looked at him and at his tormentor squatted by him like a mocking
fiend, and as I looked the candle went out.
Then my nerve broke, the cold sweat poured from my face and I fled from
the hut as a man might from a scene in hell, followed by the low
mocking laugh of Zikali.
Outside the women and others were gathered in the gloom. I told them to
go to the king, who was dying, and blundered up the slope to search for
some white man. No one was to be found, but a Kaffir messenger by the
office told me that Malimati was still away and had been sent for. So I
returned to my wagon and lay down in it exhausted, for what more could
I do?
It was a rough night. Thunder muttered and rain fell in driving gusts.
I dozed off, only to be awakened by a sound of wailing. Then I knew
that the king was dead, for this was the Isililo, the cry of mourning.
I wondered whether the murderers—for that he was poisoned I had no
doubt—were among those who wailed.
Towards dawn the storm rolled off and the night grew serene and clear,
for a waning moon was shining in the sky. The heat of that stifling
place oppressed me; my blood seemed to be afire. I knew that there was
a stream in a gorge about half a mile away, for it had been pointed out
to me. I longed for a swim in cool water, who, to tell truth, had found
none for some days, and bethought me that I would bathe in this stream
before I trekked from that hateful spot, for to me it had become
hateful. Calling my driver, who was awake and talking with the
voorloopers, for they knew what was passing at the kraal and were
alarmed, I told them to get the oxen ready to start as I would be back
presently. Then I set off for the stream and, after a longish walk,
scrambled down a steep ravine to its banks, following a path made by
Kaffir women going to draw water. Arrived there at last I found that it
was in flood and rising rapidly, at least so I judged from the sound,
for in that deep, tree-hung place the light was too faint to allow me
to see anything. So I sat down waiting for the dawn and wishing that I
had not come because of the mosquitoes.
At length it broke and the mists lifted, showing that the spot was one
of great beauty. Opposite to me was a waterfall twenty or thirty feet
high, over which the torrent rushed into a black pool below. Everywhere
grew tall ferns and beyond these graceful trees, from whose leaves hung
raindrops. In the centre of the stream on the edge of the fall was a
rock not a dozen feet away from me, round which the water foamed.
Something was squatted on this rock, at first I could not see what
because of the mist, but thought that it was a grey-headed baboon, or
some other animal, and regretted that I had not brought a gun with me.
Presently I became aware that it must be a man, for, in a chanting
voice, it began to speak or pray in Zulu, and hidden behind a flowering
bush, I could hear the words. They were to this effect—
“O my Spirit, here where thou foundest me when I was young, hundreds of
years ago” (he said hundreds, but I suppose he meant tens), “I come
back to thee. In this pool I dived and beneath the waters found thee,
my Snake, and thou didst wind thyself about my body and about my heart”
(here I understood that the speaker was alluding to his initiation as a
witch-doctor which generally includes, or used to include, the finding
of a snake in a river that coils itself about the neophyte). “About my
body and in my heart thou hast dwelt from that sun to this, giving me
wisdom and good and evil counsel, and that which thou hast counselled,
I have done. Now I return thee whence thou camest, there to await me in
the new birth.
“O Spirits of my fathers, toiling through many years I have avenged you
on the House of Senzangacona, and never again will there be a king of
the Zulus, for the last of them lies dead by my hand. O my murdered
wives and my children, I have offered up to you a mighty sacrifice, a
sacrifice of thousands upon thousands.
“O Umkulu-kulu, Great One of the heavens, who sentest me to earth, I
have done thy work upon the earth and bring back to thee thy harvest of
the seed that thou hast sown, a blood-red harvest, O Umkulu-kulu. Be
still, be still, my Snake, the sun arises, and soon, soon shalt thou
rest in the water that wast thine from the beginning of the world!”
The voice ceased, and presently a spear of light piercing the mists,
lit upon the speaker. It was Zikali and about him was wound a great
yellow-bellied snake, of which the black head with flickering tongue
waved above his head and seemed from time to time to lick him on the
brow. (I suppose it had come to him from the water, for its skin
glittered as though with wet.) He stood up on tottering feet, staring
at the red eye of the rising sun, then crying, _“Finished, finished
with joy!”_ with a loud and dreadful laughter, he plunged into the
foaming pool beneath.
Such was the end of Zikali the Wizard, Opener of Roads, the
“Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born,” and such was the vengeance
that he worked upon the great House of Senzangacona, bringing it to
naught and with it the nation of the Zulus.