BLACK HERO

The childhood and adolescence of Allan’s friend Umslopogaas

The story of the Zulu caravans

Letter

H. RIDER HAGGARD

Translated from English into Finnish

OEN [OE Nyman]

Helsinki, Publishing Company Book, 1922.

CONTENT:

        To the reader.
     I. Chaka’s prophecy.
    II. Mopo in trouble.
   III. Mopo’s daring return.
    IV. Mopo and Balkan’s escape.
     V. Mopo becomes the king’s physician.
    VI. The birth of Umslopogaas.
   VII. Umslopogaas before the king.
  VIII. The defeat of the magicians.
    IX. Umslopogaas’ disappearance.
     X. Mopo’s trial.
    XI. Baleka’s advice.
   XII. The story of Wolf-Galazi.
  XIII. Galazi becomes the king of wolves.
   XIV. Wolf-scoundrels.
    XV. The death of the king’s men.
   XVI. Umslopogaas goes to fight Tappara.
  XVII. Umslopogaas becomes the chief of the axe people.
 XVIII. Baleka’s curse.
   XIX. Masilo moves to Duguza.
    XX. Mopo negotiates with the prince.
   XXI. Chaka’s death.

TO THE READER.

In writing this book the author had another purpose than simply to create a cruel account of the life of a savage people. While still a young man he was fortunate enough to reach South Africa. There he came into contact with persons who had lived for forty years among the Zulu people, whose history, heroes and customs they knew very well. From them he heard many legends and stories, which are now rarely spoken of and which will soon be forgotten altogether. At that time the Zulu were still a united people, but now they have been destroyed and the intention of the white rulers is to completely extinguish the warlike spirit for which that people was known, and to develop in its place a hobby of peacemaking. The Zulu military institution, probably the only one of its kind in the whole world, is already a thing of the past; it and its supporters have gone into eternal silence, at Ulundi. Chaka created it, starting from a small group. When he appeared in the early nineteenth century, he was only the chief of a small tribe, and when he died in 1828, pierced by the spears of his brothers Umhlangana and Dingane and his servant Mopo, or Umbopo, as he was also called, he was the ruler of all South Africa, and it is said that he killed another million people in his quest for power. In the early nineteenth century, South Africa was relatively densely populated. During Chaka’s reign, the population decreased considerably. This book has attempted to portray the true character of that great genius and at the same time a most cruel man, and also to present a true picture of his brother and successor Dingane. The author’s purpose has also been to present in narrative form the reasons, ideas, and purposes which inspired these kings and their supporters, and to bring to light events in African history which are now mentioned only in a few accounts.

It is clear that such a task has been difficult, because the author must have for a time forgotten his level of education entirely and thought and spoke like an ancient Zulu. Because of our sophisticated age, not all the atrocities committed by the Zulu tyrants can be described, and their details have therefore been greatly reduced. Most of the events narrated are basically true. By “black hero” here is by no means Chaka, but Umslopogaasi, who may be said to represent the Zulu race in its most manly and noblest form. We hope that young readers will be fond of following his fate.

I.

THE PROPHECY OF THE CHAKA BOY.

You ask me, my father, to tell you the story of young Umslopogaas, the owner of the Iron Queen or Weeper, who was called Bulalio the Slayer, and of his love for Nada, the most beautiful of the Zulus. The story is long, but you will stay here for many more evenings, and if I live long enough to tell it, I will tell it in full. So harden your heart, my father, for my story is very sad; even now, when I think of Nada, tears creep through the ice that darkens my old eyes.

Do you know, father, who I am? How could you know? Think that I am an old, old magician named Zweete. Others have thought so for years, but Zweete is not my real name. Few have known it, for I have hidden it in the depths of my heart, and though I live now under the white man’s law, and the great queen is my ruler, the assegai can find its way into my chest. Therefore no one knows my real name any more.

Look at this hand, my father—no, not this, whose fire has dried up; look at my right hand. You see it, but not I, who am blind. Yet I still see it in my spirit as it once was. Yes! I see it strong and red—red with the blood of two kings. Hear, my father; bend nearer and hear. I am Mopo—ah! I felt you start; you started like a regiment of bees as Mopo passed its ranks, examining it with the assegai in his hand, from the blade of which Chaka’s heart-blood was slowly dripping to the ground. I am Mopo, he who killed King Chaka. I killed him with Princes Dingaan and Umhlangana, but I struck the mortal wound, and without me he would never have been slain. Him I killed with the princes, but Dingaan I and another killed alone.

What did you say? “Dingaan died at Tongola’s.”

That’s right, he died, but not there; he died on the haunted mountain; he rested in the bosom of that old petrified witch who sits up there waiting for the end of the world. But I was on the haunted mountain too. My feet were still swift then, and my revenge gave me no rest at night. I walked all day, and in the evening I found him, I and another, and we killed him—ah! ah!

Why am I telling you this? What has this to do with the love of Umslopogaas and Nada? I will tell you. I killed Chaka for my sister Baleka, who was Umslopogaas’ mother, and because Chaka had murdered my wife and children. I and Umslopogaas killed Dingaan for Nada, who was my daughter. Great names are mentioned in my story, my father. Yes, many have heard those names. When warriors roared them in the heat of battle, I have felt the mountains tremble and seen the sheet of water vibrate with the power of the sound. But where have they gone now? Silence has swallowed them up and they are spoken of only in the books of white men. I opened the gates to the owners of those names, and they entered the kingdom of shadows. I broke the bonds that bound them to this world. They disappeared. Ha! Ha! They disappeared! Perhaps their journey is not yet over, perhaps they creep around their deserted huts in the form of snakes. I would like to know those snakes so that I could crush their heads with my heel.

Down there in the royal cemetery there is a chasm. And at the bottom of the chasm are the bones of Chaka, the king who died for Baleka. Far away in Zululand there is a deep chasm in the ghost mountain. At the bottom of that chasm are the bones of Dingaan, the king who died for Nada. The fall was dizzying and he was heavy; his bones were crushed to crumbs. I went to see them when the jackals and vultures had done their work. I laughed three times then and came here to die.

It has been a long time, and I am still alive, though I wish nothing more than to die and walk the path that Nada has walked. Perhaps I have lived only to tell you this story, my white father, so that you may tell it in turn to other white men, if you wish. How old am I? I do not know. Very, very old. If Chaka were alive, he would be my age now. There is no one alive that I knew when I was a boy. I am so old that I must hurry. The grass is withering and winter is coming. Yes, even now as I speak I feel winter cramping my heart. I can sleep in the cold, perhaps then I will wake up to the beauty of spring.

* * * * *

Before the Zulus were united into one nation—I will begin at the very beginning—I belonged to the Langen tribe. Our tribe was not large; later the fighting men formed a full regiment in Chaka’s army; there were perhaps only two or three thousand of them, but they were brave. Now they are all dead, their wives and children with them—that tribe no longer exists at all. It has disappeared from the face of the earth, and I will tell you little by little how it happened.

Our tribe lived in a beautiful plain; the Boers, whom we call the Amaboon, live there now, I am told. My father, Makedama, was the chief of the tribe, and his huts were on the top of a hill, but I was not the child of his first wife. One evening, when I was still so small that I could hardly reach a man at the elbow, I went with my mother to watch the cattle being driven to the pasture. My mother was very fond of cows, and especially of one with a white head, which followed her everywhere. My sister Baleka, then only a little child, was in my mother’s arms. We walked on until we met some boys who were driving the cows. Mother lured her white-headed pet to her and fed it with succulent leaves which she had brought with her. The boys continued to drive the cattle, but the white-headed cow remained with mother. She said she would bring it with us when we returned home. Then the mother sat on the grass to suckle her little child, and I played around her while the cow was ruminating nearby. After a while we saw a woman coming towards us across the plain, and her gait showed that she was very tired. She had a pack on her back and was leading a boy by the hand, who was about my age, but taller and more stocky than I. We waited a long time until the woman reached us, when she fell to the ground, for she was very exhausted. As we passed by, we saw by her hair that she was not of our tribe.

“Hello to you!” he said.

“The same to you!” replied my mother. “What are you looking for?”

“Food and a place to sleep,” said the woman. “I have come a long way.”

“What is your name—and your tribe?” asked my mother.

“Unandi is my name; I am the wife of Senzangacona, the chief of the Zulu tribe,” replied the stranger.

Our tribe and the Zulus had recently been at war with each other, Senzangacona had killed some of our warriors and robbed a lot of cattle, so that when my mother heard Unandi’s words, she jumped up in a rage.

“And you dare come here to ask me for food and shelter, you wife of a wretched Zulu dog!” he shouted. “Go away, or I will have my girl drive you out of our territory with the whip!”

The woman, who was very beautiful, waited until my mother had ceased speaking those angry words; then she looked up and said, with a delay:

“There is a cow with udders full of milk at your disposal; will you not give me and my son a little?” And he took a cup from his mouth, which he held out towards us.

“No,” said my mother.

“We are thirsty after our long journey; give us a cup of water.
We have not found water for many hours.”

“No, you dog’s companion; go find yourself some water.”

The woman’s eyes filled with tears, but the boy folded his arms across his chest and frowned. He was a very handsome boy, but as he frowned his bright, black eyes darkened like the sky before a thunderstorm.

“Mother,” said he, “we are no more tolerated here than there,” and he nodded towards the Zulus. “Let us go to Dingiswayo; the Umtetwa tribe will take us in.”

“Yes, let us go, my son,” replied Unandi, “but the journey is long, and we are tired; we are getting tired on the road.”

I heard everything and my heart was pounding; I felt sorry for the woman and the boy, for they looked so tired. Without saying a word to my mother, I snatched up the cup and hurried to a nearby ravine where there was a spring. I filled the cup and ran back at once. My mother intended to prevent me from fulfilling my intention, for she was very angry, but I rushed past her and handed the cup to the boy. My mother let the boy drink in peace, but all the while scolded the woman in the most bitter words, saying that this man would bring us only harm, and that her guardian spirit said that the boy would only add to the burden of suffering. Ah, my father, her guardian spirit spoke the truth. If that Unandi had then perished in the desert with her children, the bones of my tribe would not now lie in the ravine near the village of Cetywayo, nor would our flourishing region be a desolate wilderness.

While my mother spoke, I stood silently by the white-headed cow, and little Baleka wept. Having taken the cup, Unand’s son did not offer water to his mother, but drank two-thirds himself, and I think he would have drunk it all if his thirst had not been quenched. Having drunk, he handed the cup to his mother, who drank what was left. Then he took the cup again and came to us, cup in one hand and a short stick in the other.

“What is your name, son?” he said to me, as a rich and powerful man speaks to a poor and insignificant one.

“Moped is my name,” I replied.

“And what is your tribe?”

“The Langen tribe.”

“Very well, Mopo; let me tell you my name now. I am Chaka, son of Senzangacona, and my tribe is called the Amazulu tribe. Let me tell you more. Now I am small and my tribe is only a small tribe, but I will grow big, so big that my head will disappear into the clouds; you will look up and not be able to see it. My face will blind your eyes; they are bright as the sun and my tribe will swell with me and fill the whole world. And when I am big and my tribe is great and when we have trodden the earth smooth as wide as a man can ever walk, then I will remember your tribe—the tribe of the Langen, who did not give me and my mother a cup of milk when we were tired. You see this cup; then the blood of as many men will flow as this cup can hold drops when it is full of blood—the blood of the men of your tribe. But because you gave me water, I will spare you, Mopo, only you, and I will make you a great man. You will be profitable and fattening in my shadow. I will never do you any harm, no, not even if you offend me, I swear it. But that woman,” and he pointed to my mother, “let her hasten to her death, so that I need not show her how long the death struggle can last. I have spoken.” And he gritted his teeth and shook his stick at us.

My mother was silent for a moment. Then she burst out:

“That little liar! He talks as if he were a man of his time, doesn’t he? The calf shoots like a big bull. I’ll teach him another note—for such a childish rascal, a bird of evil spirits!” And setting Baleka down, he nodded towards the boy.

Chaka stood there motionless until my mother was very close, when he raised his stick and hit my mother on the head so hard that she fell to the ground. The boy burst out laughing, turned and went on his way with his mother, Unandi.

These words, my father, were the first I heard Chaka utter, and they contained a prophecy that came true. His last words that I heard contained a prophecy too, and I am sure that this too will come true, and has already been partially fulfilled. In his first prophecy he said that the Zulus would unite into a mighty nation. And tell me, has it not happened? In the second he described their downfall, and they did. Are not the white men now preparing to attack Cetywayo as vultures gather around a dying bull? The Zulus are no longer what they were, and have no strength to repel them. Yes, yes, his words will come true, and my words are the song of a people doomed.

But I’ll talk about those other words in due time.

I went to my mother. After a while she sat up with her hands on her face. Blood flowed from the wound where the stick had struck her, down her arms and onto her chest, and I wiped it away with the grass. She sat like that for a long time. I wiped away the blood with the grass I had torn, the child cried and the cow mooed to be milked. Finally she let her hands drop and said to me:

“Mopo, my son, I have dreamed a dream. I dreamed that I saw that Chaka cub who struck me; he had grown to the size of a giant. He crept across mountains and deserts, his eyes blazing like lightning, and in his hand he brandished a small spear that was red with blood. He seized tribe after tribe, crushing them to pieces, and trampled their villages to the ground. Before him was the most beautiful summer, behind him the earth was black as after a terrible fire. I saw our tribe, Mopo; it was numerous and rich, everyone was happy, the men were brave and the girls were beautiful; I counted the children by the hundreds. I saw them again, Mopo. They were just bones, white bones, thrown by the thousands into a mountain chasm, and he, Chaka, stood on the edge of the chasm and laughed so that the earth trembled. Then I saw in my dream that you, Mopo, grew up “You were the only one left alive of our tribe. You crawled behind the Chaka giant, and with you were other men, big and royal in appearance. You struck him with a small spear, and he fell and became small again; he fell and cursed you. But you cried a name in his ear—the name of Baleka, your sister—and he died. Let us go home, Mopo, let us go home; it is getting dark.”

We got up and left, but I was completely silent, because I was scared, very scared.

II.

MOBILE IN TROUBLE.

I will tell you now how my mother obeyed the advice of the Chaka cub to die quickly. His stick had struck a wound on her forehead, which did not heal, but grew worse, and finally caused a bone abscess, which finally penetrated to the brain. Then my mother died, and I wept bitterly, for I loved her, and it was so terrible to me to see her cold and stiff, not uttering a word, no matter how hard I cried to her. Yes, then mother was buried and soon forgotten, and no one remembered her but me? – Baleka was still too small then – and my father took another young wife and was content. My life became very unhappy after that. My brothers did not love me, when I was much wiser and more ingenious than them. I beat them in using the assegai and in running, and they incited my father against me, so that he treated me badly. But Baleka and I loved each other, for we were both orphans, and he clung to me like a creeper to a lonely tree on the plain. Despite my youth, I understood perfectly that knowledge is power: although he who wields the assegai kills and destroys, he who leads the whole battle is greater and mightier than that killer.

I noticed that magicians and healers were feared everywhere. Everyone treated them with great respect, so that one medicine man, with only a club in his hand, put to flight ten warriors armed with spears. Therefore I decided to become a magician, for only they could slay their enemies by the power of their words. I began to delve into the profession of healers and study their knowledge. I sacrificed and fasted alone in the wilderness far away, performed all those tasks that you have heard of, and I learned much; in our witchcraft there is as much true wisdom as false deception – you know that, my father, for otherwise you would not have come to inquire about your lost oxen.

Thus the years passed, until I was twenty years old—that is, a full man. I had learned all that could be learned alone, so that I went to the chief magician of our tribe, whose name was Noma. The one-eyed old man was very cunning and wise, from whom I gained much knowledge and learned many clever tricks, but at last he began to envy me and prepared a trap for me to make me harmless. It so happened that one of the richest men of our neighboring tribe had lost some cattle and came bringing gifts to ask Noma to find out where the cows had gone. Noma tried his best, but could not find the animals; the eyes of his soul saw nothing. Then the strange chief became angry and demanded his gifts back, but Noma would not give up the goods he had already taken possession of, and heated words were exchanged. The chief swore to kill Noma; Noma threatened to bewitch the chief.

“Silence,” I said, fearing bloodshed. “Be still and let me see if my spirit will tell me where the animals are.”

“You are only a boy,” replied the chief. “Can such a boy know anything?”

“We’ll see very soon,” I said, taking the witch’s broom in my hand.

“Let the bones be!” Noma growled. “We will not ask for anything more from our lives for that son of a bitch.”

“He will take the bones,” answered the chief; “and if you try to stop him, I will make the sun shine through you with my assegai.” And he raised his spear.

I then hastened to begin and threw the dice. The chief sat before me and answered my questions. You know, my father, that magicians sometimes know where lost objects are, for our ears are long, and sometimes the guardian spirits tell them everything clearly, as I was told a couple of days ago where the oxen are. Well, my spirit awoke. I knew nothing before about the chief’s cattle, but my spirit told me everything, and I listed the animals to him one by one, every color, every age—in a word, everything. I also told him where they were, and how one had fallen into a stream and lay drowned on its back at the bottom, the other hind leg caught in a branch of a root. I told the chief exactly what my spirit told me.

He was now very pleased, and said that if I had seen rightly, and he found his animals, the gifts would be taken from Noma and given to me; and he asked the men who were sitting around us, and there was a large crowd, whether this was not justice and fairness. “That is so,” they all answered, and promised to see that it was done. But Noma was silent, and looked at me maliciously. He knew that I had spoken rightly and truly, and was therefore furious. The matter was not altogether a trifle: the lost herd was quite large, and if it were found in the place I had advised, I would be considered by everyone to be a more accomplished and greater magician than Noma. It was already evening when we spoke, and the moon had not yet risen, wherefore the chief said that he would stay the night in our village. When the first ray of dawn appeared on the horizon, he would go with me to the place where I had said the animals were. Having said this, he left.

I also went to my hut and threw myself on my bed, falling asleep immediately. Suddenly I woke up to the feeling of a weight on my chest. I tried to get up, but something cold touched my throat. I lay down again and looked in front of me. The door of the hut was open and the full moon had just risen, shining like a great ball of fire far above the horizon. In its light I saw the face of the Noma magician. He sat cross-legged on my chest, staring at me with his one eye, and he had a knife in his hand. That knife was the object I had felt on my throat.

“Is that why I advised you, you little brat, to put me aside now?” he hissed in my ear. “And that you should dare to guess and divine after I have failed? Don’t worry, my boy, I will show you right away how such babies are taught. First I will cut out your tongue so that you cannot scream, then I will tear you to pieces inch by inch, and lastly I will cut your arms and legs off your body. In the morning I will tell all the spirits that I treated you so cruelly because you lied. Yes, yes, I will carefully carve the flesh from your bones! I — I —” And he began to grope with his knife the base of my jaw.

“Have mercy, uncle,” I cried, for I was afraid, and the knife stung painfully. “Have mercy, and I will do whatever you wish!”

“Will you do this?” he asked, still tickling my throat with the point of his knife. “Will you go and get that dog’s herd of cattle and drive them to a safe place?” He mentioned a secret valley that few knew of. “If you do it, I will spare your life and give you three cows from the herd. If you refuse or betray me, I will, as my father’s spirit helps me, find some way to kill you!”

“I will gladly grant your request, uncle,” I replied. “Why did you not trust me? If I had known that you wanted to have the animals yourself, I would not have crossed the card. I only did it out of fear that you might lose your gift.”

“You’re not as stubborn as I thought,” he growled. “So get up and do as I say. You’ll be back in a couple of hours after sunrise.”

I arose, thinking all the time whether it would be worth while to attempt to attack him. But I was unarmed, and he had a knife; so that if by chance I should succeed in overcoming him and killing him, it would be said everywhere that I had murdered him, and I would then have a taste of the assegai. I made another plan. I would go and fetch the cattle from the valley which my spirit had advised me to, but I would not drive the animals to that secret hiding place. No; I would drive them by the most direct route to the village, and reveal Noma’s wicked designs in the hearing of my father, the strange chief, and all the people. But I was young then, and I did not know Noma, who had been a magician all his life, and not merely for sport. Oh! he was devilish and cunning—cunning as a jackal and cruel as a lion. He had planted me close by like a young sapling, intending to tend me like a bush whose tops are being pruned. I had now grown tall, threatening to overshadow him, and therefore he wanted to eradicate me from the roots.

I went to the corner of the hut, with Noma keeping an eye on me the whole time, and took my spear and my small shield. Then I stepped out into the bright moonlight and crept quietly on my way. When I got out of the village, I started running, singing the whole way to scare away all the ghosts, my father.

For about an hour I hurried on across the desert until I came to the slope of the hill where the jungle began. It was still very dark under the trees, and I sang louder than before. At last I found the narrow buffalo trail I was looking for, and set out to follow it. I soon came to a clearing illuminated by the moon, and on dropping to my knees to examine the ground I saw that my spirit had not lied; the tracks of the cattle were plainly visible on the ground. I continued my journey happily until I came to a small hollow through which a stream flowed solo. The sound died down to a faint whisper at times, and was heard again with extraordinary clarity. The path trodden by the cattle was now clearly visible, the bushes had been bent and the grass had been trampled to the ground. After a short distance I came upon a pool of water. I knew it at once—my spirit had shown it to me, and there was a drowned ox swimming with its hind leg caught in a branch of a beet. Everything was exactly as I had seen it in my spirit.

I looked around and my eyes immediately discovered something. I saw the faint light of dawn flashing on the horns of a bull. At the same time, one of the bulls blew hard, stood up, and shook the dew off its hide. It looked the size of an elephant in the morning twilight and fog.

I gathered them all together—there were seventeen of them?—and set out before them on their way to the village. The morning broke quickly, and the sun had been up for at least an hour when I came to the point where I should have turned if I wanted to hide the cattle in the place Noma had appointed. But that was not my intention. I had determined to drive the animals into the village and tell everyone that Noma was a thief. I sat down to rest for a moment, for I was tired, and as I sat there I suddenly heard a noise and looked around. A group of men appeared in a nearby village, Noma and the strange chief who owned the cattle at the forefront. I got up and waited in amazement, but as I stood there they ran towards me, screaming and waving their spears.

“There he is!” cried Noma. “There he is, that rascal boy whom I have nurtured to my shame. What did I tell you? Didn’t I tell you he was a thief? Yes, yes! I know you and your tricks, Moposen! Look! He was going to steal the animals! He knew where they were all along, and now he’s driving them to some hiding place. They would have paid off his wife, wouldn’t they, you sly one?” He charged at me with his stick raised, and the strange chieftain, hissing with rage, followed him blindly.

Now I understood everything, my father. An inexpressible rage seized my heart, the world began to spin in my eyes, and it seemed to me as if a red cloth had waved before me. I have always made the same observation when I have had to fight. I roared only one word: “Liar!” and rushed at him. Noma did not stop. He struck me with his staff, but I parried the blow with my little quiver and struck back. Hey! My blow hit, Noma’s skull fell in the path of my club and he fell dead at my feet. I screamed a second time and attacked the chief. He threw his spear at me, but it missed, and in the next blink of an eye I struck straight at his head. He raised his shield for protection, but my well-aimed blow fell, knocking him unconscious to the ground. I do not know, my father, whether he lived or was dead, but as his skull was one of the thickest in the world, I think he lived. While their companions stood there, still bewildered with astonishment, I turned and fled with the speed of the wind. Then they also woke up and went after me, trying to hit me with their spears and catch me, but none could reach me—no one. I ran like the wind, like a deer pursued by dogs I ran, and soon the cries of my pursuers began to die down until at last I was far from their sight and all alone.

III.

THE BOLD RETURN OF THE MOPED.

I threw myself on the grass and panted until I could breathe regularly again; then I set off and hid in a reed in the swamp, where I lay all day, pondering the situation. What was to be done? I was now as defenseless as a jackal driven from its den. If I returned to my tribe, I would certainly be killed, for everyone considered me a thief. I would have to pay with my blood for Noma’s death, which did not please me at all, although I was saddened to death. As I was meditating on this, Chaka came to mind, that boy to whom I had given water long ago. I had heard of him; his name was known everywhere, the grass and the trees of the forest spoke of him, and the very air was full of the glory of his name. His words and my mother’s vision began to come true. With the help of Umtetwa, he had succeeded to the throne of his father, Senzangacona, and had already driven the Amaquabe tribe from their old dwellings; He was at present at war with Zweete, the chief of the Endwande tribe, and had sworn to destroy that tribe so completely that no one could find a trace of it. Now I remembered Chaka’s promise to make me a great man, and that I would grow fat and gain in his shadow. I resolved to get up and go and find him. He might kill me; well, what of it—I’ll go anyway. But my heart compelled me elsewhere. There was only one in the world whom I loved—my sister Baleka. My father had betrothed her to the chief of a neighboring tribe, but I knew that the marriage was very repugnant to my sister. Perhaps she would go with me if I could tell her where I was going. I resolved to try at least.

I waited until dark, when I left my hiding place and crept like a jackal towards the village. I lingered a moment in the vegetable garden and ate some half-ripe corn, for I was very hungry. Then I continued my journey until I reached the village. In front of a hut some men were sitting by a fire, talking. I crept close as quietly as a snake and hid behind a bush. I knew that the men could not see me when I was out of the light, and I wanted to hear what they were saying. As I had guessed, I was talked about and called many names. It was said that I had brought only misfortune to my tribe, since I had killed a great magician like Noma, and the tribesmen of that strange chief also demanded compensation for my attack on him. I heard, moreover, that my father had ordered all the men to be assembled by tomorrow morning to pursue me and kill me wherever I was found. “Ah!” I thought, “You just hunt, but you won’t catch anything.” At that moment the dog lying by the fire began to sniff the air. I had forgotten all about dogs as I approached the village; lack of experience, you see, my father. The dog got up and sniffed from its sniffing and finally began to growl, looking steadily at me, so that I was frightened.

“What is that dog growling about?” said one of the men to his companion. “Go and see.” But the latter was sniffing at the moment and was not willing to get up. “Let the dog go and see for himself,” he snapped; “what is the use of a dog if it cannot catch the thief himself.”

“Shut up then,” said the previous speaker to the dog, who charged forward, barking. Then I saw it: it was Koos, my own dog, and a very good dog. As I lay there motionless, not quite knowing what to do, it smelled me, stopped barking, and running around the bush found me and began to lick my face. “Be quiet, Koos!” I whispered, and it immediately lay down on the ground beside me.

“Where did that dog go?” said the man who had spoken first. “Is it bewitched that it suddenly stops barking and never comes back?”

“Let us see,” said the other, rising with his spear in his hand. I was terribly afraid, for I thought that they would either catch me at once, or I would have to run for my life again. But as I jumped up to make my way, a great black snake appeared between me and the men, and slithered towards the huts. The men jumped aside in fright, and then all followed the snake, saying that it was the dog that had barked. The snake was doubtless my good guardian spirit, which came in this guise to save me.

When they had gone, I crept away, and Koos followed me. At first I intended to kill the dog, lest it should betray me, but when I called it to me to strike it on the head with my club, it sat down before me, wagging its tail, and looking at me as if with a smile; I could not carry out my intention. I thought, “Let it be what it may,” and we continued our journey together. My plan was this: first I resolved to creep to my hut to fetch my spear and my skin, and then I must try to get in touch with my sister Baleka. My hut was probably quite deserted, for I had lived alone, and Noma’s huts were a little way off to the right. I came to the reed-walled enclosure which surrounded the huts. No one was to be seen at the gate, which was not closed with thorn bushes, as usual. The task had been my concern, and now I was gone.

I ordered the dog to lie down outside, and stepping boldly inside, I reached the door of the hut and listened. The hut was empty, and there was not a breath to be heard. I crept in and began to search for my spears, my water jar, and my woolen cloak, which I had made so carefully that I did not want to part with it. I soon found everything. Then I began to search for my skin blanket, and as I groped my hand touched something cold. I was startled, and then I felt more closely. I recognized the face of a man—the face of the dead, Noma, whom I had killed and who had been laid in my hut awaiting burial.

Oh! how I was frightened, for in the dark Noma was worse dead than alive. I was just about to run away when I suddenly heard women’s voices outside the door. I recognized the voices; the speakers were Noma’s two wives, and one said she was going to watch over her husband’s body. Now I was really in for a treat, for before I could do anything the doorway darkened, and from the panting of the fat woman I heard that Noma’s first wife had stooped down and was in the act of forcing her way in. At that moment she was in the hut and threw herself down beside the body in such a position that I could not get to the door, and began to complain of her great grief and curse me. Ah, she did not know that I was listening. I was far behind Noma’s head and fear made my brain work quickly. In the presence of that woman I no longer feared the dead man so much, and remembering what a scoundrel she had been, I decided to let her play one last prank. I put my hands under her shoulders and lifted her to a sitting position. Hearing the movement, the woman made a strange guttural sound.

“Will you shut up, you old scum!” I said, imitating Noma’s voice.
“Can’t you let me be in peace even after I die?”

He fell to the ground helplessly and then started screaming at the top of his lungs.

“What! Do you dare to scream again?” I said again in Noma’s voice, “then I will teach you to be silent.” And I pushed the body on top of him.

Then he fainted, and I do not know whether he ever regained consciousness. Now at least he was silent. I snatched up the blanket—I found out later that it was the best in Noma, made of the finest skins of the Basutos, and worth three oxen—and fled to Koos on my heels.

My father Makedama’s huts were a couple of hundred paces away and I had to get there, because my sister Baleka slept there. I didn’t dare go through the gate, because there was always one man there on guard. I forced my way through the reed fence with my spear and crawled to the hut where Baleka slept with some of her half-sisters. I knew where she usually slept and where her head was. I lay on my side and very carefully began to dig a hole in the wall of the hut. The work went slowly, because the wall was thick, but at last I had dug almost through. I paused, because it occurred to me that Baleka might have changed her sleeping place, and then I would have woken up some other girl. I had already decided to give up my plans and escape alone, when at the same time I heard someone waking up and starting to cry on the other side of the wall. “Ah,” I thought, “that’s Baleka, mourning her brother!” I put my mouth to the hole and whispered:

“Baleka, my sister! Baleka, don’t cry! I, Mopo, am here. Don’t say a word, but get up. Come out and take the leather blanket with you.”

Baleka was a very understanding girl; she did not cry out, as most girls would have done. No; she understood, and after waiting a moment she got up and crept out with the blanket on her arm.

“How are you here, Mopo?” he whispered. “You’ll definitely be killed!”

“Hush!” I whispered, and then told him my whole plan. “Are you coming with me, or are you going to sneak back to the cabin and say goodbye to me?”

After a moment’s thought, he replied: “No, my brother, I will come with you, for I love only you of all our tribe, even though I believe this will be my last journey—that you will take me to my death.”

I didn’t pay much attention to his words at the time, but later they often came to my mind. So we set off together, Koos following, and soon we were on our way across the desert towards the Zulu territory.

IV.

THE ESCAPE OF THE MOBILE AND THE BALEKA.

We wandered all night until the dog was tired, and during the day we hid in a cornfield, for we were afraid that someone would see us. In the afternoon we heard voices and, peering through the corn stalks, we saw a group of my father’s men who were looking for us. They went to a nearby village to ask if we had been seen, after which we did not see them for a long time. At night we wandered on again, but it was probably fate that we met an old woman who looked at us strangely but said nothing. We then traveled day and night, for we knew that the old woman would betray us to our pursuers if she met them, and so she did. On the evening of the third day we came to a cornfield and saw that the corn had been trampled to the ground. Among the broken stalks lay the body of a very old man, who was as full of spear-thrusts as the quills of a hedgehog. We were greatly astonished and hurried on. Then we noticed that the village to which the field belonged had been burned to the ground. We crept closer and—ah! what a sad sight we saw! Later we became accustomed to such sights.

Everywhere lay the dead by the dozen—old men, young men, children, and women with babies at their breasts—there, among the burnt huts, pierced by spears. The ground was red with their blood, and they too looked red in the light of the setting sun. It was as if the great spirit, or Umkulunkulu, had brushed the ground with his bloody hand. Baleka began to cry, tired as she was, the poor girl, and we found only grass and green grains to eat.

“The enemy has been here,” I said, and as I spoke I thought I heard a cry from behind the broken reed fence. I went to look. There lay a young woman; she was badly wounded, but still alive, my father. Near by lay a man dead, and around him others who belonged to another tribe; he had fallen fighting. Before the woman were the bodies of three children, the fourth, who was still very small, resting on her breast. I looked at her, and she cried again, opening her eyes, when she saw me standing beside her with a spear in my hand.

“Kill me quickly!” he said. “Haven’t you tortured me enough?”

I said I was a stranger and I didn’t want to kill him.

“Then bring me some water,” he asked; “there is a spring behind the village.”

I called Baleka to the spot and hurried to the spring with my vessels. There were bodies in the spring, but I pulled them out, and when the water had become a little clearer, I filled my cup and hurried back to the wounded man. He drank and got a little stronger—the water refreshed him.

“What happened here?” I asked.

“The warriors of the Zulu chief Chaka came and destroyed us,” answered the woman. “They attacked us this morning at daybreak, while we were still sleeping in our huts. I woke up to the noise of the battle. I slept beside my husband and children, who are lying there. My husband had a spear and a shield. He was brave. Look, he died like a hero, he killed three of those Zulu devils before he fell himself. Then they rushed upon me and killed my children and beat me until they thought I was dead. When the destruction was complete, they went away. I do not know why they came, but I think it was because our chief did not want to send men to help Chaka against Zweete.”

He fell silent, crying out painfully, and died. My sister wept, and I was moved too. “Ah,” I thought, “the great spirit must be very evil. Otherwise such things could not happen.” I thought so then, my father, but now I think differently. We did not understand the purpose of the great spirit, that was all. I was still young and timid then, but later, as I have already said, I became accustomed to such visions. Nothing could move me, nothing. In Chaka’s days all the streams were mingled with blood—yes, when we went looking for water, we had to always check whether it was clean before we drank. Then people learned to die and did not grumble. What good would it have been? After all, one had to die once. One should not care about death, not a bit, but birth is different. Our birth into the world is a mistake, my father.

We stopped in the village for the night, but we could not sleep, for the spirits of the fallen wandered around us, crying out to one another. It was quite natural that they should do so, the men seeking their wives and the mothers their children. But we feared that they were angry with us, since we had invaded their village, so we pressed ourselves tightly together, trembling with fear. Koos trembled also, and now and then howled plaintively. But the spirits did not seem to notice us, and towards the middle of the night their cries died down.

As the first glimmer of light appeared in the sky we rose, and after a while, winding here and there to avoid the dead, we were soon in the desert again. The road to Chaka was now easy to find, for the warriors and the plundered cattle had trampled the ground into a wide path, and now and then we came across a dead warrior who had been killed because he had been wounded and could not keep up with the crowd. I began to doubt whether it was at all wise to go to Chaka, for after all we had seen I began to fear that he would kill us. But as we had nowhere to go, I said we would continue our journey until something happened.

Our strength was beginning to fail, and Baleka said that it would be better for us to throw ourselves on the ground and die to get rid of all our troubles. We sat down on the edge of a spring. I did not want to die yet, even if that would have been the best thing, as Baleka said. While we were sitting there, Koos disappeared into a nearby bush, and at the same time I saw him jump at someone and heard a noise. I hurried to see — the dog had mated a wild goat as big as himself, which had been sleeping in the bush. I pierced the animal with my spear and cried out with joy, because now we had something to eat.

I skinned the beast and cut long slices from its thigh, which we washed in the spring and ate raw, for we had no fire to cook our food with. Raw meat is indeed disgusting to eat, but we were so hungry that we cared nothing for anything, and the meat refreshed us. Having eaten as much as we could, we rose and washed in the spring, but when we were almost done, Baleka suddenly looked up and cried out in terror. For in front of us, on the top of a hill about ten spear-throws away, were six armed men of my own tribe—the children of my father Makedama—who were still pursuing us to capture or kill us. They saw us—cryed and charged toward us. We sprang up and dashed into the desert—running like deer, for fear stiffened our legs.

There were no obstacles in front of us, and the land sloped gently towards the Umfolozi River, which wound across the plain like a great and glittering serpent. On the other side the land began to rise again, and we did not know what lay beyond the banks, but we thought that the Chaka villages were there. We ran towards the river—where else, and the warriors came after us. They came nearer and nearer; they were in full force and furious at being so far from home. We ran for our lives, but they only came nearer. We reached the river’s edge, the river was in flood and fearfully wide. Above was a strong gorge, where the water surged in foamy eddies created by invisible quarries; below was a rapid whose rush no one could have survived; here and there was a calm backwater, but with a strong current.

“Ah, my brother, what do we do now?” panted Baleka.

“There is no other choice but to either fall under the spears of our tribesmen, or try to cross the river,” I replied.

“It is easier to drown than to die from spears,” said Baleka.

“Okay. At least we can swim and may the spirits of our fathers come to our aid.”

I took him to the head of the backwater, and having thrown our blankets and all our things on the shore—except my spear, which I took between my teeth—we plunged into the water and waded as far as we could. The water soon reached our chests, and after taking a few steps more we began to swim towards the other shore, Koos in front of us.

At the same time, warriors also appeared on the scene.

“Ah, you rascals!” cried one, “are you going to swim? Just swim, but you will surely drown, and if you do not drown, we will kill you, for we know the ford, and we will catch you! We will catch you, even if we have to run after you to the ends of the earth.” And he threw us at his spear, which passed between us, flashing like lightning.

We swam with strong strokes all the time and got into the current. It rushed us down, but we kept going, for we were both good swimmers. If we could get to the shore before we were carried away by the rapids, we would be safe; if not—then good night!

We were already close to the shore, but the foam jets were also close. We struggled and fought for our lives. Baleka was a brave girl and swam bravely, but the current pressed her beneath me and I could not help her in any way. I leaned my feet against a rock and looked around. There she was, eight steps away from the roaring whirlpools. I could do nothing. I was too powerless and it seemed to me that she must perish. But then Koos came to the rescue.

It swam to him and then turned against the current, barking a couple of times, and Baleka grabbed its tail with his right hand. He used his legs and his left hand and they both approached slowly—very slowly. I held out the shaft of my spear towards them and Baleka grabbed it with his left hand. His legs were still in the water, but I pulled and Koos pulled and finally we got him into the water and then onto dry land, where he sank, panting for breath.

When the warriors on the other bank saw that we had crossed, they shouted furiously and rushed down.

“Get up, Baleka!” I said. “The warriors have gone looking for a ford.”

“Ah, let me die!” he replied.

But I forced him to rise, and in a moment he was breathing regularly, and we hurried as fast as we could up the long slope. After a little over three hours we came to a plain and saw a large village far ahead.

“Take heart,” I said. “Look, Chaka lives there.”

“Yes, my brother,” he replied, “but what fate awaits us there?
Behind us and before us is death—we are in the jaws of death.”

We soon reached the road that led from the ford straight to the village, and along which Chaka’s warriors had passed. We hurried on until at last we were only half an hour’s journey from the village. We looked behind us, and lo! our pursuers were after us again—five in all—for one had drowned in trying to cross the river.

We ran again, but we were already exhausted, and the warriors were coming closer and closer. Then the dog came to my mind. Koos was angry and would attack anyone at my command. I called him to me and, although I knew that he would not survive the game alive, I decided to sacrifice him. I pointed at the men, and the dog rushed at them like an arrow, growling and with his ears pricked up. They tried to hit him with their clubs and spears, but he raged around them like a horned spirit, biting furiously and not letting the group move forward. Finally, one of the warriors managed to hit him with his spear, but at the same time the dog also rushed at the warrior’s throat, and both fell. A furious fight followed and only ended when both were dead. Ah, that was a dog! You don’t see such things anymore in this day and age. His father was a Boer dog, the first of its kind in this country. Once it had even killed a leopard all by itself. Well, my dog ​​Koos died fighting to the last.

We had been running all the time, and the village gate was only a couple of hundred paces away. Something was going on inside; we could tell by the noise and the clouds of dust that were rising high. Our four remaining pursuers were on our heels again, having left their dying comrade to his fate. I knew they would catch up with us before we could get through the gate, for Baleka could only walk slowly now. A thought then crossed my mind. I had lured her with me, and I must save her by any means necessary. Even if she got into the village alone, Chaka would not kill a young and beautiful girl like her.

“Run, Baleka, run!” I said, lagging behind. He was almost blind with fatigue and terror, and staggered toward the gate, not perceiving my purpose. But I sat up to breathe, for I must fight four to the death. My heart beat to burst, and the blood roared in my ears, but as the men drew nearer, I rose, spear in hand—again I saw the red flickering before my eyes, and my fear vanished.

The men came in pairs, running about a javelin’s throw apart, but one of the first pair was about six paces ahead of the other. He charged at me, roaring, spear and shield raised. I had no shield, only a spear, but I was on my guard and he was arrogant. I waited until he drew his spear back to strike, but at the same time I dropped to my knees and struck with all my strength upwards, just below the edge of his shield. He struck too, but over me, the spearhead only slightly scraping my shoulder—you see—the scar is still visible to this day. And my spear? Ah, it hit the spot, pierced through the middle. He fell and was covered in a cloud of dust on the ground as he struggled. But now I was unarmed, for my light throwing spear broke as he fell, and I had only a short piece of the shaft in my hand. And the other warrior was already upon me! He looked as big as a forest tree as I looked up, and I lost hope, I felt I was dying, and the abysses of darkness seemed to be opening. I threw myself on my hands and knees and rolled with all my weight against the feet of my opponent, with the result that he fell facedown on the ground, and before his hands had touched the ground I was on my feet. The spear had slipped from his hand. I snatched it, and as he began to rise I struck it into his back. All this happened in the twinkling of an eye, my father, and in the same twinkling of an eye he was dead. Then I hastened on my way, not daring to wait for the others, for I was exhausted and my courage had gone.

About a hundred paces away Baleka staggered forward with his arms spread out like a man who has drunk too much beer, and when I caught up with him he was about forty paces from the gate. But then his strength failed him. He fell unconscious to the ground, and I was left standing beside him, and would have been killed had not the permission decreed otherwise. After lingering a moment with their dead comrades, the two remaining warriors rushed at me, mad with rage. But at that moment the gate opened, and a group of warriors rushed out, dragging the prisoner with them. Behind them walked a burly man with a leopard skin on his shoulders, laughing, and followed by five or six advisers, all of whom had a shiny ring around their heads. A group of warriors brought up the rear.

The warriors immediately realized that a killing was in progress and rushed to the scene just as our pursuers caught up with us.

“Who are you who dare to kill at the gate of Elephant’s dwelling?” cried the warriors. “Here only Elephant has the right to kill!”

“We are men of Makedama,” answered our pursuers, “and we are pursuing these evildoers, who have done much evil and even murder in our home. Look! They have just killed two of our comrades, and others are lying lifeless along the road. Allow us to kill them.”

“Ask Elephant,” replied the warrior, “and at the same time ask that you not be killed.”

The burly chief heard the words and stepped closer, noticing the blood. He was unusually tall and well-built, although he was still very young. He was a head taller than any of the others, and his chest was as wide as two ordinary man’s chests put together. His face was beautiful and fierce, and when he got angry, his eyes sparkled like a firewood plucked from a campfire.

“Who are these who dare to raise dust before my gates?” he asked, frowning.

“O Chaka, O Elephant!” replied the leader of the troop, bowing almost to the ground, “these strange warriors say that they are evildoers whom they have been sent to kill.”

“Good!” he said. “Let the evildoers be killed!”

“We thank you, O great chief!” said my tribesmen who had come to kill us.

“You heard my words,” he replied, and added, turning to the leader of the warriors: “When they have slain the evildoers, gouge out their eyes and turn them to the desert to seek their homes, because they have dared to raise their spears at the gates of the Zulus. Let your praise resound, my child!” And he burst out laughing as the warriors murmured: “Oh! he is wise, he is great, and his judgment is bright and terrible as the sun!”

But my people cried out in fear, for they did not ask for this kind of justice.

“Cut their tongues too,” said Chaka. “What? Must the Zulu put up with all that noise? No way! It frightens the cattle and makes the cows give birth prematurely. Go, you black rascals! There’s a girl there. She’s unconscious and helpless. Kill her. What? Are you hesitating? Well, if you want to think about it, I’ll give you time to think. Grease those men with honey and tie them up in an anthill; tomorrow they’ll know what they want. But first kill those jackals,” and he pointed to me and Baleka. “They look tired and probably want to rest.”

Until then I had been silent, but now I spoke, for the warriors were approaching.

“Oh Chaka!” I exclaimed. “I am Mopo and this is my sister Baleka.”

I sighed and everyone present burst out laughing.

“Good morning, Mopo and your sister Baleka,” said Chaka cruelly. “Good morning, Mopo and Baleka, and—good night too!”

“Oh Chaka!” I interrupted. “I am Mopo, son of Makedama, chief of the Langen tribe, the same one who once gave you water to drink long ago, when we were both still small. Then you asked me to come to you when you had grown up, and you swore to protect me and do me no harm. I have come with my sister, and now I ask you not to break the promise you made long ago.”

As I spoke, Chaka’s expression changed, and he listened intently, like a man with his hand behind his ear. “That is not a lie,” he said then. “Welcome, Mopo! You may be a dog in my hut and eat from my hand. But I did not mention your sister. Why should I not let her be killed, when I swore to destroy your whole tribe except you?”

“Because she is too beautiful to be killed, O chief!” I answered boldly, “and because I love her. Grant me the grace to spare her.”

“Turn the girl over,” said Chaka. And the warriors did so, revealing her face.

“You have not lied this time either, son of Makedama,” said the chief. “I grant your request. Let her also lie under my protection and be numbered among my sisters. Now tell your story, but speak the truth.”

I sat down and told him everything, and he never tired of listening. When I had finished, he only said that he was sorry that my dog ​​Koos had died. If the dog had still lived, he would have placed it on the crest of my father Makedama’s hut, and made it the chief of the Langen tribe.

Then he said to the leader of the warriors: “I take back my word. Let those scoundrels not be mutilated. Let one die and the other go his way. Here,” he pointed to the man whom the warriors had dragged out of the gate, “here, Mopo, is a man who has shown himself to be a coward. Yesterday, on my orders, a village of outlaws was destroyed—perhaps you both saw it as you passed by. This one and three others harassed a warrior who was defending his wife and children. This dog, afraid to meet him face to face, killed him with a javelin, and then killed his wife. Never mind, but he should have fought like a man to face. Now I will grant him that honor. He must fight to the death with one of those scoundrels of yours.” And he pointed with his javelin at my father’s men. “He who survives will be pursued, as you have been pursued. I will send the other pig home to take my greetings to your tribe. Choose, children of Makedama, which of you will live.”

Now it happened that these men were brothers and loved each other, and both were willing to die for each other. Therefore they both came forward, saying that they wanted to fight the Zulu.

“What, do pigs have any sense of honor?” said Chaka. “Then I will decide the matter myself. Do you see this spear? I will throw it into the air: if it falls on its point, the taller man is free, and if it falls on its shaft, the shorter one will live. That’s it!” And he threw the little spear into the air, making it spin wildly. Everyone watched as it spun and fell. The point touched the ground first.

“Come here,” said Chaka, farther from the brothers. “Hurry back to Makedama and tell him thus: ‘Thus says Chaka, the lion of Zulu-ka-Malandela. Years ago your tribe refused to give me milk. Today your son Mopo’s dog howls on the roof of your hut.’ Go!”

The man turned to shake his brother’s hand, looked at me with a frown, and left with those ominous greetings.

Then Chaka turned to the Zulu and my last assailant and ordered them to fight. After saluting the chief with shrill cries, they charged each other, and a fierce battle began, which ended in my tribe defeating the Zulu. But as soon as he had had a little time to catch his breath, he had to run for his life, followed by five chosen runners.

But the man overcame them too; he meandered here and there, leaving his pursuers behind him, and escaped. Chaka was not at all angry at the result, and I think he had ordered his men to run slowly. There was only one good quality in Chaka’s cruel heart: he always wanted to save the life of a brave man, if it were possible without his having to break his word. For my part, I was glad that my tribe had killed the man who had killed the children of the dying woman we met in the village across the river.

V.

THE MOPED BECOME THE KING’S DOCTOR.

Thus, my father, I, Mopo, and my sister Baleka, came to Chaka, the Zulu chieftain. I have related these incidents with such detail that they form an inseparable part of my story of the fate of my people. We shall see that as a direct consequence of these incidents, Umslopogaas Bulalio, the butcher, and Nada the beauty, whose lemmentari is also included in my story, were born into the world—they were like a seed from which a great tree grows. For Nada was my daughter, and Umslopogaas, though few knew it, was none other than Chaka’s son, born to my sister Baleka.

When Baleka had recovered from the exhaustion of our flight and her beauty had returned to its former state, Chaka took her as his wife—his “sister,” as he called them. He took me as his physician, his izinyanga , of whom there were already a large number, and my skill pleased him so much that I finally became his chief physician. This was already a great position, in which I accumulated much cattle and wives over the years, but it was also a dangerous one. When I arose in the morning healthy and vigorous, I never knew whether I would lie down in the evening bloody and stiff.

Chaka killed many doctors; however well they did their work, they were killed in the end. It often happened that the king felt sick or depressed, and those bastards who had cured him got a taste of the spear or torture! But I always survived by my skill, and then I was also protected by the oath that Chaka had sworn to me as a child. And things finally developed to the point that I followed the king everywhere. My hut was near his hut, I sat behind him in negotiations, and in battle I was always close to him.

Ah, those battles—those battles! We knew how to fight then, my father! Thousands of vultures and packs of hyenas could follow our regiments then, and not one had to go hungry. I can never forget the first battle in which I stood beside Chaka. It was just after he had built his great city on the south bank of the Umhlatuze. A chief named Zwide was then harassing his rival Chaka for the third time, who was arrayed against him with ten full regiments, armed for the first time with short javelins.

The position was as follows: on a long, low slope in front of us were Zwide’s regiments, seventeen in number, the whole horizon black with warriors, and their crests filled the air like snow. We were also on the slope of a hill, and between us was a valley through which a small river flowed. All night long the fires burned across the valley, and the warriors’ song echoed from the slopes, and when the gray morning dawned and the oxen began to shoot, the regiments rose from their spear beds; the warriors jumped up and shook the dew from their hair and shields—yes! they rose! they were ready for a joyful death. Regiment after regiment formed for battle.

Those countless spears, which were like stars in the sky, formed a huge belt, and like stars they sparkled and flashed. The morning breeze swayed and caressed them, and the warriors’ crests swayed in the wind like a waving field of grain, warriors who were ripe for the spear. The sun rose from behind the hill and cast its reddish light on the red kiwis, reddening the battlefield, and the chieftains’ crests were as if dipped in the blood of the sky. They knew what it meant, they saw that death foretold, but ah, they only laughed with joy at the thought of the battle that was about to begin. What about death? Wasn’t it sweet to die under the blows of spears? What about death? Wasn’t it lovely to die before the king? Victory is won by death. In the evening victory will be their bride, and ah, her bosom is charming.

Listen! The war song, ingomo , which with its power intoxicates the minds of men, begins to echo from the left and rolls from regiment to regiment, growing louder and louder until it rumbles like thunder:

    Ready to die, we are the children of our king,
    You are also one of us!
    We are Zulus, We are the children of lions,
        What! Are you trembling?

At the same time Chaka was seen walking, surveying the ranks, followed by his chiefs, his superiors, and myself. He resembled a great elk in his walk, and his gaze foretold death, as he sniffed the air like a deer scenting a great kill. He raised his spear, and silence fell everywhere, only the echo of the song still echoed on the slopes.

“Where are Zwide’s children?” he shouted, his voice echoing like the bellowing of a bull.

“There, father,” replied the regiments, and every spear pointed across the valley.

“They won’t come,” he shouted again. “Must we sit here and wait until we are old?”

“No, father,” was the reply. “Let us attack!”

“Let the Umkandhlun regiment advance!” he shouted for the third time, and at the same time the black shields of the Umkandhlun regiment rushed from the ranks.

“Go, my children!” cried Chaka. “The enemy is there. Go and do not come back!”

“We hear, father!” the warriors answered in unison, charging down the slope like a vast herd of steel-horned wild beasts.

They charged across the river, and Zwide’s troops woke up. Shouts rose from the ranks, and rows of gleaming spearheads flashed.

Oh! they are coming! Oh, the armies have struck together! Hear the clash of shields!
Hear the din of battle!

The ranks are tottering. Umkandhlu’s regiment is retreating—running away! The warriors are rushing back across the river—half the regiment has fallen. A furious shout rises from our ranks, but Chaka only smiles.

“Open ranks! Open ranks!” he shouts. “Order for the girls of Umkandhl!” And the warriors go behind our front with downcast eyes.

Now he whispers something to the nobles. They hurry away, say a word to General Menziva and the chiefs, and at the same time two regiments charge straight down the slope, two regiments rush to the right and two to the left. But Chaka remains on the hill with the three remaining regiments. Again the shields clash against each other, thundering. Ah! they are brave: they fight and do not flee. Regiment after regiment attacks them, but they do not retreat. Hundreds, thousands of them fall, but not a single warrior shows his back to the enemy, and each of our fallen ones costs the enemy a couple of men. Wow! my father, those regiments were destroyed to the last man. Their warriors were only young men, it is true, but they were Chaka’s children. Menziva was buried under the bodies of his warriors. There are no such men any more. They are all dead.

But Chaka still waits. He looks north and south. And look! Spears flash between the trees. Our regiments are charging the enemy’s posts. They kill and are killed, but Zwide’s warriors are brave and numerous, and we are about to be defeated.

Then Chaka uttered the decisive word. The chiefs listened and the warriors cocked their heads to hear.

At last the cry has resounded: ” Forward, children of the Zulu people !”

Our war cry resounds like thunder, the ground trembles with the tread of our feet, spears flash, spears bend, and like a storm cloud, like a river rushing over its banks, we rush down the slope against the enemy, who is arrayed to meet us. At the same time the river is behind us, and our wounded comrades rise up and wave their hands at us. We trample them under our feet. What about them? After all, they can no longer fight. Then Zwide’s warriors rush to greet us and we strike together like two oxen. Oh! my father, I no longer know what is happening around me. Everything turns red. That fight! That fight! We sweep the enemy out of our way, and when it is done, they are no longer visible, but the slope is black and red. A few managed to escape. We went over them like a raging fire; we destroyed them. After a while we stopped to see where the enemy had gone. All were dead. Zwide’s army was gone. Then we formed our lines. Ten regiments had seen the sun rise, three regiments had seen the sun set; the rest had gone where no sun shines.

Such were our battles in the days of Chaka!

You ask what happened to the Umkandhlun regiment that escaped. Let me tell you. When we got home, Chaka ordered an inspection of that regiment and spoke to the warriors gently, very gently. He thanked them for their service and said it was only natural that the “girls” would faint at the sight of blood and flee to their huts for safety. But he had not asked them to come back and yet they had come! What was he to do now? And he covered his face with the edge of his cloak. Then the warriors killed them all—there were a couple of thousand men—killed them with mockery and insults.

That’s how we treated cowards then, my father. And after that one Zulu answered five men of another tribe. If ten enemies came against him, he would not flee. “Fight and fall, but do not flee,” was our motto. And it never happened again during Chaka’s lifetime that a defeated regiment entered the gates of the king’s city.

This battle was but one of many. Every month a new army set out to dip their spears, returning with fewer ranks, but bringing with them news of victory and an immense amount of cattle. Tribe after tribe was subdued, and new regiments were formed from those that were spared from destruction, so that, though thousands fell every month, our army only grew. Soon all the other chiefs had fallen. Umsuduka and Mancengeza fell. Umzilikazi fled north, and Matiwane was utterly defeated. Then we invaded this country of Natal. When we came, its population could not be counted. When we left, we might have met a soul here, hidden in some hiding place, but that was all. Everyone was killed—men, women, and children—and the whole country was left desolate. Then came the turn of U’Faku, the chief of the Amapondo tribe. Ah, where is U’Faku now?

And so the war continued until even the Zulus grew tired of it and even the sharpest spear became dull.

VI.

THE BIRTH OF UMSLOPOGAS.

Chaka’s main principle was that he did not want children, even though he had many wives. Any children his “sisters” bore him were killed immediately.

“What good would it do me, Mopo,” he said to me, “to raise children who would kill me when they grew up? I am called a tyrant. Tell me, how do chiefs who are called tyrants die? Killed by their descendants, is that right? No, Mopo, I will take care of my life, and when I have gone to my fathers, let me take my strongest place and my power!”

Now it happened that a short time after Chaka had spoken to me thus, the time came for my sister, Balekan, who was now the king’s wife, to give birth, and on the same day my wife Macropha gave birth to twins, and eight days before my other wife, Anadi, had given me a son. You ask, my father, how I came to be married, when Chaka had forbidden all warriors to marry until they had reached middle age and put a ring around their heads as a sign of adulthood. When I was a doctor, he made an exception for me, saying that it was good for a doctor to know the diseases of women and to know how to cure their bad natures if necessary. As if it were possible, my father!

When the king heard that Baleka was sick, he did not kill her at once, for he loved Baleka a little, but sent for me, ordering me to take care of my sister and, after the birth, to bring the child’s body to him, as was the custom, so that he might ascertain whether the child was really dead. I bowed down before him and went with a heavy heart to fulfill his command. After all, Baleka was my sister and her child was of the same blood as I! But it had to be so, for Chaka’s whisper was like the roar of other kings, and if we dared to disobey, all our tribesmen would answer for it with their lives. It was better, therefore, to let one child die than for all to be eaten by jackals. I soon arrived at the residence of the king’s wives, called the emposeni , and mentioned the king’s command to the guards, who let me through the gate. I entered Baleka’s hut. There were other wives of the king there, but when they saw me they immediately got up and left, for it would have been against the law to remain in the tent after I had come in. Then I was left alone with my sister.

She lay quietly and didn’t say anything, but I could see from the heaving of her chest that she was crying.

“Calm down, my little one,” I said at last; “your pain will soon pass.”

“No,” she answered, raising her hand, “now it is only beginning. Oh, you cruel man! I know why you came. You came to kill the child I will bear.”

“The king’s command, wife!”

“The king’s command, yes, and what is the king’s command? Then have I no say in the matter?”

“The child is the king’s, wife.”

“The child is the king’s, but mine too. Must it then be that my little one be torn from my breasts and strangled? And would you do this, Mopo? Have I not always loved you, Mopo? Did I not flee with you from our tribe when you feared our father’s vengeance? Do you know that a couple of months ago the king was furious with you when he felt ill and would have killed you if I had not spoken up for you and reminded him of his oath? And this is how you thank me now: you will kill my child, my firstborn!”

“By the king’s command, wife,” I said fiercely, but my heart was about to burst.

Then Baleka said nothing more, but turned to the wall, crying and moaning heartbreakingly.

As she wept, I heard footsteps outside the hut, and at the same moment the doorway darkened; a woman entered. I turned to see who it was, and threw myself on the ground, for before me stood Unandi, the king’s mother, who was called the “Mother of Heaven,” the same woman to whom my mother had refused to give milk.

“Hail, O Mother of Heaven!” I said.

“Hello to you, Mopo,” he replied. “Tell me, why is Baleka crying?
Is it because it is his turn to suffer the pain of a woman?”

“Ask him himself, O great lady,” I replied.

Then said Baleka: “I weep, O mother of the king, because that man who is my brother has come by the command of him who is my lord and your son to murder him whom I bear. Speak for me, O you whose breasts have nursed! Your son was not killed at birth.”

“Perhaps it would have been better if he had been killed, Baleka,” replied
Unandi; “then many a man who is dead would still be alive.”

“At least as a child he was kind and gentle, so that you could love him, Zulu mother.”

“No, Baleka! When I was little, he bit my breasts and tore my hair; he was already like that then.”

“But his child may be different. Mother of Heaven! Think, you have not a single grandson to rejoice in your old age. Do you want to see your family tree completely wither? The king, our lord, is constantly at war. He may fall. What then?”

“The Senzangacona family tree is turning green after all. After all, the king has brothers!”

“They are not your blood, mother. What? Don’t you hear, don’t you understand my words? Then I appeal to your womanly heart as a woman. Save my child or kill me with my child!”

Then Unand’s heart softened and tears of emotion welled up in his eyes.

“Could it somehow happen, Mopo?” he asked. “The king must see the dead child, and if he begins to suspect some treachery, you know Chaka’s heart and you know where we shall rest tomorrow. Even the reeds have ears here.”

“Are there not other newborn children in the Zulu country?” asked Baleka, in a whispering voice that sounded like the hissing of a snake. “Listen, Mopo! Is not your wife now in the same predicament? Listen, Mother of Heaven, and listen, my brother, to what I say. Do not trifle with me in this matter. I will save my child or destroy you both. I will tell the king that you both came to me and told me of the conspiracy you had planned to save the child and kill the king. Now complain and I will hurry!”

He collapsed on his bed and we looked at each other in silence. Then
Unandi said:

“Give me your hand, Mopo, and swear that you will not reveal this secret of ours to any mortal, which oath I swear to you. Perhaps one day the day will dawn when that child, who has not yet seen the light of day, will rule as king of the Zulu country, and then he will repay your loyalty by making you the mightiest man in the land, the king’s pet, and the king’s advisor. But if you break your oath, remember that I will not die alone!”

“I swear, O Mother of Heaven,” I replied.

“Okay, son of Makedama.”

“Very well, my brother,” said Baleka. “Go now and do quickly what you must do, for the hour of my affliction is approaching. Go, knowing that I will be merciless if you do not succeed; I will put you to death, even at the risk of my own life!”

I left. “Where are you going?” asked the gatekeeper.

“To get my medicines, king’s man,” I replied.

So I said, but oh—my heart was heavy and I had decided—to flee far from Zululand. I could not and dared not do what was required of me. What! Must I kill my own child to save Baleka’s little one, and must I be stubborn to the king by saving a child condemned to darkness to behold the brightness of the sun? No, I decided to flee, to leave everything and hide among some distant tribe, where I could begin to live again. I could not be here; in Chaka’s shadow only death lurked.

I arrived at my huts and heard that Macropha had given birth to twins. I ordered everyone to leave except my second wife, Anad, who had given me a son eight days earlier. One of the twins—a boy—had been born dead. The other was a girl, the same one who was later called Nada the Beauty and Nada the Lily. An idea flashed through my mind. I had found a way to escape.

“Give me the boy,” I said to Anad. “He is not dead. I will take him outside the city and bring him back to life by my means.”

“No need—the child is dead,” said Anadi.

“Son here, wife!” I snapped, and she handed me the body, which I fitted into my medicine hat wrapped in a mat braided from grass.

“Don’t let anyone in until I return, and don’t say a word about this seemingly dead child. If you let anyone in or say a word, my medicine won’t work and the child will indeed die.”

I left, leaving the women in astonishment, for we are not accustomed to keeping such a close count of the welfare of one twin, as long as the other survives. I ran quickly to the gate of the emposen .

“I’m bringing medicine, king’s men!” I shouted to the guards.

“Come in,” was the reply.

I went through the gate and hurried to Baleka’s hut, where Unandi and my sister were alone.

“A child has been born,” said the king’s mother. “Behold, Mopo, the son of Makedama.”

I bent down to look and saw a tall boy with large black eyes just like King Chaka’s. Unandi looked at me and whispered, “Where is he?”

I opened the carpet and took the dead child’s medicine bottle, all the while looking around fearfully.

“Now give me the living child,” I whispered in turn.

The child was handed to me and I rubbed a certain narcotic medicine on its tongue with the intention of making it silent and motionless. That medicine has the property of rendering the person on whose tongue it is placed completely unconscious for a time. Then I hid the child in my medicine-bag and wrapped it around the carpet. But around the neck of the stillborn I drew a strong noose of fiber tight as if I had strangled the child and wrapped the body in a piece of carpet. Then I said to Baleka:

“Wife and you too, Mother of Heaven, I have fulfilled your request, but know that this act will sooner or later result in the death of many. Be silent as the grave, for the jaws of death are open for both of you!”

I left again, carrying in my right hand the scroll in which the dead child was. But the medicine bag in which I had hidden the living child I tied to my back. When I came to the gate, without saying a word, I showed the guard what was contained in the scroll I carried in my right hand.

“Very well,” they said, nodding their heads. I stepped out, pleased that everything had gone so well, but my joy was short-lived, for outside the gate I met three of the king’s messengers.

“Hello, son of Makedama!” they said. “The king commands you to come to him at once.”

“Very well,” I answered. “I will come at once, but first I will stop at my house to see how my wife Macropha is. This is the one the king wishes to see,” and I showed them the dead child. “You may take the body to him to see, if you wish.”

“The king’s orders are not like that, Mopo,” they said. “His orders are that you must be with him immediately.”

My courage was discouraged, and my blood ran cold with terror. Kings have many ears. Could he have heard? And how could I dare to come before the Lion, carrying his living cub hidden in my mouth? But if I trembled, I was gone, if I showed fear, I was gone, and if I disobeyed, I was gone.

“Let us go,” said I, and we hastened to the king’s gate.

The day had passed into evening, and Chaka was sitting in the courtyard before his hut. I threw myself on my knees before him, shouting the royal salute, bayéte! “Rise, son of Makedama!” he said.

“I dare not rise, O lion of the Zulus,” I replied, “until you have forgiven me, for royal blood reddens my hands.”

“Where is it?” he asked.

I pointed to the carpet.

“Show me here.”

I opened the rug, and he looked at the child and laughed out loud.

“He could have been king,” he said, motioning for one of the councilors to take the body away. “Mopo, you have killed a being who could have been king. Aren’t you afraid?”

“No, O Black,” I answered. “The child died by the king’s command.”

“Sit down and let us talk a little,” said Chaka, for he was in a good mood. “Tomorrow you will receive five oxen as your wages; choose them from the royal herd.”

“The king is good; he sees that my belt is tightened; he satisfies my hunger. Will the king permit me to depart? My wife is in trouble, and I want to go and see her.”

“No, wait a moment; tell me, how is our Baleka sister?”

“Very.”

“Did she cry when you took the child from her?”

“No, he didn’t cry. He said, ‘My Lord’s will is my will.'”

“Okay! If only she had cried, I would have killed her too. Who was with her?”

“Mother of Heaven..”

Chaka’s brow darkened. “Unandiko, my mother? What was she doing there? I swear to God, even though she is my mother—if I could guess”—and he fell silent.

“Tell me, what do you have there?” he asked, pointing his small spear at the muzzle attached to my back.

“Medical needs, King.”

“There’s enough for a whole regiment. Open the carpet and let me see your tricks.”

I tell you, my father, that the marrow of my bones melted with fear, for I feared that he might not see the child; if the lid were opened and then—

“It is bewitched, tagati , O king. It is not good to look at such a thing.”

“Open!” he snapped. “What! Can’t I look at something I must swallow, I, who am the chief of all physicians?”

“Death is the king’s medicine,” I answered, untying the mask from my back and setting it on the ground in the shade of the enclosure as far as I could. Then I stooped and untied the bandages, the sweat of pain streaming down my face and blinding my eyes like tears. What would I do if he saw the child? What if the child woke up and began to cry? I would snatch the spear from his hand and strike him to death! Yes, I would kill the king and then myself! The carpet had been opened and the medicinal leaves and roots on it were plain to see; the unconscious child was covered with moss beneath them.

“A disgusting scoundrel,” said the king, sniffing his nose. “Look, Mopo, how accurate my hand is! Look at your medicine!” and he raised his spear and thrust it through the scoundrel. But just as he struck, my protective spirit made him sneeze, which caused the spear to hit the side of the scoundrel, without touching the child.

“Heaven bless the king!” I said, as usual.

“Thank you, Mopo, the omen is good,” he replied. “And now go away! Follow my advice: kill your children as I did, and they will not bring you sorrow. It is better to drown the lion’s cubs.”

I wrapped my blanket tightly, even though my hands were shaking. Oh, if the child woke up and started crying. I was ready. I rose and greeted the king. Then I left, but I had hardly gotten outside the gates of the intukunla —the king’s residence—when the child began to whimper in the blanket. What if it had happened a minute earlier!

“What!” said a warrior as I passed, “have you hidden a puppy under your mooch, Mopo?”

I didn’t answer anything, but hurried home. There was no one in my house except my two wives.

“I have revived the child, wives,” I said as I opened the coffin.

Anadi took the boy and examined him.

“He looks bigger than before,” he said.

“The spirit of life has filled and swelled him,” I replied.

“His eyes are not what they were,” said Anadi. “Now they are large and black and just like the eyes of a king.”

“My spirit looked into her eyes, making them beautiful,” I replied.

“This child has a birthmark on his thigh,” said Anadi for the third time. “The son I gave you had no mark.”

“My medicine burned a little.”

“This is not the same child,” said Anadi gloomily. “This is a substitute who will only bring misfortune to our lodge.”

Then I became furious and cursed darkly, for I realized that that woman’s tongue would bring us all to the mouth of death if I did not silence her.

“Shut up, you wretch!” I roared. “How dare you express such insolent thoughts of your lying heart? Do you wish to bring a curse upon us? Do you wish to make us all food for the king’s spear? Say it again, and I will seat you in the midst of the witches’ circle, and then—then the ingomboco will prove that you are a witch!”

So I raged and threatened to give her a horrible death, until at last she was frightened and threw herself at my feet, begging for mercy and forgiveness. But I was greatly afraid because of that woman’s language, and not because of her guilt.

VII.

UMSLOPOGAAS BEFORE THE KING.

Years passed and the matter was forgotten. Nothing more was heard of it, but, my father, it was still only forgotten for the time being, and I thought with horror of the moment when it would come up again, for the secret was known to two women—Unandi, the Mother of Heaven, and my sister Baleka, the king’s wife. It was also known to both my wives—Macropha and Anadi—who had guessed the truth of the matter. The secret could not therefore remain forever! In the course of time it came to pass that Unandi and Baleka could not conceal their liking for the child who was said to be my son and whose name was Umslopogaas, but who was the son of King Chaka and Baleka and the grandson of Unandi. They often stopped by my hut to greet my wives, and took the boy in their arms and caressed him in every way. I warned them in vain, for love made the tongues of their hearts tremble more strongly than my words, and they could not refrain from visiting the boy. However, one day Chaka saw a boy sitting on his mother Unand’s lap.

“What does my mother have to do with your brat, Mopo?” he asked.
“She might as well kiss me.” And he laughed like a wolf.

I replied that I did not know, and the matter was gradually forgotten, but the visits ceased there, for Chaka began to keep a close eye on his mother from then on. The Umslopogaas boy grew up to be a stout and strong young man, the like of whom was no other for his age within a day’s journey. But from an early age he was surly and taciturn, and just like his father Chaka in that he was not afraid of anything. There were only two persons in the whole wide world whom he loved—me Mopo, who was called his father, and Nada, who was said to be his twin sister.

As the Umslopogaas boy was the strongest and bravest child, so let it be said that Nada was the most beautiful and sweetest. I truly believe, my father, though I cannot say for certain, that she was not a pure-blooded Zulu. Her eyes were also deeper and larger, her hair longer and straighter than ours, and her skin paler—almost the color of bright copper. All this was inherited from her mother, Macropha, though she was far more beautiful than Macropha and more beautiful than any woman of my tribe I had ever seen. Her mother, my wife Macropha, was of the Swazi tribe, and had been brought as a prisoner of war to the king, who gave her to me as a wife. She was said to be the daughter of a Swazi chief of the Halakazi tribe, and it is quite true that she was born of this wife, but I do not know whether that chief was her father or not. For I have heard from Macropha that before she was born a white man had stayed with her father—a Portuguese from the coast, who was very beautiful, and a skilled blacksmith. This white man loved the mother of my wife Macropha, and it is said that Macropha was his daughter, and not that Swazi chief. At least I know that the chief killed the white man before my wife was born. But no one knows for sure the truth of the matter, and I only mention it because Nada’s beauty was more like that of the white race than ours, which is very understandable if her grandfather happened to be a white man.

Umslopogaas and Nada were always together. Together they slept, ate, and went for walks; they thought alike and talked alike. Oh, they were a sight to behold! When they were still children, Umslopogaas twice saved Nada’s life.

The first time, the course of events was as follows. The two children had traveled far from home in search of berries, which little ones love. They wandered carefree, singing as they walked, until they found a place with berries and ate to their hearts’ content. The day had passed into evening, and when they had eaten their fill, they fell asleep. Then at night they were awakened by the howling of a storm and cold rain, for winter was beginning, when all the fruits are ripe.

“Up, Nada!” said Umslopogaas, “we must get home or else we will die of cold.”

Nada rose in fright, and hand in hand they set out in the dark towards home. But in the storm and the darkness they lost their way, and when day finally broke they were in a forest they did not know. They rested for a while, eating berries they found, and then continued their journey all day long, until night overtook them, when they folded the branches of the trees over themselves to protect themselves from the cold, and were so exhausted that they fell asleep in each other’s arms. At daybreak they set out again, but were very tired, for there were few berries, and by noon their strength was exhausted. They threw themselves down to rest on the slope of a steep hill, and Nada rested her head against Umslopogaas’s chest.

“Let us die here, my brother,” he said.

But the boy’s courage was not discouraged, and he replied: “Then it is time to die, my sister, when death comes to claim us. Look now! You rest here, and I will climb to the top of the hill to see what is visible on the other side of the forest.”

He arose and went, and found on the slope many berries and edible roots, with which he satisfied his hunger. At last he reached the top of the hill and looked out over the green expanse that opened before him. And behold, far to the east he saw a white streak, like a cloud of steam against the black rock, and he knew that this streak was the waterfall on the other side of the king’s city. He ran down the slope, shouting for joy, and took roots and berries with him, but when he came to Nada, he saw that she had lost consciousness from hunger, cold, and fatigue. The girl lay motionless on the ground as if asleep, and a jackal had crept up to her, and fled as soon as the boy approached.

It seems that Umslopogaas had no choice. He had to either try to save himself or stay with Nada to die. But necessity finds a way. He braided straps from his hip belt, with which he tied Nada to his back, and set off towards the city.

He would never have reached it, for the journey was long, but in the evening some scouts met a naked boy in a forest, who, leaning on a stick, staggered slowly forward with foam on his lips and staring eyes, carrying the girl on his back. The boy was so tired that he could not speak, and the straps had dug deep into his shoulders, but one scout recognized him nevertheless, and they carried her home. They thought the Nada girl was dead and were going to leave her in the forest, but Umslopogaas pointed to her chest, and when the men felt that her heart was still beating, they brought the girl with them. Both soon recovered well and loved each other more passionately.

I then told Umslopogaas that he must not leave the city and take his sister a second time to the dangers of the wilderness, but the boy must be allowed to roam about like a fox, and Nada followed him everywhere. One day they managed to slip out of the house when the gates were open, and they ended up in a very notorious deep hollow, where ghosts were said to riot and kill anyone who dared to enter. I do not know if there was any truth to these stories, but I do know that in that hollow there lived a woman who lived in a little cave-like house and lived on what she could kill or steal or dig out of the ground. This woman was a madwoman. Her husband had been killed, for the magicians had suspected that he had practiced witchcraft to harm the king. Then Chaka, as usual, had sent his executioners to destroy the criminal’s hut and kill all his relatives. Last of all, the children were killed, three young girls, and the mother would have been speared, but when she saw the horror of the destruction around her, a foul spirit entered her and made her mad, so that the warriors left her alone, afraid to touch her because of the spirit. And no one harassed her afterwards.

He fled and took up residence in that haunted cave, and his madness manifested itself in such a way that whenever he saw children, especially girls, he was overcome by an irresistible desire to kill them as his own children had been killed. He often did such deeds, for during the full moon, when his madness was at its height, he could travel long distances searching for children and snatching them from the huts like a hyena. But no one would touch him because of the spirit that lived in him, not even those whose children he had murdered.

Umslopogaas and Nada then arrived at the hollow where the child-murderer lived, and sat down on the edge of the pond near the cave to weave a wreath of flowers. After a while Umslopogaas left Nada to look for the rock lilies he liked, and on his return he whispered to Nada, thus waking the woman who was sleeping in her cave, for she only moved about outside at night like a jackal. The woman rushed out with a spear in her hand, smelling blood, and immediately found Nada sitting on the grass tying flowers, and began to creep closer. At the same time Nada—the child told me so—felt a cold breeze and was greatly frightened, although she did not see the woman who was going to murder her. He dropped the flowers to the ground and looked into the pond, in the film of which he saw the disgusting face of the child killer creeping towards him from above, his hair falling over his eyes and his eyes shining like the eyes of a lion.

Nada jumped up with a cry and fled along the path where Umslopogaas had gone, the madman at her heels. Umslopogaas heard the cry and turned, dashing over the crest of the hill, and behold, the furious woman was right in front of him. She had already grabbed Nada by the hair and her spear was already raised for a killing blow. Umslopogaas had no spear, only a small club, but nevertheless she attacked the woman, striking her so hard on the arm that the woman let go of the girl’s hair and turned screaming towards the boy, intending to pierce him with her spear, when Umslopogaas jumped aside. The blow was immediately followed by another, but Umslopogaas dodged it too, leaping high into the air. With the third blow the spear hit his shoulder, even though he threw himself flat on the ground, but at the same time the weight of his body wrenched the weapon from the madman’s hand, and before he could grab him, he was already far away, the spear still stuck in his shoulder.

Then the woman turned and rushed at Nada, howling with rage, intending to kill him with her hands. But Umslopogaas had, with gritted teeth, pulled the spear from the wound, and at the same time, roaring, attacked the madman, who seized a large stone and hurled it at the boy with such force that it shattered into pieces as it struck the rock behind the boy. But Umslopogaas was not frightened, but charged forward, and his blow was so fierce that the spearhead penetrated the woman’s back, and the woman fell to the ground dead. Then Nada bound up Umslopogaas’s wound, which was very deep, and after suffering severe pains the boy finally got home and told me his adventure.

Then some began to quarrel, and demanded that the boy should die because he had killed a person possessed by a spirit. But I forbade it. The boy was not to be touched. He had killed the woman in defense of his own life and that of his sister, and every one had the right to kill in self-defense, except the king and his servants. Besides, I said, the spirit that had inhabited the woman had been evil, for good spirits do not demand children to be killed, but rather cattle, for we do not customarily sacrifice people, not even prisoners of war, for our lives, though those Basutu dogs do. But the quarrel only increased, for the magicians had got it into their heads that the boy must die. He had killed a person possessed by a spirit, and much evil would come of it if the boy were allowed to live. At last the king heard of the matter. He called me and the boy to him and told the magicians to come too.

The magicians first explained their opinion and insisted that the boy must die, and Chaka asked them what would happen if the boy were allowed to live. They replied that the spirit of the murdered woman would do much harm to the royal house. Chaka asked if anything would happen to the king himself. They inquired of his spirit and then answered in the negative; not to himself, but to one of his followers. Chaka said to them that he did not care a whit what happened to any of his followers, whether good or bad. Then he spoke to Umslopogaas, who looked him boldly in the eye as one peer to another.

“Son,” said he, “have you anything to say why you should not be killed as these men demand?”

“Yes, O Black,” replied Umslopogaas. “I killed a woman in defense of my life.”

“No other matter,” said Chaka. “If I, the king, wanted to kill you, would you kill me or my servant? The spirit in the woman was the king’s spirit, which commanded you to be killed; therefore you should have resigned yourself to your fate. Have you no other reasons?”

“Yes, Elephant,” replied Umslopogaas. “The woman would have murdered my sister, whom I love more than my own life.”

“No other matter,” said Chaka. “If I were to order you to be killed for any reason, would I not also order all your relatives to be killed? Would not the king’s spirit do the same? If you have nothing else to say, you must die.”

Now I was afraid, for I feared that Chaka would give the order to kill the boy who was called my son, at the insistence of the magicians. But Umslopogaas looked up and answered boldly, like a man who does not beg for mercy, but demands his justice.

“I tell you this, O death of enemies, and if that is not enough, let us stop talking and let me be killed. You, O king, had ordered that woman to be killed, but your servants left her alone because they thought she was mad. I have fulfilled the king’s command; I have killed the woman, whether she was mad or wise, whom the king had ordered to be killed, and I did not deserve death, but a reward.”

“Well said, Umslopogaas!” replied Chaka. “Ten oxen shall be given to this boy who has the heart of a man; his father shall take care of the animals for his son’s sake. Are you satisfied now, Umslopogaas?”

“I will take what is due me and thank the king because he does not have to pay me if he does not want to,” replied Umslopogaas.

Chaka stared at the boy for a moment and seemed to be getting angry, but then burst out laughing.

“Why,” said he, “long ago there was a calf in the Senzangacona hut, which was just like this. The boy is just like me. Continue as you have begun, my boy, and at the end of your journey you may be greeted with the cry of bayéte . But do not come in my way, for it is impossible for two alike to agree. And now go away!”

We set out at once, but as we went I saw the magicians quarreling among themselves, for they were angry and foretold misfortunes. They envied me and had hoped to strike me straight in the heart by bringing ruin to the boy who was called my child.

VIII.

THE LOSS OF THE MAGICIANS.

After this there was complete peace until the end of the harvest festival. During the festival, too, only a few were killed, although the magicians were assembled and held a great council, ingomboco , in which they suspected and exposed plots against the king and denounced a large number of culprits. In the Zulu country, things had now developed to such a point that everyone trembled before the magicians. No one slept peacefully at night, for in the morning the rod of some sorcerer, isanusin , might touch him, and he would have to die.

Chaka said nothing at first, and as long as the accused—there were many—were people he wanted to get rid of, he was satisfied. But when the magicians began to pursue their own ends by accusing people whom Chaka liked, he became angry. For the custom of the country was such that the person accused by the magicians had to die with all his family, so the king was in worse trouble than trouble, for he hardly dared to save even those he loved. One evening, when dark thoughts troubled him, I went to see him. An ingomboco had been held during the day , and the magicians had condemned to death five of his bravest war chiefs and many others. All had been killed, and warriors had been sent to kill their wives and children. Chaka was now furious about all this, and opened his heart to me.

“The Zulu country is ruled only by the magicians and not by me, son of Mopo Makedama,” he said to me. “Is there no limit then? In the end, will the magicians touch me with their wands and I too be killed? They are—too powerful, these sorcerers, and they darken the whole land like the shadow of night. Tell me how I can escape them.”

“Those who walk on the bridge of spears will sooner or later fall, O king,” I answered vaguely; “and magicians do not tread seriously on that bridge either. Can’t even a magician’s heart stop beating? Can’t his magic be made to waver?”

Chaka looked at me for a long time. “You are a brave man, Mopo, to speak to me like that,” he said. “Don’t you know that it is sacrilege to touch a magician?”

“I only said what the king thinks,” I replied. “Listen, O king, it is sacrilege to touch a magician, but what if the magician is a liar? What if he misunderstands and thus condemns an innocent person to death? Is it then a crime to subject him to the same fate that he has prepared for so many? Tell me, O king!”

“Well said!” replied Chaka. “Tell me now, son of Makedama, how should this matter be resolved?”

I leaned forward and whispered something in Musta’s ear and he nodded his head in agreement. I gave him advice, for I had seen the sorcerers, the wizards , the witches, and I feared for my own life and the lives of all my loved ones. They hated me because I was a master of their knowledge and skills, with a sharp eye and a sensitive ear.

Then one morning something strange happened. The king rushed from his gate, shouting loudly, and ordered everyone to come and see what evil deed some witch had done to him. They went to look and saw that the doorposts leading to the king’s apartment were stained with blood. The knees of the battle-hardened men trembled when they saw the sight, and the women burst into loud lamentations, as if mourning for some dead person; they lamented the terror caused by this terrible omen.

“Who has done this?” asked Chaka in a terrible voice. “Who has dared to sprinkle blood on the king’s gate and bring misfortune upon him?”

No one answered, and Chaka continued: “This is no small matter, to be washed away by the blood of only a few men. The man who did this will not die alone, nor enter the land of the spirits with only a few. His whole tribe will follow him, even the smallest children and the last of the cattle! Let messengers hasten to the east and west, to the north and south, to summon all the magicians of the land! Let the commanders of all the regiments and the chiefs of every village also come to those who come! On the tenth day from this day, let a conference be held, ingomboco , and from this there will be such a snarl of witches and villains as has never been seen in Zululand before.”

The messengers went to fulfill the king’s command, having received from the nobles, the indunos , the names of the persons to be summoned, and day by day the people gathered at the king’s gates, praising him loudly, crawling on their knees. But he did not dare to answer anyone. He killed one of the nobles because he carried in his hand a spear made of royal redwood, which Chaka himself had once given him.

On the evening before the council was to be held, the magicians, men and women, entered the city gate. There were one hundred and fifty of them, and they had disguised themselves in hideous disguises with human bones, fish tails, ox tails, the fat of slain criminals, and snakeskin. They walked on in silence until they arrived at the entrance to the king’s residence . There they stopped and sang their song of greeting to the king:

    “We have come, O King, from the caves and the hideouts of the swamps
    to bathe in the blood of the Slain.
    We have gathered our forces
    like vultures scenting the Great Slaughter.

    We come not alone, O king; in the company of ghosts we walk,
    Ghosts who whisper to us the name of the doomed.
    We come not alone, for we are the people and children of death
    And he leads our steps to the doomed.

    The red moon lights the desert plains and the bloody day
       sets in the west.
    Look, you scoundrels, and bid them farewell,
    For there are hundreds of you who wish the king ill
    . Ha! soon we will bid you farewell!”

They fell silent and retired to the area reserved for them to spend the night reciting spells and performing magic. But those who had gathered to watch the procession trembled at the words of the song, for they knew very well that many men would not see the setting of the sun again. I trembled too, for my heart was filled with fear. Ah, my father, the days when Chaka ruled were evil days and death awaited us at every turn! Then no one could claim his life as his own, not his wives, not his children, nothing. The king was the master of all, and what wars spared, the magicians destroyed.

The day dawned slowly, and before it was quite light, heralds came to summon everyone to the king’s ingomboco. Hundreds of men arrived, carrying short sticks, for carrying weapons was forbidden under pain of death, and they sat down in large circles before the king’s gates. Oh, they looked sad, and they did not like food that morning, for they, who were going to death, sat down, and around the circles stood a group of sturdy and cruel warriors, a real elite, with only clubs as their weapons. They were executioners!

When all was ready, the king came out, followed by the nobles and myself. When he appeared, wearing a leopard’s skin and a head taller than all the others, the people threw themselves on the ground and from every mouth suddenly and loudly rang out the royal salute bayéte! But Chaka did not seem to notice anything; his brow was as dark as a cloudy mountain peak. He looked at the crowd and the chain of executioners, and wherever his gaze fell, the men turned pale with fear. Then he sat down on a chair reserved for him on the edge of the clearing, on the north side of the great circle.

For a moment there was complete silence. Then a group of young girls adorned with beads came from the gate of the women’s quarters, dancing and carrying green branches. They clapped their hands and sang as they came:

    “We are the heralds of the king’s feast. Ah!
       The ravens are feasting today. Ah! Ah!
    Good—it is good to die for the king!”

They fell silent and formed a line behind us. Then Chaka raised his hand and at the same moment there was a sound of running footsteps. From behind the king’s huts appeared a mighty troop of magicians—men on the right and women on the left. Each had in his left hand the tail of some wild animal, and in his right a bundle of throwing spears and a small shield. They were terrible to see, and as they ran their bones rattled, and snakeskins and bulls’ bladders flew in the air behind them, their faces glistened with fat, their eyes stared like fish’s eyes, and their lips twisted hungrily as they glanced around the circle of death. Ha! Ha! Those rascals could not guess who would be the killers and who would be killed before sunset!

They approached like a grim procession of death, in a profound silence broken only by the pounding of their footsteps and the dry clank of their bone ornaments, and stopped in a long line before Chaka. For a moment they stood silent, but suddenly each one held out his small shield and all cried out in unison:

“Hello, Dad!”

“Hello, children!” replied Chaka.

“What do you want, father? A fight?”

“The blood of the guilty!”

They turned to talk to each other, and the men said to the women:

“The Zulu lion craves blood.”

“He will be satisfied,” the women replied.

“The Zulu lion smells blood.”

“He must see it!” cried the women.

“His eyes are searching for criminals.”

“He can keep them dead!” the women screamed.

“Hush!” roared Chaka. “Do not waste time in chatter, but act. Listen! The castaways have set their spells upon me and have dared to stain the gates of the king with blood. Find them even in the bowels of the earth, you rats! Thank the skies and seek out those scoundrels, you vultures! Sniff every hut and reveal the names of those cursed ones, you jackals, you night hunters! Drag them from their caves if they are hidden, from the ends of the earth if they have fled, from their graves if they are dead! To work! To work! Point them out to me and your reward will be great; they will be destroyed, even if they were a whole nation. Begin in groups of ten, for there are many of you and everything must be ready before sunset. Now begin!”

“Before sunset, father,” they replied.

Ten women now came forward, led by the most famous female magician of the time—an old woman named Nobela, whose vision could not be obscured by darkness, who had a scent as keen as a dog, and who heard the voices of the dead who cried out at night, and who related all that she heard with precision. All the other magicians, men and women, sat in a semicircle before the king, but this woman came forward with nine of her companions. They turned east and west, north and south, looking at the sky; they turned east and west, north and south, searching the earth; they turned east and west, north and south, searching the hearts of men. Then they crawled around the circle like cats and threw themselves on the ground, sniffing the dirt, and all the time there was a silence as profound as at the stroke of midnight. The men listened to their own heartbeats and every now and then a vulture perched on the branches of the trees would make a sound.

Finally Nobela said:

“Are you haunting him, my sister?”

“We are dying,” was the reply.

“Does he sit in the east, my sister?”

“He sits in the east”.

“Is he a stranger’s son, my sister?”

“He is the son of a stranger.”

Then they crept nearer, crept on their knees, leaning on their hands, until they were ten paces from where I sat among the nobles near the king. The nobles looked at each other, pale with fear, and, my father, my knees became utterly weak and the marrow of my bones melted into water, for I knew whom they meant when they spoke of the stranger’s son. It was I, my father; they intended to accuse me, and if that happened, I and all my kin would be killed, for even the king’s oath could hardly protect me against the magicians.

I watched their cruel faces as they slithered forward like snakes. I looked behind me and saw the executioners clutching their clubs, ready to deliver the death blow. Then I remembered the words that the king and I had whispered to each other about calling this conference, and hope crept into my heart like the first ray of dawn after a stormy night. However, I did not dare to hope much yet, for it was possible that the king had only set a trap for me. The magicians were now very close and stopped.

“Have we dreamed wrongly, my sister?” asked Nobela.

“What we dream at night, we see during the day,” was the reply.

“Shall I whisper his name in your ear, my sister?” asked the old Nobela.

They raised their heads from the ground like snakes and nodded, and as they nodded the bone ornaments on their withered necks jingled. So they leaned their heads together, forming a circle, and Nobela put her head in the middle of the circle and whispered a single word.

“Ha! Ha!” they laughed. “We hear. Exactly. That is his name. Let him be called by that name here before the face of Heaven, him and all his family. Then let him never hear any other names again!”

At the same time they jumped up and rushed towards me, Nobela in the lead, pointing at me with the tails of wild animals they held in their hands. Nobela slapped me in the face and exclaimed:

“Hail to you, Mopo son of Makedama! You have stained the king’s doorposts with blood to bring misfortune upon the king. May your tent be torn down to the ground!”

I saw him coming and felt as if in a dream the blow aimed at my face. I heard the footsteps of the executioners as they hurried there to drag me to a horrible death, but my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth—and I could not utter a word. I looked at the king and thought I heard him murmur: “You had to be close or you missed!”

Then he raised his spear and all fell silent. The executioners stopped, the magicians stood with outstretched hands, and all seemed to be frozen by a spell.

“Stop!” he said. “Step aside, son of Makedama, accused of a crime! And you too, Nobela, step aside with your companions who accuse him! What? Should I be content with the death of one dog? Continue your stalking, you vultures, continue, flock by flock! The day is for work, the evening is for celebration!”

I stood up in astonishment and stepped aside. The female magicians also stepped aside in astonishment, for such a thing had never been seen in this country. The man whom the magician had touched had been killed immediately up to that moment. Why then, the men wondered, was the execution of the sentence delayed? The magicians also wondered and looked at the king for clarification, as one looks at a thundercloud while waiting for lightning. But the Black did not utter a word.

So we stood aside, and another group of female magicians began their trick. They worked as the first, but in a slightly different way, for it is the custom of magicians that no two work exactly alike in the noble art of sleuthing. And this group slapped several of the king’s advisors in the face, accusing them of a crime.

“Step aside!” said the king to the men who had been declared guilty, “and you who have discovered their wickedness, join the group that accuses Mopoa son of Makedama. It may be that all are guilty.”

The order was immediately obeyed, and the third group took action. A few of the bravest warlords were now named as guilty, and this group was again allowed to step aside, as were their accusers.

This continued all day. The female magicians came forward in groups after groups, pointed out their victims, and were allowed to step aside, as were the condemned, until there were no more women left. Then came the turn of the male magicians, and I saw that their hearts were filled with fear; they feared the trap. But the king’s command had to be carried out, and although their skill failed, victims had to be found. They plucked a man here and another there, until there was a great multitude of us condemned. We sat on the ground in silence, looking sadly at each other and at the sun, which was sinking lower and lower towards the horizon, and which we thought we would see for the last time. And the longer the day went on, the wilder became the magicians who had not yet tried their skill. They leaped high into the air, gritted their teeth, and rolled on the ground holding snakes in their hands, which they ate alive, conjuring spirits and shouting the names of ancient kings.

At length the day had passed into evening, and the last group of magicians set to work, accusing some of the guards of the king’s wives’ quarters, the emposeni . But among them was a young man, tall and stout, who took no part in the commotion of his companions, but stood apart in the midst of that great circle, gazing up at the sky. And when his companions had done their work, and had moved aside, as had the persons they had accused, the king cried out in a loud voice to this last magician, asking his name and tribe, and why he did not do his duty.

“My name is Indabazimbi, son of Arp, O king, and I am of the Maquilisini tribe,” replied the youth. “Does the king command me to hunt down the person whose spirits say he has done this wicked deed?”

“I command,” said the king.

Then the young man Indabazimbi stepped straight across the circle, without shouting or waving his hands, but like a man who walks his old familiar path from his hut to the cattle pen, and with the tail in his hand struck the king in the face, saying: “The blame lies with the Sky that Bends Above Me !”

There was a murmur of astonishment from my audience, and all strained their heads to see how that fool was to be put to death by terrible torture. But Chaka rose and laughed wildly.

“You said it,” he cried, “and you alone! Hear all! I did it myself! I smeared the blood on the skins of my gates; with my own hands I smeared it to know which of the magicians speaks the truth and which lies. Now it seems that there is only one in all the Zulu country who speaks the truth—this young man here—and the liars, look, they are as numerous as the leaves on the tree. Look, there they stand, and there are those whom they have condemned as guilty—innocent ones, all of whom they would have exposed to the dog’s death with their wives and children. Now I ask you, my children, what reward have they earned?”

Then a thunderous cry came from the crowd: “Let them die, O king!”

“Yes!” he replied. “Let them die, as liars must!”

Then the magicians, men and women, began to wail with fear and beg for mercy, scratching their skin until it bled with their nails, for they least of all wanted to taste the bitterness of their own medicine, which was—death. But the king only laughed all the more wildly.

“Listen, you there!” he said, referring to us who had received our sentence. “These liars and wrongdoers condemned you to death. Now take revenge, devour your fill. Kill them, my children, kill, destroy them all—wipe them out of existence—all except this young man!”

Then we rushed up, for our hearts were boiling with anger, and we desired revenge for all the horrors we had suffered. The condemned killed their judges and rejoiced that they had been freed from the burden of the magicians’ oppression.

At last the work was done, and we retreated from the pile of bodies. All was silent—no more prayers or curses. The magicians wandered the road they had sent so many of. The king came nearer to look. He came alone, and all who had been doing his bidding bowed to the ground and crept past him, praising him. I just stood there, smeared with dirt and blood, for I was not afraid to stand in the presence of a king. Chaka came nearer and looked at the mound of the slain, around which a cloud of dust still hung.

“There they are, Mopo,” said he, “the scoundrels who dared to lie to the king! Your advice to set a trap for them was good, Mopo, but still it seemed to me that you were startled when Nobela, the queen of the witches, accused you of a crime and demanded your life. Well, they are dead, and my country breathes freely again, and the evil they have caused is like that dust that will soon sink to the ground and disappear.”

So he said silently, for behold, something moved in the cloud of dust, striving to emerge from the pile of corpses. The bodies thrown by the shock slowly moved aside as the comer cleared a way for himself, until he stood freely on his feet and staggered towards us, looking hideous and terrible. The comer was an old woman, and despite the dirt and blood I recognized her. It was Nobela, she who had condemned me to death and whom I had just struck dead. She now rose from the dead to curse me.

His body and face were covered with wounds, and his clothes were torn into rags, red with blood. I could see that he was dying, although the spark of life had not yet completely died out, and anger flashed from his snake-like eyes.

“Hail, king!” he croaked.

“Shut up, liar!” replied Chaka; “you are dead!”

“Not yet, king. I heard you and that dog talking, which I would have thrown to the jackals, and I will not die until I have said what I have to say. I haunted him this morning while I was alive, and I will haunt him now in death. He will surely bewitch you with blood, Chaka—he and your mother Unandi, and your wife Baleka. Remember my words, king, when the assegai blushes before you for the last time! Farewell!” And he cried out shrilly and fell dead to the ground.

“Insolence and lies deserve death—that is the magician’s reward,” said the king carelessly, and turned on his heel, but Nobela’s words nevertheless sank into his mind, at least as far as they concerned Unand and Baleka. There they lay hidden like a seed in the soil, germinating gradually and bearing fruit in due time.

Thus ended Chaka’s great ingomboco , the largest ever held in Zululand.

IX.

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF UMSLOPOGAS.

After this Chaka began to watch his mother Unandi and his wife Baleka, my sister, and the watchmen informed him that the two women had secretly come to the hut, where they were kissing and caressing one of my children—a boy. Then Chaka remembered Nobela’s prophecy, and the darkest suspicions began to gnaw at his heart. But he did not say a word to me about it, but treated me as before. He did not fear or believe that I, his dog, would plot against him. Whether he did so, or whether it was by chance or on purpose, I do not know, he ordered me to go to a tribe that lived far away on the borders of the Amaswazi country, to count the cattle that he had entrusted to their care, and to inform him how much the cattle had increased. I bowed at the command and said that I would run like a dog, and he gave me a troop of warriors to accompany me.

I returned to my hut to say goodbye to my children and wives, and I heard that my wife Anadi, the mother of my son Moosa, had fallen ill with some epidemic. She was talking strange things and claiming that some enemy of mine had bewitched my room, which I did not suspect.

But I had to go on the king’s business, which I told my wife Macropha, the mother of Nada and, as it was supposed, Umslopogaas, Chaka’s son. She burst into tears and clung to me. I asked why she was crying, and she replied that evil forebodings filled her heart. She was sure that if I left home I would never see her alive again, nor my daughter Nada, nor Umslopogaas, who was called my son and whom I loved as my own. I tried to comfort her, but she cried all the more bitterly, saying that she knew that everything would happen as she had said.

I asked her what was best to do, for her tears moved me, and her fear crept into my heart as the shadows of the valley creep up the mountainside.

He replied, “Take me with you, O my lord, that I may depart from this land where even the clouds rain blood, and let me rest in peace with my tribe until the days of Chaka’s terror are past.”

“How could that happen?” I said. “No one may leave the king’s presence without his permission.”

“A man may take his wife with him,” she answered. “The king cannot come between a man and a woman. Tell him, my lord, that you love me no more, because I can no longer bear you children, and therefore you are sending me back to where I came from. In time we will be reunited, if only we live.”

“So be it,” said I. “Leave here tonight with Nada and Umslopogaas, and meet me in the morning by the riverbank. We will journey together, and may the spirits of our fathers protect us from all evil.”

We kissed, and Macropha left town with the children without anyone noticing.

At dawn I gathered the warriors Chaka had given me and the journey began. At sunrise we arrived at the riverbank, where I met my wife Macropha and both children. They rose when I arrived, but I frowned at my wife, and she did not greet me either. The warriors looked at her questioningly.

“I have driven this wife from me,” I told them. “She is a withered tree, an old, worn-out wreck, whom I am now taking with me to send home to the Swazi land from whence she came. Stop crying,” I added, turning to Macropha, “I will not go back on my word.”

“What does the king say?” asked the warriors.

“I’ll take care of that,” I replied, and we continued on our way.

* * * * *

Now I must tell you how we lost Umslopogaas, Chaka’s son, who was then a tall youth, growing into a man, fiery in character, and well developed and broad-shouldered for his age.

We had traveled for seven days, and on the evening of the seventh day we arrived at a mountainous region where there were only a few settlements, for Chaka had destroyed the region years ago. Perhaps you know the place, my father? There is a very large and strange mountain there, where ghosts live, and which is therefore called Ghost Mountain. The peak is formed by an immense boulder, which is exactly in the shape of an old woman’s head. And in that terrible and desolate region we had to spend the night, as the evening began to grow dark. We soon discovered that there were many lions in the mountains, for we heard their roaring, and we were all very afraid, except Umslopogaas, who was not afraid of anything.

We built a circle of thorn bushes, within which we sat with our spears in reserve. The moon rose in a little while, and shone so brightly—it happened to be the time of the full moon—that we could see quite clearly for a wide distance. About six spear-throws away was a high rock, and on the top of the rock was a cave, where lived two lions with their cubs. When the moon was at its brightest, the lions came out and stood on the edge of the cliff with two little cubs, who played at their mother’s feet like kittens, so that the sight would have been very charming, had we not been so frightened.

“Oh, Umslopogaas!” whispered Nada, “I would love to have that little lion as my dog.”

The boy chuckled, saying, “Shall I get you one, sister?”

“Be quiet, son!” I said. “It is not good to take a lion cub from its den.”

“That’s what happened, my father,” the boy replied, laughing, and the matter was not discussed any further.

When the lions had played their time, we saw the mother take the cubs in her mouth and carry them to the den. Then she came out again and went off with the male to hunt for prey, and soon we heard their roaring in the distance. We set the alarm and went to sleep safely, knowing that the lions were far away on some prey. But Umslopogaas did not sleep, for he was determined to get the cub that Nada had wanted, and being young and reckless he did not think at all of the danger he was putting us all in. He did not know what fear was, and if Nada so much as expressed a word of desire, or so much as thought, the boy would not rest until the girl had got what she wanted.

While we were sleeping, Umslopogaas then crept quietly like a snake out of the enclosure and, spear in hand, crept to the foot of the cliff. Having climbed up, he entered the cave, and the cubs, hearing him coming, mistook him for their mother and began to whine and purr in the hope of getting something to eat. Guided by these yellow eyes glowing in the darkness, he crawled forward over the bones, of which there were many, and at last reached the animals. He snatched one in his hand and killed the other with his spear, because he could not take both with him. Then he hurried away before the lions returned, and arrived at the camp just as dawn broke.

I woke at daybreak and got up to look out. And, behold, on the other side of the enclosure stood young Umslopogaas, looking unnaturally large in the morning mist, and laughing. A spear, the tip of which was still dripping with blood, was in his teeth, and in his hands he held the lion cub by the neck and hind legs, despite its whining and squirming.

“Wake up, my sister!” she cried. “Here is the dog you wanted. Ah, it bites now, but it will soon be tamed.” Nada woke up and cried out with joy at the sight of the puppy, but I was momentarily stunned with astonishment.

“You fool!” I cried at last, “let go of the cub before the lions rush upon us.”

“I won’t let you, father,” replied the boy gloomily. “There are five of us men armed with spears against two cats. I wasn’t afraid to go into their cave alone either. Are the rest of you cowards!”

“You are mad,” said I; “let go of the puppy at once!” And I rushed at him to snatch the puppy from him, but he jumped aside.

“I will never give up the prey I have caught,” said he, “at least not a living one!” And at once he wrung the puppy’s neck and threw it to the ground at my feet, adding: “See, I have fulfilled your command, my father!”

While he was still speaking, a terrible roar came from the cave on the cliff top. The lions had returned and discovered the mischief. One cub had been killed and the other had disappeared.

“Into the enclosure—back to the enclosure!” I cried, and we leaped over the hedge to the others, who had grasped their spears, trembling with fear and the night cold. We looked up and saw the lions coming down the slope in leaps and bounds, guided by the scent of the cub-robber. The male came ahead, growling furiously, and the female followed at his heels, but was quite silent, for she carried in her mouth the cub that Umslopogaas had killed in the cave with his spear. The animals approached rapidly, with their manes flying, and their long tails beating their sides in fury.

“Curse and death to you, son of Mopo!” a warrior roared at Umslopogaas; “for this prank I will soften you so that your blood will spill!”

“First tame the lions and then me, if you can,” replied the boy, “and then curse when you have done both.”

The lions were now very close to us, and they had gathered up the dead cub, which was outside the enclosure. The male stopped and sniffed at the body. Then he roared—roared so hard that the ground shook. And the mother let go of her dead cub and took the other, for she could not carry both.

“Get behind me, Nada!” shouted Umslopogaas, brandishing his spear, “the male is preparing to jump..”

At the same time, that frighteningly large animal pressed itself to the ground and then jumped into the air like a bird, darting towards us.

“Impale him with spears!” cried Umslopogaas, and we naturally obeyed the boy’s command. Joining together, we aimed our spears so that the lion leaped straight at the tips, which sank deep into its body. But the momentum of the attack knocked us to the ground, and the beast fell directly upon us, striking us and the spears with its powerful paws, and howling with pain and rage. At the same time it rose on its hind legs and tried to bite the spears that were embedded in its chest with its teeth. Then Umslopogaas, who had stepped to the side without expecting the attack, roared at the top of his lungs, and struck the lion between the shoulder blades with his spear, so that the animal collapsed, groaning pitifully, dead on the ground.

The female had been standing outside the enclosure at that time with the other dead cub in her mouth, for she would not give up either of them, but when she heard her mate’s last death groan, she let go of the cub and leaped forward. Umslopogaas was alone to receive it, for he alone had had time to remove his spear from the body of the dead lion, and the female leaped towards the cub, who stood still as a rock. The spear penetrated the animal’s chest, but the stunning blow knocked Umslopogaas to the ground, so that he lay either dead or unconscious under the huge carcass of the lioness. The animal jumped up with the broken spear in its chest, sniffed Umslopogaas, and then seized him by the hips in its mouth, as if it knew that the boy was a robber of cubs, and rushed over the enclosure.

“Oh, save her!” cried Nada in anguish, and we hurried, shouting, after the lioness.

For a moment it stood by its dead cubs with Umslopogaas hanging in its mouth, and looked at them as if in wonder, and we were already hoping that it would let the boy go, but at our cries it turned and sprang into the thicket with Umslopogaas in its mouth. We seized our spears and hastened after them, but the ground soon became rocky, and no matter how carefully we searched, we could find no trace of Umslopogaas or the lion. Both had vanished like vapor into the air. We returned to camp and, ah, my heart was broken, for I loved the boy as if he had been my own son. But I knew that he was dead—there was no hope.

“Where is my brother?” Nada shouted when we returned.

“Gone,” I replied. “He will never be found again.”

Then the girl burst into bitter tears and threw herself on the ground, saying:
“I wish I could have died with my brother!”

“Let us go,” said my wife Macropha. “Have you no tears for your son?” asked one of the warriors.

“What good is it to weep for the dead? As if it could bring them back to life,” replied my wife. “Let’s get out of here!”

The warrior thought the words were strange, but he did not know that
Umslopogaas was not born of Macropha.

We stayed there another day, hoping that the lion might return to his den, and then we might at least kill him. But there was no sign of him, and the next morning we packed up our things and set off with heavy hearts on our journey. Nada was so overcome with grief that she could hardly walk, but during the whole journey I never heard her mention Umslopogaas’s name. Nada had buried him in her heart and said nothing. I was also silent, but I wondered to myself why it had happened that the child I had saved from the claws of the Zulu Lion should have fallen into the jaws of a lioness who was prowling in the mountains.

At length we reached the end of the journey, where the king’s business was to be transacted, and where I was to part from my wife. The morning after our arrival we parted, having exchanged farewell kisses in secret, but in the presence of others, bowing gloomily to each other, like persons who part without intending ever to meet again. In our thoughts we were certain that we should never see each other’s faces again, and so it was. I took Nada aside and said to her thus:

“We must part now, my daughter, and I know not when we shall meet again, for times are troubled, and it is only for your safety and that of your mother that I forego the joy of looking upon your face. Nada, you will soon grow to be a woman, and more beautiful than any among our people, and it is very possible that many great men will wish to marry you, and I, your father, may not be present to choose a husband for you according to the custom of our country. But I ask and demand that you take only the man you love, if at all possible, and that you be faithful to him, for only thus can a woman find her happiness.”

I was silent, for the girl took my hand and looked into my eyes. “Hush, father,” said she, “do not speak of marriage, for I care for no man now that Umslopogaas is dead through my folly. I live and die alone, and, oh, if I could die very soon, that I might seek the only one I love.”

“No, Nada,” I said, “Umslopogaas was your brother, and it is not proper for you to speak of him like that, even though he is dead.”

“It means nothing, my father,” said she. “I speak what I feel in my heart. I loved him when he was alive, and though he is dead now, I love only him. Ah, you still consider me a child, but my heart is big, and it will not deceive me.”

I did not rebuke the girl any more, for I knew that Umslopogaas was not her brother, but a stranger whom she might have married. I only wondered that the voice of nature should speak to her in such clear language, expressing a relationship which seemed most unnatural, yet quite natural and justified.

“Speak no more of Umslopogaas,” I said, “for he is surely dead, and though you cannot forget him, yet speak no more of him. And I beg you, my daughter, in case we meet again, to remember me and my love for you and the advice and teachings I have given you. The world is a thorny wilderness, my daughter, whose thorns are dipped in blood, and where we wander in our ignorance like travelers lost in the mist, and no one, I better than anyone else, knows why we have been sent here to wander. But at last our journey ends and we die and leave here, no one knows where, but probably to where evil turns to good and where we shall meet again those who were dearest to us while we were on earth, to live many times happier in the bliss of heaven, for I believe that man is not born for eternal death, but returns to Umkulunkulu who sent him to this earthly world.” “So live in hope, my daughter, for at least there is rest left, and it is sweet to sleep when one is tired. Goodbye, my child.”

We kissed, and my wife Macropha and my daughter Nada set off towards Swaziland, and I watched them until they disappeared from my sight into the morning mist. I was very sad, for Umslopogaas was gone, and now I had to give them up too.

X.

THE MOPED TEST.

I stayed four days with the tribe, and conducted the king’s business. On the fifth day I and my companions prepared for the journey and turned our faces towards home, but after going a little way we met a group of warriors who ordered us to stop.

“What is the matter, king’s men?” I asked boldly.

“That, son of Makedama,” replied their leader, “that you must hand over to us your wife Macropha and your children Umslopogaas and Nada, so that we may deal with them according to the king’s command.”

“Umslopogaas,” I replied, “has gone where the king’s hand cannot reach, for he is dead, and as for my wife Macropha and my daughter Nada, they are now in the caves of the Swazis, from which the king may send a whole army to search for them in order to find them. Macrophas is of no concern, for I hate him and have abandoned him, and I care not for the girl either, for there are many girls in the world, and it is all the same whether she lives or must die, but I pray the king to spare her life.”

I looked at the phone carefree, knowing full well that my wife and children were safe from Chaka.

“You do well to pray for your daughter,” said the warrior, laughing, “for all your children have been killed by the king’s order.”

“Is that so?” I answered calmly, though my knees trembled and my tongue clung to my palate. “The king’s will be done. But the branch that is cut off will sprout new buds, and I may still have children.”

“Exactly, Mopo, but first you must get new wives, because all five of your wives are also dead.”

“Really?” I replied. “The king’s will be done.
I was already tired of those chatterboxes.”

“Exactly, Mopo,” said the warrior, “but to have new wives and children, you yourself must also live, for children cannot be born to the dead, and I think Chaka has an assegai in reserve, which you must kiss.”

“Yes?” I answered. “May the king’s will be done. The heat of the sun is scorching and the journey tires me. He who kisses the assegai sleeps soundly.”

So I said, my father, and at that moment I truly wished I could die. The world was desolate and empty to me. Macropha and Nada were gone, Umslopogaas was dead, and my other wives and children had been murdered. I had no strength left to begin building a new home, none of my loved ones were left, and after all, I too had to die.

The warriors asked my companions if my story of the death of Umslopogaas and the going of Macropha and Nada to the Swazi country was true. The men said, “Yes, it is true.” Then the warriors said they would take me to the king, which surprised me greatly, for I had thought they would kill me at once. We set out, and little by little I heard what had happened at home.

The day after my departure, Chaka had heard from his spies that my other wife—Anadi—was sick and talking strange things in her feverish fits. He then took three warriors with him and went into the hut at sunset. He left the warriors outside the door, telling them that no one was to be allowed in or out, and he himself entered my large hut, where Anadi lay sick, holding in his hand that little assegai, the handle of which was of royal mahogany. Unandi, Chaka’s mother, and my sister Baleka, Chaka’s wife, happened to be in the hut, for, not knowing that I had taken away Umslopogaas, Baleka’s son, those charming women had again come to caress and kiss the boy. But when they came to the hut, they found all my other wives and children there. These were ordered to leave, except Moosa, the son of Anadi, who lay sick—the same boy who had been born eight days before Umslopogaas, Chaka’s son. Moosa was allowed to stay in the hut and they kissed him and gave him imphi, a type of sugarcane, to eat, fearing the other women, my wives, it seemed very strange that they did not care about my other children while Umslopogaas was away.

As they sat there, the doorway suddenly darkened, and behold, the king himself entered and saw them caressing the Moosa child. When they saw who it was, the women threw themselves on the ground before him and greeted him. But he smiled cruelly and ordered them to sit down. Then he addressed them, saying: “You must be wondering, my mother Unandi and my wife Baleka, why I have come here to the hut of Mopo, the son of Makedama. Let me tell you: I have come because he is on my business, and I heard that his wife Anadi is sick? Is it she who lies there? And since I am the first physician in the land, I will come to cure her, my mother Unandi and my sister Baleka.”

Thus he said, looking at them as he spoke, and taking a sniff at the tip of his little spear, and though his words were gentle, both women trembled with fear, for when Chaka spoke thus it meant the death of many. But Unandi, the mother of heaven, answered, saying that the king had done well to come to the sick, because his medicine gave rest and peace to the sick.

“Exactly,” replied Chaka. “By the way, it is very pleasant, my mother and sister, to see you kiss that child. Surely you could not love him more, even if he were your own blood?”

The women trembled again and prayed in their hearts that Anadi, who was sick, would not wake up and speak nonsense in her debauchery. But the prayer was answered from below and not from above, for Anadi woke up and, upon hearing the king’s voice, her sick thoughts turned to the boy whom she believed to be the king’s child.

“Ah!” said he, sitting up, and pointing to his own son Moosa, who was cowering in terror against the wall of the hut. “Kiss him, Mother of Heaven, kiss him! What is he called, that young lion cub who brings us misfortune? The son of Mopo and Macropha!” And he laughed wildly, fell silent, and sank back onto his leathern bed.

“The son of Mopo and Macropha,” repeated the king in a low voice. “Whose son is he then, wife?”

“Oh, do not ask him, king!” cried Unandi and Baleka, throwing themselves on the ground, for they were mad with fear. “Do not ask him; he has strange dreams that are not for your ears. He is bewitched and an houri.”

“Hush!” said Chaka. “I want to hear what that woman is saying. Perhaps some star of truth will shine through the darkness for her and I will see the light. Who is she then, wife?”

“Who is he?” answered Anadi. “Are you mad to ask who he is? He is—sh!—put your ear close that I may speak quietly, for even the walls of the hut may whisper a secret to the king. He is—hear my words—he is the son of Chaka and Baleka, sister of Mopo, a changeling, whom Unandi, the mother of heaven, brought here by deceit, and whom she intends to bring before the people, when the land is weary of the king’s cruelty, and to place him on the throne of the king.”

“He lies, O king!” cried both women. “Do not listen to him, he lies. The boy is Moses, his own son, whom he does not recognize now in his feverish rages.”

But Chaka rose and laughed cruelly. “Nobela foretold as she foretold rightly,” he cried, “and I did wrong in killing her. Or did you play such a trick on me, my mother! You wanted to give me a son against my will, a son who was once to kill me. Very well, Mother of Heaven, submit to the judgment of Heaven! You wanted to give me a son to kill me and to rule; now I, your son, want in my turn to rob myself of my mother. Die, Unandi!—die by the blow of the hand that gave birth to you!” And Chaka plunged his little spear straight into his mother’s heart.

Unandi, the Mother of Heaven, the wife of Senzangacona, stood for a moment without uttering a single cry. Then she raised her hand and drew the spear from her side.

“You too are to die, Chaka, you brute!” he cried, and fell dead on the floor of the hut.

Thus did Chaka murder Unandi, his own mother. When Baleka saw what had happened, he fled from the hut to the emposeni , and ran so fast that the guards standing at the door had no time to stop him. But when he reached his own hut his strength failed him and he fell unconscious to the ground. Moosa my son remained paralyzed with terror, and Chaka, thinking him to be his own son, murdered him with his own hand.

Then he went out, and leaving the three warriors at the gate to guard, he ordered the warriors of the company to surround the hut and set it on fire. This they did, and when my relatives rushed out, they were killed, and those who did not come out were killed in the flames. Thus were destroyed all my wives, children, servants, and all who were with them. The hive was burned with the bees, and I alone was left alive—I and Macropha and Nada, who were far away.

Chaka’s bloodlust was still not satisfied, for, as has been related, he sent messengers on a journey, ordering them to kill my wife Macropha, and my daughter Nada, and the youth who was said to be my son. But he had commanded that I should be brought before him alive.

When the warriors did not kill me immediately, I considered the situation from every angle, for I was certain that I was being left alive only to die a little later and in a more cruel way. Therefore I concluded that I might as well do to myself what another was going to do to me. Why should I, who had already received my sentence, wait for the execution of the sentence? What was left to me that could bind me to this life; all those I loved were dead or gone. It was easy to die, for I knew the ways of death. I had a mysterious medicine in my belt; he who tastes it, my father, will no longer see the shadow of the sun move or the twinkling of the stars. I did not want to feel the point of the spear or the blow of the club, nor did I want to die slowly, torn to pieces by the knives of the torturers. The agony of thirst terrified me, and to wander blindly to the grave seemed the cruelest of fates. Every day, for hour after hour, I have had to look death in the eye, and that is why this medicine has been with me day and night. Now the time had surely come.

Thus I thought as I lay awake at night, and taking out my bitter medicine, I put it on my tongue. But at the same time I remembered my daughter Nada, who was still with me, though she lived in a distant land, and my wife Macropha, and my sister Baleka, who, according to the warriors’ story, was still alive, though I could not then understand why the king had not killed her also.

Another thing occurred to me. If I could live, I could take revenge on him who had caused me all this pain; but can the dead strike? Unfortunately, the dead are powerless, and if they can still suffer, they cannot strike back. No, I wanted to live. Then it was time to die, when it could no longer be avoided, when Chaka had pronounced my sentence. Death knows its hour and does not answer questions; it is a stranger to whom no one needs to open the door, for it can creep over the threshold invisible, like air, whenever it pleases. I did not want to taste my medicine yet.

So I followed the warriors to Chaka, my father. It was already evening when we arrived, for the sun had already set when we entered the gate, but the captain of the guard who was escorting me, as he had been ordered, went to Chaka to tell him that I was outside in chains. The king said, “Let him who was my personal physician be brought before me, that I may tell him how I have treated his relatives.”

The guards grabbed me and took me to the king’s apartment and pushed me through the door of the large hut.

A fire was burning in the hut, for the evening was cold, and Chaka sat on the other side of the fire, facing the door. The smoke billowed around him, and the glow of the fire glittered on his face and flashed in his terrible eyes.

At the door some of the councillors seized my arms and dragged me towards the fire, but I wrenched myself free and threw myself on the ground, greeting the king by his royal names. The councillors were about to rush at me again, but Chaka said: “Let him alone; I want to speak to my servant.” Then the men bowed low to the ground, and I sat down on the floor of the hut opposite the king, and we talked by the fire.

“Tell me about the cattle I sent you to count, Mopo Makedama’s son,” said Chaka. “Have my servants treated my cattle honestly?”

“They are, O king,” I replied.

“Tell me the number and signs of the animals, Mopo, and don’t forget a single one.”

I listed to him one by one the bulls, the cows, and the heifers, without forgetting any, and he listened silently as if asleep. But I knew that he was not asleep, for his fiery eyes flashed now and then in the glow of the fire. I also knew that he only wanted to torture me, or that he really wanted to hear about the cattle before I was killed. My account at last ended.

“Very well,” he said. “It seems there are still honest people in the world. Do you know, Mopo, that great and bitter sorrow has befallen you in your absence?”

“I have heard of it, O king!” I replied carelessly, as if it were a matter of no importance at all.

“Yes, Mopo, the curse of heaven has befallen your room. I have been told that a long-lasting fire burned down all your huts at once.”

“I have heard of it, O king.”

“I have been told that those inside lost their minds at the sight of the fire and killed themselves with spears or threw themselves into the flames.”

“I have heard of it, O king! But what of that! All rivers are deep enough to drown a fool!”

“You have heard of these events, Mopo, but you have not heard everything yet. Do you know, Mopo, that among those who died in your house was also she who had given birth to me, the Mother of Heaven?”

Then I acted skillfully, guided by my father, my good guardian spirit. I threw myself on the ground and wailed loudly as if in great grief.

“Spare my ears, O black!” I wailed. “Do not tell me that she who bore you is dead, O lion of the Zulus. The memories did not matter. The sorrow caused by their deaths is like a breath of wind, like a drop of water; but this is like a storm-storm, like the sea.”

“Stop, stop, my servant!” said Chaka mockingly. “You did well to lament your sorrow when the Mother of Heaven is no more, and you would have done wrong if you had mourned because the fire of heaven kissed your gates. If you had done the latter and not done the former, I would have known that your heart was full of evil, and now you would have been able to weep indeed—tears of blood, Mopo. Good for you for explaining the riddle correctly.”

Now I saw the depth of the abyss that Chaka had prepared for me and I blessed my guardian spirit, Ehloséta , who had dictated my answer to me. I was already hoping that Chaka would let me go, but my hope was in vain, this was only the beginning of my ordeal.

“Do you know, Mopo,” said the king, “that as she died in the flames of your home, my mother cried out strange and terrible words, which reached my ears despite the roar of the fire? She said that you, Mopo, your sister Baleka, and your wife had conspired together to give a child to me, who wanted to be childless. These were her words, I heard them from the midst of the flames. Now tell me, Mopo, where are the children you took with you on your journey, the lion-eyed boy named Umslopogaas, and the girl named Nada?”

“Umslopogaas is dead, a lion killed him, O king!” I answered, “and Nada is in the caves of the Swazis.” And I told him of the death of Umslopogaas, and how I had abandoned my wife Macropha.

“The lion-eyed boy in the lion’s mouth!” said Chaka. “Enough of him; he is gone. Nada can be searched with spears in the caves of the Swazis, so that is enough of him. Let us now talk of that death song of my mother, Mopo, the song she sang in the roar of the flames. Tell me, Mopo, tell me now, is there any truth to it?”

“No, O King! The heavens must have driven the Mother of Heaven mad when she sang that song,” I replied. “I know nothing of it, O King.”

“You know nothing about it, Mopo?” repeated the king, and he gave me another terrible look from behind the curls of smoke. “You know nothing about it, Mopo? You must be cold; your hands are trembling with cold. No, don’t be afraid—warm them, warm them, Mopo. Put your hands in the hottest flame of the fire!” And with his little spear, the handle of which was of royal redwood, he pointed to the spot where the fire glowed reddest—pointed and laughed.

Then, my father, I was utterly astonished and went quite cold—yes, quite cold; I who was soon to warm up, for I understood Chaka’s purpose. He intended to put me to the test.

I sat for a moment in silence, thinking. Then the king spoke again audibly: “No, Mopo, do not be so shy and modest; must I enjoy the warmth and see you shiver from the cold? Here, my counselor, rise and take Mopo’s hand and push it into the flame, so that his heart may rejoice in the sweetness of the warmth of the flame. In the meantime, we will talk about that child, who, according to my mother’s words, was born to my wife Baleka, Mopo’s sister, my servant.”

“No need, O king,” said I, emboldened by fear, for I saw that if I did not do something, death would very suddenly put an end to my hesitation. The poison hidden in my belt also once came to my mind, and I already thought of swallowing it and thus ending my suffering, but the desire for life is great and the desire for revenge is strong, so that I said in my heart: “Not yet, I will endure this too; I will die later, if necessary.”

“I thank the king for his mercy and warm myself with pleasure. Speak, king, while I warm myself, and you will hear the truth,” I said proudly.

I reached out my left hand, my father, and thrust it into the fire—not to the hottest part, however, but to the top of the flame, where curls of smoke were beginning to appear. My skin was wet with sweat squeezed from fear, and the fire did me no harm at first, but I knew pain was coming.

Chaka looked at me for a moment, smiling. Then he said slowly and hesitantly, so that the fire would have time to do its job:

“Tell me, Mopo, do you really know nothing about the birth of your sister Baleka’s son?”

“I know only this, O king,” I replied. “Years ago your wife Baleka bore a son, whom I killed at your command, and whose body I brought for you to see.”

Now, my father, the heat had dried up the moisture of my skin, so that the fire began to scorch my hand, causing me great pain. But no sign of it could be seen on my face, for I knew well that if I trembled or cried out, I would be lost in the ordeal and would be subject to death.

The king said again: “Do you swear on my head, Mopo, that my son was not hidden with you?”

“I swear, O king; I swear it by your name,” I replied.

Now my pains were so terrible that they cannot be described. I felt my eyes bulge from their sockets, my blood boiled and rushed to my head, and a few tears of blood rolled down my cheeks. But I held my hand in the fire, showing no sign of my suffering, while the king and his companions looked at me curiously. Chaka was silent for a moment, and that moment seemed to me longer than my whole life.

“Ah!” he said at last, “it seems to me that you are already beginning to warm up, Mopo! Take your hand from the fire. You have stood the test and I have received my answer. Your heart is pure, for if there had been any deceit there, the fire would have forced it out and you would have cried out pitifully, Mopo, what a cry it would have been your last!”

I pulled my hand from the fire and my pain stopped for a moment.

“Very well, O king!” I said calmly. “Fire has no power to harm those whose hearts are pure.”

As I spoke I looked at my hand. It was quite black, my father,—black as a tree that has been burned to a cinder, and the nails had all disappeared from the curled fingers. Look at it now, my father, my eyes are blind, but you see. Now it is white, like yours—white, dead and withered. There is a memory in it of the fire in Chaka’s hut, the fire that kissed me many, many years ago; since that night of pain I have had very little use for this hand of mine. But my right hand was still left, my father, and, ah! I used it.

“It seems that that Nobela witch, who is dead, lied when she predicted that you would wish evil upon me, Mopo,” said Chaka again. “You and your sister Baleka are by all accounts innocent, so the song that the Mother of Heaven sang in the roar of the flames was not true. Good for you, Mopo, for in this matter my oath would not have helped you. But my mother is dead—dead in the flames with your wife and children, Mopo, the victim of some wicked witchcraft. We will hold a mourning feast, Mopo, you and I, such a mourning feast as has never been seen before in Zululand, for then the whole world must weep. And at that mourning feast a great ‘sweeping’ will be performed, Mopo. We need no magicians, but you and I will do the work, and we ourselves will weep the wretched things that have brought us all this pain. What! Should not the death of my mother, the one who gave birth to me, and should not the death of your wives and children, Mopo, be the death of your—innocent man? Go, Mopo, my faithful servant, whom I have honored with my fire with warmth, go!” And he stared at me once more through the smoke and pointed the tip of his spear towards the door.

XI.

BALEKA’S ADVICE.

I rose, praising the king loudly, and walked slowly out of the gate, but when I got outside the pain of my burnt hand became unbearable. I ran here and there, moaning, until I came to the hut of an acquaintance, where I found some grease, but after anointing my hand I rushed out again, for I could not be together. I wandered about without knowing where I was going, and at last I came to the ruins of my home. The fence that surrounded the huts was still there; the fire had not caught it. I stepped inside: there the huts were in ashes—ashes as thick as my ankles. I walked and looked at the destruction, and my foot hurt on something hard and sharp.

There was a bright moonlight and I looked at what it was: before me were the blackened bones of my wives and children. In the bitter sorrow of my heart I threw myself on the ground and covered myself with the ashes of my home and the bones of my wives and children. Yes, my father, there I lay covered with a tuha, a tuha that also covered those charred bones. Thus I rested for the last time in my home, and the dust of those to whom I had given life protected me from the cold of the night. Such was the case with us in the days of Chaka, my father, not only with me, but with many others.

I lay in the ashes and complained of the pain of torture and the great sorrow of my heart. Why had I not swallowed my poison there in Chaka’s hut and before Chaka’s eyes? Why did I not swallow it now and end my suffering? No, because I had suffered all these pains, I did not intend to grant him that joy. Now that I had endured the ordeal of fire, I would become once more mighty and strong, and I craved power and greatness. Yes, I resolved to endure my sorrow and become great, so that one day I could avenge everything on the king. Ah, my father, as I lay in those ashes I prayed to the spirits of my ancestors, the Amatongias , my guardian spirit Ehlosé , and I dared to pray to Umkulunkulu, the great soul of the world, who moves in the heavens and on the earth invisibly and silently, that I might live to kill Chaka as he had killed my beloved. And while I was praying, I fell asleep, or I became unconscious and was as if dead.

I saw a vision sent in answer to my prayer, or perhaps it was only a mental disorder caused by my excitement. It seemed to me, my father, as if I were standing on the bank of a great and wide river. It was dark, the film of the stream only glittered here and there, but from afar on the other bank there was a reflection like a stormy day, in the light of which I saw a vast sea of ​​reeds, billowing in the waking morning wind, and from which emerged men, women, and children, by the hundreds, by the thousands, who plunged into the waves of the stream and flew away. My father, all those people I saw were black—there was not a single white person like you among them, for this vision concerned only the Zulu people, who alone are from the reeds. Some swim across the stream very quickly, while others struggle in the water longer—but so it is in this life—some die soon and some live a very long time. I saw countless faces in the water, many familiar ones. There was Chaka, and beside him I saw myself; there was also Prince Dingaan, Chaka’s brother, and Umslopogaas’ son and my daughter Nada, and then it dawned on me that Umslopogaas was not dead, but missing.

I turned to look at the shore where I stood, and saw that behind me rose a black wall of rock, immense and steep, with several ivory doors, from which light poured and laughter was heard; there were other doors also, black as coal, and from which darkness gaped and I heard lamentations. Before the doors was a seat, on which sat a wonderfully beautiful feminine being. She was tall and slender, wearing a white mantle, and she alone was white, and her hair was like gold melted in fire, and her face shone like the noonday sun. And I saw that those who came from the river stood still dripping with water before the woman, and I heard them cry out:

“Hail, Inkosazana-y-Zulu! Hail, Queen of Heaven!”

That wonderful woman had a small staff in each hand. The one in her right hand was white, ivory, and the one in her left hand was black, ebony. And when the comers came before the throne to greet her, she beckoned now with the ivory staff in her right hand, now with the ebony staff. With the ivory staff she pointed to those ivory doors, from which light poured and laughter was heard, and with the ebony staff she pointed to those coal doors, from which darkness gaped and lamentations were heard. And according to the signs the greeters entered, some into the light and some into the darkness.

As I stood there, a small group arrived across the river. I looked at them and recognized each one. The arrivals were Unandi, Chaka’s mother, my wife Anadi, my son Moosa, and all my other wives and children and those who had perished with them.

They stopped in front of the woman, the Princess of Heaven, whom Umkulunkulu had entrusted with the task of protecting the Zulu people, and I heard them shout:

“Hail, Inkosazana-y-Zulu , hail!”

Then he, Inkosazana, pointed with his ivory staff at the ivory doors, but they stood still without moving. Then he spoke for the first time in a low voice that was terrible to hear.

“Enter, children of my people, enter into the light and glory.
Why do you delay?”

But they just stood there and Unandi said:

“O Queen of Heaven, we linger to pray for punishment for him who murdered us. I, who on earth was called the Mother of Heaven, pray to you, O Queen of Heaven, for all these companions of mine: punish him who murdered us.”

“What is his name?” was asked in that quiet and eerie voice.

“Chaka, king of the Zulus,” replied Unandi. “Chaka, my son.”

“Many have already claimed that head,” replied the Queen of Heaven, “and more will claim it. Fear not, Unandi, his head shall fall. Fear not, Anandi and you wives and children of Mopo, it shall fall, I say. The spear that pierced your breast, Unandi, shall pierce the breast of Chaka also, and listen, you wives and children of Mopo, the hand that strikes the spear shall be the hand of Mopo. I will lead him and he shall do what I will. He shall be the instrument of my vengeance on earth! Step in, children of my people, into the light and glory, for Chaka’s doom is written.”

Thus I dreamed, my father. This was a vision sent to me for comfort as I lay in pain and despair amidst the bones of my loved ones in the ashes of my home. Thus it was granted to me to see the Inkosaza of heaven as she really is. I saw her twice more, but here on earth and while awake. Yes, thrice it was granted to me to see that face which I shall not see again before I die, for no one can see Inkosaza a fourth time and live. Tell me, my father, am I out of my mind, and are these visions only the mad ravings of my darkened mind? I do not know, but it is true that I thought I saw them.

I woke up as the sky began to lighten before the rising day; the sting of my burnt hand roused me from my sleep or from my trances. I shook off my clothes and went to the river to wash. When I returned, I sat down at the gate of the king’s wives’ dwelling, the emposeni , to wait until they came to fetch water as was their custom. At last they came and, covering my face, I waited for Baleka. I soon saw him, he looked sad and walked slowly with a water jar in his hand. I whispered his name and he slipped away behind an aloe bush, telling the others that a sharp thorn had pierced his leg, and lingered until the others had gone. Then he came to me and we greeted each other, looking into each other’s eyes with sorrow.

“It was an unfortunate day when I listened to you, Baleka,” I said, “you and the Mother of Heaven, and saved your child. Look now to what misery it has brought us! All my relatives are dead—the Mother of Heaven is dead—and I myself have had to endure the most cruel torture of fire.” And I showed him my burnt hand.

“Yes, my brother Mopo,” he replied, “but one’s own flesh is nearest to one’s, and I would not care much about this if my son Umslopogaas had not also died, as I just heard.”

“You speak like a woman, at least, Baleka,” I said. “Then you don’t care one bit that I—your brother—have lost everything I loved?”

“For you, my brother, may new grain sprout, but I have no hope, for the king no longer looks at me. I mourn for you, but I had only this one, and my own flesh is the closest to anyone. Do you think I will be saved? No, my brother. I was spared for a while, but then I will go where others have gone. Chaka has already marked me, for a while I may live, but then I must die. He only plays with me like a leopard with a wounded deer. But I do not care about that, I only mourn for the boy, for there was no other like him. Oh, if only I could die soon and find him!”

“Even if the boy isn’t dead, Baleka, what then?”

“What do you mean?” he replied, turning to me and staring at me fiercely. “Oh, say it again—again, Mopo! I would die a hundred deaths with joy to know that Umslopogaas lives.”

“No, Baleka, I don’t know anything, but last night I had a dream,” and I told him my vision in full, as well as what had happened before.

He listened to my words as carefully as if they were a king’s verdict of life or death.

“I think your dream means something, Mopo!” he said at last. “You have always been more special than others, to whom distances mean nothing. Now I know that Umslopogaas lives, and now I can die happily. Yes, don’t argue; I must die, I know that. I read my sentence in the king’s eyes. But what of that! It means nothing, as long as Prince Umslopogaas is still alive.”

“Your love is great, wife,” I said, “and it is this love of yours that has brought us many sorrows. And in the end it may come to pass that nothing will be gained by it, for a merciless fate pursues us. Now tell me, what shall I do? Shall I flee, or shall I remain here, leaving everything to chance and chance?”

“You must stay here, Mopo. Look now! I know the king’s thoughts. He is afraid after murdering his mother; he fears that the whole nation will rise up to avenge the mother-killer. That is why he tells everyone that he did not kill his mother Unandi, but that she was destroyed in the fire that destroyed your home through the influence of magic powers, and although everyone knows that he is lying, no one dares to argue with him. Here the search for the criminals will be carried out, a ‘hunting’, as he told you, but a different ‘hunting’ than before, for you and he will carry out the task of the magicians, and then he will kill everyone he fears, everyone he knows hates him for his wickedness and because he murdered his own mother. That is why he has now spared your life, Mopo, and will make you a great man again, for if his mother Unandi really died a victim of witchcraft, as he says, then did you not suffer the same great injustice, and have not your wife and children also fallen victims to the same witchcraft? Therefore, do not flee! Wait for your time and become mighty—mighty for the great hour of vengeance, Mopo my brother. You have much to moisten already, but your measure will soon be even fuller, for soon it will be my turn to die, when my blood too cries out to avenge you. Listen, Mopo. Are there not other princes in this land? What are the king’s brothers, Dingaan, Umhlangana, and Umpanda, doing? Do they not want to be on the throne, to be kings? Do they not rise from their beds every morning feeling their limbs to see if they are still alive, and do they not go to bed every evening not knowing whether they will kiss their wives or the tip of the king’s red spear in the morning? Approach them, my brother; creep into their hearts, tease them out of their thoughts, and tell them yours, and I am sure that at last it will be Chaka’s turn to enter the gate, “Where your wives have gone too, and where I must soon go too.”

Thus spoke Baleka, and departed, leaving me to my thoughts, for his words were full of wisdom. I knew very well that the king’s brothers were in perpetual fear, for the king’s shadow weighed heavily upon them. There was little hope for Panda. He loved comfort, and had shown himself to be without energy and resourcefulness. But Dingaan and Umhlangana were of another country, and perhaps they could be fashioned into a club that would smash Chaka’s skull into fragments, to be food for the birds. But Chaka’s cup was not yet full, so the right moment must be waited for.

Having pondered the matter sufficiently, I arose and went to my friend to tend to my burned hand, which was giving me great pain, and was in the process of applying bandages when a messenger arrived to summon me to the king.

I immediately left and greeted the king, throwing myself on the ground, but he took my hand and lifted me up, saying gently:

“Arise, Mopo, my servant! You have suffered much because of the witchcraft practiced by your enemies. You have lost your wife and children. And I have lost my mother. Weep, my counselors, let your tears flow in a stream, for I have lost my mother and Mopo, my servant, his wife and children because of the witchcraft practiced against us by our enemies!”

And all the advisors then began to cry aloud as Chaka stared at them darkly.

“Listen, Mopo!” said the king, when the weeping had ceased. “No one can give me my mother back, but I can give you new wives, and you can still have children. Choose for yourself six of the women reserved for the king, you will get a hundred of the best heads of my cattle, and my servants will build you a new home, many times larger and more beautiful than before. I will give these to you with a warm hand, and you will receive even more compensation! On the first day of the new month I will call all my people together for a great council, a bandhla , to which your own tribe, the Langeni tribe, will also be present, and then we will both hold a mourning feast, remembering our great sorrows, and then we will find out who has caused all this sorrow. Go now, Mopo, go! And go too, my advisors, and leave me alone to weep for the death of my mother!”

Thus were the words of Baleka, my father, fulfilled, and thus I became, with Chaka’s help, a greater man than I had been before. I chose for myself cattle, the best of their kind; I took wives who were without equal in beauty, but I cared for them not, and no more children were born to me. My heart was like a withered shoot. Chaka’s fire had sucked the strength from my body, and the grief for the loss of my loved ones had dulled my will to live.

XII.

THE STORY OF THE WOLF-GALAZ.

Now, my father, I will go back a little in my story, which is long and winding like a winding river, and tell you what happened to Umslopogaas after he fell into the lion’s clutches. He told me all when we finally met after so many years.

The lion bounded away with Umslopogaas in his teeth. Once he tried to pull himself free, but the beast only tightened its grip, so he threw himself down completely helpless and looked back at Nada’s face as she rushed out of the enclosure, crying, “Save her!” He saw the girl’s face and heard the words, but then the world around him went dark and he felt as if he were falling into a deep sleep.

Feeling pain in his thigh, where the lion had bitten him, Umslopogaas soon woke up again and heard someone growling. He looked up and saw the lion close by, which had released him from its fangs. The beast hissed in rage and stared at a tall and burly youth standing before him, with a cruel face and a black and gray spotted wolf’s fur, which was fastened to his shoulders so that the upper jaw with its teeth was on the top of his head. He stood before the lion with a large war shield in one hand and a heavy iron mace in the other, growling menacingly.

The beast lunged forward, growling furiously, but the youth did not expect the attack. He lunged forward and struck the beast on the head with his club. The blow was hard and hit the spot, but it was not fatal, for the lion reared up on its hind legs and struck furiously at him. He held out his shield for protection, but the powerful blow knocked the shield back with such speed that the youth fell on his back under the shield and lay there howling like a wolf writhing in pain. The lion was on him at once, and the situation became most threatening. The youth still had his shield as protection, so the lion could not immediately tear him to pieces, but Umslopogaas saw that he could not wait long before the shield gave way and the stranger was killed.

The lion’s chest still had the blade of Umslopogaas’ broken spear, and seeing this Umslopogaas decided to drive the spear into the heart or die. He rose quickly, for distress had restored his strength, and rushed to the place where the lion was harassing the stranger struggling under the protection of his shield. The beast did not notice him as he threw himself on his knees and, seizing the broken spear, thrust it deep into the beast’s body and twisted the blade around. Now it saw its new opponent and turned towards him, wounding him in the chest and arms with its sharp claws.

Umslopogaas rolled onto his side, but at the same time he heard a tremendous howl, and behold, gray and black wolves rushed upon the lion, tearing and tearing it until it fell and was torn to pieces. Umslopogaas lost consciousness again, everything went dark before his eyes, and he lay as if dead.

At last he came to himself again, and with it his memory. He remembered the fight, and looked up to see the lion. It was not to be seen, but instead he found himself lying on a bed of reeds in a cave, where there was an abundance of the skins of all kinds of animals. A pot filled with water was beside him. Stretching out his hand, he took the pot and drank, and then he noticed that his arm was thin as if emaciated by disease, and his chest was full of scars that had barely healed.

As he lay there wondering, the mouth of the cave darkened, and the same youth who had fought with the lion and fallen under it entered, carrying the killed deer on his shoulders. He dropped the creature to the ground and stepped up to Umslopogaas.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, “your eyes are open—are you alive, stranger?”

“I am alive,” replied Umslopogaas, “and I am very hungry.”

“It is about time,” said the other. “Twelve days ago I dragged you here through the woods with great difficulty, and all the time you have been lying unconscious, drinking only water. The lion had mauled you so badly that I could not believe you would survive. Twice I was about to kill you to end your suffering and spare you the trouble, but I held my hand because of a message I received from a deceased person. Now eat, that your strength may return. Then we will talk.”

Umslopogaas ate and began to get better day by day, and when he had grown stronger, one evening they sat by the fire in their cave, talking.

“What is your name?” asked Umslopogaas.

“I am called Wolf-Galazi,” replied the other. “I am a Zulu and of the same blood as King Chaka, for the father of Senzangacona was the father of my grandfather.”

“And where are you from, Galazi?”

“From the Swazi country—the Halakazi tribe, of which I should really be the chief. Well, this is the case: my grandfather Siguyana was the younger brother of Senzangacona, Chaka’s father. But he quarreled with Senzangacona and became a vagabond. With some Umtetwa men he then came to the Swazi country and lived with the Halakazi tribe in their large caves, and finally it happened that he killed the chief of the tribe and usurped his place. After his death my father ruled, but there was a large party in the country who hated him because he was a Zulu, and wanted a man of their own tribe to take the place of chief. But they could do nothing, for my father ruled the country with an iron fist. I was the only son of my father and his first wife and was born chief after him, which is why my father’s enemies—there were many of them and they were great men—hated me too. Such was the situation last winter a year ago, when my father decided to kill twenty nobles whom he knew had conspired against him. But they learned what was coming, and induced one of my father’s wives, who was a relative of theirs, to poison him. She fed him poison at night, and in the morning word was brought to me that my father was sick and wanted to see me. I went to his hut, where I found him writhing in pain.

“‘What is the matter with you, my father?’ I asked. ‘Who has done this wicked deed?’

“‘I have taken poison, my son,’ he gasped, ‘and he who gave it to me stands behind you.’ And he pointed to the woman who stood in the doorway with her head bowed and trembling as she saw the consequences of her misdeed.

“The girl was young and beautiful and we had been friends, but I can say that I did not hesitate for a moment, for my blood boiled. I did not hesitate, but rushed at her with my spear raised and killed her despite all prayers.

“‘Well done, Galazi,’ said my father. ‘But beware of yourself while I am gone, for these Swazi dogs want to drive you out and take your place! If you are driven out and yet survive, swear to me that you will not rest until you have avenged my death.’

“‘I swear it, my father,’ I replied. ‘I swear that I will not spare a single man of the Halakazi tribe, except my own relatives; I will take the women into slavery and the children into captivity!’

“‘Great words from the mouth of a young man,’ said my father, ‘but you will do all that, Galazi. Now at the hour of my death I see clearly that you, child of Siguyana, will wander homeless for the few remaining years of your life and, having come to some other country, will die like a man; not in this way, for which I can thank that woman.’ Having said this, he raised his head, looked at me, and breathed his last, groaning painfully.

“I stepped out of the hut, dragging the girl’s body behind me. Several nobles were gathered in front of the hut, waiting for the end, and I noticed their dark eyes.

“‘The chief, my father, is dead!’ I cried in a high voice, ‘and I, Galazi, who am now the chief, have slain his murderer!’ And I would roll the girl’s body on its back before them, so that they could see her face.

“The girl’s father happened to be with the men, the one who had lured his daughter into that villainous deed, and the sight drove him completely mad with rage.

“‘What, brothers?’ he cried. ‘Shall we suffer that young Zulu dog, the murderer of my daughter, to become our chief? Never! The old lion is dead and now it is the cub’s turn!’ And he rushed at me with spear raised.

“‘Never!’ the others repeated, also attacking me, brandishing their spears.

“I waited and did not rush, for from my father’s last words I knew that my hour of death had not yet come. I waited until the man was very near; he struck, I leaped aside and pierced him with my spear, and there he fell dead upon the body of his daughter. Then I roared and rushed through the line of assailants, and none touched me or could reach me; there is no man who can catch me when my feet are on the ground and I am free to run.”

“I will try,” said Umslopogaas, smiling, for he was the swiftest of all the Zulu youths.

“First learn to walk again and then run,” replied Galazi.

“Continue your story,” interrupted Umslopogaas; “it is very exciting.”

“Yes, it is not yet over, stranger. I fled from the territory of the Halakazi tribe and did not stay a moment in the Swazi country, but hastened quickly to the Zulus. My intention was to go directly to Chaka, tell him the injustices I had suffered and ask him to send an army to destroy the Halakazi tribe. But as I was wandering, I came one evening, looking for food and shelter, to an old man who knew Chaka and had also known Siguyana, my grandfather, and after staying with him for a couple of days I told him my story. The old man advised me to abandon my plan, saying that King Chaka could not tolerate offspring of his own royal lineage, but would certainly kill me, and that good old man asked me to stay and live with him. The advice was good and I did not think of going to the king to ask for justice anymore, because he who asks the king for justice, connects his death with his own. The old man I did not intend to stay there either, for his sons looked at me with narrow eyes, and besides, I wanted to be the chief myself, even if I had to live all alone for that. In the evening I set out on a journey without knowing at all where I was going.

“On the third evening I arrived at a small village, which is on the other side of the river at the foot of the mountain. At the gate sat a very old woman in the evening sun. When she saw me, she said to me: ‘Young man, you are tall and strong and swift on your feet. Do you want to own a famous weapon, a club that no one can resist?’

“I said I wanted to own a club like that and asked what I had to do to get it.”

“‘This,’ said the wife, ‘tomorrow morning at daybreak you must go to that mountain,’ and she pointed to the mountain where you are now, stranger, ‘on the top of which that stony sorceress sits, awaiting the end of the world. After you have gone two-thirds of the way you will come to a path which is very difficult to climb, but you must press on, and after a while you will come to a gloomy forest where it is very dark. You must not stop there, but you must push through the forest until you come to a clearing, on the other side of which rises a steep mountain wall. There is a cave in the wall, and in the cave you will find the bones of a man. Bring the bones here and I will give you a club.’

“While he was still speaking, some villagers arrived at the gate and stopped to listen.

“‘Don’t pay any attention to his words, young man,’ they said, ‘unless you are tired of life. Don’t pay any attention to him, he is a madman. No one can climb the mountain, for it is a haunt of ghosts. Look at that stone sorceress who sits on top of it! And that forest is a haunt of evil spirits and no one has gone there for years. This woman’s son was a great fool; he went out into the forest for a walk, saying he was not afraid of ghosts, and the ghostly people, the amatongo , killed him. It has been many years since then and no one has dared to go and look for his bones. His mother always sits here, asking every passerby if anyone would take on the task, offering her great club as a reward, but no one has dared!’

“‘They lie!’ said the old woman. ‘There are no ghosts or apparitions there. The ghosts dwell only in their cowardly hearts; there are only wolves on the mountain. I know that my son’s bones are in the cave, for I have seen them in my spirit, but unfortunately my old limbs are too weak to climb the mountain path. They are all cowards, and there has not been a manly man here since the Zulus killed my husband and beat him to death!’

“I listened without saying anything, but when everyone had said what they had to say, I asked to see the club, which would be given as a reward to anyone who dared to go and defy the ghosts, the amatongs , of the Ghost Mountain forest. The wife immediately got up and crawled, leaning on her hands, to a nearby hut, from which she immediately returned, dragging a large club behind her.

“Look at it, stranger, look and wonder!? Has anything like it ever been seen?” And Galazi held the weapon before Umslopogaas’ eyes.

The blacksmith was indeed a mallet, my father, for I, Mopo, saw it later too. It was heavy, lumpy, and black like iron forged in fire, and polished with steel that had been worn smooth by blows.

“I looked at the weapon,” continued Galazi, “and I tell you, stranger, that a burning desire to possess that weapon was kindled in my heart.

“‘What is the name of this club?’ I asked the old man, my wife.

“‘It is called the Watcher of the Wagtail,’ replied the wife, ‘and not for nothing. Five men have wielded it on the battlefield, and one hundred and seventy-three men have lost their lives to its blows. He who last had it killed twenty before he himself fell to his death, for the mace is fortunate that its owner dies a hero with it in his hand. There is only one other weapon in all the Zulu country like it, namely the great slayer of Jikiza, the chief of the axe-people who live yonder, that old and famous horn-handled Imbubuzi , the Weeping-maker, who overthrows all opponents. If the slayer Weeping-maker and the mace The Watcher of the Wagtail support each other, there are only about thirty men in the Zulu country who can resist them. I have spoken. Choose!’ And the old woman looked at me brightly with her cloudy eyes.

“‘Now he speaks the truth,’ said those present. ‘Let the club be, young man; he who owns it will indeed deliver fierce blows, but in the end he will fall to the thrusts of the spears. No one dares to own the Wading Guard.’

“‘A happy death, and a quick one too!’ I said, and thought about it while the old man watched me the whole time. Finally he rose, laughing mockingly. ‘It doesn’t seem like the Guardian is for this,’ he said, pointing at me. ‘This is just a child, I must find the right man.’

“‘No need to worry, old man,’ I said. ‘Will you lend me a club as a weapon when I go get your son’s bones from the ghost people?’

“‘Shall I lend you the Watchman, boy? No, no! Then I don’t think I’ll ever see you again, nor this worthless club.’

“‘I am no thief,’ I answered. ‘If the ghosts kill me, you will see me no more, nor the club; but if I live, I will bring you the bones, or if I cannot find them, at least I will bring back the club. Unless you lend me the club, I will not go to that haunt of the ghosts.’

“‘Son, your eyes are honest,’ said the wife, looking at me searchingly. ‘Look, there is the club, go and find the bones of my son. If you die, may the club perish with you; if your task is unsuccessful, bring it back, but if you get the bones, then the club is yours and will bring you fame and honor, and you will die like a man, raising it high above your fallen opponents to the last!’

“The next day, at dawn, I took the mace in one hand and the light shield in the other and prepared for the journey. The old man gave me his blessing as we said goodbye, but the rest of the village mocked me, saying: ‘Such a small man and a big mace! Just be careful, little one, lest the ghosts test your mace on your own skull!’

“They said so, but a girl—the old man’s granddaughter—took me aside a little and begged me not to go, for the forest of Haunted Mountain had a very bad reputation; no one dared to enter it, for it was known for certain that it was full of evil spirits that howled like wolves. I thanked the girl, but said nothing to the others; I only asked the way to Haunted Mountain.

“If you can make it there, stranger, come to the mouth of the cave and see the view, for the moon has risen.”

Umslopogaas immediately rose and crawled out of the narrow opening. There, high above him, rose a mighty, gray mountain peak, whose outline resembled a female creature sitting with her head bowed. The place where the cave was situated was therefore, as it were, in the lap of the seated woman. A little lower down was a steep slope covered with small bushes, and lower down it faded into a wide and dense jungle that reached far to the cliffs of the mountain ridge. On the other side of the river that flowed at the foot of that mountain ridge, the open deserts of Zulu country spread out as far as the eye could see.

“There, stranger,” said Galazi, pointing to the Kahlaamo desert, “is the village where that old woman lives. There rises from the plain a mountainside that I had to climb up; there is a jungle where the amatongo , the ghost people, live; on this side of the forest there is a path leading to a cave, and here is the cave. Look at this boulder here at the mouth of the cave; it turns—this way and closes the mouth of the cave. Although it is so big, even a small child can turn it into place, for it moves in balance, leaning on the tip of a sharp rock. But note this: you must not turn the boulder too much, for look: if it touches this,” and he pointed to a drawing on the rock at the mouth of the cave, “you do not have to be strong to be able to turn it back; I have done it many times and I am not yet a full-grown man; but if it ignores this drawing, it slips from its place into the cave.” into the mouth, blocking it like a round flint in the neck of a narrow pot, and I think that two men, one pushing from the inside and the other scraping from the outside, could not even make it move. Look now: I turn the stone into position as I do in the evenings, like this”—and seizing the boulder he swung it around like a door that turns on its pivots. “That’s how it must be and it can be turned back with just one push of the hand, but no one would guess that there is a cave here except those who know the secret. But enough of the stone for now. Step inside again, traveler, that I may continue my story, which is long and strange.

“I left the old man’s hut and the village people escorted me to the riverbank.
The river was in flood, and only a few had dared to cross it.

“‘Ha! ha!’ laughed my companions, ‘there was your journey, little man; now guard the ford, you who were to win for yourself the Warden of the Ford! Strike the water with your club, perhaps the river will calm down, so that you can cross!’

“I made no reply to their taunts, but only tied the shield to my shoulders with a thin strap and fastened my pack to my waist; I swung the mace in my teeth by the leather loop of the handle. Then I plunged into the river and swam. Twice the current pushed me under the water, stranger, and those standing on the shore exclaimed that I was a lost man, but I rose to the surface again and at last reached the other shore.

“Now the people on the shore no longer mocked; they stood in complete silence, wondering, and I hurried on until I came to the foot of the cliff. The climb was laborious, stranger; when your legs are strong, I will show you the way. But I did not give up, and at noon I reached the edge of the forest. There I rested a moment and tasted a little of the provisions I had brought with me, for now I had to gather my strength to go against the ghosts, if there were any ghosts there. I rose and penetrated the jungle. The trees there are big and thick, stranger, and so densely leafy that in some places it is as dark by day as it is at night during the beginning of the moon. I wandered on, and lost my way here and there, but from time to time I saw through the treetops that stone woman who sits up there, on the summit of Ghost Mountain, and I directed my course towards her knees. I stomped With my heart I valiantly pressed forward in that dark forest, whose desolation and darkness recalled the quiet moments of the night, and often I turned to look behind me, if I could see the piercing eyes of the ghostly people, the amatongas . But nothing was visible, except large, slimy snakes that retreated from my path into the hiding places of the forest; perhaps they were those spirits, the amatongas . Sometimes I also caught a glimpse of a large wolf, who scuttled among the trees, hiding and stalking me, and all the time the wind rustled in the great branches high above me, sighing sadly, which sounded like the lamentation of women.

“I only wandered on, singing as I went to banish the fear from my heart, and at last, about two o’clock, the trees began to thin out, the ground to rise, and the light again poured unhindered from the heights of heaven. But you are tired, stranger, and the evening is growing late. Go to sleep, and tomorrow I will finish my story. First, tell me, what is your name?”

“My name is Umslopogaas, son of Mopo,” replied the other, “and I will tell you my story when you have finished yours. Now let us sleep.”

At the name Galazi started and looked very surprised, but said nothing. They lay down to rest and Galazi covered Umslopogaas with the skins of a deer.

But Wolf-Galazi himself was so hardened that he lay on the bare rock without any covering. So they slept while the wolves, smelling human blood, howled at the mouth of the cave.

XIII.

GALAZ BECOME THE KING OF THE WOLVES.

When Umslopogaas woke up in the morning, he felt his strength returning quickly, but all that day he still rested in the cave while Galazi went hunting. In the evening, he returned carrying on his shoulders the carcass of a deer, which they skinned and roasted while sitting by the fire. And when the sun had set, Galazi continued his story.

“Now listen again, Umslopogaas, son of Mopo. I had escaped the forest and arrived at the feet of that old stone sorceress who sits up there waiting for the end of the world. The sun shone sweetly, although it was already evening, for I had walked in the forest for a long time, the lizards were chirping on the stones and the birds were singing as they flew here and there, and I was no longer at all afraid. I climbed up the slope, where a small bush grew like the hairs on a man’s arm, until at last I came to the level of the knees of that stone sorceress, which form the plateau in front of that cave. I stretched my head over the edge of the cliff and looked, and I tell you, Umslopogaas, that my blood froze and my heart melted into water, for before me at the mouth of the cave was a whole pack of wolves, frighteningly large. Some were sleeping and toiling in their sleep, others were gnawing at some creature. leftovers, and others sat like dogs with their tongues hanging out between rows of grinning teeth.

“I looked in terror at the spectacle before me, and saw on the other side of the platform the mouth of the cave where the boy’s bones were supposed to be. But I had not the least hope of getting there, for I feared the wolves, for now I knew that they were the ghosts that roamed the mountain. I resolved to flee my way, and turned to go. But, Umslopogaas, as I turned, the Wadi’s Guard, this great club, whirled around, striking me on the back as a man strikes a coward. Was it then a mere coincidence, or did the Wadi’s Guard wish to dishonor the cowardice of its bearer, that you may say, for I do not know, but at least I was ashamed. Should I return to the village to be mocked by all the people and by that old woman? And if I did want to go, would not the ghosts kill me at night as I made my way through the forest? No, it was better to die at the teeth of the wolves, and right there.

“Thus I concluded in my mind, and fearing that fear would take possession of me again, I swung the club over my shoulder and without a moment’s hesitation leaped upon the platform upon the wolves, echoing the war cry of the Halakaz. The beasts also leaped up and stared at me with blazing eyes and bristles erect, and I could smell their scent in my nostrils. But when they perceived that the assailant was a man, they suddenly became frightened, dashed away in every direction, and leaped with leaps from the platform formed by the knees of that stony sorceress, leaving me alone in front of the cave. Having thus defeated the ghost wolves without striking a blow, my heart swelled with pride, and I strode to the mouth of the cave as haughtily as a rooster walking on a roof. I looked in through the opening, and it so happened that the setting sun was shining directly into the mouth of the cave at that moment, so that it was quite bright inside. Then I was scared for the second time, Umslopogaas, because I could see all the way to the cave.

“Look! There, at the edge of the shadow cast by the roof, you can see a recess in the cave wall, two man’s lengths from the ground! A narrow and high recess, isn’t it? — as if someone had hollowed it out with steel, and a man could sit in it with his legs hanging out. That’s right, Umslopogaas, a man could sit in it, couldn’t he? And there sat a man, or what was left of that man! In the recess sat the skeleton of a man, the black skin had dried around the bones, holding them together and making him look horrible. He sat leaning on his hands, and in his right hand was a strip of leather torn from his waist belt, which had been eaten almost completely, Umslopogaas; he had eaten it before he died. His eyes were also bound with a leather veneer, as if he wanted to be blind, one leg was missing and the other was hanging over the edge of the recess. In the ground of the recess underneath was the red-rusted blade of a broken spear.

“Come here, Umslopogaas, and feel the wall with your hand at this very spot; smooth, or what? — smooth as women’s grindstones. ‘What has made it smooth?’ you ask. Let me explain to you.

“As I looked in through the opening I saw this vision: on the floor of the cave lay a large and sinewy she-wolf, panting as if she had run many miles, and beside her was another—a male—old and black, larger than I had ever seen, a true ancestor of wolves, with his head and sides completely gray. He stood. As I watched, he backed up close to the mouth of the cave, lunged forward suddenly, and leaped high into the air, reaching for a withered leg hanging over the edge of the recess. His paws struck the rock, where the wall is smooth, and there he seemed to remain for the twinkling of an eye, while his cruel jaws struck, closing together only a spear-point’s width below the dead man’s foot. Then he fell to the ground, howling with rage, and retreated again to the mouth of the cave, preparing to leap again. The jaws snapped again, and the beast fell to the ground again, howling furiously. The she-wolf rose also, and then they leaped together, trying to throw down the one who sat on top. But in vain, the beasts never got closer than the width of a spearhead to the dead man’s leg. And now you know, Umslopogaas, why the rock is so shiny smooth. Month after month and year after year the wolves had clawed at it, trying to bring down the one who sat on top. Night after night they had leaped thus against the cave wall, but their trembling jaws never caught hold of his leg. They had indeed got one leg, but the other was too high.

“As I watched in fear and amazement, the she-wolf, with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, took such a mighty leap that she almost reached the dangling leg, but didn’t. The beast fell to the ground and I saw that the leap was its last at that time, for the effort had been overwhelming. It lay on the ground howling, dark blood flowing from its mouth. The male noticed it too, he approached, sniffed a couple of times and, knowing that the female had received some injury, he ran to her throat and a frantic fight began.

“The cave was filled with a roar and a trembling howl, the wolves circled together in a pack below the sitter, and in the blood-red light of the setting sun the spectacle was so terrible that I trembled with fear like a child. The she-wolf’s strength began to fail, for the male’s white fangs had bitten deep into her throat. At once it became clear to me that now was the time to kill the male, for having killed the female he would kill me too. I sprang into the cave and raised the Watcher to strike, intending to strike before the wolf raised its head. But it heard my steps, or perhaps my shadow fell upon it, and, relaxing its grip, it looked at me, that father of the wolves, and then sprang without uttering a sound straight for my throat.

“I saw it coming and swinging the Guard high, I struck with all my might. The blow struck the beast in the air, striking it with such force in the chest that it fell on its back to the ground. But there it stayed! Before I could strike a second time, it was already on its feet and the first leap was followed by another. I jumped aside and struck lower. The blow shattered its right hind leg, so that it could not jump any further. However, it still came at me furiously, leaping on three legs, and although the club struck it in the side, it struck me with its teeth, biting through the leather pack tied around my waist, so that I was wounded. Then I screamed in pain and rage and slammed my club with both hands straight down with such force, as a man strikes the ground with a spear, that the wolf’s skull shattered into pieces like a clay pot, and the beast fell dead to the ground, dragging me with it.

“I immediately sat up and, thrusting the handle of the club into the wolf’s mouth, I wrenched open its jaws, thus freeing it from its teeth. Then I examined my wounds, which were not deep; the leather pack had saved me, but I can still feel them at this moment, for the wolf’s teeth contain poison. At the same time I looked up and saw that the she-wolf was on her feet again and apparently completely unharmed. The nature of these ghost wolves is such, Umslopogaas, that although they fight incessantly, they cannot destroy each other. Only a man can kill such a wolf, and that is a very difficult task. There it stood before me, but it did not look at me or at the lifeless male, but at him who was sitting above. I noticed this and, quietly creeping up behind it and raising the Guard, I struck it with all my strength. The blow hit the neck, breaking its neck, so that the beast immediately rolled to the ground, dead.

“I rested for a moment and then went to the mouth of the cave and looked out. The last rays of the setting sun behind the shore of the sky illuminated my face, but the dark forest below had already wrapped itself in its mantle of darkness. I had to spend the night here in the cave, for although the moon shone brightly from the cloudless sky, I still did not dare to set out on the return journey with the wolves and ghosts. And since I did not dare to go alone, how could I have dared to set out on the journey carrying the tail that sat up in the hollow! No, I had to be here, and having made up my mind, I went to the spring that gushes out of the rock a little to the right of the mouth of the cave, washed my wound and drank. Then I came back and sat down at the mouth of the cave, watching how the visible world around me was covered in the darkness of the night. Up until then it had been completely quiet, but when the last ray of day faded, the forest woke up. The wind that had been stirring at the mouth of the evening It sped up, swaying the trees of the forest and making their tops ripple like the surface of the sea in the moonlight, and from the darkness of the forest came the howling of ghosts and wolves, which was answered from the rocks above — do you hear that noise, Umslopogaas — they howled in the same way then too!

“It began to feel eerie to sit here at the mouth of the cave, for I had not yet discovered the secret of that doorstone, and even if I had known it, would I have dared to shut myself in the cave alone with those wolf carcasses and with him whom those wolves had tried to throw down? I stepped further onto the platform and looked up. The moon brightly illuminated the face of the stony sorceress who sits eternally up there. She seemed to mock me, and then—then I was afraid, for I understood that this was the abode of the dead, the refuge of restless spirits who gathered here from their travels like vultures to a tree.

“I went into the cave, and feeling that I must do something to avoid going mad; so I took my knife and began to skin the great male wolf I had killed by the light of the moon. I worked for another hour, singing my heart out and trying to forget him who sat above, and the howling that echoed from the mountains. But the moon shone brighter and brighter into the cave, until I could clearly see the figure of the creature sitting in the recess, and the bandage tied around his eyes. Why the bandage? Perhaps to escape the blazing eyes of the wolves who were after him.

“And the howl came ever nearer; I could already see grey figures flickering on the platform before me, and there already a pair of glowing red eyes stared at me; a sharp snout sniffed the carcass I was flaying. I raised my club with a scream and struck. There was a painful gasp and someone quickly darted away into the darkness of the shadows.

“Now the skin was off. I threw it away and dragged the carcass to the edge of the plateau, where I left it to crawl. The howling came closer again and I saw those gray figures creeping out one after another. Now they gathered around the carcass and rushed at it at once, tearing and thrashing terribly until there was nothing left. Then, licking their red lips, they slipped back into the forest.

“I cannot say whether I was asleep or awake, but I know that I suddenly looked up and saw a light above me on the edge of the roof, Umslopogaas. Perhaps it was because the moon’s rays fell on him who was sitting up there, illuminating him brightly. But the light was reddish, and his whole form glowed in it like a rotten tree in the dark. I looked, or pretended to look, and it seemed to me that the hanging jaw moved, and I heard a hoarse and hollow voice that sounded as if it had been spoken from an empty stomach with a dry throat.

“‘Hello, Galazi, son of Siguyana!’ said the voice. ‘Tell me, Wolf-Galazi, what business have you on the Haunted Mountain, where the stone sorceress sits eternally awaiting the end of the world?’

“Then I answered, Umslopogaas, or pretended to answer, and my voice also sounded hollow and strange:

“‘Hello, O deceased, who sits in your hole like a vulture on a rock. This is my mission on Haunted Mountain: I have come to fetch your bones to take them to your mother for burial.’ ‘For years I have sat up here, Galazi,’ answered the voice, ‘watching the ghost wolves leap and leap to drag me down until their claws had ground the rock smooth. Seven days and seven nights I remained alive as I sat here, with the hungry wolves watching below and hunger gnawing at my heart. And dead I have sat here for years, in the bosom of this old stone witch, watching the moon and the sun and the stars and listening to the howling of the ghost wolves as they thrashed below me, and in that time I have learned much deep wisdom from that old witch who sits up there, turned to solid stone. My mother was still young and beautiful when I penetrated through the forest and climbed those stone knees. What does she look like now, Galazi?’

“‘He is very old and wrinkled and his hair is quite white,’ I answered. ‘He is considered mad, but at his request I came to seek you, O deceased, with as my weapon the Guardian, who was your father and who will now be mine!’

“‘You may keep it, Galazi,’ said the voice, ‘for you alone dared to defy the ghosts to give me peace and the rest of the grave. And listen, you shall also know what that old witch who sits eternally up there, turned to stone, has revealed to me, you and another. The wolves you have seen are not real wolves, and the wolf you killed is not a real wolf; no, they are spirits, evil spirits, the dead, who lived in this world long ago, but who cannot find peace until man kills them. Do you know, Galazi, how they lived and what they ate? When the day dawns again, climb onto the breast of the stone woman and look into the chasm between her breasts. Then you will see how those people lived. And this is their sentence: they must wander, thin and hungry, in the form of wolves here on the slopes of Ghost Mountain, where they In ancient times they lived until they were killed by human hands. Ever-gnawing hunger made them leap from year to year in pursuit of my bones, and the one you skinned was their king and the other their queen.

“Now, Wolf-Galazi, I declare to you this: you will become the king of the ghost wolves, you and one whom the lion will bring to you. Tie that black skin on your shoulders and the wolves will follow you, all three hundred and sixty-three of them, and let the one who is brought to you carry that gray skin. They will fight for you wherever you take them, and will not rest until all their opponents are dead. But remember this, they can only hunt where they roamed in life for food. But you received a bad gift from my mother—I mean the Watcher. Without it, you would never have killed the king of the ghost wolves, but as the owner of the Watcher, you will finally be killed yourself. Well, in the morning you will carry me to my mother, so that I may rest in peace in a place where the ghost wolves will no longer jump up and disturb my peace. I have spoken, Galazi.”

“The dead man’s voice grew fainter and fainter, and became more and more hollow, so that at last I could hardly hear what he said. Nevertheless, I asked again:

“‘Who then is he whom the lion brings to me to rule with me the werewolves, and what is his name?’

“The dead man answered very quietly, but in the deep silence of the cave I made out the words:

“‘He is called Umslopogaas the Slayer, son of Chaka, the lion of the Zulu!'”

Umslopogaas jumped from his place by the campfire.

“My name is Umslopogaas,” said he, “but not the Slayer, and I am the son of Mopo and not of Chaka, the lion of the Zulus. You have dreamed, Galazi, and if not, then the dead have lied to you.”

“Perhaps you are right, Umslopogaas,” answered Wolf-Galazi. “Perhaps I was dreaming, or perhaps the dead man lied, but even if he lied, he spoke the truth, as you will hear.

“Having heard her words, or having dreamed that I had heard them, I did indeed fall asleep, and when I awoke, the forest below was completely covered with mist, while a gray light illuminated the face of the woman sitting above. I remembered the dream I had seen at once and wanted to see if it had all really been a dream. I got up, stepped outside, and found a place from which I could climb up to the breast and head of the stone sorceress. As I climbed, the rays of the rising sun fell on her face, and I was greatly glad to see the dawn. But as I came nearer, the features resembling the woman’s face vanished into nothingness, and I saw before me only jagged piles of boulders. Witches are always like that, Umslopogaas, whether they be stone or flesh—when you get close, they change their shape.

“I was now high on the mountainside, and wandering among great heaps of stones. At last I discovered a cleft in the mountain, three times as wide as a man can jump, and half a spear-throw long; and near this cleft were large stones blackened by fire, on the edge of which were seen fragments of pots and a knife fashioned of flint. I peered into the cleft, which was very deep, and covered with green moss all over. At the bottom, which remained damp, grew large ferns, and I saw nothing else. I felt as if I had only dreamed a dream. I turned to leave, but at once changed my mind, and climbed into the cleft, pushing the ferns aside. Under the ferns grew moss, which I pushed aside with my club. At that moment the forged steel of my club struck something yellowish, resembling a round stone, which gave a hollow sound. I took it in my hand and it was a child’s skull, Umslopogaas.

“I dug deeper and tore away the moss from a wider area until I saw everything. Under the moss there were only human bones—old bones that had been there for who knows how long; the children’s bones had rotted, but the big ones were still there—some yellow, some black, and some still quite white. They were not broken, like those torn by hyenas and wolves, but in some I could clearly see the marks of human teeth. Then I returned to the cave, Umslopogaas, and never once looked back.

“When I got to the cave I skinned the she-wolf too, and when I had finished my work the sun had risen and I knew it was time to start on my return journey. But I could not go alone—he who sat above must follow me. I was very afraid to touch him—that dead man who had spoken to me in my sleep, but I had to do it anyway. I picked up stones and piled them against the wall until I could reach him; then I lifted him to the ground and he was light indeed, just bone and skin. When he was down I tied the wolf’s skins around me and, abandoning my leather pack, which would not have held him, I took him on my shoulders as one usually carries a child, for his legs were a little out of joint, and supporting him by his remaining leg I set off on the journey towards the village. I hurried down the slope as fast as I could, for now I knew the way, and I saw and heard nothing except once when a great eagle struck his shoulder with an arrow. I roared, the eagle flew away, and in the same moment I was in the forest, under the cover of the trees. There I had to walk carefully so that the branches of the trees wouldn’t hit my head on the ground.

“I went on thus until I approached the centre of the forest. Then I heard a wolf howl on the right, which was answered on the left, and then from before and behind. I dared not stop, but continued my journey boldly, guided by the sun, which occasionally glinted through the branches of the trees. I saw black and grey figures slipping close to my path, sniffing the air as they leaped, and soon I came to a small clearing, and behold, all the wolves in the world were gathered there. My blood ran cold and my legs began to tremble. I stood still, my club raised, and the wolves crept slowly closer, snarling and growling as they came, until they formed a dense circle around me. But they did not attack me, but came closer and closer. One jumped, but it did not mean me, but the one who was sitting on my shoulders. I jumped aside so that the beast did not hit its target, and, having fallen to the ground, it growled and whined as if greatly frightened. I then remembered my dream, if it was a dream, and the words of the deceased, that I was to become king of the wolves—me and another whom the lion would bring to me. Would that be so? If not, then why did the wolves not tear me to pieces at once?

“I stood a moment thinking about it, and then I raised my voice and howled like a wolf, and behold, Umslopogaas, a huge howl echoed against me. I stretched out my hand and called to them. They rushed to me, crowding around me as if they intended to destroy me, but they did me no harm. They licked my legs with their red tongues and rushed to me, pressing against me as a cat begging for caresses is wont to do. One, indeed, tried to pursue the one who was sitting on my shoulders, but I flicked it with my club, whereupon it fled like a beaten dog, and others bit it, so that it whined miserably. Now I knew that I need fear no more, for I was the king of the ghost wolves, and so I walked proudly on, with a huge pack of wolves, gray and black in color, following me. So I walked on my way, and they came quietly behind me and at my side, creeping to the ground. The fallen leaves just crunched at their feet, the dust rose high, and finally we reached the edge of the forest.

“Then it occurred to me that it was not fitting for me to appear to people in that way, for everyone would think me a witch and I would be killed. So I stopped at the edge of the forest and motioned the wolves to return. A mournful howl was the answer, as if they were saddened by the separation, but I shouted to them that I would return as their king, and it seemed to me that their cruel and wild hearts understood my words. Then they all crept away and I was alone again.

“And now, Umslopogaas, it’s time to go to bed, tomorrow night I’ll finish my story.”

XIV.

WOLF QUEENS.

Umslopogaas and Wolf Galazi sat again by the evening fire at the mouth of the cave, as we do now, my father, and Galazi began to continue his story.

“I walked without stopping until I came to the river, which was still in flood, but the water had subsided enough to sink my feet. I waded into the water, using my club as my staff, and the water reached my shoulders, but no higher. Someone on the other bank now noticed the burden on my shoulders and the wolf’s scalp on my head, and ran to the village, shouting: ‘Someone is coming across the river riding a wolf!’ And so it was that as I approached the village, everyone had hurried to meet me except the old woman, who could not walk so far. But when they saw me climbing the hill and saw what was sitting on my shoulders, they were greatly frightened. They were so astonished that they did not think of running, but slowly retreated before me, huddled together and not saying a word. I also went on in silence, and at last I reached the village, at the gate of which the old woman was sitting in the evening sun. Suddenly she looked up and exclaimed: ‘What is the matter with you, good people, that you come walking backwards like witches, and who is that great and terrible man who is coming towards you?’

“But the people always retreated in deep silence, the little children clinging to the women and the women to the men, until they passed the old woman, behind whom they lined up like warriors in the front. But I went up to the woman and lifted her, who was sitting on my shoulders, before the old woman, saying: ‘Wife, here is your son, I have wrested him with great difficulty from the clutches of the ghosts—there are many of them up there. One leg is missing, and I could not find it. Take him and bury him, for I am already tired of his company.’

“He looked at the body sitting before him and stretched out his withered hand, removing the bandage from the dead man’s eyes. Then he cried out shrilly and said, wrapping his arms around the dead man’s neck: ‘Yes, that is my son, whom I gave birth to, my own son, whom I have not seen for twenty-five years. Welcome, my son, welcome! Now you can rest in the grave, and I too—yes, I too!’

“He cried out once more, standing straight with his arms outstretched, but at the same time foam erupted from his lips, and he fell dead on his son’s body.

“A deep silence reigned in the place again, for everyone was greatly afraid. Finally someone cried out: ‘What is the name of this man who has robbed the ghosts of their prey?’

“‘My name is Galazi,’ I replied.

“‘No,’ he said. ‘Wolf is your name. Look at that bloody wolf skin on your shoulders and on the top of your head!’

“‘Galazi is my name, but you have called me a wolf,’ said I. ‘So be it. My name is Wolf-Galazi!’

“‘I think he is a wolf,’ said the man. ‘Now look at his teeth, how they are grinning! He is not a man, brothers, but a wolf.’

“‘Neither a man nor a wolf, but a witch she is,’ said another. ‘No one else could have got through the forest to her who sits up on the mountaintop.’

“‘Yes, yes, he is a wolf—a witch—kill him!’ cried the crowd. ‘Kill that wolf before he sends ghosts upon us!’ And they rushed at me with spears raised.

“‘I am as if I were a wolf and a witch too,’ I cried, ‘and once more I will send wolves and ghosts upon you!’ I turned and ran so fast that they soon fell behind me. As I ran I met a girl who had a basket of vegetables in one hand and a slain lamb in the other. I rushed at her, howling like a wolf, and snatched both the basket of vegetables and the lamb from her. I then waded across the river and spent the night in a rock on the other side, satisfying my hunger with vegetables and the meat of the lamb.

“At daybreak I rose and shook the dew from the wolf skins. Then I entered the forest and howled like a wolf. The ghost wolves knew my voice and answered from near and far. I heard the clatter of their feet and soon they were swarming around me by the dozens, by the hundreds, fanning and caressing me. I counted their number, there were three hundred and sixty-three of them.

“Then I returned to this cave, and here I have lived now for almost twelve months, Umslopogaas, and I have become a wolf-man, for with the wolves I now hunt and rage; they know me and do what I want. Rise, Umslopogaas, you are strong again now, and if your courage does not fail you, you will see my people this very evening. Come, if you have courage, Umslopogaas!”

Umslopogaas rose, laughing merrily. “Young I am for my age!” he exclaimed, “and scarcely the strength of a full-grown man, but thus far I have not turned my back on lion or witch, wolf or man. Let us look at your army, then—those black and gray warriors of yours, who run on all fours, armed with tusks instead of spears!”

“First tie the she-wolf’s skin around your shoulders,” advised Galazi, “or else there would be only remnants of you left before the man could lay down his finger. See carefully that the straps hold, or you will be in trouble.”

Umslopogaas tied the gray wolf’s fur around his shoulders with leather straps, so that the teeth of the upper jaw gleamed on the top of his head, taking the spear in his hand, and when Galazi had likewise fastened the wolf king’s fur on himself, they stepped onto the platform in front of the cave.

Galazi stood for a moment in the moonlight, and Umslopogaas saw that his face became wild and beastly; his eyes glowed and his teeth protruded from behind his gaping lips. Then Galazi raised his head and howled long into the moonlit night. Three times Galazi howled, each time louder and louder, and before the echoes had died away in the silence of the night, there were answers from the rocks above, from the edge of the forest below, from the east and west, from the north and south. The howl drew nearer, and there was already a sound of footsteps, and a gray wolf, frighteningly large, rushed towards them with long leaps, many others behind him. They surrounded Galazi, jumping at him caressingly, but he drove them away with his club. Then suddenly they noticed Umslopogaas and rushed towards him with open mouth.

“Stand still and don’t move!” shouted Galazi. “Don’t be afraid!”

“I have always liked dogs,” replied Umslopogaas; “should I now learn to be afraid of them?”

Although he spoke so bravely, he was still afraid inwardly, for the sight was truly most terrible. The wolves rushed at him from before and behind, their jaws open, and in one breath he had almost disappeared from sight into the terrifying circle of the beasts. But not a single tooth wounded him, for as they leaped for his throat, the wolves smelled the skin hanging from his shoulders, and they crouched down at his feet, licking and caressing him. Umslopogaas noticed that not only did the beasts leave him alone, but also that the she-wolves gathered around the one who carried the she-wolf’s skin. They were large, thin, and hungry beasts, all full-grown, there were no cubs, and there were so many of them that he could not even count them in the moonlight. Looking into their red-glowing eyes, Umslopogaas felt the wolf’s nature in his heart, and he too raised his head and howled like a wolf, to which the she-wolves responded.

“The pack is gathered, now to hunt!” cried Galazi. “Lighten your feet, my brother, for we will go far tonight. Hail, White Fang and Graysnout! Hail, my people, black and gray, on the road! on the road!”

He leapt forward with Umslopogaas on his heels, and the ghost wolves swarmed after them. They rushed like the wind down the mountainside and soon came to a deep ravine, thickly wooded. Galazi stopped, raising his club in the air, causing the wolves to stop as well.

“I’m hunting for game,” he exclaimed, “hey, my troops, forward!”

The wolves quietly pressed into the ravine, but Galazi and Umslopogaas remained waiting at the mouth. Soon there was a crackling sound of breaking branches, and behold, a large buffalo bull stood before them, sniffing the air and roaring angrily.

“That’s where the fun started, my brother! Do you see how lean and sinewy it is? Ah, that meat is more tender than anything my people have ever killed!”

While Galazi was still speaking, the first wolves appeared from the darkness of the ravine, and when they saw the buffalo they rushed at it, howling at the top of their lungs. The bull, perceiving the danger, rushed down the slope, Galazi, Umslopogaas, and the whole pack of wolves at his heels, and the noise of that wild hunt made the rocks tremble. Down they rushed along the mountainside, and Umslopogaas felt that he too was a wolf. They howled blindly forward, but his feet were faster than the swiftest, and no wolf could overtake him, and he had only one desire—the desire to catch his prey.

They were now nearing the edge of the forest, and Galazi was bellowing. He was bellowing at White Fang and Grey Snout, Blood Drinker and Death, who rushed at once ahead of the pack, running so fast that their bellies seemed to be grazing the ground. The bull was sidestepped and forced to turn back up the mountainside, up which it was bellowing with Grey Snout and Death on one side and Blood Drinker and White Fang on the other, with the Wolf-Wicks coming close behind, the pack at their heels. They rushed forward without stopping up the mountainside, but Umslopogaas’s step was always just as light and his breathing regular. They approached once more the grey witch’s lap where the cave was, and the bull, mad with fear, rushed blindly forward. He ran so fast that the wolves were left behind, for the ground was flatter there. Galazi looked at Umslopogaas and smiled.

“You don’t run so badly, my brother, after being sick recently. Now try to see if you can beat me. Who will touch the prey first?”

The bull was a couple of javelin throws ahead of them. Umslopogaas smiled back and exclaimed, “Okay! Now for the final push!”

They rushed forward, and for a moment it seemed to Umslopogaas that they were standing still, side by side, the bull only coming nearer. Then he exerted himself still more, and quickened his steps, and lo, when he looked to his side again, he was alone, and the bull was very near. No man’s feet ever rose faster than Umslopogaas’s. He caught up with the bull, and slapping his hands on its flanks, he sprang upon the animal as a white man upon his saddle. Then he raised his spear, and struck it between the shoulders, when the great buffalo staggered, stopped, and rolled dead upon the ground.

Galazi rushed to the spot. “Who is the fastest, Galazi?” exclaimed
Umslopogaas. “You or me or the wolf pack?”

“You, Umslopogaas,” panted Galazi, who was very out of breath.
“There is no one who runs away from your taxes, and there never will be.”

The wolves caught up with them at once and would have torn the ox to pieces, but Galazi drove them away with his club, after which the companions rested for a moment. Then Galazi said: “Let us cut ourselves slices with a spear and eat.”

They did so, and when they had finished their meal,
Galazi motioned to the wolves, who rushed upon the carcass, fighting furiously.
In a moment only the largest bones remained, and yet
each wolf had only managed to snatch a small crumb.

Then the comrades returned to the cave and lay down to rest…

* * * * *

A little later, Umslopogaas told Galaz about his life in the form of a story, who asked if Umslopogaas wanted to stay with him and be his brother and rule the wolf pack with him, or if he wanted to return to Chaka to look for his father, Mopo.

Umslopogaas replied that he would rather go and look for his sister Nada, whom he thought about day and night. He was tired of the big city of Chaka.

“Where is she then, your sister Nada?” asked Galazi.

“He rests in the cave of your own people, Galazi; he is with the Halakazi.”

“Come, Umslopogaas, come and stay with me until we grow up to be men!” cried Galazi. “Then we will go together to search for your sister in the caves of the Halakaz.”

The charm of this wolf life had penetrated the heart of Umslopogaas, and he agreed to the proposal. The next morning they then made a covenant of blood brotherhood before the whole pack, swearing loyalty to each other until death, and the wolves howled as they felt the smell of human blood in their nostrils. With bright oaths they solemnly promised to always stay together, whatever surprises fate might have in store for them, and the ghost wolves heard their words. And on many moonlit nights they hunted together with the wolves, gathering food. Sometimes they crossed the river and hunted in the deserts, for game was scarce in the mountains, and when they heard the air-shaking howl of the wolves, the villagers might come out and see the pack galloping across the desert with a man or two at the head. Then they said that the ghosts were on the move, and they crept back to their huts trembling with fear. But the Wolf-guys and their pack did not kill people, but only forest game or, as occasionally happened, elephants and lions.

When Umslopogaas had been on Ghost Mountain for some months, he dreamed one night of Nada, and when he awoke it occurred to him that perhaps he might hear something of his relatives, how his mother, or what he thought was her mother, and Nada and the other brothers and sisters had fared. He tried to cover his nakedness somehow and left Galaz, hurrying down to the village where the old woman had lived, saying that he was the son of a chief who lived far away and was on his way to find a wife.

The people of the village welcomed him, although they thought he looked strangely fierce and fiery, and one asked directly if he was that Wolf-Galazi. But others said that this was not Galazi, whom they knew. Umslopogaas again said that he knew nothing of Galazi and his wolf pack, and behold, while they were talking, fifty warriors marched into the village. Umslopogaas observed the leaders of the group, and recognized them as Chaka’s men. At first he intended to address them, but his guardian spirit, his ehlosé , warned him to be silent, so he sat silently in the corner of the largest hut and listened. The village chief, trembling with fear that the group had been sent to destroy him and all that he had, finally asked what the men were doing.

“Nothing at all,” replied the leader of the group. “A matter of the day. The king sent us to look for a young man named Umslopogaas, the son of Mopo, the king’s personal physician. Mopo believed that a lion killed the young man near this mountain, and Chaka wants to know if that really happened.”

“We know nothing about the young man,” said the chief. “But what exactly would you like from him?”

“Not really,” replied Chaka’s man. “We would just kill him.”

“Another time, my dear,” thought Umslopogaas.

“What kind of man is that Mopo?” asked the chief.

“A criminal whose house and days the king has destroyed, along with all his wives and children,” replied the leader of the group.

XV.

DEATH OF THE KING’S MEN.

When Umslopogaas heard these words, his mind became gloomy, and great anger flared up in his heart, for he thought that I, Mopo, had also been destroyed along with my home, and he loved me. But he said nothing, but, seizing the opportunity, slipped out of the hut without anyone seeing him, and hurried back to Ghost Mountain as quickly as possible. In the meantime, the leader of the group asked the village chief if he knew anything about the young man they were looking for. The chief then told him about Wolf-Galazi, but said that it was not the same person, because Galazi had already been staying on Ghost Mountain for several months.

“There is another young man here,” said the chief then, “a stranger, tall and strong and fierce-looking, with eyes that sparkle like spearheads. He is in the hut here at the moment; he is sitting there in the shade.”

The warrior got up to look, but Umslopogaas was gone.

“The young man has run away,” said the chief, “and yet no one saw him go. Perhaps he is a witch too! I have indeed heard that there are two of them now on Ghost Mountain. They are said to hunt there at night with the ghost wolves, but I do not know if there is any truth in that talk.”

“I would truly like to strike you dead now,” roared the warrior in a frenzy of anger, “for allowing that young man to escape! He must have been Umslopogaas, Mopo’s son.”

“I am innocent,” said the chief. “Those young men are witches who can come and go as they please. But I tell you this, king’s man, that if you intend to climb the Ghost Mountain, you may go there alone with your warriors, for no one from here dares to set foot on that mountain.”

“Then you will see tomorrow who dares and who does not,” answered the warrior. “At Chaka’s men learn to be brave. These men fear neither spears nor ghosts, neither beasts nor witchcraft, but they fear the words of the king. The sun is setting—give us food. Tomorrow we will explore the mountains.”

That’s how that warrior spoke in his arrogance, my father—he who had seen the sun for the last time.

Meanwhile Umslopogaas arrived at the mountains, and when he had passed through the forest—the most secret paths of which he knew—the evening began to grow dark, and the wolves were waking up from their daytime slumber to set out on their nocturnal expeditions. Umslopogaas heard their howling and howled against them, and soon the great wolf, Death, appeared out of the darkness. Umslopogaas saw it and called it by name, but lo! the beast did not know him, but attacked him growling. Then Umslopogaas remembered that he had no wolf’s fur on his shoulders, and therefore Death did not know him. During the day, when the wolves were sleeping, he could go anywhere without that skin, but at night it was different. He had not taken the skin with him because he did not dare to show himself to the people of the village, where they would recognize him as another Wolf-brother, and he had not intended to return to the mountain that evening, but rather the next morning.

Umslopogaas realized that he was in great danger. He drove away Death with his club, but others were already behind him, for the wolves were gathering quickly. There was no other advice but to flee, and gathering all his strength he rushed at full speed towards the cave, and he ran so fast that the wolves did not overtake him, although they were so close that the teeth of one of them struck his loincloth, tearing it across. He had never run so fast before, and he managed to get into the cave and roll a boulder in front of the opening just as the wolves were rushing to the platform and plunging against the boulder. Having fastened the wolf’s fur on his shoulders, he rolled the stone to the side and stepped out, and behold, the wolves’ eyes opened, they recognized him as one of the brothers who ruled their pack, and they crept away, obeying his command.

Umslopogaas sat down at the mouth of the cave to wait for Galazi and fell into thought. Galazi soon arrived, and Umslopogaas told him the news in a few words.

“You have put yourself in great danger, my brother,” said Galazi. “What are you going to do now?”

“Our people crave human flesh,” replied Umslopogaas; “let us feed them to their fill with those Chaka warriors who sit in that village, intending to come and kill me. I would avenge my father Mopo, my murdered brothers and sisters, and my mothers, Mopo’s wives. What do you say?”

Galazi laughed cruelly. “I will come with you on the beast chase, my brother. I am tired of hunting jungle game, so let us hunt humans tonight.”

“Yes, tonight,” said Umslopogaas, nodding his head. “I missed that messenger of Chaka like a bride misses the kisses of her groom. But first let us eat and rest, for there is still time, and then we will gather our army, Galazi.”

When they had eaten and rested, they took their weapons and went out. Galazi howled, and at the call the wolves immediately began to gather, so that in a moment the whole pack was on the point of arriving. Galazi moved among them, shaking his club, and those wolves, sitting like dogs, followed him with burning eyes.

“Tonight we do not hunt game from the forest, my little one,” he cried, “but people, and you like human flesh.”

The wolves answered with a mighty howl, as if they had understood the words, and then the pack divided as usual; the females joined Umslopogaas and the males followed Galaz, and soon they were making rapid progress down the slope towards the plain. The river did not stop their progress, they swam across it, and on the other side, about eight spear-throws away, a village loomed. The wolf-men held a short conference, and Galazi led the male wolves to the north gate, and Umslopogaas the females to the south. They advanced silently, for the wolves had been ordered to be silent, and they reached their destination safely. The gates had been blocked with thorn bushes, but they were cleared out of the way in no time.

The rustling of branches woke a pair of dogs, who at once caught the scent of the wolves with Umslopogaas, for the wind was blowing from that direction, and they rushed, barking, upon Umslopogaas, who was working among the bushes at the south gate. The wolves could no longer be restrained, and the dogs were mauled in the twinkling of an eye, but at the same time Chaka’s warriors and the people of the village also woke up with a commotion, and jumping up they seized their weapons and hurried out. It was a bright moonlight; and as they looked around they saw a man, a wolf’s fur on his shoulders, running across a deserted cattle-fold, whose long grass hid the lying cows from view, and behind the man followed a countless number of wolves, black and gray. They cried out in terror, saying that ghosts were upon them, and turned to flee towards the north gate. But, look, there too they encountered a man wearing only a wolf’s fur and with him an immense group of wolves, black and gray.

Some threw themselves to the ground, paralyzed with terror, and others tried to escape. But most of the warriors and a group of village men gathered together, intending to fight the ghosts like men to the last, although they trembled with fear. Umslopogaas and Galazi then howled wildly and rushed with their wolves at the warriors and villagers, and the screams and howls of the jumping, dashing and tearing wolves, accompanied by the howls, rose to the clouds. And they did not care about the warriors’ spears and clubs. Some indeed succumbed to their blood, but others raged even more wildly. The group of men was soon torn apart, and each man had been attacked by two or three speeding wolves, who tore their victims apart in a few breaths. A couple of men managed to escape, but the wolves soon caught up with them, following their tracks, and the men were killed before they could reach the gates.

But the Wolf-folk raged most wildly of all. The guard rose and fell, and many had to bow down before it, and Umslopogaas’ spear flashed brightly in the moonlight. At last all was quiet, not a single inhabitant of the village was alive, and the wolves, who had been hungry for so long, growled harshly as they ate their fill. When they met each other, their comrades laughed cruelly because they had killed the party sent to catch them. They even drove the wolves into the huts, where they killed all who hid or dragged them out to die.

Suddenly a tall, burly man burst from the last hut where he had been hiding, and the wolves outside rushed towards him to tear him to pieces. But Umslopogaas forced them to retreat, for he had seen the man’s face: he was the leader of the group that Chaka had sent to kill him.

“Hail to you, king’s man!” cried Umslopogaas. “Tell us now, what are you doing here in the shadow of him who sits on the mountaintop?” And he pointed with his spear to the witch of the Haunted Mountain, who was brightly illuminated by the moon.

The man was brave, even though he had gone into hiding after seeing the wolves, and he replied proudly:

“What’s that to you, witch? Your ghost wolves have made my task impossible, so now they’ll kill me too.”

“There’s no need to rush,” said Umslopogaas. “Tell me, weren’t you looking for a young man, Mopo’s son?”

“Exactly,” replied the man. “I was looking for a young man, but I met a group of evil spirits.” And he looked at the pack of wolves, restless with their prey, and trembled.

“Tell me,” continued Umslopogaas, lifting the wolf’s fur so that the moon illuminated his face, “is this the face of the young man you seek?”

“They are,” the man replied, astonished.

“Yes,” laughed Umslopogaas, “they are so. You fool! I knew your mission and heard your words, and thus have I answered them.” And he pointed to the dead. “Now choose, and quickly. Will you run a race with my wolves, or will you fight these four?” And he pointed to White Fang and Grey Fang, Blood Drinker and Death, who watched him with drooling eyes. “Or will you fight with me, and if I fall, with him who has the club and with whom I rule this people of mine, black and gray?”

“I’m afraid of ghosts, but not of people,” replied the warrior, “even if they are witches!”

“All right!” exclaimed Umslopogaas, shaking his spear.

They rushed at each other and a fierce battle began, but Umslopogaas’s spear almost immediately broke in the warrior’s shield, and he was left unarmed. He turned and fled, leaping over the fallen wolves that swarmed around him, while the warrior chased him with his spear raised and taunting him. Galazi was also surprised by Umslopogaas’s escape; there was only one man against him. But Umslopogaas only hurried forward, twisting here and there, his eyes fixed on the ground all the time, and suddenly Galazi saw him lunge forward and stoop to the ground like a hawk. At the same time he turned around and, behold, he had an axe in his hand. The warrior lunged at him, whereupon Umslopogaas struck, and the tip of the great spear, which was ready to pierce him, flashed from its broken shaft. Umslopogaas struck again: the crescent-shaped blade of the axe penetrated the thick shield deep into the warrior’s chest, who threw up his arms and fell to the ground without a sound.

“Ah!” exclaimed Umslopogaas, “you were looking for a young man to kill him, but you found the axe that killed you! Sleep well, Chaka’s man.”

“My brother,” continued Umslopogaas, turning to Galaz, “from now on I will fight no more with spears, but with an axe, and in search of an axe I ran like a coward here and there. But this which I have found is of no use. Look, the shaft is almost shattered by the force of my blow. Now my only hope is to get hold of that great scepter of Jikiza, the Weeper, of whom we have heard talk, so that the scepter and the club may support each other in the heat of battle.”

“Let’s leave it for another evening,” said Galazi. “We’ve recovered pretty well now. Let’s get the roots and flour we need, and then get back to the mountain before daybreak.”

Thus the Wolf-Guys destroyed the troop of warriors sent by Chaka, and it was only the first of many destructive expeditions they would undertake with the wolves. They were on the move that night, destroying all they hated, until they and the ghost wolves had acquired such a terrible reputation that the whole road was deserted. But they also discovered that the wolves did not follow them everywhere.

They had decided one night to attack the village of the axe people, where Chief Jikiza, nicknamed the invincible, owner of the Weeping Maker, lived, but as they approached the village, the wolves turned back and fled. Then Galazi remembered his dream, in which the deceased in the cave had told him that wolves were allowed to hunt only where those man-eaters had hunted in ancient times. So they turned back, but Umslopogaas began to hatch a plan by which he could get possession of the slayer.

XVI.

UMSLOPOGAAS GOES TO FIGHT FOR TAPPARA.

Months had passed since Umslopogaas became king of the wolves, and he was now a full-grown man, a strong and fiery man, unequaled in strength and speed, and who saw by night as well as by day. But he had not yet been given the name Slayer, nor was he yet the possessor of that steel queen, the valiant Weeper. But to possess that weapon was the most fervent desire of his heart, for no woman had yet penetrated it. When a woman takes possession of a man’s heart, she drives away all other desires—even the desire to wield good weapons. That is the way of things, my father.

He often crept along the reeds by the riverbank, looking at the village and gates of Jikiza, the Unconquerable, and once he saw a big, hairy man with a dazzlingly bright axe on his shoulder, the handle of which was made of rhinoceros horn. After that, his desire to have the slayer grew so uncontrollable that he could not sleep at night, and he would not talk to Galaz about anything else, thus tiring him with his constant chatter, for Galazi was a man of few words, who preferred to be silent. But in spite of everything, he could not find any way to get the slayer.

One evening, while Umslopogaas was again hiding in the reeds, he saw a beautiful young girl, whose skin shone like bright copper, coming up the shore towards his hiding place. The girl did not stop at the edge of the reeds, but stepped forward, sitting down at a spear-shaft’s distance from Umslopogaas, and began to weep bitterly, talking to herself.

“I wish the ghost wolves would destroy him and all he has,” sobbed the girl, “yes, him and Masilo too! I would let them tear them apart without mercy, even if I could taste their teeth myself. Better to be in the mouths of wolves than in that fat Masilo pig. Oh, if I must marry him, I will let him taste the knife instead of a wedding kiss. Oh, if I were queen of the ghost wolves, then the bones in the village of Jikiza should rattle before the new moon!” Umslopogaas listened and suddenly rose to his feet before the girl. He was tall and fierce-looking, and the she-wolf’s teeth gleamed in his eyebrows.

“The ghost wolves are coming, my girl,” he said. “They are always near those who need them.”

The girl noticed him now and cried out weakly, then looked in wonder at the big man who was addressing her, And his fiery eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked. “I’m not afraid of you, whoever you are.”

“Then you are wrong, my girl, for all men fear me, and with good reason. I am another Wolf-Witch, of whom you have heard; I am one of the witches of Haunted Mountain. Be quiet now, or I will kill you. And it is no use calling to your people for help, for I am quicker on my feet than they.”

“I’m not going to cry for help, wolfman,” the girl replied. “And I’m too young and beautiful to be killed.”

“Exactly, girl,” said Umslopogaas, looking at her. “But what were you talking about just now about Jikiza and some Masilo? There was fire and steel in your words, and they pleased me.”

“It seems you heard them,” replied the girl. “What’s the use of repeating them?”

“Nothing, my girl. Tell me about it, and perhaps I can find a way to help you out of your predicament.”

“It will soon be told,” said the girl. “An old story. My name is Zinita, and Jikiza the Invincible is my stepfather. There is not a drop of his blood in me. Now he would marry me to Masilo, an old and fat man whom I hate and who offers me a lot of cattle.”

“Is there anyone else you would like to marry, girl?” asked Umslopogaas.

“No,” replied Zinita, looking him in the eye.

“Isn’t there any way you could get out of Masilo?”

“There is one, wolfman—death. If I die, I am completely free; if Masilo dies, I am free, though only for a short time, for I will be married to someone else. But if Jikiza dies, then all is well. What about the wolves, wolfman? Aren’t they hungry?”

“I can’t bring them here,” replied Umslopogaas. “Is there no other way?”

“Yes, if someone dares to try it,” replied Zinita, casting a telling glance at Umslopogaas that made his heart beat wildly. “Listen, do you know who rules my people? The brave is the owner of the Weeping-Maker, and whoever wins the brave from him in battle will be our chief. But if the owner of the brave dies undefeated, his son takes his place, followed by the brave. And so it has been for four generations, for the keepers of the Weeping-Maker have always been undefeated. But I have heard that Jikiza’s grandfather’s father won the brave from its then owner by cunning. He fell to the ground as soon as the axe had only slightly touched him, and pretended to be dead, whereupon his opponent, the owner of the brave, burst out laughing and turned to go. But then Jikiza’s ancestor sprang up suddenly, and pierced the man from behind with his spear, and thus he became the chief of the axe people. Therefore Jikiza now strikes off the heads of all whom he falls with his brave.”

“So he kills a lot?” asked Umslopogaas.

“There have been but few of them in recent years,” said the girl, “for no one will give battle to him—not at any price. As the owner of the Weeping-Maker, he is invincible, and to give battle to him is the same as certain death. There have been fifty-one daredevils, and fifty-one white skulls are piled up in front of Jikiza’s hut. And note carefully that the daredevil must be defeated in battle; if it is stolen or found, it is a worthless rebellion that brings only shame, even death, to its owner.”

“So can I get into a match with Jikiza and how?” asked
Umslopogaas.

“Yes. Every year, on the first day of the first new moon in the summer, Jikiza and his chieftain hold a great conference. He must then rise and challenge everyone to a fight for the title of chieftain and leader of the tribe. If anyone willing appears, we go to the cattle pen, where the matter is decided, and when the opponent has been defeated, Jikiza returns to the conference, which continues as if nothing had happened. Everyone is free to attend the conference, and Jikiza must fight anyone who is willing, no matter who he is.”

“Perhaps I’ll be there then,” said Umslopogaas.

“After the negotiations that will soon be held, I will be handed over to Masilo,” said the girl. “But if Jikiza were defeated, the victor would become chief, and he could marry me to whomever he wanted.”

Umslopogaas now understood the girl’s intention and knew that he had won her favor, which warmed and moved him, for women were something strange and unknown to him.

“If by chance I were present now,” he said, “and if I happened to defeat that steel queen, the valiant Weeper, and become the chief of the axe people, then you too would not live far from the valiant’s shadow, girl Zinita.”

“Okay, wolfman, although no one wants to be in that shadow. But first you must defeat the slayer. Many have tried and all have been destroyed.”

“But someone must succeed at last,” replied Umslopogaas. “Goodbye then!” and he jumped into the river and swam to the other bank with strong strokes.

Zinita stared after him until he was out of sight, and love for the brave stranger crept into her heart, a love that was fiery, strong, and selfish. But Umslopogaas thought more of the brave man than of the girl Zinita as he hurried toward the Ghost Mountain, for deep down Umslopogaas always loved war more than women, although it was his fate that women brought him much worry and sorrow.

There were still fifteen days until the new moon, during which time Umslopogaas thought a lot and spoke little. To Galazi, however, he talked about his plans, expressing his decision to fight Jikiza the Unconquerable for the Weeping-Maker. Galazi said that it was better to stay on the mountain with the wolves than to go wandering around and looking for all the weapons in the world. He also said that even if Umslopogaas managed to defeat the Weeping-Maker, that was not all. The girl also had to be repaired, and Galazi expected nothing good from women. Hadn’t the poison that had killed his father in the Halakaz village been mixed and served by the girl? To all this Umslopogaas answered nothing, spoke no word, or made a fuss, for he could think of nothing but the Weeping-Maker and the girl, but more of the former than the latter.

The long-awaited new moon day finally dawned. Umslopogaas rose at dawn and, having first tied a loincloth, the moocha, around his waist, fastened the wolf’s fur over his shoulders. In his hand he took a sturdy war shield that he had made from buffalo hide, and the same crescent-shaped axe with which he had killed Chaka’s warrior.

“You intend to kill Jikiza the Invincible with a childish weapon,” growled
Galazi, casting a dark glance at the sly.

“It’s okay, just this once,” replied Umslopogaas.

After Umslopogaas had eaten, they set out together on a journey down the mountain, going slowly and leisurely all the time, and across the river they went by a ford, for Umslopogaas wished to save his strength. On the other side of the river Galazi hid in the reeds, because he was known in the village, and there Umslopogaas said goodbye to him, not knowing whether he would ever see his friend again. As he passed the large village of Jikiza, Umslopogaas saw a great crowd streaming in through the gates, and he joined the crowd, arriving with the others at the open space in front of Jikiza’s hut, where the chiefs were already assembled. In the middle of them, and in front of the pile of skulls piled up in the doorway of the hut, sat Jikiza, the proud chief of the axe people, a large and hairy man, who looked at him with bulging eyes. That mighty slayer, the Weeper, was fastened to his wrist with a leather loop, and every comer greeted him from the axe with the name ” inkosiakaas ,” the queen, but not a word to Jikiza. Umslopogaas sat down among the others near the chiefs, and no one seemed to pay the slightest attention to him, except Zinita, who, with a gloomy look, was pouring beer for the chiefs. On the right side, near Jikiza, sat a fat man with squinty eyes, who all the time looked lustfully at the girl Zinita.

“That must be Masilo,” thought Umslopogaas. “Your kind bleeds very easily, Masilo.”

When all had settled themselves, Jikiza said, glancing around: “This is a matter which I now leave to you to decide, councillors. I have decided to marry my stepdaughter Zinita to this Masilo, but we have not yet agreed on the gift which she is obliged to give me. I demand a hundred cattle, for the girl is beautiful and without blemish, a true beauty, and besides, my daughter, though not of my blood, but this Masilo offers only fifty heads, which is why I now ask you to decide the question.”

“We will grant your request, O valiant lord,” replied one chieftain, “but first, O invincible one, you must, according to this ancient custom, publicly challenge all to battle for the Weeper and the chieftainship of the axe people.”

“A useless and unfortunate habit,” grumbled Jikiza, “as if I had not already made it clear enough. When I was younger I killed fifty-three without getting a scratch myself, but now for many, many years I have not received any answer to the challenge I have proclaimed to everyone, like a rooster from a nest.”

“So listen up everyone! Is there anyone here who dares to step forward to fight with me, Jikiza, for the great Weepmaker slayer? The winner shall keep the slayer, who will also be followed by the chieftain of the axe people.”

He said he spoke very quickly, like a person who mumbles prayers to a spirit in whom he has no confidence, and then began to talk again about Masilo’s cattle, and the girl Zinita. But at that moment Umslopogaas jumped up and cried out, looking at him over his shield: “Here is one, O Jikiza, who wants to fight with you for the slaying of the Weeper and the chieftainship that follows the weapon.”

Everyone burst out laughing, and Jikiza stared at him in amazement.

“Step forward from behind your mount,” said he, “and tell me your name and family, so that I may know who will fight Jikiza the Unconquerable for this old slayer.”

Umslopogaas then stepped closer, letting his shield fall, and despite his youth, his gaze was so fierce that he no longer made anyone laugh.

“What is my name and family to you, Jikiza,” said he, “do not bother to inquire about them, but set out quickly for the match, to which you must submit according to the old custom, for I am burning with desire to hold the Weeper, sit in your seat, and settle that Masilo-pig cattle question. When I have killed you, I will take a name that no one has had yet.”

The audience laughed again, but Jikiza jumped to his feet, furious.

“How dare you speak to me like that, you un-weaned brat,” he growled, “to me, the invincible, the wielder of the scepter! I never thought in my life that I would hear such talk from some long-legged pup. To the stockyard, men of the axe-folk, to the stockyard, so that I may cut off that boaster’s head. He intends to usurp my seat, which my father and I have held by the power of the scepter for four generations, but I tell you all that soon his head will be mine, and then we will negotiate again about Masilo.”

“Save your words, man,” interrupted Umslopogaas, “or if you cannot be silent, then speak of the things you wish to clarify before you bid farewell to the sun.”

Jikiza was now so furious that he could no longer speak, and foam was bubbling from his lips, but the crowd followed the argument with amusement, except for Masilo, who looked askance at the burly and stern-looking stranger, and Zinita, who gave Masilo hostile glances. So they went to the cattle pen, and Galazi, who saw what was happening beyond, could no longer remain absent, but left his hiding place and joined the crowd.

XVII.

UMSLOPOGAS BECOME THE CHIEF OF THE AXE PEOPLE.

When Umslopogaas and Jikiza the Invincible had arrived at the cattle-pen, they were placed in the middle of the pen, ten paces apart. Umslopogaas had his large shield and that light crescent-shaped axe as his weapons, and Jikiza had the Weeper and a small, easily movable shield, and in judging the weapons of both, the onlookers thought that the stranger could not have harassed the wielder of the scythe more seriously.

“He is very poorly equipped,” said an old man, “a large axe and a small shield would be better. Jikiza is invincible, and that long-legged stranger is of no use with his large shield when the Weeper bites into it with his full blade.” Wolf-Galazi heard the old man’s words, which he thought were quite appropriate, and he was very sad for his brother.

The signal finally rang out, and Jikiza charged, roaring, at Umslopogaas. But he did not move until his opponent raised his spear, which made him jump suddenly to one side, and as Jikiza, forced by his fierce speed, rushed past, Umslopogaas struck him on the back with the flat of his axe, so that the sound was heard far and wide; he did not mean to kill Jikiza with that spear. The spectators burst into laughter, and the shame of the blow almost made Jikiza’s heart burst with rage. He turned and rushed blindly like a mad bull a second time at Umslopogaas, who raised his shield against him, but just as the great spear swung to its highest point, Umslopogaas cried out as if in fear and fled out of Jikiza’s way.

The trick was followed by a new, more unbridled roar of laughter, and Umslopogaas ran as if for his life, Jikiza pressing on behind, blind with rage. Back and forth and around the enclosure they ran, Jikiza barely a spear’s length behind Umslopogaas, who tried to keep his back to the sun as much as possible, so as to be able to observe Jikiza’s shadow. And Umslopogaas could run. Although he seemed quite exhausted, so that the men already thought he was helplessly out of breath, he only increased the speed of his run, thus attracting Jikiza to ever more fervent efforts.

The blow and the shadow that wavered hither and thither told Umslopogaas that his opponent was at an end, and pretending to stumble, he suddenly flung his shield to one side, right at the feet of Jikiza, who in his blind speed could not avoid it, but stumbled and fell headlong into the ravine, whereupon Umslopogaas struck him as swiftly as an eagle stalking a dove. And before any one could properly think, he had seized the Weeper-maker scythe, cut the leather loop by which it was fastened to Jikiza’s wrist with his axe, and sprang back, that mighty weapon raised high, throwing his own to the ground. The spectators now saw how cunningly he had fought, and those who hated Jikiza gave a resounding shout of joy. But the others were silent.

Jikiza slowly rose to her feet, wondering that she was still alive, and as she glanced at Umslopogaas’s light axe, which she had snatched from the ground in her effort to rise, she burst into tears. But the great Weeper, the Iron Queen, was in Umslopogaas’ hands, and he gazed at its blue-glittering, slightly inward-curving blade, its hollow spike like a hammer-forged auger, and its beautiful shaft, strengthened with copper rings, ending in a large knob, caressing like a bridegroom the naked beauty of his beloved. Then, in the sight of all, he kissed the broad blade of the valiant man, exclaiming with joy:

“Hail to you, my mistress, my beloved, whom I have won in battle, hail! We will never part, and we will die together, for I do not want you to fall to others after I am gone!”

So he shouted for everyone to hear and then turned to Jikiza, who stood weeping in defeat.

“Where is your pride now, O Invincible?” laughed Umslopogaas. “Fight! You are as well armed as I was just now, when I did not fear your attack.”

Jikiza looked at him and then, cursing, threw the light axe at him and quickly fled towards the gate of the cattle pen.

Umslopogaas stooped and the axe whizzed over him. Then he stood for a moment, watching the fugitive, and those present thought he was going to let Jikiza go, but that was not his intention; he only waited until Jikiza had reached the gate, about halfway along the way. Then he suddenly flew forward like lightning from the sky, and his feet were so swift that the spectators could hardly distinguish his steps. Jikiza ran quickly too, but nevertheless he seemed to stand still all the time. He reached the gate, but at the same time a spear flashed from above, a crash was heard, and someone glanced past him. Everyone watched the spectacle with bated breath, and lo! Jikiza fell at the gate of the cattle pen and everyone saw that he was dead, struck dead by that mighty Weeping-Maker spear that he and his father had held for so long.

A great shout rang out from the crowd when it was ascertained that Jikiza the Unconquerable had at last been slain, and many of them greeted Umslopogaas with cries of “Hail, lord of the valiant, hail chief of the axe people!” But Jikiza’s ten sons, all strong and brave men, rushed upon Umslopogaas, intending to strike him down on the spot. Umslopogaas recoiled, the Weeper ready to strike, when at the same moment some of the chiefs rushed in, shouting, “Hail!”

“Doesn’t your law, you chiefs, stipulate,” said Umslopogaas, “that after defeating the chief of the axe people, I myself am the chief?”

“That is true, stranger, that is the law,” replied an elderly member of the council, “but the same law also decrees that you must now fight one-on-one with all who wish to fight you. So it was in my grandfather’s youth, when his grandfather’s father, who now lies dead, defeated the slayer, and so it must be now.”

“I have no objection to that decree,” said
Umslopogaas. “Who here will come forward to fight with me for
the slaying of the Weeper and the chieftainship of the axe people?”

All ten sons of Jikiza came forward as one man, for the death of their father and the passing of the chieftainship from their lineage had driven them into a frenzy of anger, so that it was really a matter of indifference to them whether they lived or died. No others appeared, for all were afraid to engage in combat with Umslopogaas, who held the Weeper.

Umslopogaas read his opponent. “Ten, through Chaka’s head!” he cried. “I must now fight them all one by one, so I suppose I shall not have to negotiate about Masilo and the Zinita girl today. Listen, sons of Jikiza the Invincible! If someone should appear now who would stand by me in battle, so that there would be two of us, then all ten of you could attack the two of us at once. What do you think of my proposal? Ten against two?”

The brothers deliberated for a moment, deciding that by accepting the proposal they would have a much greater chance of winning than by taking on each other one at a time.

“Let it be over,” they said.

As he had just run around, Umslopogaas had seen his brother Galazi in the crowd, and he knew that he longed to join in the fight. He shouted out in a loud voice that the one he would choose as his companion to stand back to back with him in battle would be the first among the axe people after him if they were victorious, and stepping slowly forward he looked everyone in the face until he came before Galazi, who was leaning on his mace.

“There’s a big man there, and the big man has a club,” said Umslopogaas. “What’s your name, man?”

“Wolf,” replied Galazi.

“Tell me, Wolf, do you want to stand with me back to back in this fight ten against two? If we win, you will be my closest man among this people.”

“I love the groves and the slopes of the mountains more than the dwellings of men and the kisses of women, keeper of the sword,” answered Galazi, “but since you have shown yourself to be a mighty warrior, I will stand with you back to back, that I may taste again the charms of battle, and see how the game ends.”

“So it’s decided, Wolf!” exclaimed Umslopogaas, and they stepped side by side into the middle of the cattle pen—a gallant pair! Everyone looked at them in wonder, and it occurred to a few that these must be those famous Wolf boys from Ghost Mountain.

“Now the Weeper-slayer and the Guard-mace have united, Galazi,” said
Umslopogaas, “and I think few can stand against them.”

“Many people will see that,” Galazi said. “This is where a really good match came from, which is the main thing, so the ending doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, victory is sweet, but death, the end of everything, is the most wonderful of all,” said Umslopogaas.

Then they conferred for a moment, and Umslopogaas examined the blade of his dagger and the strange spike of the hammer, testing the weight of the weapon. When he had had enough, the partners took their places in the middle of the cattle pen, back to back, and those present noticed that Umslopogaas held the dagger differently from before: the blade was now towards his chest and the hollow spike towards the enemy. The brothers also prepared for battle, brandishing their spears, and five threatened Umslopogaas and five Galaz. They were all burly men, and mad with rage and shame.

“Only witchcraft can save those two,” one council member mused to his companion.

“But the scepter has its own owners,” replied the other, “and that club looks familiar to me; I am almost certain that it is the Warden of the Wading, and woe to him who comes across it. I have seen it swing when I was young, and besides, those who hold the scepter and club are no cubs. They are young, but they have been fed on the milk of the wolf.”

At that moment an old man stepped forward to give some instructions on the conduct of the battle, the same one who had explained to Umslopogaas the requirements of the memorable custom of the tappara. The battle was to begin when the spear he had thrown touched the ground. The old man took the spear and threw it, but his hand was weak and he threw it so clumsily that the spear fell among the Jikiza sons standing in front of Umslopogaas, forcing them to jump aside and attracting the attention of all ten brothers. But Umslopogaas only waited for the spear to touch the ground, not caring where it fell. When the point hit the ground, he said something, and behold, Umslopogaas and Galazi rushed towards their enemies, without waiting for their attack, as everyone thought they would do, and all ten were completely taken aback, for their intention had been to attack first. The Weeping-Maker flashed, but did not strike with full force, but pecked, pecked like a bird with its beak, and one of the enemies fell to the ground. The mace also swung, falling like a falling log, and one man slipped again into the ditch. The Wolf-Wives rushed through the ranks of their opponents, turned and charged again, now at each other, the Weeping-Maker pecked again, the Guard thumped, and behold, Umslopogaas and Galazi stood back to back again, both unharmed, but before them lay four of the enemies dead.

The attack and the retreat had been so rapid that the onlookers scarcely realized what had happened; even the remaining Jikiza boys stared at each other, realizing at the same time that there were only six of them left. In the fury of the herdsmen they attacked their partners on both sides, but in each group one was more vehement than the other, thus rushing ahead of the others, so that the Wolf-guys managed to strike each of their men before the other had time to arrive. A fierce spear thrust was aimed at Umslopogaas, but he dodged by turning sideways, so that the point only grazed his side, and as he turned he struck the man dead with a light blow.

“That woodpecker has a beak made of steel, and he knows how to use it,” someone said to his companion.

“A real killer indeed,” said another, and those present heard the names. From then on, when speaking of Umslopogaas, only the names Tikka and Bulalio, meaning killer, were used.

The man charging at Galazi charged wildly, spear raised, but Galazi was a skilled fighter. Taking a step forward, he swung his mace back, then let it spin in a huge circle toward the attacker. Jikiza’s son raised his shield to dodge the blow, but the shield was as light a resistance to the Guardian as a leaf to a gust of wind. The mace struck the center of the shield, so that the crash echoed around; the shield buckled like fresh skin, and its bearer fell to the ground, crushed.

There were now only four of Jikiza’s sons left, who hovered around their companions for a moment, threatening from afar but never daring to come within reach of the spear or the club. One, however, threw his spear at Umslopogaas and Galaz, and although Umslopogaas, as he jumped aside, broke the shaft of the spear with a skillful blow, its tip nevertheless shot forward with such force that it wounded Galaz in the hip. The unarmed thrower turned to flee, the others quickly following suit, for their courage had gone, and they did not want to continue the fight against the two.

Thus the battle ended, having lasted from beginning to end barely as long as a man slowly counts to a hundred.

“It seems as if there is no one left to kill, Galazi,” said Umslopogaas, laughing. “Ah, how skillfully we fought! Hey, you sons of the invincible who run so fast, stop! I grant you peace, you may tend my huts and plow my fields with the other herds of the tribe. And you, the counselors, the battle is over, let us go to the chief’s hut, where Masilo awaits us,” and he turned and left with Galazi, the crowd following him in silence and wonder.

When he arrived, Umslopogaas sat down where Jikiza had sat in the morning, and the girl Zinita came to him and washed and bandaged the wound from the spear. Umslopogaas thanked her, and the girl would have treated Galazi’s wound, which was deeper, but he rudely said that he wanted to be left alone; women had nothing to do with his wounds. Galazi never suffered any women, but he hated Zinita the most.

Then Umslopogaas turned to Masilo, who sat before him pale with fear, and said: “It seems, O Masilo, that you have wished to marry this Zinita, and even against her will. I had already decided to kill you to appease her anger, but enough blood has been shed today. However, you must give a wedding gift to the girl whom I intend to marry myself; let us say a hundred heads. Then you will leave the ax-people’s dwellings forever, or else bad things will happen to you, Masilo-pig.”

Masilo got up and went, his face green with fear. He gave up the cattle and fled towards Chaka’s village. Zinita saw him go and was especially happy because the Killer had intended to take her as his wife.

“Now I’m free from Masilo,” he said aloud, within hearing of Galaz, “but I would have been much happier if I had seen him dead in front of me.”

“That woman has an evil heart,” thought Galazi, “and she will bring no good to my Umslopogaas brother.”

The chiefs, chiefs, and warriors of the Axe People now honored him, whom they had given the name of Slayer, by saluting him as the chief of the tribe and the owner of the sword, and saluting the sword as well. Thus Umslopogaas became the chief of that great tribe, and he accumulated much cattle and wives, and no one dared to oppose him. From time to time a few dared to engage in combat with him, but no one could defeat him, and after a while no one dared to stand in the way of the Weeper when it rose to strike.

Galaz also became a great person, but, loving the forests and mountains, he did not feel very comfortable with his friend, and he was often seen wandering at night, as before, across the forests and plains, accompanied by the howling of ghost wolves.

But Umslopogaas the Killer rarely hunted with the wolves anymore; he slept at night next to Zinita, who loved him tenderly and bore him children.

XVIII.

THE CURSE OF BALEKA.

Now, my father, let my story flow back like a river to its source, and I will tell you a little of the events that happened in the king’s village of Gibamaxegu, which you white people call Gibbeclack, and which is also called “The Death of the Old,” for it was there that Chaka murdered all the old men who were unfit for war.

So, after the king’s words, who gave me, Mopo, new wives, huts to live in, and much cattle, the bones of Unand, the great mother elephant, the Mother of Heaven, were gathered from the ashes of my huts, and when not all were found, some of the bones of my wives were put in their place, so that the number was complete, but Chaka knew nothing of it.

When the work was finished, the bones were buried, arranged in order, in a large tomb, and not just the bones. Around them were tied twelve girls who had served Unand, and those girls were also covered with earth and left to die in the tomb, around the bones of Unand, their goddess. Moreover, a regiment was formed from all those present at the funeral, who were to guard the tomb for a year without being allowed to leave it for a moment. And there were many of them, my father, but I was not among them.

Chaka also gave an order that no grain could be sown that year, milk had to be poured on the ground, and women were forbidden to bear children for a year. If anyone dared to give birth despite this, she and her husband were killed. And when a couple of months had passed, great misery reigned in the land, my father.

Then there was peace for a while. Chaka was as gloomy as a thundercloud and wept often, and we who were with him wept also, so that at last we could weep for many hours without ceasing. Not even a woman can weep as we wept then, my father. The fifty warriors were also sent then to look for Umslopogaas, for Chaka did not quite believe the story of me and my companions about the youth falling into the lion’s teeth, although he did not say anything to me. I have already told you how Umslopogaas and Wolf-Galazi and their many warriors escaped. Not one of them returned. Later it was told to the king that those warriors had gotten lost and starved, but he only laughed and said that the lion that had eaten Umslopogaas must have been quite a beast, and had probably eaten the warriors too.

At last came the long-awaited night of the new moon, that terrible night, which was followed by an even more terrible morning. I sat with Chaka, who put his arms around my neck, lamenting and weeping for the death of his mother, whom he had murdered, and I lamented too, but I did not weep, for it was dark, and in the morning I would have to weep so much in front of the king and everyone. I therefore saved my tears, so that I would not be in need when I needed them.

All night long people flocked to the village from all directions, and when that ten thousand-strong crowd echoed their lamentations in the still night, it seemed as if the whole world had mourned. No one would be silent so as to drink even a sip of water. At daybreak Chaka arose, saying: “Come, Mopo, let us go and see those who mourn with us.” And we went, followed by a group of clubmen who were ready to carry out any orders the king might give.

The crowds that had arrived had settled outside the village, and they were as numerous as the leaves on the trees. The road was black with people on every side, as we sometimes see a plain full of game, and when the king appeared, the howling ceased, and the war song rolled mightily from one group to another far into the desert. Then the howling began again, and Chaka entered the crowd, weeping mournfully. As the sun rose higher, the sight became more and more frightening, for as the heat increased, thirst, hunger, and fatigue began to torment that dense crowd, and although dozens of slaughtered sacrificial bulls lay on the field, no one dared to touch them. Some fell to the ground and were trampled to death, others sniffed uncontrollably to better cry, a few moistened their eyes with saliva, and others walked back and forth with their tongues hanging out of their mouths, hoarse cries escaping from their parched throats.

“Now, Mopo, we will find out which witches have brought all this trouble upon us,” said the king, “and who are my loyal and sincere subjects.”

While he was still speaking, we came to a man, a famous chief. His name was Zwaumbana, and he was the chief of the Amabovu tribe, and he had all his wives and many companions with him. He could no longer cry, poor man, but was panting from thirst and heat. The king looked at him.

“Look, Mopo,” he said, “look at that scoundrel who has not a tear for my dead mother! Oh, what a heartless monster! Shall he be allowed to live to see the sun while we must weep, Mopo? Never! Take him away with all his companions and kill those heartless people who do not weep for the death of my mother, who was killed by witchcraft!”

And Chaka went on his way still weeping, and I also wept as I followed him, but Chief Zwaumbana was killed by the king’s order with all his companions, and the executioners also had to weep as they dealt the death blows. At the same time we met another man, who, on seeing the king, secretly took a pinch of snuff to make his tears flow more abundantly. But the king’s eye was quick, and he saw the trick.

“Look at that, Mopo,” said he, “that witch who has no tears, although my mother has died a victim of witchcraft. Look, she has to sniff to force tears into her eyes, which are dry with molten wickedness. Let her die, that heartless villain! Oh, kill her!”

These were only the first of the many thousands of victims of the day, for the bloodshed and the innate cruelty gradually drove Chaka to a frenzy approaching madness. He wandered about weeping here and there, and occasionally stopped at his hut to drink beer, saying that we who mourned needed food. And as he went he always waved either his hand or his little spear, saying: “Take away those heartless rascals who will not weep for the death of my mother!” and those whom his hand happened to point to were killed at once, until at last the executioners were so exhausted that they could no longer swing their clubs, when they in turn were killed, because their strength was gone, and they had no more tears. I had to take part in that work of killing, too, for if I had not killed myself, I would have been killed.

Fear, despair, and thirst finally drove the people to a frenzy. The men began to fight and kill each other, and everyone who had an enemy sought him out and killed him. No one was spared, and soon the place was like a great human slaughterhouse, where seven thousand souls were killed that day. But Chaka only wandered restlessly among his victims, crying, saying this and that: “Out of my sight, you heartless scoundrels, kill them!” His seemingly indiscriminate cruelty had, however, its purpose and its main goal, my father, for although he killed many for the sake of fun, he also killed all those he hated or feared that day.

The day was at length drawing to evening, and the setting sun, red, purpled the sky that curved over the field of blood. The killing ceased, for no one had the strength to kill any longer, and the people lay panting on the ground in great masses, the living and the dead mixed together. If they were not allowed to eat and drink before morning, most of the survivors would die during the night, and I spoke of it to the king, not caring at that moment for my own life. The horrors I had seen had made me sick, so that I forgot even my revenge.

“A great mourning indeed, O king,” said I, “a mourning with which all your loyal subjects may be pleased, but which is certainly not to the liking of witches and villains. I think your suffering has been avenged, O king, both yours and mine.”

“Not at all, Mopo,” replied the king, “this is just the beginning. The day was indeed a success, but tomorrow will be even better.”

“Tomorrow, O king, there will be few mourners left; all around you will be desolate and dead.”

“How so, Mopo Makedama’s son? Of the many thousands gathered here, not many have died yet. Read the rest, and you will see that everyone will be safe in the morning.”

“It is true, O king, that those killed by the spear and club are comparatively few, but thirst and hunger finish the work begun by the spear. Those people have not eaten or drunk for a day, and for a day they have wept and lamented. Look out, O Black, there they lie in great heaps mixed with the dead, and by the dawn of tomorrow morning they too will have given up their lives or are about to die.”

Chaka weighed my words and realized he was going too far. If he carried out his plan, he would only have a handful of people left to control.

“It is hard, Mopo,” he said, “that you and I must bear our sorrows alone, while those dogs yonder feast and rejoice, but out of the kindness of my heart I will be gentle towards them again. Go, son of Makedama, and bid my children eat and drink, if they have the heart to do so, for this mourning feast must now be ended. My mother Unandi can hardly sleep peacefully seeing so little blood on her grave—her spirit certainly haunts me in my dreams—but out of the kindness of my heart I declare the mourning feast ended. Let my children eat and drink, if they really have the heart to do so.”

“Happy is the people who have such a king,” I replied, and went to tell Chaka’s words to the chiefs and warriors, whereupon those who still had a little voice left praised the king’s goodness with shouts of joy. The licking of the baptismal beads from the sticks immediately ceased, and all rushed to the river like cattle that had wandered for five days in the wilderness, and drank their fill. Some were trampled to death in the water.

Then I went to rest, but I slept poorly, my father, for I knew that Chaka’s bloodlust had not yet been satisfied.

In the morning many set out for home, having received permission from the king, and others repaired the bodies lying in the field to the bone pits. Others were formed into troops and sent to kill those who had not attended the mourning feast. After dinner Chaka said he wanted to go for a walk, ordering me and a couple of chiefs and servants to follow him. We walked in silence, and the king leaned on my shoulder as if on a staff.

“How is your tribe, Mopo?” he asked finally. “Was the Langen tribe at the mourning party? I didn’t see them?”

I replied that I didn’t know. The invitation had been sent, but compared to the length of the trip, it was quite short for such a large group.

“The dogs must run fast when the master commands, my Mopo servant,” said Chaka, and in his eyes flashed that fearful fire, the like of which I have never seen in the eyes of any other. My heart almost stopped beating, my father—yes, I became quite cold, though I did not love my tribe and my relatives who had driven me from my home. We had meanwhile arrived at a rocky place where a gaping cleft or fissure suddenly opens before the traveler, called U’Donga-lu-ka-Tatiyana. The sides are at first steep, but then fall perpendicularly into the abyss, and from the top of the cleft there is a wide view of the surrounding plains. There Chaka sat down to rest and fell into thought. After a moment, he suddenly looked up and noticed in the distance a huge line of men, women, and children, winding like a snake across the plain towards the village of Gibamaxegu.

“Mopo,” said the king, “judging by the color of their shields, those over there are of the Langen tribe, I think—your own people, Mopo.”

“Yes, O king,” I answered. Chaka sent messengers quickly to meet the comers, bidding them come to him where he sat. Others were sent to the village, and he whispered something in their ears, but I did not hear what he said.

Then he looked intently at the black line winding across the plain towards us, which the messengers soon met, at which point the line began to wind its way up the hillside.

“How big is your tribe, Mopo?” asked the king.

“I do not know, O Elephant,” I replied, “for I have not seen them for many years. Perhaps three full regiments.”

“More,” said the king. “Do you think your tribe will fill the crack behind us, Mopo!” And he nodded his head towards the chasm.

I immediately understood Chaka’s meaning and began to tremble from the rush to my heels, unable to get a word out of my mouth, as my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“There are many of them,” Chaka continued, “but I’ll bet you fifty cents that they won’t fill the gap.”

“The King tolerates counting games,” I said.

“That’s right, it’s all right to play, but even if you just play and hit, you’ll lose the bet.”

“As the king pleases,” I murmured—I could not answer. My tribe approached: an old man with white hair and beard walked in the forefront, and looking at him more closely I recognized him. It was my father, my father Makedama. When he came within earshot, he greeted the king with a bayéte cry, and threw himself on the ground, then crawled towards us on his knees, honoring the king with countless words of praise. And all his thousands of companions also threw themselves on their knees and on their hands, praising the king, and their cries resounded like the rumble of thunder.

At last my father Makedama lay writhing like a snake before the royal majesty. Chaka bade him rise and greeted him gently, but all the others were still lying prostrate on the ground, their foreheads pressed into the sand.

“Rise, Makedama, my child, father of the Langen tribe, and tell me why you come late to my mourning feast?”

“The journey was long, O king,” replied Makedama, who did not know me. “The journey was long and yet short. The women and children grew weary, their legs grew weak, and they are still weary.”

“Speak not of it, Makedama my child,” said the king. “You must have been very sorrowful in your heart for them, but they will soon rest. Tell me, is everyone here with you?”

“Everyone, O Elephant—we all came! My villages are deserted, cattle roam the pastures without care, and birds peck at the grains from the unharvested ears.”

“Very well, Makedama, you faithful servant of mine! You will mourn with me for a while—isn’t that so? Listen then! Order your people to divide themselves from me to the right and left, and to all settle down on the grass leading to the cleft.”

Makedama did as the king had commanded, and he, no more than his adviser, perceived the king’s intention, but I, who knew his evil heart, understood everything. That multitude of many thousands flowed past us to right and left, and the grassy slopes were soon hidden from view. When all had gone, Chaka turned again to Makedama, bidding him crouch to the bottom of the chasm and raise his voice in lamentation. The old man obeyed, crouching slowly and laboriously to the bottom of the chasm, which was so deep that the light seemed scarcely able to penetrate to where he stood, for I only saw his white hair looming far below in the darkness.

Then he raised his voice so that all those thousands who had settled on the slopes could hear it. It sounded weak and thin, but it echoed clearly and softly, as if from a distant snowy mountaintop:

” Woe, children of Makedama !”

And all those thousands—men, women, and children—repeated the words in an echo that rumbled like thunder.

” Sorrow, children of Makedama !”

” Sorrow, tribe of Langen, mourn with the whole world !” echoed again from below.

And others replied:

” Sorrow, tribe of Langen, mourn with the whole world !”

The voice was heard a third time:

” Woe, children of Makedama, weep, tribe of Langen, weep with the whole world !”

” Cry out, you warriors; weep, you wives, and beat your breasts, you girls, and you little ones, sob !”

” Drink from the river of tears and cover yourselves with the dust of sorrow !”

” Sorrow, tribe of Langen, weep for the death of the Mother of Heaven !”

” Wail, children of Makedama, weep, for the spirit of fertility has departed from us !”

” Sorrow, O my people, lament, for the lion of the Zulu has become an orphan !”

” Let your tears flow like rain, and let your cries echo like the wailing of a woman in labor !”

” For sorrow has fallen upon us like rain, and the world has become pregnant and given birth to death !”

” We walk in darkness, in the shadow of death we walk .”

” The Zulu lion is an orphan, for the Mother of Heaven is no more .”

” Who can comfort him? Only the crying of his children .”

” Weep, tribe of Langen, let your lamentations rise to the clouds and scatter them !”

” And let the whole world wail: Oh! Oh! Oh !”

So the old man, my father Makedama, sang, standing in the depths of the chasm. His voice carried up thin and weak, but when the thousands of his people above repeated the words sentence by sentence, the cry echoed like thunder to the clouds, and the mountains trembled with the power of the voice. Dark rain clouds had meanwhile darkened the sky, and the cries of those thousands of people set the air in such a violent motion that suddenly it began to rain heavily, as if the sky itself had wept. The rain brought thunder with it; a long fire flashed and a tremendous rumble echoed far and wide.

Chaka listened, and great tears rolled down his cheeks, for the song moved his heart. The rain fell heavily, covering the whole area in a gray mist, but the cry echoed despite the rain, overcoming even the thunder.

At the same time there was a strange noise and I looked to the right. There, above the crowd, on the top of the hill, swayed an innumerable number of warriors’ crests and a flashing line of spears. I looked to the left; there I also saw the crests and a line of spears, dimly visible through the rain. I looked ahead to the other end of the crack, and I saw the same sight: crests and spears.

At that moment, a horrible scream rose from the slopes, completely different from the one just now; those poor people were now screaming in terror and pain.

“Ah, now their grief is sincere,” said Chaka in my ear, “now your tribe mourns from their hearts and not just with their lips, Mopo.”

While he was still speaking, the multitudes on both sides of the chasm suddenly surged forward, pressed back to surge forward again with greater force, and, driven by the merciless spears of the warriors, began to fall in a torrent, men, women, and children, into the dark depths of the chasm.

* * * * *

Forgive my tears, my father, that fall from my blind eyes; I am very old, I have become a child again, and children cry. Yes, I cannot tell you more precisely—I turned away. At last the noise died down, and the complaints ceased—the work was done.

* * * * *

Thus was Makedama buried beneath the bones of his tribe—such was the end of the Langen tribe; my mother’s dream had come true, and Chaka had kept the oath he had sworn to my mother when she would not give him a drop of milk.

“You haven’t won the bet yet, Mopo,” said the king. “Look, there’s still a little hole there, where one more can rest. That granary of death is full to the brim, and not a single grain of grain will sprout, but there’s still a little hole left—is there no one to fill it? Is the whole Langen tribe really dead?”

“There is one left, O king!” I answer. “I am Lange, and let my body fill that empty place.”

“No, my Mopos, no! Who would win the bet then? And besides, I don’t want to kill you, because that would be against my oath. After all, our grief is shared.”

“I am the only living member of my family, O King, so I have lost the bet, which will be paid.”

“I know there’s another one,” said Chaka. “Our sister, Mopo. Ah, there she comes!”

I looked up and saw my sister Baleka walking towards us, a plush panther skin on her shoulders, two warriors behind her. She walked proudly, her head held high, and her gait was that of a queen. Now she noticed the dead, who lay before her as still as the dark water of a dayless pond. She guessed everything and stopped trembling, but then stepped proudly before Chaka.

“What do you want from me, O king?” he asked.

“You came at an opportune time, my sister,” Chaka replied, unable to meet her gaze. “You see, this Mopo, my servant and your brother, made a bet with me about cattle. The subject was utterly trivial—we were arguing whether that tribe of Langen—your tribe, Baleka—could fill this chasm of U’Donga-lu-ka-Tatiyana to the brim. And when the bet was made, the Langen were so excited that they rushed into the chasm by the thousands to show which of us was right. Now, however, it seems that your brother will lose the bet, for there will be one more to fit in there before the chasm is full. However, he has just reminded me, my sister, that there is one Langen still alive, who, resting in that hole, could help him win the bet, and he asked me to fetch you there. And I complied with his request, for I have never wanted to take anything by injustice, so now talk to Mopo alone about this matter, as you used to talk to him when “You gave birth to a child, my sister!”

Baleka did not seem to hear what Chaka said about me, for he understood the meaning well. He only looked Chaka in the eyes and said:

“You will sleep poorly after tonight, Chaka, until you reach the land where there is no sleep. I have spoken.”

Chaka heard and understood the words and at the same time turned away, crying out pitifully, for fear had seized his heart.

“My brother Mopo,” said Baleka, “let us speak for the last time; you heard the king’s command.”

I led my sister away, and I had a spear in my hand. We stopped at the edge of the abyss of death, by our dead people, and Baleka covered his head with the fold of the panther’s skin and spoke to me quickly from its shadow:

“What did I tell you a while ago, Mopo? Now is my time. I swear that you will live and avenge me with this very hand of yours.”

“I swear, my sister.”

“Swear that after you have taken revenge, you will seek out my son Umslopogaas, if he is still alive, and bless him in my name.”

“I swear, my sister.”

“Oh, well, Mopo! We have always loved each other tenderly, and now, when everything disappears, I feel as if we are again little children playing in the village of the Langens. In another country we will play together again! Now” — she looked at me seriously with her large, beautiful eyes — “I am so tired, Mopo. I am going to my people. The spirits of my tribe are calling me. Goodbye!”

* * * * *

I won’t tell you what happened next, my father.

XIX.

MASILO MOVES TO DUGUZA.

That night the curse of Baleka fell upon Chaka, who slept badly. He was so restless that he sent for me, bidding me go for a walk with him. I went, and we stepped out quietly and silently, Chaka in front and I behind. His feet carried him towards ‘U’Donga-lu-ku-Tatiyana, the place where all my tribe, as well as my Baleka sisters, lay dead.

We climbed slowly up the slope and stopped at the head of the chasm, at the very spot where Chaka had sat while the people were falling like water from a waterfall. Then the place had been filled with screams of terror and the groans of the dying, but now it was silent, not even a rustle disturbed the deep peace of the night. The full moon had just risen and illuminated the dead before us, so that I could see them all—Balekan too—he had been thrown right in the middle of the heap. I had never seen her so beautiful as she was then, and yet I was afraid to look at her.

“Now you wouldn’t have won your bet, Mopo my servant,” said Chaka. “You see, the pile has lowered, so that there is already a spear’s length to the edge!”

I didn’t answer, but the king’s voice chased the jackals away.

After a moment, Chaka continued, laughing bitterly:

“Tonight you may sleep well, my mother, for I have sent you many lullabies. Ah, tribe of Langen, you forgot, but I remembered! You forgot how once a woman and a boy came to ask you for food and shelter, but you gave them neither—yes, not even a drop of milk! What did I swear then, oh tribe of Langen? Did I not promise to kill as many of you as the drops of my cup could hold? And have I not kept my promise? Do not more men lie here than the drops of my cup can hold? And the number of women and children who followed them to death cannot be counted! Woe to you, tribe of Langen, who did not give me milk when I was little! Now that I have grown up, I have taken revenge! Yes, now that I have grown up! Ah! is there anyone as mighty as I? My steps make the earth tremble; when I speak, people tremble, and when I frown “My corners, they die—by the thousands. The land is mine as far as the road can go, and its inhabitants are mine. My power is growing and my dominion is expanding every moment—yes, every moment. Is your face, Baleka, staring at me from among the thousands I have just killed? You swore that I would sleep badly from now on. I am not afraid of you, Baleka—at least you sleep well. Tell me, Baleka—wake up and tell me who I have to fear!”—he suddenly fell silent as if in dismay. As I listened to his words, I had already decided to settle our differences once and for all by killing him at once, for my blood was boiling with rage and desire for revenge. I was already standing behind him, ready to strike his brains on the grass with my light club, but I restrained myself at the same time, for I also saw something. In the heap of bodies a hand moved, rose slowly and pointed to the shadow that darkened the other end of the abyss, and it seemed to me that the hand was Baleka’s. Perhaps I was mistaken, perhaps the hand was that of some other unfortunate man who was still writhing in pain—who knows—but from his side it rose and was adorned with bracelets exactly like those I had seen on his hands. Yes, the hand rose three times and pointed, bending one finger three times, to the gloomy shadow that covered the other end of the abyss, as if calling something from the darkness and the dead. Then it sank and I distinctly heard the bracelets clinking together. At the same time a song began to be heard from the shadow, a song so lovely and charming that I had never heard the like.

I also made out the words, but I have forgotten them, and I do not remember them any more. I only know that the song touched on great things, the birth and death of nations. It told of the development of the black people, the destruction that threatened them at the hands of the white race, and what they were for and why they had to die. It told of evil and good, of woman and man, and their struggle with each other, and what that war was about and how it ended. It also told of the Zulu people and their victories, and of the place where the white hand will finally crush our resistance, after which our people will gradually wither in the shadow of that hand and finally disappear altogether, going to a land where nothing dies, but lives forever, the good with the good and the bad with the bad. It told of life and death, of joy and sorrow, of time and the shoreless expanse of eternity, compared to which time is but a leaf swaying on the waves, and why that is so.

I heard many names, but I knew only a few, including my own, and Baleka, Umslopogaas, and Chaka the Lion. The song was very short and lasted only a short time, but it contained all this and much more, which I have forgotten, though I knew it once and will know it again when it is all over. That song from the shadow swelled in its swell until it sounded echoing on all sides, and even the dead seemed to listen. Chaka heard it too, and trembled with fear, but his ears were closed to its contents, while mine were open.

The sound drew nearer, and from the darkness of the shadow a faint reflection of light began to be heard, which grew brighter and brighter, until I saw that the brightness emanated from a feminine being who was coming towards us. I could already see the face, and, my father, I knew it. The being was Inkosazana-y-Zulu, the Queen of Heaven! She approached very slowly, gliding silently over that abyss filled with the dead, and it seemed to me that thousands of the shadows of the dead were rising to follow her—the Queen of Death. Ah, my father, how lovely she was in her dazzling brightness, her hair glittering like molten gold, her eyes deep as the noonday sky, and the whiteness of her breast and arms could be compared to the glowing snow of the evening sun. There was, however, something frightening, something terrible in her heavenly beauty, but I was glad that I was allowed to see it, how it sparkled, radiated, and changed shape as the shimmering veil woven from threads of glory fluttered around her.

She was now right before us, and Chaka fell to the ground, paralyzed with fear, hiding his face, but I was not afraid, my father—only the wicked are afraid to look at the Queen of Heaven. No, I was not afraid, but stood erect and looked her face to face. In her hand she held a small spear, the shaft of which was of royal redwood: the shadow of the spear that Chaka held in her hand , the same with which he had killed his mother and with which he was finally killed. The song ceased at once, and she stopped before us, so that the radiance radiating from her illuminated them both, while I stood bowed to the ground behind the king. She raised her small spear and touched Chaka, the son of Senzagacona, on the forehead, as a sign that he had received his sentence.

“Mopo Makedama’s son,” I heard a low voice say at the same time, “restrain your hand, for Chaka’s cup is not yet full. When you see me for the third time, then strike, Mopo my child.”

So he spoke, and though Chaka felt the touch, he did not hear the words, which were meant only for me. A dark cloud immediately covered the moon, and when it had passed, the vision had vanished, and Chaka and I were once more alone with the dead. The deep silence of the night reigned around us. Chaka looked up, and his face was gray with the sweat of pain.

“Who was that?” he asked hollowly.

“Inkosazana, Queen of Heaven; she who watches over the destinies of our people, O king, and whom men occasionally see before great events.”

“I have heard talk of him,” said Chaka. “Why did he appear now, and what was the song he sang? And why did he touch me with his spear?”

“He came, O king, because Baleka’s hand called him as you saw. The words and meaning of the song I did not understand, and why he touched your forehead with his spear I do not know, O king! Perhaps he crowned you with even greater power and might.”

“Yes, even the master of death, perhaps.”

“That’s you, Elephant,” I replied, looking at the silent crowd resting before us and at Baleka’s cold body.

Chaka trembled again. “Come, let us go, Mopo,” he said; “now I have known what it is to be afraid.”

“Fear is a guest who sooner or later greets everyone, even kings, O earth-shatterer!” I replied.

After this night Chaka then spread the rumor that Gibamaxegu was bewitched like the whole Zulu country, because he could no longer sleep peacefully, but woke up from this fear screaming and muttering the name of Baleka. Therefore he finally moved far away from the whole place and built here in Natal that great city called Duguza.

Look there, my father! There is a city far away on the plain where the white men live—called Stanger. The city of the white men is just where Duguza once stood. My eyes are dark, so I cannot see, but you can. At the gate is now a great house where the white man dispenses justice, a gate through which justice never passed before. Behind is another house where those who have sinned pray to the King of Heaven for forgiveness; for there I have seen so many who had done no wrong pray to the earthly king for mercy, but I have never seen any receive it. Oh! Chaka’s words have come true, my father. The white man rules the land, he works for peace where warriors once fought in bloodshed, his children rejoice and gather flowers from the place where men were shed by the thousands, they bathe in the waves of Imbozamo, whose crocodiles were once fed human flesh every day, and weddings are celebrated where girls used to kiss the tip of a spear. Everything has changed, nothing is the same, and all that remains of Chaka is his grave and the cruel reputation of his name.

After arriving at Duguza, Chaka lived in peace for a while, but then his bloodlust was awakened again. He sent his warriors against the Pondos tribe, who were completely destroyed and whose cattle became the prey of the victors. And when he returned from this expedition, an army of ten thousand, the Impi , was sent against the Sotyangana chief, who lived with his tribes north of the Limpopo. The warriors set off singing, marching before the king, who ordered them to return either victorious or not at all, and there were so many of them that when they began to pour out of the gate at daybreak like an immense herd of cattle, the line did not end until the sun was high in the sky.

Little did they know that victory would not smile upon them any more; they died by the thousands of them of hunger and of the fever of the Limpopo swamps, and those who returned came without shields. Even their shields had been eaten in the struggle with hunger! But what of them! They meant nothing. Dust was the name of a large regiment sent against Sotyangana, and dust it was—a speck of dust that was blown to death by a single breath of Chaka, the lion of the Zulus.

Almost all the men had gone to war, so that only the wives and the old men remained in Duguza. Dingaan and Umhlangana, the king’s brothers, were there also, for Chaka had not permitted them to go, for fear that they would begin to plot against him. He always looked at them sternly, so that they feared for their lives, yet dared not show their fear. But I guessed their thoughts, and like a snake I slithered into their hearts. I talked a lot with them, and often our conversation was limited to vague words and hints. But more of that later, my father, for first I must tell of Masilo, who had intended to marry Zinita, and whom Umslopogaas the Slayer had driven from the ax-people’s dwellings.

The day after the army left, Masilo then arrived at Duguza, asking to see the king. Chaka was sitting in front of his hut with his royal brothers Dingaan and Umhlangana, and I was also present, as were some of his advisers. Chaka was tired from sleeping badly, as was always the case at that time. Therefore, when it was announced that a traveler asked to see him, he did not immediately order him to be killed, but ordered the man to be brought before him.

Immediately words of praise began to be heard, coming in a flood, and a very fat man, tired from the journey, crawled towards us, the sand blowing around him, and greeted the king with all his honors. Chaka ordered him to be silent and to rise and tell his story. The man did as he was told and told everything you have already heard, my father, how a young man, stout and strong, came to the axe people and defeated Jikiza, the owner of the sword, thus making him the chief of that people, and how he had then robbed Masilo of his cattle and driven him away.

Chaka knew nothing of that axe-people, for our country was vast at that time, and there lived in it many smaller tribes, of which even the king had never heard; therefore he asked Masilo one thing and another about that people, the number of fighting men, the quantity of cattle, the name of the young man who ruled it, and especially the amount of the debt to be paid to the king.

Masilo replied, saying that the number of fighting men was about half a regiment, and that there was much cattle, for they were rich. No tax was paid, and the young man’s name was Bulalio, the Slayer—at least by that name he was known, and he had heard no other.

The king was angry. “Arise, Masilo,” said he, “hurry to that people and tell them, and to him whose name is the Slayer, thus: ‘There is another Slayer who lives in a city called Duguza, and this is his greeting, O axe-people, and to you, the owner of the Slayer. Arise, all of you, and come with your cattle before him who lives in Duguza, and deliver that mighty Slayer, the Weeper, into his hands. Go at once and fulfill this command, for otherwise you will soon sit forever.'” [The Zulus are buried in a sitting position.]

Masilo said he would deliver the order, even though the journey was long and he was very afraid to step before him, who was called the Killer and who lived twenty days’ journey to the north in the shadow of Ghost Mountain.

“Go,” said the king, “and appear before me on the thirtieth day from now, taking with you the answer of that scoundrel! If you do not come then, I will send someone to fetch you and the boy!”

Masilo turned and hurried off to carry out the king’s command, and Chaka said no more about it. But I wondered in my heart who that youth, that scoundrel, could possibly be. I thought he had treated Jikiza and her sons just as I thought Umslopogaas had treated them when they had reached manhood. But I was also silent.

On the same day I also learned that my wife Macropha and my daughter Nada had died in Swaziland. It was said that a group of men from the Halakazi tribe had attacked their village and killed everyone, including Macropha and Nada. I heard the news without shedding a tear, for I was already so broken with grief that nothing could move me anymore.

XX.

MOPO NEGOTIATES WITH THE PRINCES.

The eighty-third day passed, my father, and on the ninth and third, Chaka, who had again slept badly, ordered all the women of his house, about a hundred in number, to come before him. Some were his wives, whom he called his “sisters,” and others were young girls whom he had not yet married, and all were beautiful. I do not know, or I have forgotten what Chaka had dreamed the night before, for he had so many dreams at that time, and all his dreams had the same result: the death of many people. He sat in front of his hut with frowning brows, and I was with him. The wives and girls were gathered to his left, and their knees trembled with fear. They were brought one by one before him, where they stood with bowed heads. He bade them be of good cheer, and spoke to them gently, finally asking each one: “Do you, my sister, have a cat?”

Some answered in the negative, and some in the affirmative, but others were so paralyzed with fear that they could not utter a word. And the end result was exactly the same, no matter what they said. When the king heard the answer, he said with a sigh: “Oh, well, my sister, it is unfortunate that you have no dog,” or, “that you keep a cat in your hut,” or, “that you do not even know whether you have a cat or not.”

The executioners then dragged the unfortunate man outside the gate, where a blow from the club quickly ended his day. The murder continued almost all that day, until sixty wives and girls had been killed, but at last a girl, to whom his guardian spirit had given a quick train of thought, came before the king. When Chaka asked the girl whether she had a cat or not, she replied that she did not know, “but half a cat was on her at the moment,” and the girl pointed to a cat skin tied around her waist.

The king laughed and clapped his hands, saying that at last his dream had been answered correctly, and he killed no one again that day or ever after—except once.

That evening my heart was heavy with sorrow, and I cried out in my spirit, “How long?”—and could not rest. I went out, and at last came to the brink of a great chasm hidden in the mountains, where I sat down on a high ledge of rock. Open plains spread before me to the north and south, to the right and to the left as far as the eye could see. The day was drawing to a close, and it was very calm and pleasantly warm, as it always is before a storm, the approach of which I, as a magician, knew well.

The sun set red on the plains below—it was as if all the blood that Chaka had shed had flooded the land that Chaka ruled, and finally sank behind a dark cloud that had appeared on the horizon, which was edged with a sparkling halo and from the center of which its light penetrated in blood-red flames. The shadow of the cloud darkened the mountains and plains like a black wing, under which a deathly silence reigned. The sun sank slowly, and more and more clouds rose on the horizon, gathering together like an army at the command of their leader, and the flash of the sun’s rays was like the glitter of spears.

I watched and was afraid. The flame died out and the silence deepened until I could hear it all; not a leaf stirred or a bird made a sound, and the whole world seemed dead—I alone lived in that dead world.

At the same time, a bright star flew from the heights of the sky, illuminating in a flash the approaching storm, which immediately raged. The darkness around me trembled, the rock groaned, and a cold breath of wind made the whole earth tremble. That flying star fell into the path of the wind, which rushed it towards me, and as it approached, the star grew, enlarged, and changed its shape until it looked exactly like a woman.

I knew at once who it was, though he was still far away—Inkosazana, who now came to me as he had promised, brought by a storm wind. He was now a terrible sight, for the air flashed around him as he sped forward on the wings of the storm; his eyes smoldered with fire, which seemed to blaze from his wild hair, and in his hand he held a glittering spear, which he brandished as he came.

He was already at the mouth of the mountain pass; before him all was quiet, but behind him the wings of the storm were whistling, the thunder roared, and the rain hissed like a swarm of snakes. As a mark, he sped past me, looking at me with his terrible eyes, the flame of which completely froze me. He came and disappeared without a word, but it sounded to me as if the storm had roared, the rocks had roared, and the rain had hissed in my ear the words:

” Hit it, Mop !”

It doesn’t matter whether I heard the words with my ears or only in my heart. I turned to look and saw him, through the mist raised by the rain, rising high into the air ahead of the howling storm. Now he was at Duguza, and that glittering spear flew from his hand straight into the city, from which a bright flame immediately flared up high.

He rode on without stopping, finally disappearing from my sight to his home in the heights of heaven. Thus my eyes saw Inkosazana-y-Zulu for the third and last time, or perhaps I had only dreamed that I saw him. Soon I will see him again, but not in this world.

After sitting still a moment longer, I rose and set out to try to return to the city, struggling against the storm. As I got closer, I heard, through the roar of the wind and the noise of the rain, terrible cries of distress. I entered the gate and asked what was the matter, and was told that fire had fallen from heaven on the roof of the king’s house while he was sleeping. The roof had burned completely, but then the rain had extinguished the light.

I went to look and saw, in the light of the moon that had risen by that time, Chaka standing before his great hut, trembling with fear. He looked with staring eyes at his hut, the roof of which was completely burned, and the rain ran down his body in torrents.

I greeted the king and asked what strange thing had happened. When he noticed me, he seized my hand and pressed close to me like a child fleeing to its father’s protection when murderers approach, pulling me with him to a smaller hut nearby.

“What strange thing has happened, O king?” I asked again, when the light had returned.

“I haven’t been afraid much, Mopo,” said Chaka, “but now I am afraid—just as afraid as I was that night when Baleka’s hand pointed to the one who came to us walking on the faces of the dead.”

“What then are you afraid of, O king, who is lord of the whole world?”

Chaka leaned forward and whispered: “I dreamed again, Mopo. Listen! After I judged those evildoers yesterday, I went to bed while it was still light, for I cannot sleep when darkness has wrapped its mantle around the whole earth—I cannot sleep—that Baleka your sister took it with her to her grave. I fell into a stupor and had a strange dream. A veiled being came to me and showed me a strange vision. It was as if the wall of my house had collapsed to the ground, and I saw an open space in the middle of which I myself lay dead, my body many wounds, and my brothers Dingaan and Umhlangana were walking around me, majestic like lions. My royal mantle, which was all bloody, was on Umhlangana’s shoulders, and my royal spear, the tip of which was also covered in blood, was in Dingaan’s hand. Then I saw you, Mopo, coming up to greet my brothers with a royal bayéte! “With a salute and kicking me, your king. At the same moment that veiled creature waved upward and vanished into thin air, and I awoke and behold!—the roof of my house was on fire. Yes, such was the dream I had, Mopo, so tell me now, my servant, why should I not kill you, who would rather serve other kings than me and who would be ready to greet my brother princes with a royal salute that is only for me?” and he glared at me angrily.

“As you wish, O king!” I answered carelessly. “Your dream certainly does not bode well, and the falling of that fire on your roof is a most evil omen. But—” I left the sentence unfinished.

“But—what but, Mopo, you unfaithful servant?”

“But in all my foolishness, I feel, O king, that it is better to cut off the head of a snake than its tail, for the head can live without the tail, but not the tail without the head.”

“So you mean, Mopo, that you and no one else can ever address the princes by their royal name if they die? Did I hear you correctly, Mopo?”

“What am I that I should demand the blood of a prince?” I replied.
“You decide, O king!”

After thinking for a moment, Chaka said: “Listen, Mopo, could you get that done tonight?”

“Everyone has gone to war, O king, so that we have here only a handful of warriors, who are also mostly princes’ men and could perhaps give blow for blow.”

“But then how do we—?”

“I don’t know, O King. You have a regiment on the other side of the river, called the Regiment of Death. It could be here by noon tomorrow, and then—”

“You speak sensibly, my Mopo child—tomorrow, then. Send word to the death regiment and see that you do not betray me, Mopo.”

“If I betray you, I betray myself, O king, for I see from everything that my life and my spirit now depend on how we succeed.”

“That is true, even if all your other words are false,” said Chaka grimly. “And remember, my servant, that you will not die as one usually dies, if there is even the slightest hope of success in our cause. Go!”

“I will do as you command, O king,” I replied, and departed.

I knew very well, my father, that Chaka had condemned me to death, even though he wanted to use me to get rid of the princes. But I was not afraid, for I knew that Chaka’s moment had finally come.

I went to my hut to think about it and wait until everyone was asleep; then I crept as quietly as a snake to Prince Dingaan’s hut and scratched at the door as agreed. The door opened immediately, and I crawled in, closing the door tightly. A faint light was burning in the hut, in the dim light of which I saw the princes sitting with blankets around them and faces partly covered.

“Who are you?” asked Prince Dingaan. I lifted the edge of the veil so that my face was visible, and they also revealed theirs.

“Hail to you, princes,” I said, “who tomorrow will be but dust and ashes! Hail to you, sons of Senzangacona, who tomorrow will enter the land of shadows—” And I stretched out my withered hand towards them.

The princes trembled and trembled with fear.

“What do you mean, dog, when you speak to us in such an ominous way?” said Dingaan in a low voice.

“Why are you pointing at us with that white and withered hand of yours, witch?” Umhlangana snapped.

“Have I not told you, O princes, that you must either strike or die? But you have not had the courage. Now listen! Chaka has dreamed again, and now it is Chaka who strikes, and you are already dead, you children of Senzangacona.”

“If the killers are already at the door, then you will die first, traitor!”
Dingaan snarled, snatching the spear from the folds of his blanket.

“Hear first what the king dreams, O prince,” I answered; “then you may kill me if you wish, and die. Chaka slept and dreamed that he was dead, and one of you, O princes, carried his royal mantle.”

“Which one?” asked Dingaan eagerly and both looked at me, waiting for an answer.

“Prince Umhlangana carried it—Chaka dreamed so—O Dingaan, you noble branch of the royal tree,” I replied, hesitating, and took a pinch of snuff, examining them over my snuffbox.

Dingaan glared at Umhlangana, but Umhlangana’s face was radiant like the dawn.

“Chaka also dreamed,” I continued, “that one of you had his royal spear in his hand.”

“Which one?” asked Umhlangana.

“Prince Dingaan—Chaka dreamed thus—O Umhlangana, you descendant of kings!—and blood dripped from it.”

Umhlangana’s face grew dark as night, but Dingaan’s brightened like the rising day.

“Chaka, dream again that I, Mopo, your dog, who is not even worthy of the name, came to you shouting bayéte! so let us only greet kings.”

“To whom was your greeting intended, O son of Mopo Makedama?” asked both princes in unison.

“To you both, O you bright twin stars of dawn—Chaka dreamed that I thus salute you both.”

The princes did not quite know what to say, for they hated each other, although fear and a precarious position had now bound them together.

“But what is the use of talking about these things,” I continued, “when both of you, O lords of the world, are already as good as dead. Even the best of you will be eaten here by the vultures, who are hungry both today and tomorrow. King Chaka is now the interpreter of dreams, and he has cunning means of making such dreams come true.”

The brothers sat in silence, gazing gloomily before them, for they understood that their fate was sealed. “Thus were the words of King Chaka, O ye oxen that lead the herd! All are doomed, you both, and I, and many who love us. There is a regiment encamped on the other side of the river; it has been ordered to arrive—and then—good night! Will you leave some greeting for those who remain behind? Perhaps I will be allowed to live a little longer after you are gone, that I may convey your greeting.”

“Can’t we run to Chaka right away?” asked Dingaan.

“No. The king has a strong guard.”

“Suggest something, Mopo,” Umhlangana complained. “Perhaps you know of a way to save us?”

“And if I do know, princes,” I replied. “What will I get in return? I will not be satisfied with little, for I am weary of life, and I will not distribute my knowledge for a cheap price.”

Both were ready to give me nine good ones and eight beautiful ones, competing in generosity like two young men who do not quite know what to promise a father whose daughter they both want to marry. I listened, shaking my head, until at last both swore on their heads, on the bones of their father Senzangacona, and in the name of many other sacred things, that I would become the first man in the kingdom after them, the kings, to whom the supreme command of the army would be entrusted, if only I could tell them how to kill Chaka and make them kings. When they had sworn, I pronounced, weighing every word carefully:

“In the village on the other side of the river there are two regiments, not just one, O princes. The name of the one is the Death Regiment, and it loves King Chaka, who has treated its warriors well, giving them plenty of cattle and many wives. The other is called the Bee Regiment, whose warriors are starving and long for cattle and girls; moreover, Prince Umhlangana is the commander of that regiment, and it loves him. My plan is this—instead of sending word in the name of Chaka to the Death Regiment to come here, I will send word in the name of Umhlangana to the Bee Regiment to be here tomorrow morning. Bend closer, O princes, so that I may whisper in your ears.”

They followed my advice, and I whispered for a long time about killing the king, the sons of Senzangacona unanimously approving my plan. Then I rose and crawled out of the tent as I had come, and, having roused a few warriors whom I trusted, I sent them quickly on their journey into the night.

XXI. THE DEATH OF CHAKA.

In the morning, a couple of hours before noon, Chaka emerged from the hut where he had been sitting awake all night, and went to a small, fenced hut about fifty paces away. It was my duty every morning to select the place where the councillors met for consultation and where the king examined those he intended to kill, and today I had chosen the above-mentioned place. I accompanied the king, deliberately following him, and he looked at me over his shoulder and asked quietly:

“Is everything okay, Mopo?”

“Yes, O Black,” I replied. “The Death Regiment will be here soon.”

“What about the princes? Where are they, Mopo?”

“With their wives, O king, they drink beer and sleep in the lap of their lovers.”

Chaka smiled cruelly: “For the last time, Mopo!”

“For the last time, O King.”

We arrived and Chaka sat down on a soft tanned ox hide in the shade of a reed fence. A girl stood nearby with a mug of beer in her hand, and also arriving were the old man Inguazonca, brother of Unandi, the Mother of Heaven, and the Umxamama chief, whom Chaka loved. A moment later some men came bringing crane feathers, which they had been sent to fetch the day before. The men were brought before Chaka, who was very angry, for he thought the men had stayed too long. The leader of the group happened to be one of Chaka’s former officers, who had distinguished himself in many fierce battles, but was no longer fit to be a warrior, after a fatal blow had severed his right arm. A stout and brave man.

Chaka asked him why he had taken so long to find the feathers, and the man replied that the birds had flown away, so he had to wait for them to return so he could catch them.

“You should have followed them even until sunset, you disobedient dog?” the king growled. “Death to him and his companions!”

A few prayed for mercy, but the leader simply raised his hands in greeting, saying, “Father,” and asked for the grace to make a small request before he died.

“What do you want?” Chaka snapped.

“My father,” said the man, “I ask two things. I have often fought by your side in many battles, when we were young, and I have never once turned my back on you, O king. The blow that severed my arm was aimed at your head, and I avoided it by raising my bare hand for your protection. But that is not the point; for you I live and for you I die. What am I to question the king’s command? I would ask you, O king, to open your cloak a little, that my eyes may for the last time see the members of the man whom I love above all.”

“You’ve been talking for a long time,” the king growled. “What else?”

“Then let me say farewell to my son, O father; he is still a little child—this tall,” and he held his hand level with his knees.

“Your first request is granted,” said the king, dropping his cloak, so that his broad chest was visible. “The second will also be fulfilled, for I do not like to separate father and son. Bring the boy here; you may say goodbye to him, which you must do, and then kill him with your own hand before he kills you. That is a fun thing to watch.”

The man’s face turned ashen and his voice trembled slightly as he replied, “The king’s will is also the will of his servant; let the child be brought.”

I looked at Chaka and saw large tears rolling down his cheeks; he had wanted to test the man’s loyalty to the last.

“You may go,” said the king, “and your companion too.”

They departed with joy in their hearts and praising the king.

This incident has nothing to do with my story, my father, but I told it because it was the only time I saw Chaka pardon someone condemned to death.

After the men had gone, the king was whispered that a stranger wished to speak to him. The man was allowed to come and approached on his knees. I immediately recognized the visitor, who was none other than Masilo, whom Chaka had sent to deliver a message to the chief of the axe people, Bulalio, or the Killer. It was indeed Masilo, but no longer as fat as before; the long journey had made him thin. His back was also mottled with barely healed whip marks.

“Who are you?” asked Chaka.

“Masilo, of the Axe People tribe, who was sent as a messenger to their chief Bulalio and ordered to return on the thirtieth day. Behold, O king, I have returned, though in a pitiful state!”

“That’s what it seems,” said the king, bursting into laughter. “Yes, now I remember. Tell me, Masilo the Lean, formerly Masilo the Lean, what is the matter with the Slayer? Will he come with his tribe to deliver the Weeping Slayer into my hands?”

“No, O King, he will not come. The reception was rude, and we parted as enemies. And what is worse, when I left I was abused by the servants of Zinita, the girl I was courting. Those thugs pushed me face down on the ground and beat me cruelly, while Zinita stood by, counting the blows.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed the king. “Well, what did that puppet chief of mine say to you?”

“He said thus, O king: ‘Bulalio the Slayer who sits in the shadow of the Ghost Mountain to Bulalio the Slayer who sits in Duguza. I pay no tribute to you, and if you want the Weeping Slayer, come to the Ghost Mountain and get it. This I promise: you will see some familiar faces, for there is still someone in the world who wants to avenge the blood of a Mopo!'”

While Masilo was speaking, I had noticed two things—a spear was thrust into the reed fence from the outside, so that the point was slightly visible, and the warriors of the Bee Regiment were swarming over the slopes of the nearby village, obeying the order sent to them in the name of Umhlangana. The appearance of the spearhead indicated that the princes were hidden behind the fence, awaiting the agreed signal, and that the regiment had arrived, when the deed was to be done.

Chaka jumped up in a rage. His eyes rolled, his face twitched like a vein, and foam bubbled from his lips, for he had not heard such impudent words since he became king, and if Masilo had known him better, he would not have dared to utter them.

Chaka gasped for a moment, unable to say a word at first. Finally, he gasped, shaking his small spear:

“That dog! That dog has indeed dared to spit in my face! Listen, all! Even if my last moment were at hand, I command that that Slayer be dismembered limb from limb, he and all his tribe! And you too, who dare to bring me such greetings from that mountain rat. And you too, Mopo, your name was mentioned. I will show you at once. Hoi, Umxamama my servant! Kill that messenger dog at once; beat his brains to pulp with your staff. Hurry! Hurry!”

The old Umxamama rushed up to carry out the king’s command, but being already weak with age, he was defeated, so that Masilo, wild with fear, killed him. Inguazonca, the brother of Unand, then attacked Masilo and struck him to death, but was wounded himself in the process. I looked at Chaka, who stood brandishing his little spear, and my brain worked quickly, for the moment had come.

“Help!” I shouted, “the king is being murdered!”

The reed fence broke and Princes Umhlangana and Dingaan rushed into the scene like two bulls through the jungle.

I pointed to Chaka with my withered hand and exclaimed:

“Look at your king!”

Both drew from under their cloaks a short spear, and struck the king’s body. Umhlangana’s blow struck the left shoulder, and Dingaan’s the right side. Chaka dropped his small spear, which had a handle of royal redwood, and looked around, and his gaze was so regal that the princes were frightened and shrank back.

He looked at both of them twice and then said:

“What! Will you kill me, my brothers—you dogs whom I have fed in my goodness? Will you kill me so that you may rule my land? I tell you that your rule will not last long. I hear the sound of running feet—a mighty white people are coming who will sweep you away, my father’s children! They will take over my land, and you and your people will become their slaves!”

So he said as blood flowed from the wounds and again cast upon them a royal gaze, reminiscent of a mighty deer surrounded by timid hunters.

“Fulfill your task, O you pretenders to be kings!” he cried, but the courage of the princes had gone, and they could strike no more. Then I, Mopo, sprang forward and snatched from the ground that little assegai, the handle of which was of royal redwood—the same assegai with which Chaka had murdered his mother Unandi and my son Moosa, and I raised it high, concentrating my strength on the blow. Something red seemed to flicker before my eyes again, as it had in my youth, my father.

“Why do you want to kill me, Mopo?” asked the king.

“I swore to Baleka that I would avenge both him and my entire tribe!” I shouted and pierced him with my spear.

He collapsed on the bull’s hide and said in his sleep: “If only I had listened to Nobela, who warned me about you, you dog!”

Those were his last words, but I knelt beside him and shouted in his ear the names of all my tribesmen and relatives he had murdered—I asked him if he remembered my father Makedama, my mother, my wife Anadi, my son Moosa and my other wives and children, and my sister Baleka? His eyes and ears were open, and I think, my father, that he saw and understood. I think also that my face, blazing with anger, as I shook my withered hand before his eyes, was more terrible to him than all the horrors of death. At least he turned his head aside and closed his eyes with a groan. At the same moment they opened again and he was dead—gone to where he had sent so many in his life.

Thus entered King Chaka, whose power and terror the Zulu land has never seen, with my help, those sleepless huts of Inkosazana. In blood he fell, as he had lived in blood, for the climber falls at last with the tree, and the stream swallows the swimmer at last. Now he trod the path which the countless ones he had murdered—they are like grass on the mountainside—had smoothed for him; but it would be a lie to say that he died a coward, begging for mercy. Chaka died as he had lived, brave to the end. Oh! my father, I know it, for these eyes saw then and this hand delivered his life.

He was dead, and the bee regiment approached, not knowing how its warriors would react, for although Umhlangana was their chief, all the warriors loved the king, who was peerless in battle and who gave generously when he gave. I looked around me. The princes stood dumbfounded, the girl had fled, Umzamama was dead as well as Masilo, and that old chief Inguazonca, who had killed Masilo, stood bewildered, holding his wound. No one else was to be seen.

“I am here now, kings,” I shouted to the brothers, “the warriors are at the gate. Strike him to death!” — I pointed to Inguazonca — “and leave the rest to me.”

Dingaan sprang upon him and crushed his head with one blow, so that he fell to the ground without a sound. Then the brothers stood silent and astonished again.

“That one doesn’t say anything at all,” I exclaimed, referring to the fallen one.

The news of the massacre had already spread among the women, who had heard the screams and seen the flashing of spears from behind the enclosure, and they had conveyed the word to the regiment of bees, who approached singing. The singing suddenly ceased, and the warriors charged towards the hut in front of which we stood.

I rushed towards them, wailing in a loud voice, and holding in my hand that little assegai, which was still red with the king’s blood, and I said to the chiefs:

“Lament, you chiefs and warriors, weep and lament, for you have no father any more! He who fed us is gone! The king is dead! And now both heaven and earth will fall, for the king is dead.”

“How is that, Mopo?” asked one of the chiefs. “How can it be possible that our father is dead?”

“A vagabond named Masilo killed him. The king had condemned him to death, and that outcast snatched a spear from the king’s hand and drove it straight into the king’s heart, and before we three, the princes and I, could intervene, he killed Inguazonca and Umuxamaman as well. Come near and see him who was your king. Kings Dingaan and Umhlangana command you to come and see him who was king, so that the news of his death by Masilo’s hand may spread far and wide.”

“Making new kings seems to suit you better, Mopo, than rescuing the old one, who was your king, from the clutches of some vagabond,” said the chief, eyeing me suspiciously.

But no attention was paid to his words, for some chiefs went to see the dead man, while others rushed with their warriors in every direction, shouting in fear that heaven and earth would fall and all mankind would be destroyed, because Chaka, the king, was dead.

How can I, whose days are numbered, tell you, my father, all that happened after Chaka died? If I were to tell it all, my story would fill many a white man’s book, in which some of those events are perhaps recorded. For this reason I have only briefly related a few incidents that occurred during Chaka’s reign; it was my intention to tell you only about a few of the people who lived at that time, of whom Umslopogaas and I are still alive—if Umslopogaas, Chaka’s son, is indeed still alive.

Therefore I will pass over very briefly what happened after Chaka’s death, until King Dingaan sent me to the axe people to demand that their chief, called the Killer, be handed over to him. Oh, if I had known for sure that this chief was none other than Umslopogaas, Dingaan would have followed in Chaka’s footsteps like Umhlangana, and Umslopogaas would have ruled as king over the Zulu people. But I did not know, alas! I did not listen to the voice of my heart, which whispered that it was Umslopogaas who had sent greetings to Chaka, threatening to avenge the death of a certain Mopo, and when I was sure, it was too late. I had believed all along that the words meant some other Mopo.

Thus may fate sometimes mock us mortals, my father. We think we can determine our fate, but it is fate that guides us, and nothing happens without fate’s permission. Here in the world, all are eyes in the same great web, which Umkulunkulu rules with his hand, and what we do or fail to do is a small thread in that web, which is so vast that only the eyes of Umkulunkulu who dwells above can see it in its entirety. Chakakin, the murderer of men, and all whom he has murdered, are but a short thread compared to the vastness of that web. How then, my father, could we be wise and understanding, we who are only instruments of wisdom? How could we build, who are only insignificant building stones? How could we animate, who are only infants sleeping in the bosom of fate? How could we kill, who are only spears in the hand of the killer?

After Chaka’s death, events developed rapidly. First, it was said that Masilo, the stranger, had killed Chaka. Then a rumor spread that the Mopp-sage, the king’s personal physician and closest servant, had murdered the king, in which bloody deed the two great bulls, the king’s brothers Umhlangana and Dingaan, sons of Senzagacona, had also taken part. But Chaka was dead, and the earth and sky did not fall, so what did that mean? Besides, the two kings promised to rule the people with a gentle hand, to lighten Chaka’s heavy yoke, and people in distress are always ready to hope for something better.

The princes were therefore each other’s only enemies, and Engwade, the son of Unand, and half-brother of Chaka. But I, Mopo, who was now the first man in the kingdom after the kings, and had been promoted to the chief of the army after abandoning the profession of physician, rushed with the regiment of bees and death upon Engwade, and struck him in his own village. The battle was fierce, but in the end I destroyed him and all his men; Engwade killed eight men before I killed him. I then returned to Duguza with the few who remained of the two regiments.

After this the kings quarrelled more and more, and I tried to keep a balance in the middle, for I was not sure which of them I should prefer. At last I found that they both feared me, but that if he had gained the upper hand Umhlangana would certainly have killed me, which was not Dingaan’s intention. I began to side with Dingaan, but at the same time I dispelled Umhlangana’s fear, so that I finally had him imprisoned on some pretext. He went the same way as his brother Chaka, the way of the assegai, and Dingaan ruled the country alone.

Such is the fate of the princes of this world, my father. I am but a man of little account, and my station is now of the most humble kind, but I have put three of them to death, killing two with my own hand.

Two weeks after Umhlangana’s death, the great army sent on the expedition returned from the Limpopo swamps in a pitiful state, nearly half of them having perished from fever and the enemy’s traps, and the remainder wretchedly starved. It was a good thing for the survivors that Chaka was gone, for otherwise they would have been able to quickly reach their fallen comrades on the road; for it was never heard of a Zulu army ever returning defeated and without a shred of booty. Therefore they greeted with joy the king who spared their lives, and Dingaan was allowed to reign from that time on without any disturbance until fate found him too.

Dingaan was of the same blood as Chaka, and as great in appearance and cruel in heart as he, but he had not Chaka’s energy, nor his keenness of mind. He was also a treacherous liar, which Chaka was not. He was also too fond of women, and wasted with them the time which he should have devoted to the affairs of state. Nevertheless, he managed his time.

I must also tell you that Dingaan would have killed his half-brother Panda, wishing thus to tear out all the troublesome branches from the family tree of his father Senzangacona. This Panda was a good-natured, peace-loving man, which is why I thought him a little crazy, and when the question of killing him came up, I and a chief named Mapita strongly objected, saying that there was no need to fear him, a madman. I defended him because I loved that silent and kind-hearted man. Dingaan finally yielded, saying: “You ask me to spare that dog, which I will do, but let us see if he bites me again.”

Panda was then made the king’s herdsman. Dingaan’s words came true, for it was the grip of Panda’s teeth that would overthrow him from the throne. Panda was only a dog that bit, but I, Mopo, was the man who drove him to the game.

* * * * *

The story of Umslopogaas, Mopo and Nada continues in the book “The Wolf Boys.”

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