Kitabı oku: «The Induna's Wife», sayfa 12
In stern silence Dingane sat gazing upon us. Then he, too, gave a signal. Immediately an armed regiment moved across our rear. Between us and the weapons we had thrown down stood a wall of armed men, and in this I read our sentence of death. We had risked our chance and had foiled. By my counsels, I had led these hundreds of brave men to their doom.
Chapter Twenty One.
The Embassy of Tambusa
“What do I see? Untúswa, the wanderer? Untúswa, who fled from the north to konza to another King? Ha! Greeting, Untúswa, for it seems long since we have beheld thee.”
So spake Dingane, softly, flatteringly, even as Umzilikazi was wont to do what time the stake or the alligators were preparing for somebody, and I indeed felt dead already.
“And these,” went on the King, bending his stern gaze upon my following. “A warrior-like band indeed, and it seems a pity to slay such, yet must they all die.”
This he said almost to himself, else had the slayers been at work already. And I – the boldness of desperation came into me then.
“We are the King’s cattle,” I said. “We are here to place our lives beneath the foot of the Elephant. Yet, O Ruler of the World, there are some who should taste the goring of our horns. We are the King’s fighting-bulls. And, Great Great One, suffer us ere we die to spill once more the blood of the King’s enemies.”
“Yet, Untúswa, it sometimes happens that fighting-bulls, growing mad, turn and gore their owners. They had better have been slain first,” said Dingane, with dark suspicion in his tone.
Now I saw what was to be done, though I hardly knew what to say.
“I would ask the Great Great One wherefore these are here at all, but that they may drink the blood of the King’s enemies?” I urged, amazed at my own boldness. “Were they here for any other purpose, why then they were already dead, Father of the Wise. Au! they seek but to die in the ranks of those who fight. That is all, Calf of a Black Bull.”
And they on whose behalf I spoke uttered a great murmur of assent, together with words of bonga and the King’s titles.
Then I saw Dingane whisper to one who sat near him, and this one retired. Whau! that was a moment. We who sat there seemed already dead. Around crouched the two immense half circles of armed warriors, their shields lying on the ground before them – all in dead silence – and in his great chair made out of the carved trunk of a tree, the great white shield held aloft at the back of his head, the King sat, silent, stern, gloomy looking. His attitude was that of one who waited. Waited for what? For the carrying out of his order decreeing, our death?
Then some new event was astir. There stood before the King a woman. Now my followers dared to breathe again, and the sound went up from every chest like a sob of relief. And seeing who the woman was, my own relief became greater still, for she was my sorceress-wife.
“Hearken, Mahlula,” said the King. “See you these?”
“I see them, Great Great One,” she answered, sweeping a majestic glance over us. “They are those known as the Bapongqolo. They are here to lay their lives beneath the foot of the Elephant, and to crave the right to die fighting for him.”
“And how dost thou know that, my sister?” said Dingane suspiciously.
“It is easily known, Father of the Wise, and that not even by my múti,” she answered. “There are many among them known by name, and all have the look of forest-dwellers. And he at their head, look at him.”
“Ha! And is it for good or for ill that they are here?”
“For good, Ruler of the Great. For these are fine wielders of the spear. And they are many,” she answered.
“That is well,” said Dingane. “You wanderers, I give you your lives. You shall join these lion-cubs, and plenty of prey lies awaiting your teeth.”
For some moments, Nkose, the roar that went up from all men’s throats would seem about to split the world, for to the praises rolled forth from those who were thus spared was added the bonga of the whole army.
“Now talk we of Untúswa,” said the King, when this had quieted down. “There is that about him which I like not entirely. What of him, Mahlula?”
She looked at me long and earnestly, as though she had never seen me before, but in her sweet eyes I read hope and courage. Then she said:
“I think he is a born leader of warriors, Great Great One.”
“Ha! Now shalt thou have a chance of showing thy powers, Mahlula,” said the King. “Thou, Untúswa,” pointing at me with his assegai, “shalt also be put to the proof. I name these the Bapongqolo, and of this regiment I create thee induna, for I have not yet known the predictions of Mahlula to prove false. Retire now with thy men and form them up among those yonder.”
They who had custodied us now fell back, and as we all gathered up our weapons again we thundered forth the war-song of Dingane. Then, when we had formed up at the place pointed out to as, in truth it seemed that the army had received a most valuable addition in ourselves. Then dancing was ordered, and the slaughter of cattle, and there was much feasting.
Now during an earlier part of the war the Amabuna had sent messages to Dingane proposing peace, and to such the King had listened. Trouble was threatening at home, for Mpande, the brother of Dingane, was still plotting, and had by now collected a considerable following. Further, the Amabuna were increasing in strength, numbers having crossed the mountains to join them; moreover, several of the tribes who did konza to the royal House had forgotten their tribute, sheltering themselves behind the Amabuna. So Dingane had listened to the peace proposals of the Amabuna, and had agreed to pay nearly twenty thousand cattle, and to return the guns and horses taken at Nkunkundhlovu. For a space then there was peace. The Amabuna did not even want the cattle just then; they would rather we should herd them for the time being. So far good.
But one day there came news. Mpande had crossed the Tugela and had fled to the Amabuna, declaring that he feared for his life. Au! and long since he would have owned no life to fear for, had the King but listened to the counsels of Tambusa, who would have caused him to be slain. But it was too late now, and already Dingane had reason to repent him of his mercy, for now that Mpande had promised them to divide the nation the Amabuna, ignoring all former promises and arrangements, sent word to Dingane demanding from him double the number of cattle at first agreed upon, and without even awaiting his reply they prepared to advance upon Nkunkundhlovu.
Not for nothing had Mpande plotted. He had gained over to his cause Nongalaza, an induna of importance. Nongalaza was old, and suffered from swollen limbs; but he was a skilled and courageous commander, and he took with him to the side of Mpande and the Amabuna the strength of four full regiments.
Now Dingane sent an embassy to the leaders of the Amabuna, and the induna he chose as his “mouth” was Tambusa. He had better have chosen some other messenger – better for Tambusa, but not better for me, Nkose, for it was during Tambusa’s absence that I and the Bapongqolo arrived to place our lives in the hand of the King.
This, then, is what was happening at that time within the camp of the Amabuna, and the tale I have from the mouths of several among those who had fled with Mpande and who witnessed that which was now done.
Tambusa entered the camp of the Amabuna attended by Nkombazana, one of his own followers. He was received but coldly by the Amabuna. Why had they broken faith with the Great Great One who sits at Nkunkundhlovu? he asked. They had demanded twice the number of cattle at first agreed upon. They were preparing to invade the country, and had declared their intention of setting up Mpande as King, having deposed Dingane. Who were they who took to themselves the right to make and unmake Kings for the Zulu nation? asked Tambusa, proud and defiant. Dingane was King of the Zulu nation, and as King he would live and die.
“Ah! die perhaps, that is right,” said one of the Amabuna, with an evil laugh.
“A King of the Amazulu does not die of words nor of fear,” replied Tambusa, fiercely scornful. “Yet hearken to my message, even the ‘word’ of the Great Great One, whose mouth I am. Thus he speaks: ‘We made an agreement, have I not kept it? I have returned the guns and horses I promised; I have sent in part of the cattle I promised, I would have sent in all, but you preferred to leave the remainder with me for the present. Well, it is there, send and take it, or shall I send it in? Now you demand twice the number, and this I do not understand. Now you prepare to invade us in armed force, and threaten to make Mpande King in my place. This also I do not understand, and have sent my induna, Tambusa, as my “mouth” to say so. He is also my “ears,” and will listen to and bring back your words to me.’ Thus spoke the Great Great One by whose light we live.”
“Ha! The Great Great One by whose light we live!” jeered some of the Amabuna. “A Great Great murderer, who shall soon die.”
To this Tambusa made no reply. His head was proudly erect, on his face a sneer of hate and scorn such as he could hardly conceal. Then the chief of the Amabuna spoke:
“To you we have nothing to say. To your captain” – for so he designated the King – “we have nothing to say. When the time comes we shall act, and come it will, very soon.”
“We, too, know how to act,” answered Tambusa. “Hlalani gahle! I retire.”
He turned to leave – turned, to find a line of guns pointed full upon him at but a few paces distant.
“Halt – Kafir!”
The tone, the insult, the scowl on the shaggy faces which glared at him from under their wide-brimmed hats, roused all the savage fighting blood in Tambusa, and those who beheld him say that the great veins in his forehead swelled until they seemed about to burst with the pressure of his head-ring. “Kafir!” Thus these refuse whites dared to address the chief induna of the royal race of Zulu, second only in greatness to the King himself! But he was helpless, for, as a peace ambassador, he had of course been obliged to lay down his arms on entering the camp.
Now he turned to the leaders of the Amabuna, who were talking with their heads together.
“See you this?” he said, waving his hand towards the line of men who stood threatening him with their guns. “See you this? I, a peace messenger, am insulted and threatened. I, a peace messenger, am detained, when I would depart as I came. In truth, it is not good to trust to the good faith of the Amabuna.”
“In truth it is not good to trust to the good faith of the Amazulu,” answered the leader sternly. “Say, were not our people peace messengers – our people whose bones lie outside Nkunkundhlovu – who trusted in the good faith of that murderer, your chief?”
“Ha! But you? You are a holy people – a people of God, you told the King. We are only poor, ignorant black people,” said Tambusa, taunting them, in his scornful wrath.
“But there is a God of justice,” quickly replied the leader, “and He has delivered you into our hands to be dealt with as one of the chief murderers of our people. The others He will deliver to us in time. But enough of that. This is the matter now. The treacherous and cruel murder of our people at Nkunkundhlovu was counselled by you, Tambusa. By you it was planned and arranged, by your orders it was carried out. What have you to say?”
“That is not the matter about which I am here,” replied the induna. “If ye would have me answer on that matter, ye should have sent men to bring me here, if they could have done it. It is a matter as to which now I will say no word.”
“That is perhaps as well,” answered the leader, “for here we have enough to prove your guilt over and over again.” And with the words Tambusa saw the trap into which he had walked. Mpande had denounced him to the Amabuna – Mpande, whose death he had repeatedly counselled. He was as good as dead. Yet he only smiled, rearing his tall and stately form to its full height, and the smile was one of hatred and scorn and contempt. But so deeply did it sting those Amabuna that they broke forth into curses, and some of them, rising from their seats, shook their fists in his face, crowding around him, and fairly howling with rage, all talking at once as they heaped every abusive name upon him, the King and the whole Zulu race. But the smile of contempt and scorn only deepened on the face of Tambusa as he stood therein his great stature like some mighty tree, while they snarled and leaped around him like jackals. At last he who sat at the head of the council succeeded in quieting them.
“Then you have nothing to say – no reason to urge why the punishment of death should not be dealt out to you?” said this man, speaking solemnly. “There may be others, perhaps – others more guilty than yourself. If there is anything you can tell us – ”
But here he stopped, for Tambusa had interrupted him by a loud, harsh laugh, so fierce that it sounded like a war-cry.
“Others? Anything I can tell you?” he repeated, with a very roar. “I, an induna of the right hand of the Great King, to give you information! Whau! ye must be madmen. Not to save a hundred lives would I give you information as to even the youngest boy just enrolled among those who bear shields. Do I fear death – I, Tambusa? Why, I stare it in the face every day. And I think, Ntshwai-ntshwai, when death has been the game some of you must have seen my face before.”
(Ntshwai-ntshwai. A nickname bestowed upon the Boers by the Zulus, being in fact an imitation of the swishing sound of their wide leather breeches as they moved.)
“He confesses!” cried those standing around. “Enough – enough. Let him be shot.”
The leader of the council, having obtained silence, spoke:
“On your own showing, Tambusa, you are guilty of counselling and planning the cruel and treacherous murder of our brothers at Nkunkundhlovu while they were at that place by the invitation of the King and Zulu nation. They were set upon and slain in cold blood while partaking of Zulu hospitality; and for your share in this unprovoked and abominable massacre this council adjudges you, Tambusa, to suffer death; and that, in execution of this sentence, you be taken outside the camp and forthwith shot.”
There was a deep silence as the leader ceased speaking. It was broken by the voice of Tambusa:
“I, too, have something to say.”
All started. Would this braggart, they thought, turn coward, and endeavour at the last moment to save his life? Ah, they little knew.
“Speak, then,” said the leader. “But let it be brief.”
“This boy,” said Tambusa, with a wave of the hand towards Nkombazana, who squatted a little distance off. “He has slain no Amabuna. Let him go home.”
No reply was made at first, and the Amabuna looked at each other. But Nkombazana, who had heard all, now sprang to his feet. He to go home, when his father and chief was to die here? No, no! Then, with flashing eyes, he began bellowing out the number of Amabuna he had slain. Why, he had helped to batter out the brains of that very party, and had ripped up white women with his own spear what time we rushed the waggon camp. If his chief was to die, he would die with him. A warrior must follow his chief everywhere.
Well, he obtained his wish. The leaders would have spared him at first, but when they heard him glorying in the slaughter of their countrymen – and countrywomen, too – they soon desisted in their attempts, and the Amabuna at large howled for his blood.
So Tambusa and his young follower were ordered to proceed in the midst of their armed guard to the outskirts of the camp to meet their death.
No further word did Tambusa speak, save one of commendation of the bravery shown by his follower. He strode forth in the midst of his guard, his head thrown back – his great stature and fearless countenance worthy of a Zulu of the noblest rank and birth. When they ordered him to halt he did so, and, facing round upon the line of levelled guns, stood proudly, with folded arms, his young follower standing equally fearless at his side. A line of flame shot forth, and a rolling crash. Tambusa and Nkombazana sunk quietly to the ground, pierced by many bullets, dying without a struggle.
Such, then, was the end of Tambusa, and although, Nkose, I had no liking for him nor he for me – indeed, had he lived he would ever have been my bitterest enemy – yet his end was that of a brave man, and in every way worthy of an induna of the Zulu nation who sat at the right hand of the King.
Chapter Twenty Two.
The Dividing of the Nation
The time had been well chosen for the return of the Bapongqolo to the heart of the nation, for now the Amabuna were advancing upon us, and with them Nongalaza at the head of a strong army, made up of the rebel traitors whom he had induced to desert their true king. The killing of Tambusa while on a message of peace had infuriated Dingane. He ordered Nkunkundhlovu to be burnt, vowing to rebuild it no more until he had driven the rebels and their white friends from the land, and exacted a fearful vengeance for the slaughter of his faithful induna. So the izanusi were called up, and we were doctored for battle, and Lalusini, or Mahlula, as she was known here, together with her band of girls decked out in their richest dresses, stood forth and heartened the warriors by their songs of battle and victory; even as she had once heartened us to defeating, under the shadow of my white shield, these very warriors with whom I now fought, and a section of whom I was now leading. Yes, these hundreds of men, the Bapongqolo, were worth much to Dingane now.
The day had come at last, and the nation was divided. And now, with the one great struggle for the very life of the nation at our gates, Dingane showed himself, as he never had so shown himself before, as a noble and worthy warrior-king of a mighty warrior people.
It was the morning of the battle, that great struggle which should mean, to him and his, all or nothing. Ha! he was great, he was majestic, that warrior King, as he came forth to address his children – to hearten us for what lay before us. Not that we needed burning words of encouragement, for of all that dense array crouching there behind their shields, not one at that moment but longed for the gleam of the spears of Nongalaza to come into view.
Then the King stood forth arrayed in full war dress, his great form towering to the height of the waving ostrich plumes which rose above his head-ring – his head thrown back in royal pride as his eyes swept proudly over the dense ranks of those who adhered to him – and his words rolled like thunder upon the still air:
“My children, the day is upon us at last when the might of the People of the Heavens is to be put upon its sorest trial; the day which is to decide whether the name of Zulu is to blaze forth again in all its brightness, to strike terror once more upon the world, or to become a forgotten thing. For a space it has been hidden, but only that it might blaze forth again the more brightly. Yonder there come against us enemies. There are those who came among us with false words – calling themselves a holy people – and striving, with fair words, to wrest from us the lands which, bit by bit, we have added to the greatness of our nation – a people which knows not how to keep faith – a people which, in its greed, knows not how to observe its own agreements – a nation which slays ambassadors bearing a peace message. But worse. With that people, who comes? Who but they who would divide the nation – who, to do this, have not scrupled to place their neck beneath the foot of this other race – of these Amabuna, the scum and refuse of all white peoples – they of our own blood – they who have grown great under the shadow of the House of Senzangakona. These indeed are worse than dogs, for even a dog will not bite the hand that fattens him. Ha! and with them is one of the House of Senzangakona – yet not, for it cannot be that a real bough of that great and royal tree can have joined with the refuse of all the white races, to turn and destroy his father’s house. Some bastard must it be – changed at birth – some low, base bastard, foisted by fraud upon the House of Senzangakona. And he, he who would, by the favour of the Amabuna, call himself King, where is he? Not among those who come against us. He is not even a leader of men. See him skulk behind the guns of the Amabuna while my dog, Nongalaza, leads his army for him. His army! Hau! a pack of cur dogs whom the lion-cubs of Zulu shall disperse howling, for how shall so base and traitorous a band of runaways face and stand against the might of these?”
And as Dingane waved his hand over the assembled army a sound went up like the sullen roar of a sea-wave that curls and breaks. The King went on:
“My children! this is a time, not for talking, but for doing. I, your father, am here with you – I, your leader. Let the lion-cubs of Zulu fall on bravely under the eye of the lion. Lo! those who direct you are men to follow. Where is Umhlela? where is Silwane? where Nomapela and Untúswa?” And with each name a storm of applause rolled from the warriors. “Where they are, there follow. Lo! I see the enemy. Lo! there are they who come against us. In perfect order, rank upon rank, go now to meet them. Fall on and strike – and strike hard. Strike until not one of them is left. Go, my children! Go, lion-cubs of Zulu!”
Away in the distance a dust-cloud was advancing, and through it the sheen and flash of spears. With a great roar the whole army sprang to its feet and saluted the King, who stood, with head thrown back and outstretched arm, pointing with his spear towards the approaching host; and as the regiments formed up in columns and began their march, moving out over the plain like huge black serpents, the war-song of Dingane rolled forth like thunder upon the still and brooding air:
“Us’eziténi!
Asiyikuza sababona.”
(“Thou art in among the enemy.
We shall never get a right of him.”)
Louder and louder it swelled, uttered in fierce, jerky roars, as the roars of ravening beasts who can no longer be restrained from their prey. Then the red mist was before all eyes. The host of Nongalaza was singing, too; but for that we had no ears, only eyes for the body of our foe. Our warriors now swung forward at a run, the ranks steadied and kept in line by the warning word of an induna, or a sub-captain. Otherwise none spoke.
Now they are before us. Their appearance is even as that of ourselves. They have the same shields, the same broad spears, the same discipline. But their courage? Ha! We have that – we, the chosen, we, the faithful. Now we are among them; there is the slap of shield meeting shield, the tramp of struggling feet, the soft tearing of spear ripping flesh. Ha! The red blood is flowing; warriors go down by hundreds – beaten to earth – ripped as they lie – as many of ours as of theirs. The savage, gargling groan of the dying, as they strive to drag themselves upward, and, spear in hand, die fighting still – the death-hiss of their slayers – the “I-ji!” that thrilling whistle that shakes the air – the laboured panting of those who strive – the shiver and clash of hard wood and the crunch of bone, as the heavy knob-sticks meet other hard wood, or perchance a skull – these are the sounds that turn the air itself verily warring. But neither side gives way – neither side yields a foot’s breadth – or, if so, it is but for a moment, to charge again in renewed fury.
Again and again this happens. No advantage can either side gain. Both strive with equal fury; both trained in valour and discipline under the same training. Whau! there will be none left to tell of this battle, so surely shall we make an end of each other.
Now I, with the Bapongqolo, being in command of the left “horn” of our army, am striving to surround that of the enemy, though his numbers are almost as great as our own, and in this I am partially succeeding. But what is the other “horn” doing? By this time we have gained some slightly rising ground, and now I can see. Ha! Can it be? Those on that side are fighting against us – fighting against their own brethren – fighting against their King. They have gone over to the side of Nongalaza.
But, so far from disheartening our people, this traitorous defection acts differently. Umhlela, watching and partly directing the battle from a little distance off, gives the word, and himself at the head of the force he has been holding in reserve, charges furiously upon these traitors, rolling them back upon the thick of Nongalaza’s force, and throwing the latter into confusion. Umhlela is a small man and old, but never was there a braver one. He is in the hottest of the battle, and they whom he leads follow like lions. The tossing of shields, and the tramp and pushing of striving feet, shakes both earth and air. Ha! Umhlela is down. A wounded warrior, supposed to be dead, has sprung to his feet, and with last stroke has cleft the brave induna through the heart. But the rallying cry on the dying lips: “On, children of Zulu! The Lion watches you,” thrills our people with renewed strength. Now we gain. The rebels are giving way. Now is the time. We press them harder and harder. Not hundreds now, but thousands lie slain, or writhing in death-throes. They are beginning to withdraw. The day is ours.
Is it? Ha! What is that shout, gathering in volume as it rolls along behind the rebel army – heartening those in front to face us more fiercely.
“They come, the Amabuna! The Amabuna are at hand!”
We who hear it can see Nongalaza riding on horseback along his rank – he and other of Mpande’s indunas – and with shout and gesture they point behind them, then wave their men on. And in the distance can be heard the rattle of the discharge of guns.
“They come, the Amabuna!”
That cry loses us the day. The younger regiments waver, fall into confusion, and flee. The men of the Imbele-bele – a splendid ringed regiment – stand their ground. So, too, do the Bapongqolo. Then we have work to do. One glance behind us, and we can see the land covered with fleeing fugitives; but the spot whence the King watched the battle is empty. We have saved the King.
Well, we are doomed. Thick and fast our warriors fall, being hugely outnumbered, and it wants but the coming of the Amabuna to make an end of us completely.
Now Nongalaza came riding along in my direction, where I, at the head of the Bapongqolo, stood at bay, and waved on his army, crying aloud that they should make an end of us, at all events. So seeing the rebel host – which now was stronger than we – sweeping up to surround us, I gave the word to retreat, and not too soon either, for we had to fight our way through the closing “horns.” But the land on that side was broken, and seamed with dongas; and Nongalaza’s people, tumbling over each other in their hurry and confusion, were less quick than we. Yet many were slain in that rout, and ere night fell the land seemed alive with pursuers and pursued. But I set my face in the direction of the Ngome forests, where my outlawry had been spent. There, I knew, were holes and retreats wherein not all the men of Nongalaza twice over would succeed in finding me.
And, as night fell, the dull red glow of burning kraals lit up the land, and from afar you could hear the exultant war-song – the song of victory. Yet not altogether, for the song of Mpande was the song of bondage too, in that he, a prince of the House of Senzangakona, had purchased his kingship dear; for he had purchased it at the price of doing konza to the Amabuna, in order to be allowed to hold it – in order to sit in the seat of Tshaka the Mighty, and of the warrior-king Dingane, who, however, might even yet be heard of again.
The slaughter on either side that day was immense, Nkose. Yet not by might or by bravery did Nongalaza win that victory. Oh, no! He won it by a trick. Had he not cried that the Amabuna were at hand, we should not have given way. But up till then we had gained no great advantage, and the approach of these people, who could gallop into our very midst and discharge their guns without harm to themselves, took all heart out of our warriors, already hard pressed by the forces of Nongalaza, nearly equal as these were to our own. So we fled, and lost the day. Yet we need not have, for the Amabuna were not really coming. But a good general will despise no method of snatching a victory, and Nongalaza was right.
