Kitabı oku: «The White Shield», sayfa 15
And as we marched down – quietly at first – to fling ourselves in full charge upon the Zulu host, we could hardly believe our ears. The sound of a war-song rose upon the air, nearer and nearer, as though sung by men coming up the great pass —
“Yaingahlabi!
Leyo ’Nkunzi! Yai ukúfa!”
Ha! It was our own song – the war-song of the King. Our enemies heard it, too, though the Song of the Shield had not floated to their ears, being audible to ourselves alone, for the dense ranks, which had been squatting on the ground as though to rest, sprang into life, and heads were eagerly turned in the direction of this new force. We, however, hoped but little from this, for those who had been left to guard the defile under Gasibona would be but a mere mouthful in the open field of battle. But, as I saw the shields of the foremost emerging from between the cliffs, I glanced upward once more. The signal was to charge – to charge swiftly, and at once.
“Follow me now, my children!” I cried. “Follow the white shield!”
We hurled ourselves forward, and for a moment nothing was heard but the hissing of war-whistles and the rush of feet. Then —au! a crash as of a wave upon a hard rock. So hard had we struck them, so fierce had been the shock, that we rolled them back – at first. Hundreds lay dead and writhing, and still the burning hiss of the spear as it did its work!
At first – only at first. They came at us again. They were closing round us. I saw panic in my ranks.
“The shield! the white shield!” I roared. “Come beneath it, ye who fear.”
The shrinking, their spirits renewed, answered with a wild yell. Then we “saw red” as we stabbed and struggled. Ha! they yield. Yes, that dense host was falling back before us – before us – a handful of men! A wild shout arose from its midst – a shout of dismay. And as we pressed them, giving them not a moment wherein to recover themselves, we beheld the reason.
Pouring around the end of the spur came a great cloud of dust, and through it shields and spears. We needed not the alarm and confusion of the Zulu host to tell us that these were our own people, as, indeed, they were. It was Kalipe’s impi. Roaring the war-shout of Umzilikazi, they fell upon Mhlangana’s force, and at the same time the warriors who had issued from the pass assailed it furiously upon that side. Dismay and panic now took hold of the great impi. Thus suddenly attacked on three sides, realising that they had under-estimated both our strength and strategy, the warriors of Dingane turned and fled by the way which was still open, yet fast closing up, and we – we purposely refrained from closing quite their way because we could slay more of them in their flight, and with small loss to our own side, whereas, did we hem them in – these fierce and desperate Zulu lions – there was no foretelling the issue of the fray, for even yet they were equal to us in numbers. Panic alone was their destruction.
But although we thus left a way open for them to flee, we pressed them hard —au! we pressed them hard. We smote them as they fled, striking them down by scores, but I and Kalipe, and the other war-captains were too wary to allow this to continue, even if we had not seen the King’s signal of recall. So, singing in mockery after them the war-song of Dingane, we left the pursuit and returned in triumph.
Au, Nkose! that was a sight. I have seen your countrymen lying in heaps at Isandhlwana, and I have been in many a hard-fought battle since that of which I am telling. But never have I seen so vast a number of slain as that evening at the Place of the Three Rifts. They lay, here in heaps, there thickly strewn in twos and threes. Many of my kindred and friends fell there, and of our captains and valiant leaders not a few, while two whole regiments of our incorporated slaves had gone down before the Zulu spears. Far and wide they lay, and of the enemy the number of slain was as great as ourselves, and among them some of our older men recognised many whom they had known before our flight from Tshaka. But among the chiefs and leaders we found not the body of Mhlangana nor that of Silwane.
Thus we returned, weary with the flight and the pursuit, but with pride, and joy, and triumph in our hearts, for we had beaten back the most formidable of our foes, and of whom we had gone in dread ever since we had been a nation. And already, though the day was nearly done, vast clouds of vultures were gathering in the heavens, which beholding, many laughed exultantly, remembering the presage in the Song of the Shield. But as the sun sank below the rim of the world, again the great smooth cliffs of the mountain face glowed blood-red, even as I alone had seen them glow the evening before the last, and so wonderful was this omen that many cried out that the mountain itself was bleeding afresh for those who lay slain beneath it, and that it was a place of tagati. And, indeed, who shall gainsay this, remembering the strange things which it had witnessed; yet was such magic good towards us though evil to our foes, since but for the heartening result of that wild, sweet, mysterious song, and the múti of the white shield, even the King’s strategy, perfect as it was, could hardly have availed to save the life of a nation. And this, and nothing less, is what was accomplished that day at the Place of the Three Rifts.
Chapter Twenty Six.
Lalusini’s Choice
“So, Untúswa! My commands were those of a general gone mad?”
“Not so, Serpent of Wisdom,” I answered, “for the eyes of one who sits aloft see farther than those who watch below.”
“Yet the order must have seemed passing strange. Whau! but these bore their part as cubs of the lion indeed,” went on the King, his snuff-spoon arrested in mid-air, as he rolled his eyes in pride over the assemblage of our warriors, who, squatted in rank, were resting after their hard-won victory. “I almost looked to see you give way, for the host of Dingane was terrible in its might, and ye – ye looked but a mouthful to it.”
“See yonder, Great Great One,” I said, pointing upward to the cliff. “No living thing surely could find foothold there, yet thence floated forth a wondrous song, and that song saved the day, Calf of a Black Bull. For it hardened our hearts, which were already sinking, so that we fell upon our enemies each man with the strength of ten. And that song was the Song of the Shield!”
“What tale is this, Untúswa?” said the King, mockingly. “Thy song must have been piped by a bird, then, for assuredly nothing human could find foothold there.”
“One man may, in truth, be mistaken, Father,” I answered. “Yet – ask these, ask all who followed the white shield this day.”
Now a murmur arose among those who were with me attending on the King – Xulawayo and Mgwali, and other fighting leaders.
“Yeh-bo!” they cried. “It is even as Untúswa has said, Father. The Song of the Shield was the same as that sung by the stranger sorceress when we went forth to war.”
Umzilikazi’s countenance clouded somewhat, I thought.
“The sorceress has won,” he muttered. “Yet is all this passing strange.”
That night we lay upon the heights of Inkume in battle formation, for we knew not whether another impi might come against us. Yet, weary as we were, we slept not over-much, for when the moon rose it seemed to look down blood-red upon the field of strife; and we – we thought we could see the bodies of those who were slain and gashed rise up once more and fight and slay each other again. Whau! And of the slain there were thousands, for in those days we met shield to shield, spear to spear, and every man slew his enemy or was slain by him. Thousands were there, and when the day dawned the rising of the sun was well-nigh darkened by soaring clouds of vultures, swooping and wheeling on their great soft pinions, awaiting our departure to settle down upon their feast.
With great triumph did we return to Kwa’zingwenya, for although we who had gone forth thence came back with little more than half our number, yet with Kalipe’s force – which, joining us in time to turn the conflict into a rout, had suffered but small loss – we made a brave show; for we had won a great victory, and, I think, Nkose, we had a strangely swelled opinion of ourselves, and that every man thought himself the greatest warrior in the world. Yet we had some cause for our pride, for we had once more met and rolled back the mighty Zulu power, had met and defeated a larger force than our own, one composed of the picked warriors of Dingane’s regiments.
As we drew near to Kwa’zingwenya we heard singing, and lo! a great company of girls, clad in their gayest dancing dresses, came out to meet us. They carried green boughs, which they waved as they sang, and at their head was Lalusini. At sight of her the warriors cried aloud her name, hailing her as their deliverer, for her múti it was which, when their hearts were as water, had turned them to iron once more. But she, smiling kindly at them, turned herself to the King, hailing him by all his titles. This time, however, she sang not the Song of the Shield, but the warriors did, for it was roared forth by the whole impi, and, indeed, it became one of the great songs of our nation, nor do I think it is forgotten yet. Also they sang this song: —
“Are they sharp – the horns of the Bull?
They are sharp. They are strong.
The Lion rushed upon them —
The Lion from the South —
Ou! Where is he – that Lion?
His head was high – loud was his roar:
His tail, too, was high;
But the horns of the Bull are sharp —
Ha! Ha! Now the Black Bull roars alone.”
We went through the rites of purifying after the shedding of human blood, and then there was great feasting and rejoicing; for our losses, which were heavy, were not to be spoken of at such a time, and songs of victory and rejoicing filled the air – not those of death and mourning – for great, indeed, had been our triumph, and we were still a mighty nation.
Death, too, had been busy at Kwa’zingwenya during our struggle for a nation’s life. For it had called to the white isanusi to come over into the Dark Unknown. The stranger was dead. He had been seized with sickness in certain swampy lands, while travelling to outlying kraals to spread his teaching, and had come back to die. And those who were with him say that he died very quickly, and without pain or fear. Now, I thought the King was not over-sorrowful about this; for, although the white doctor was his friend, yet, sooner or later, these two strangers would want to go forth from our midst – which we did not desire. And now both were dead: one on a bed of sickness, the other on the field of blood, as a warrior, making his dying bed of the bodies of those he had slain. Au! It were better so; yet were we sad as we buried the white priest – burying with him, too, all his possessions and articles of clothing and sacrifice, even as he used to wear them, deeming that he would need to make múti where he had gone, even as he had done here. Yes, we were sorry, for he was a good man and a brave man, that white teacher, and although I have seen and heard many since, Nkose, never did I hear any who spoke words quite as did that one.
Meanwhile, there was a thought ever present in my mind, and this was the matter of Lalusini. The King, too, when we were alone together, would, at times, talk strangely on that subject, as though he would read my thoughts; and I, recollecting, wondered if I had rendered Tauane’s last words as darkly as I had intended, or if some inkling of the Bakoni chief’s real meaning had not come back to the Great Great One’s mind. But when things had quieted down after our feasting and rejoicing, the King sent for Lalusini.
“Hail, Black Bull! whose horns are too sharp for the Lion!” was her salute.
“To thee, greeting, whose voice, singing from the air, brings life to the dead hearts of defeated warriors,” answered Umzilikazi. “Tell me now, sister, how was that done?”
“Nay, son of Matyobane,” she said, with a smile and a shake of the head. “That may not be. Sufficient is it that I have from the King’s own mouth that my múti did raise the drooping hearts of the warriors, and thus cause them to triumph over the Lion of the South. Does the word of the King stand?”
Umzilikazi looked disappointed. Yet it was scarcely a fair thing to question a sorceress as to the secrets of her magic; and I, sitting there, hearing her claim the fulfilment of the King’s promise, remembered how I, too, had once done the same, though, then, my case had been, indeed, a most desperate one.
“What, then, dost thou ask, sister?” he said.
“This, Great Great One. I am tired of wandering. I would fain rest within the kraal of the Black Bull, and dwell with this nation forever.”
“That is granted, daughter of the Mighty,” said the King.
“Not all my request is it, Elephant. I am tired of sorcery, I would fain abandon it and live as others do.”
Now we all cried out in surprise, we izinduna who were in attendance upon the King. After the proof she had given of her astounding powers, to desire to leave all this and dwell among us as any ordinary woman! Whau! It was a marvel.
“The word of the King was that there were already magicians enough in this nation,” she went on, fearlessly. “Now I would retire from among such. I would wed.”
“Hau!” we all cried, in amaze.
“And whom wouldst thou wed, Lalusini?” said the King.
“I would wed the bravest warrior of this nation, Great Great One.”
Now murmurs of astonishment filled the air, for, besides certain councillors, several of our principal fighting-captains were present – Kalipe, Gasibona, and Xulawayo, and others – besides myself.
“Whau!” cried the King. “Among so many who are brave who may say which is the bravest? What sayest thou, son of Ntelani?”
“I say in the words of the Great Great One. Among so many brave who can point out the bravest, my Father!” I answered, and, as I gazed upon Lalusini’s beauty, a terrible fear was round my heart lest some other should be chosen, and in my anxiety I bent forward, sweeping with my gaze the ring of set, astonished faces, and I seemed to behold them afar off, and as through a mist.
“What say ye all?” said the King, turning to the others.
There was a pause, then Kalipe answered, for he was well disposed towards me, and, moreover, liked not to wed with a sorceress himself.
“The bearer of the white shield, Great Great One. He is the bravest of our warriors – none braver.”
And all the others shouted aloud in assent of Kalipe’s words.
“Hear ye what these say, Lalusini?” said the King.
“I hear them, Black Elephant,” she replied, turning and smiling on me now for the first time.
“Let it be so, then, for my word stands,” said Umzilikazi.
Thus it came about, Nkose, that I took for my chief wife Lalusini, the daughter of great Tshaka, but as to this the King enjoined upon us to keep her birth a secret. And we dwelt long together and loved each other much, and there was peace in our kraal; for Lalusini was tender-hearted as well as beautiful, and not as Nangeza, who was hard and desired to be chief over all upon whom she looked. But save on very great and momentous occasions, Lalusini gave up practising sorcery, and, indeed, she told me afterwards how she had been able to sing the Song of the Shield in our ears in such wise as to turn the tide of the battle, and how that the great cliff above us was so formed at one place as to throw back the voice even when the singer was a long distance off: so had the song been heard as though it sprang out of nowhere, to the saving of our nation.
And I, after that I carried the white shield and the King’s broad spear into many a fray, and the might of the Amandebeli stood as it had ever done, nor was the arm of Dingane stretched out again to strike us until – Well, there came a time.
But it will soon grow dark, Nkose, nor is there time to begin another story. Whau! and a long one indeed has this been, for I think the sun had but just risen when I began, and now it is about to sink below the rim of the world again. In the lives of men, as in the lives of nations, strange things befall, and in mine, who am now old, strange things have befallen. I have lived under the shadow of five Kings – all mighty and great – but of them all, saving perhaps Tshaka, none was so great as Umzilikazi, the Father and Founder of a great and mighty nation.
Epilogue
Now as old Untúswa ended, the other two Zulus – who had been intently, eagerly, listening throughout – never interrupting, though uttering an emphatic murmur of assent or astonishment now and again, fell to discussing this tale they had heard – the Tale of the White Shield. They compared it with other traditions of magic feats and magic arms, wholly heroic and three parts mythical. But the old follower of Umzilikazi stood aloof with a good-humoured, yet pitying, kind of smile. He had other stories, he more than hinted; for this stirring epic which he had just narrated covered a time which was to his life as less than the blade of an assegai is to its whole length.
Then indeed, I, the stranger and the civilised, felt a growing compunction that time – and other things – forbade further dalliance amid the wild mountain haunts of these genuinely interesting barbarians, for from where we sat to Kambtila, whither the wagon had proceeded, was a far cry at that time of night; nor was the way better known to me than any other road I had never travelled before, and it was already growing dusk. Wherefore my steed, grazing hard by, was caught and saddled, and the splendid old veteran of a hundred fights, stood holding my stirrup in his courteous Zulu manner, and thus with hearty farewells we parted.
The darkness drew down, curtaining the grey cliffs above with shadowy gloom, and now lights twinkled forth from the little eyrie-like kraal, and as I slanted down the steep side of the mountain I could still see the dark forms of the three warriors, could hear the quivering rattle of assegai-hafts and the deep bass of voices, as they took their way homeward, half-hidden among the rocks and long grass.
So, too, did I take mine, reflecting on the completeness of this grand savage epic – the Tale of the White Shield; also of that other I had heard from the same narrator. What tales they were! What deeds, too, which most of these quiet-looking, pleasant-featured, courtly-mannered savages could tell of if they chose! dramas hardly credible as fitting in with the latter quarter of this prosaic nineteenth century. And I marvelled exceedingly – not for the first time – over the boundless stupidity of certain Britons of the denser sort, who in official or private capacity could move among such for a greater or lesser period of time, and yet bring away no more of an impression than that of a lot of “blacks” who wore precious little clothing and were not eager to learn the arts of “civilisation.”
