Forging the Blades: A Tale of the Zulu Rebellion

by Bertram Mitford

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  TREACHERY.

  The Lumisana forest covers many square miles of country, and that theroughest and most impenetrable country imaginable. Huge tree-trunks,dense undergrowth, impenetrable thickets of _haak doorn_, that awfulfishhook-like thorn which, like the sword of the Edenic angel, turnsevery way, and growing in such close abattis that any one trying toforce his way through it would in a second find not only his clothes buthis skin torn to ribbons and could not get through even then. Where theground was comparatively level a way might be made by the following ofgame paths; but there were broken, tumbled masses of rocks and cliffs,and dark ravines falling away suddenly, with lateral clefts running upfrom these for long distances, the said clefts so overhung by densefoliage as to form actual caves into which the light of day could hardlystraggle. A terrible, an appalling place to get lost in, save for thosewith a lifetime of veldt-craft at their back, and the means of procuringwild food. To a new and inexperienced wanderer such a position would bewell-nigh hopeless. Snakes of the most deadly varieties were abundant,the hyena and the leopard prowled at night--the latter abnormally boldand fierce, and giant baboons barked raucously from the rocks. Even infull, broad daylight, with the sun glancing down through the network ofthe tree-tops, there was an awesome stillness and an oppressiveness inthe air, breathing of fever; at night the dense solitude and mysteriousvoices and rustlings were calculated to get upon the nerves.

  To the natives the place was very much _tagati_. It exuded witchcraftand uncanniness. Even in the daytime they did not care to penetratevery far into its mysterious depths, and then only in twos or more. Atnight they were unanimous in leaving it severely alone.

  Yet, here are two of them, threading its most untrodden recesses, undera broad, full moon, and they are walking as men with a set purpose. Oneis a man of tall, splendid physique, the other shorter and older, andboth are flagrantly transgressing the laws of the administration underwhich they live, for each is armed with a rifle as well as two or threeassegais.

  They hold on their way, with that light, elastic, yet firm Zulu step. Awhite man would be tripping and stumbling and floundering here in thesemisty shades, but not these. A sort of instinct enables them to gripthe ground, to duck where a great overbranching limb bars the path. Andthe air is hot and heavy and feverish, and even their nearly nakedbodies glisten with perspiration.

  "_Au_! The way is long. I, who am old, am tired, my father."

  The speaker was nearly old enough to be the other's father, but thetitle was given in respect to rank.

  "I, who am young, am tired, Undhlawafa. Tired of being the white man'sdog," was the sneering reply.

  "Yet Opondo is a white man," answered the induna.

  "Name him not here; he is great. No, he is not a white man. He wasonce."

  "He is but little older than me, son of Umlali. Do I not remember himwhen we were a nation? He was our friend then, the friend of that GreatOne who has gone into night."

  "He is our friend now, Undhlawafa," said Sapazani. "That is why we areanswering his `word' to-night."

  Another hour of travelling--time is nothing to savages, nor distanceeither--and the sudden, deep-toned baying of dogs smote upon both men'sears. They continued their snake-like course through the dense foliageand the gloom unhesitatingly. Then the sky lightened. They had emergedfrom the forest, and in the moonlight a few domed roofs stood forthstaring and pale. Within the thorn stockade surrounding these the dogsmouthed and roared. Some one came forth and quieted them, and the twoentered, the gate being immediately closed behind them.

  The man who admitted them saluted with respect. Then he dived into ahut, presently returning with an intimation that they should enter.Prior to doing so both deposited their weapons upon the ground outside.

  This kraal was deep away in the heart of the forest. It was overhung bya crescent formation of craggy rocks, but over this the growth was sothick that nothing short of hewing a way for days could have broughtanyone within overlooking range on that side. In front nearly the sameheld good, and but that the two who now came to it were past masters inthe art of finding their way through apparently impenetrable undergrowththey would have missed it again and again. Besides, they had been herebefore.

  The chief occupant of the hut was a white man.

  He was old. His face was hard and worn, and tanned nearly to theduskiness of the Zulus around him, especially that of Sapazani, who waslight-coloured. He wore a long silvered beard, and his blue-grey eyeswere bright and glittering. There was a light of magnetic command inthem, and indeed in the whole countenance. A strange personality andrather a terrific one. Him the new arrivals saluted with deference.

  "Welcome, son of Umlali. Also Undhlawafa."

  The voice was deep-toned and strong. The utterer seemed not as old ashe looked.

  "We are here, my father," said Sapazani. "And the news?"

  "Give it," turning to a man who sat at his left. Sapazani had beenawarded the place of honour on the right.

  He addressed, who was no other than the subsequently famous Babatyana,did so. His own tribe, the Amahluzi, were armed, so, too, the Amaqwabe,and several other powerful tribes in Natal were also ready. It was onlya question of acting in concert. And the great parent stock--that ofZululand--was it ready?

  "_He_ has not yet spoken," said Sapazani, referring to the head of theroyal House.

  "He is dumb," said Babatyana, "so far."

  Sapazani did not immediately reply. He was pondering. This was thefirst time he had seen Babatyana, and he was not impressed by him.There was an irresponsible frothiness about his manner which did notappeal. Moreover, as a Zulu of the old stock--and a very conservativeone at that--Sapazani could not for the life of him quite throw off thetraditional contempt for a "Kafula," i.e. a Natal native. And thelatter wore European clothes.

  "So far it is like a broken chain," he said; "like the white man'schain. If one link is broken, of what use is the chain?"

  "And that link?" asked Babatyana.

  "Sigananda and Mehlo-ka-zulu," returned Sapazani.

  "Those links can be forged," said the white man. "There are others,too, which will render the chain a double one."

  The plotting went on, till a whole scheme for a simultaneous rising wasmost carefully elaborated. It was curious with what solicitude thiswhite man threw himself into the plan for the slaughter of his owncountrymen. The cruel face grew more hard and cruel as he arranged ordisposed of each detail. Its cold ruthlessness struck even the Zulus,as he went on elucidating the scheme; would have struck them withastonishment, but that they knew his history. And yet the presence ofthis man in the country at all was barely suspected by those whoadministered the said country.

  By linking up all the tribes from central Natal right to the north ofZululand, a sweep downward could be made. The wavering ones would join,and then--no more officialdom or pass-laws or taxes. They would be freeagain, not as the white arch-plotter was careful to explain, by theirforce of arms alone, but because those who ruled them from across thesea were divided among themselves. It was difficult to understand, butOpondo, [The Horns] for that was his native name, knew everything. Hehad been known among them formerly by another name, but that for goodreasons was _hlonipa_, i.e. hidden, now, and the present substitute was,darkly, near enough to it.

  For upwards of an hour they sat listening, hanging on his words, showingtheir assent by emphatic exclamations when he made a special point. Andno one was more emphatic than a man who had said very little during the_indaba_. He was not a chief, but a follower of Babatyana, and his namewas Pandulu; and he had not said much--had only listened.

  Now _tywala_ was brought in and distributed. The white man lighted apipe, so, too, did Babatyana, a proceeding which brought anill-concealed sneer to Sapazani's face, for that conservative chief andhis induna confined themselves to the good old custom of taking snuff.Pipe smoking and clothes wearing went together, they decided,c
ontemptuously. With a white man, of course, it was different. Suchthings were his custom. But it affected them even further. What aboutjoining forces with such a decadent as this? A _Kafula_! who woreclothes--dirty clothes at that--and smoked a pipe!

  The _indaba_ had dropped; but now Pandulu, who had spoken but littlebefore, seemed anxious to revive it. He, too, came under the mistrustof Sapazani. He, too, smoked a pipe and wore clothes. Then food wasbrought in--the usual beef and roast mealies, and all took a hearty handat the trencher. By this time the night was wearing on.

  Sapazani and his induna got up to leave. They did not wish it to beknown they had been in converse with Opondo, wherefore it was just aswell to be out of the forest before dawn.

  Outside in the clear moonlight the dogs began to raise a great clamour,in the midst of which the white man put an injunction upon Babatyana,who was sleeping at the kraal, to the effect that he should send hisfollower, Pandulu, with Sapazani. He gave no reason--his word wassufficient.

  The trio started.

  The owner of the kraal stood alone, gazing forth into the night, and thehard and cruel expression deepened upon his strong face. His was alifelong feud--a feud deadly and vengeful--with his own race. He livedfor that, and for nothing else. His was a terrible and mysteriouspersonality. He could sway tribes and nations, and yet not appearhimself. Even among the natives themselves there were comparatively fewwho had actually seen him, yet every disturbance or rumour ofdisturbance he was at the back of.

  "Just such a night as this," he murmured to himself, gazing at the fullmoon, then at the great sweep of forest with its weird, nocturnalnoises. "Just such a night."

  The face softened somewhat at the recollection, then hardened again morethan ever. More blood was to flow, more blood to be poured out upon thealtar of a never-dying vengeance.

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  The three wended through the labyrinthine shades, finding their way withalmost the instinct of wild animals. Pandulu talked volubly about thecoming rising, but the other two, beyond putting a question or so hereand there, said not much.

  "_Whau_!" he exclaimed, looking up. "The moon is sinking. Shall we notrest and make a fire? This is a place for evil things to happen in theblack darkness."

  "For evil things to happen," repeated Sapazani. "For evil things tohappen. _Eh-he_, Pandulu."

  There was that in the tone which the man addressed did not like. Orcould it be that a whispered word or two between the chief and Opondohad not escaped his notice, though he could not hear its burden?

  As he had said, the moon was dropping, and more than an hour of blackdarkness lay between this and daylight. And darkness under these shadescould be very black indeed. Anyway, he did not like the chief's tone--no, not a bit. Perhaps he had some secret reason of his own for notliking it, anyway he suddenly realised that he was in deadly peril.

  "Here will we rest," said Sapazani, coming to a sudden halt. They hadgained an open space, which was lighter beneath the dying moon. Thestranger agreed with alacrity.

  "I will go and gather sticks for a fire," he said, making a move towardsthe thickest part of the bush.

  "Move not," said the chief sternly, covering him with his rifle.

  This was unanswerable. Yet quick as thought, in sheer desperation,Pandulu turned and fled. But no bullet stopped his course or whizzedpast him. Dropping his rifle, Sapazani sprang in pursuit.

  It was something of a chase. The hunted man fleeing for life itself, asnow he knew, twisted and doubled like a hare, and in running had just asgood a chance as his pursuer. The latter, for his part, realising whatenormous odds were at stake upon this man escaping, put forward everyeffort. Even then it is doubtful whether he would have been successful;but a forest game path is an awkward place for a sprinting match, andthe fugitive's foot catching in some tangle of undergrowth he fellheadlong. In a moment his pursuer was upon him.

  Pandulu realised that his end had come. His struggles were uselessbeneath the weight and against the powerful grasp of Sapazani, for hehad fallen face downward, and his pursuer had taken care he should notmove from that position.

  "Well, traitor! Well, white man's dog!" snarled the chief. "I am goingto pass the remainder of the dark hours beside a fire, and on that firethyself. Ha! it will be a warm one. But to begin with--how likest thouthat and that?"

  "That and that" represented two long cuts of Sapazani's sharp assegai,drawn across the fallen man's shoulders. The flesh quiveredconvulsively, but no groan escaped the tortured man. Even then he wascalculating his chances, for he still clung desperately to life. In afew minutes it would be pitch dark, could he not, by a sudden movement,wriggle himself free? The chances of flight under such conditions wouldbe all in his favour. And the stakes! He had been promised reward suchas would have made him rich for life, and could he have made such adiscovery as that Sapazani was a leading figure in the plot, why, itwould have meant still more. But another sharp dig from the assegaiagain made him writhe.

  "Now white man's little-dog who would have betrayed us," went on thechief in a growling tone, like that of a wild beast. "That other willfind us directly, and then we will make a fire and have a merry roast.Ha! And that roast shall be thyself. Ha!"

  "Spare me the fire, my father, and I will name thee others who have moreto do with this than I," pleaded the captive.

  Sapazani was on the alert. He saw through the other's plan. It was aquestion of a sudden relaxation of muscle on his part and his victimwould slip through his fingers, and away into the darkness. Ought henot to kill him at once? If only Undhlawafa were not so old andslow-footed! He could hold his victim for ever if necessary, but hecould not tie him up and light a fire single-handed.

  "Who are `others,' and what part had they?" demanded the chief, withanother admonitory prod.

  The victim named two names. Sapazani nodded. Them he could easily getinto his power. Pandulu then began to give details of the scheme underwhich the plotters were to be brought within the white man's net, allunconsciously, and there arrested. He also entered into considerabledetail as to the reward they--the traitors--were to receive. But thisdid not hoodwink Sapazani. He felt the creeping tension of the musclesof his victim, knew that the latter was reckoning on the listener'sphysical tension growing merged in his mental interest, so that at theright moment he should make a spring for life and liberty. He took aquick glance upward. He could tell by the sky that the moon had nearlydisappeared. No, he could not afford to wait any longer for Undhlawafa.Just then two tiger wolves howled, answering each other, very near athand.

  "They wait for thee, Pandulu," he snarled. "Already they smell blood.Well, go. _Hamba gahle_!"

  With the words he drove his assegai down hard between the prostrateman's shoulders. The body and limbs quivered convulsively, beating theground. Hardly had they stilled than the faint light disappeared. Itwould not have been safe to have delayed any longer. And in the blackgloom of the grim forest the dead man lay, and before morning theravening beasts would have left nothing of him but crunched andscattered bones.

  Those few last words whispered to Sapazani by the white arch-plotter hadcontained a death warrant.