Hans was right, things do change, especially the weather. That night,unexpectedly, for when I turned in the sky seemed quite serene, therecame a terrible rain long before it was due, which lasted off and on forthree whole days and continued intermittently for an indefinite period.Needless to say the river, which it would have been so easy to crosson this particular evening, by the morning was a raging torrent, and soremained for several weeks.
In despair at length I trekked south to where a ford was reported,which, when reached, proved impracticable.
I tried another, a dozen miles further on, which was very hard to cometo over boggy land. It looked all right and we were getting acrossfinely, when suddenly one of the wheels sank in an unsuspected hole andthere we stuck. Indeed, I believe the waggon, or bits of it, wouldhave remained in the neighbourhood of that ford to this day, had I notmanaged to borrow some extra oxen belonging to a Christian Kaffir, andwith their help to drag it back to the bank whence we had started.
As it happened I was only just in time, since a new storm which hadburst further up the river, brought it down in flood again, a very heavyflood.
In this country, England, where I write, there are bridges everywhereand no one seems to appreciate them. If they think of them at all itis to grumble about the cost of their upkeep. I wish they could haveexperienced what a lack of them means in a wild country during times ofexcessive rain, and the same remark applied to roads. You shouldthink more of your blessings, my friends, as the old woman said to hercomplaining daughter who had twins two years running, adding that theymight have been triplets.
To return--after this I confessed myself beaten and gave up until suchtime as it should please Providence to turn off the water-tap. Trekkingout of sight of that infernal river which annoyed me with its constantgurgling, I camped on a comparatively dry spot that overlooked abeautiful stretch of rolling veld. Towards sunset the clouds liftedand I saw a mile or two away a most extraordinary mountain on the lowerslopes of which grew a dense forest. Its upper part, which was of barerock, looked exactly like the seated figure of a grotesque person withthe chin resting on the breast. There was the head, there were the arms,there were the knees. Indeed, the whole mass of it reminded me stronglyof the effigy of Zikali which was tied about my neck, or rather ofZikali himself.
"What is that called?" I said to Hans, pointing to this strange hill,now blazing in the angry fire of the setting sun that had burst outbetween the storm clouds, which made it appear more ominous even thanbefore.
"That is the Witch Mountain, Baas, where the Chief Umslopogaas and ablood brother of his who carried a great club used to hunt with thewolves. It is haunted and in a cave at the top of it lie the bones ofNada the Lily, the fair woman whose name is a song, she who was the loveof Umslopogaas."[*]
[*] For the story of Umslopogaas and Nada see the book called "Nada the Lily."--Editor.
"Rubbish," I said, though I had heard something of all that story andremembered that Zikali had mentioned this Nada, comparing her beauty tothat of another whom once I knew.
"Where then lives the Chief Umslopogaas?"
"They say that his town is yonder on the plain, Baas. It is called thePlace of the Axe and is strongly fortified with a river round most ofit, and his people are the People of the Axe. They are a fierce people,and all the country round here is uninhabited because Umslopogaas hascleaned out the tribes who used to live in it, first with his wolvesand afterwards in war. He is so strong a chief and so terrible in battlethat even Chaka himself was afraid of him, and they say that he broughtDingaan the King to his end because of a quarrel about this Nada.Cetywayo, the present king, too leaves him alone and to him he pays notribute."
Whilst I was about to ask Hans from whom he had collected all thisinformation, suddenly I heard sounds, and looking up, saw three tall menclad in full herald's dress rushing towards us at great speed.
"Here come some chips from the Axe," said Hans, and promptly bolted intothe waggon.
I did not bolt because there was no time to do so without loss ofdignity, but, although I wished I had my rifle with me, just sat stillupon my stool and with great deliberation lighted my pipe, taking notthe slightest notice of the three savage-looking fellows.
These, who I noted carried axes instead of assegais, rushed straight atme with the axes raised in such a fashion that anyone unacquainted withthe habits of Zulu warriors of the old school, might have thought thatthey intended nothing short of murder.
As I expected, however, within about six feet of me they halted suddenlyand stood there still as statues. For my part I went on lighting my pipeas though I did not see them and when at length I was obliged to lift myhead, surveyed them with an air of mild interest.
Then I took a little book out of my pocket, it was my favourite copy ofthe Ingoldsby Legends--and began to read.
The passage which caught my eye, if "axe" be substituted for "knife" wasnot inappropriate. It was from "The Nurse's Story," and runs,
"But, oh! what a thing 'tis to see and to know That the bare knife is raised in the hand of the foe, Without hope to repel or to ward off the blow!"
This proceeding of mine astonished them a good deal who felt that theyhad, so to speak, missed fire. At last the soldier in the middle said,
"Are you blind, White Man?"
"No, Black Fellow," I answered, "but I am short-sighted. Would you be sogood as to stand out of my light?" a remark which puzzled them so muchthat all three drew back a few paces.
When I had read a little further I came to the following lines,
"'Tis plain, As anatomists tell us, that never again, Shall life revisit the foully slain When once they've been cut through the jugular vein."
In my circumstances at that moment this statement seemed altogether toosuggestive, so I shut up the book and remarked,
"If you are wanderers who want food, as I judge by your being so thin,I am sorry that I have little meat, but my servants will give you whatthey can."
"_Ow!_" said the spokesman, "he calls us wanderers! Either he must be avery great man or he is mad."
"You are right. I _am_ a great man," I answered, yawning, "and if youtrouble me too much you will see that I can be mad also. Now what do youwant?"
"We are messengers from the great Chief Umslopogaas, Captain of thePeople of the Axe, and we want tribute," answered the man in a somewhatchanged tone.
"Do you? Then you won't get it. I thought that only the King of Zululandhad a right to tribute, and your Captain's name is not Cetywayo, is it?"
"Our Captain is King here," said the man still more uncertainly.
"Is he indeed? Then away with you back to him and tell this King of whomI have never heard, though I have a message for a certain Umslopogaas,that Macumazahn, Watcher-by-Night, intends to visit him to-morrow, ifhe will send a guide at the first light to show the best path for thewaggon."
"Hearken," said the man to his companions, "this is Macumazahn himselfand no other. Well, we thought it, for who else would have dared----"
Then they saluted with their axes, calling me "Chief" and other finenames, and departed as they had come, at a run, calling out that mymessage should be delivered and that doubtless Umslopogaas would sendthe guide.
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