CHAPTER III
UMBOPA ENTERS OUR SERVICE
It takes from four to five days, according to the speed of the vesseland the state of the weather, to run up from the Cape to Durban.Sometimes, if the landing is bad at East London, where they have notyet made that wonderful harbour they talk so much of, and sink such amint of money in, a ship is delayed for twenty-four hours before thecargo boats can get out to take off the goods. But on this occasion wehad not to wait at all, for there were no breakers on the Bar to speakof, and the tugs came out at once with the long strings of uglyflat-bottomed boats behind them, into which the packages were bundledwith a crash. It did not matter what they might be, over they wentslap-bang; whether they contained china or woollen goods they met withthe same treatment. I saw one case holding four dozen of champagnesmashed all to bits, and there was the champagne fizzing and boilingabout in the bottom of the dirty cargo boat. It was a wicked waste, andevidently so the Kafirs in the boat thought, for they found a couple ofunbroken bottles, and knocking off the necks drank the contents. Butthey had not allowed for the expansion caused by the fizz in the wine,and, feeling themselves swelling, rolled about in the bottom of theboat, calling out that the good liquor was "tagati"--that is,bewitched. I spoke to them from the vessel, and told them it was thewhite man's strongest medicine, and that they were as good as dead men.Those Kafirs went to the shore in a very great fright, and I do notthink that they will touch champagne again.
Well, all the time that we were steaming up to Natal I was thinkingover Sir Henry Curtis's offer. We did not speak any more on the subjectfor a day or two, though I told them many hunting yarns, all true ones.There is no need to tell lies about hunting, for so many curious thingshappen within the knowledge of a man whose business it is to hunt; butthis is by the way.
At last, one beautiful evening in January, which is our hottest month,we steamed past the coast of Natal, expecting to make Durban Point bysunset. It is a lovely coast all along from East London, with its redsandhills and wide sweeps of vivid green, dotted here and there withKafir kraals, and bordered by a ribbon of white surf, which spouts upin pillars of foam where it hits the rocks. But just before you come toDurban there is a peculiar richness about the landscape. There are thesheer kloofs cut in the hills by the rushing rains of centuries, downwhich the rivers sparkle; there is the deepest green of the bush,growing as God planted it, and the other greens of the mealie gardensand the sugar patches, while now and again a white house, smiling outat the placid sea, puts a finish and gives an air of homeliness to thescene. For to my mind, however beautiful a view may be, it requires thepresence of man to make it complete, but perhaps that is because I havelived so much in the wilderness, and therefore know the value ofcivilisation, though to be sure it drives away the game. The Garden ofEden, no doubt, looked fair before man was, but I always think that itmust have been fairer when Eve adorned it.
To return, we had miscalculated a little, and the sun was well downbefore we dropped anchor off the Point, and heard the gun which toldthe good folks of Durban that the English Mail was in. It was too lateto think of getting over the Bar that night, so we went comfortably todinner, after seeing the Mails carried off in the life-boat.
When we came up again the moon was out, and shining so brightly oversea and shore that she almost paled the quick, large flashes from thelighthouse. From the shore floated sweet spicy odours that alwaysremind me of hymns and missionaries, and in the windows of the houseson the Berea sparkled a hundred lights. From a large brig lying nearalso came the music of the sailors as they worked at getting the anchorup in order to be ready for the wind. Altogether it was a perfectnight, such a night as you sometimes get in Southern Africa, and itthrew a garment of peace over everybody as the moon threw a garment ofsilver over everything. Even the great bulldog, belonging to a sportingpassenger, seemed to yield to its gentle influences, and forgetting hisyearning to come to close quarters with the baboon in a cage on thefoc'sle, snored happily at the door of the cabin, dreaming no doubtthat he had finished him, and happy in his dream.
We three--that is, Sir Henry Curtis, Captain Good, and myself--went andsat by the wheel, and were quiet for a while.
"Well, Mr. Quatermain," said Sir Henry presently, "have you beenthinking about my proposals?"
"Ay," echoed Captain Good, "what do you think of them, Mr. Quatermain?I hope that you are going to give us the pleasure of your company sofar as Solomon's Mines, or wherever the gentleman you knew as Nevillemay have got to."
I rose and knocked out my pipe before I answered. I had not made up mymind, and wanted an additional moment to decide. Before the burningtobacco had fallen into the sea I had decided; just that little extrasecond did the trick. It is often the way when you have been botheringa long time over a thing.
"Yes, gentlemen," I said, sitting down again, "I will go, and by yourleave I will tell you why, and on what conditions. First for the termswhich I ask.
"1. You are to pay all expenses, and any ivory or other valuables wemay get is to be divided between Captain Good and myself.
"2. That you give me L500 for my services on the trip before we start,I undertaking to serve you faithfully till you choose to abandon theenterprise, or till we succeed, or disaster overtakes us.
"3. That before we trek you execute a deed agreeing, in the event of mydeath or disablement, to pay my boy Harry, who is studying medicineover there in London, at Guy's Hospital, a sum of L200 a year for fiveyears, by which time he ought to be able to earn a living for himselfif he is worth his salt. That is all, I think, and I daresay you willsay quite enough too."
"No," answered Sir Henry, "I accept them gladly. I am bent upon thisproject, and would pay more than that for your help, considering thepeculiar and exclusive knowledge which you possess."
"Pity I did not ask it, then, but I won't go back on my word. And nowthat I have got my terms I will tell you my reasons for making up mymind to go. First of all, gentlemen, I have been observing you both forthe last few days, and if you will not think me impertinent I may saythat I like you, and believe that we shall come up well to the yoketogether. That is something, let me tell you, when one has a longjourney like this before one.
"And now as to the journey itself, I tell you flatly, Sir Henry andCaptain Good, that I do not think it probable we can come out of italive, that is, if we attempt to cross the Suliman Mountains. What wasthe fate of the old Dom da Silvestra three hundred years ago? What wasthe fate of his descendant twenty years ago? What has been yourbrother's fate? I tell you frankly, gentlemen, that as their fates wereso I believe ours will be."
I paused to watch the effect of my words. Captain Good looked a littleuncomfortable, but Sir Henry's face did not change. "We must take ourchance," he said.
"You may perhaps wonder," I went on, "why, if I think this, I, who am,as I told you, a timid man, should undertake such a journey. It is fortwo reasons. First I am a fatalist, and believe that my time isappointed to come quite without reference to my own movements and will,and that if I am to go to Suliman's Mountains to be killed, I shall gothere and shall be killed. God Almighty, no doubt, knows His mind aboutme, so I need not trouble on that point. Secondly, I am a poor man. Fornearly forty years I have hunted and traded, but I have never made morethan a living. Well, gentlemen, I don't know if you are aware that theaverage life of an elephant hunter from the time he takes to the tradeis between four and five years. So you see I have lived through aboutseven generations of my class, and I should think that my time cannotbe far off, anyway. Now, if anything were to happen to me in theordinary course of business, by the time my debts are paid there wouldbe nothing left to support my son Harry whilst he was getting in theway of earning a living, whereas now he will be set up for five years.There is the whole affair in a nutshell."
"Mr. Quatermain," said Sir Henry, who had been giving me his mostserious attention, "your motives for undertaking an enterprise whichyou believe can only end in disaster reflect a great deal of credit onyou. Whet
her or not you are right, of course time and the event alonecan show. But whether you are right or wrong, I may as well tell you atonce that I am going through with it to the end, sweet or bitter. If weare to be knocked on the head, all I have to say is, that I hope we geta little shooting first, eh, Good?"
"Yes, yes," put in the captain. "We have all three of us beenaccustomed to face danger, and to hold our lives in our hands invarious ways, so it is no good turning back now. And now I vote we godown to the saloon and take an observation just for luck, you know."And we did--through the bottom of a tumbler.
Next day we went ashore, and I put up Sir Henry and Captain Good at thelittle shanty I have built on the Berea, and which I call my home.There are only three rooms and a kitchen in it, and it is constructedof green brick with a galvanised iron roof, but there is a good gardenwith the best loquot trees in it that I know, and some nice youngmangoes, of which I hope great things. The curator of the botanicalgardens gave them to me. It is looked after by an old hunter of minenamed Jack, whose thigh was so badly broken by a buffalo cow inSikukunis country that he will never hunt again. But he can potterabout and garden, being a Griqua by birth. You will never persuade aZulu to take much interest in gardening. It is a peaceful art, andpeaceful arts are not in his line.
Sir Henry and Good slept in a tent pitched in my little grove of orangetrees at the end of the garden, for there was no room for them in thehouse, and what with the smell of the bloom, and the sight of the greenand golden fruit--in Durban you will see all three on the treetogether--I daresay it is a pleasant place enough, for we have fewmosquitos here on the Berea, unless there happens to come an unusuallyheavy rain.
Well, to get on--for if I do not, Harry, you will be tired of my storybefore ever we fetch up at Suliman's Mountains--having once made up mymind to go I set about making the necessary preparations. First Isecured the deed from Sir Henry, providing for you, my boy, in case ofaccidents. There was some difficulty about its legal execution, as SirHenry was a stranger here, and the property to be charged is over thewater; but it was ultimately got over with the help of a lawyer, whocharged L20 for the job--a price that I thought outrageous. Then Ipocketed my cheque for L500.
Having paid this tribute to my bump of caution, I purchased a wagon anda span of oxen on Sir Henry's behalf, and beauties they were. It was atwenty-two-foot wagon with iron axles, very strong, very light, andbuilt throughout of stink wood; not quite a new one, having been to theDiamond Fields and back, but, in my opinion, all the better for that,for I could see that the wood was well seasoned. If anything is goingto give in a wagon, or if there is green wood in it, it will show outon the first trip. This particular vehicle was what we call a"half-tented" wagon, that is to say, only covered in over the aftertwelve feet, leaving all the front part free for the necessaries we hadto carry with us. In this after part were a hide "cartle," or bed, onwhich two people could sleep, also racks for rifles, and many otherlittle conveniences. I gave L125 for it, and think that it was cheap atthe price.
Then I bought a beautiful team of twenty Zulu oxen, which I had kept myeye on for a year or two. Sixteen oxen is the usual number for a team,but I took four extra to allow for casualties. These Zulu cattle aresmall and light, not more than half the size of the Africander oxen,which are generally used for transport purposes; but they will livewhere the Africanders would starve, and with a moderate load can makefive miles a day better going, being quicker and not so liable tobecome footsore. What is more, this lot were thoroughly "salted," thatis, they had worked all over South Africa, and so had become proof,comparatively speaking, against red water, which so frequently destroyswhole teams of oxen when they get on to strange "veldt" or grasscountry. As for "lung sick," which is a dreadful form of pneumonia,very prevalent in this country, they had all been inoculated againstit. This is done by cutting a slit in the tail of an ox, and binding ina piece of the diseased lung of an animal which has died of thesickness. The result is that the ox sickens, takes the disease in amild form, which causes its tail to drop off, as a rule about a footfrom the root, and becomes proof against future attacks. It seems cruelto rob the animal of his tail, especially in a country where there areso many flies, but it is better to sacrifice the tail and keep the oxthan to lose both tail and ox, for a tail without an ox is not muchgood, except to dust with. Still it does look odd to trek along behindtwenty stumps, where there ought to be tails. It seems as though Naturemade a trifling mistake, and stuck the stern ornaments of a lot ofprize bull-dogs on to the rumps of the oxen.
Next came the question of provisioning and medicines, one whichrequired the most careful consideration, for what we had to do was toavoid lumbering the wagon, and yet to take everything absolutelynecessary. Fortunately, it turned out that Good is a bit of a doctor,having at some point in his previous career managed to pass through acourse of medical and surgical instruction, which he has more or lesskept up. He is not, of course, qualified, but he knows more about itthan many a man who can write M.D. after his name, as we found outafterwards, and he had a splendid travelling medicine chest and a setof instruments. Whilst we were at Durban he cut off a Kafir's big toein a way which it was a pleasure to see. But he was quite nonplussedwhen the Kafir, who had sat stolidly watching the operation, asked himto put on another, saying that a "white one" would do at a pinch.
There remained, when these questions were satisfactorily settled, twofurther important points for consideration, namely, that of arms andthat of servants. As to the arms I cannot do better than put down alist of those which we finally decided on from among the ample storethat Sir Henry had brought with him from England, and those which Iowned. I copy it from my pocket-book, where I made the entry at thetime.
"Three heavy breech-loading double-eight elephant guns, weighing aboutfifteen pounds each, to carry a charge of eleven drachms of blackpowder." Two of these were by a well-known London firm, most excellentmakers, but I do not know by whom mine, which is not so highlyfinished, was made. I have used it on several trips, and shot a goodmany elephants with it, and it has always proved a most superiorweapon, thoroughly to be relied on.
"Three double-500 Expresses, constructed to stand a charge of sixdrachms," sweet weapons, and admirable for medium-sized game, such aseland or sable antelope, or for men, especially in an open country andwith the semi-hollow bullet.
"One double No. 12 central-fire Keeper's shot-gun, full choke bothbarrels." This gun proved of the greatest service to us afterwards inshooting game for the pot.
"Three Winchester repeating rifles (not carbines), spare guns.
"Three single-action Colt's revolvers, with the heavier, or Americanpattern of cartridge."
This was our total armament, and doubtless the reader will observe thatthe weapons of each class were of the same make and calibre, so thatthe cartridges were interchangeable, a very important point. I make noapology for detailing it at length, as every experienced hunter willknow how vital a proper supply of guns and ammunition is to the successof an expedition.
Now as to the men who were to go with us. After much consultation wedecided that their number should be limited to five, namely, a driver,a leader, and three servants.
The driver and leader I found without much difficulty, two Zulus, namedrespectively Goza and Tom; but to get the servants proved a moredifficult matter. It was necessary that they should be thoroughlytrustworthy and brave men, as in a business of this sort our livesmight depend upon their conduct. At last I secured two, one a Hottentotnamed Ventvoegel, or "windbird," and one a little Zulu named Khiva, whohad the merit of speaking English perfectly. Ventvoegel I had knownbefore; he was one of the most perfect "spoorers," that is, gametrackers, I ever had to do with, and tough as whipcord. He never seemedto tire. But he had one failing, so common with his race, drink. Puthim within reach of a bottle of gin and you could not trust him.However, as we were going beyond the region of grog-shops this littleweakness of his did not so much matter.
Having secured these two men I looked in va
in for a third to suit mypurpose, so we determined to start without one, trusting to luck tofind a suitable man on our way up country. But, as it happened, on theevening before the day we had fixed for our departure the Zulu Khivainformed me that a Kafir was waiting to see me. Accordingly, when wehad done dinner, for we were at table at the time, I told Khiva tobring him in. Presently a tall, handsome-looking man, somewhere aboutthirty years of age, and very light-coloured for a Zulu, entered, andlifting his knob-stick by way of salute, squatted himself down in thecorner on his haunches, and sat silent. I did not take any notice ofhim for a while, for it is a great mistake to do so. If you rush intoconversation at once, a Zulu is apt to think you a person of littledignity or consequence. I observed, however, that he was a "Keshla" orringed man; that is, he wore on his head the black ring, made of aspecies of gum polished with fat and worked up in the hair, which isusually assumed by Zulus on attaining a certain age or dignity. Also itstruck me that his face was familiar to me.
"Well," I said at last, "What is your name?"
"Umbopa," answered the man in a slow, deep voice.
"I have seen your face before."
"Yes; the Inkoosi, the chief, my father, saw my face at the place ofthe Little Hand"--that is, Isandhlwana--"on the day before the battle."
Then I remembered. I was one of Lord Chelmsford's guides in thatunlucky Zulu War, and had the good fortune to leave the camp in chargeof some wagons on the day before the battle. While I was waiting forthe cattle to be inspanned I fell into conversation with this man, whoheld some small command among the native auxiliaries, and he hadexpressed to me his doubts as to the safety of the camp. At the time Itold him to hold his tongue, and leave such matters to wiser heads; butafterwards I thought of his words.
"I remember," I said; "what is it you want?"
"It is this, 'Macumazahn.'" That is my Kafir name, and means the manwho gets up in the middle of the night, or, in vulgar English, he whokeeps his eyes open. "I hear that you go on a great expedition far intothe North with the white chiefs from over the water. Is it a true word?"
"It is."
"I hear that you go even to the Lukanga River, a moon's journey beyondthe Manica country. Is this so also, 'Macumazahn?'"
"Why do you ask whither we go? What is it to you?" I answeredsuspiciously, for the objects of our journey had been kept a deadsecret.
"It is this, O white men, that if indeed you travel so far I wouldtravel with you."
There was a certain assumption of dignity in the man's mode of speech,and especially in his use of the words "O white men," instead of "OInkosis," or chiefs, which struck me.
"You forget yourself a little," I said. "Your words run out unawares.That is not the way to speak. What is your name, and where is yourkraal? Tell us, that we may know with whom we have to deal."
"My name is Umbopa. I am of the Zulu people, yet not of them. The houseof my tribe is in the far North; it was left behind when the Zulus camedown here a 'thousand years ago,' long before Chaka reigned inZululand. I have no kraal. I have wandered for many years. I came fromthe North as a child to Zululand. I was Cetewayo's man in theNkomabakosi Regiment, serving there under the great Captain,Umslopogaasi of the Axe,[1] who taught my hands to fight. Afterwards Iran away from Zululand and came to Natal because I wanted to see thewhite man's ways. Next I fought against Cetewayo in the war. Since thenI have been working in Natal. Now I am tired, and would go North again.Here is not my place. I want no money, but I am a brave man, and amworth my place and meat. I have spoken."
I was rather puzzled by this man and his way of speech. It was evidentto me from his manner that in the main he was telling the truth, butsomehow he seemed different from the ordinary run of Zulus, and Irather mistrusted his offer to come without pay. Being in a difficulty,I translated his words to Sir Henry and Good, and asked them theiropinion.
Sir Henry told me to ask him to stand up. Umbopa did so, at the sametime slipping off the long military great coat which he wore, andrevealing himself naked except for the moocha round his centre and anecklace of lions' claws. Certainly he was a magnificent-looking man; Inever saw a finer native. Standing about six foot three high he wasbroad in proportion, and very shapely. In that light, too, his skinlooked scarcely more than dark, except here and there where deep blackscars marked old assegai wounds. Sir Henry walked up to him and lookedinto his proud, handsome face.
"They make a good pair, don't they?" said Good; "one as big as theother."
"I like your looks, Mr. Umbopa, and I will take you as my servant,"said Sir Henry in English.
Umbopa evidently understood him, for he answered in Zulu, "It is well";and then added, with a glance at the white man's great stature andbreadth, "We are men, thou and I."
[1] For the history of Umslopogaasi and his Axe, the reader is referredto the books called "Allan Quatermain" and "Nada the Lily."--Editor.
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