While the young men were thus amusing themselves, Nkose, I ran my gaze over the faces of the prisoners whom we had spared, and as I did so it fell upon a countenance which made me start and grip my assegai. The man who owned this face met my glance, and shook with fear. And well he might; for, in spite of a plentiful besmearing of red ochre, I knew that face and he saw that I did—knew it for the face of the deserter, the slave Maroane.
“Spare me, father,” he murmured quickly in the Sechuana tongue. “Spare me, and I will tell you something that will be worth knowing—something which the King would give me my life ten times over to know.”
“Speak, dog!” I said. “Speak or die!”
But he would not. He talked swiftly and low in the Sechuana tongue, which none of our people understood, urging me to go apart with him for a space.
Just then the mountain-top was covered with our warriors, for Kalipe’s impi had now joined mine. All were in a state of the highest excitement and delight. Some were resting, some were dancing, some singing, some jeering the prisoners, others caring for wounds they had received, but the hubbub of voices was enough to make a man deaf. In the commotion I managed to get Maroane apart unobserved.
“Now, slave, thy last hour has come,” I said. “What are thy tidings?”
“Spare my life, father, and they shall be yours,” he said. “Only promise me my life.”
“Hearken, dog,” I growled, fingering the point of my spear. “If what thou showest me is worth thy miserable life, then I will not take it. But speak, or I slay thee here. That is my ‘word.’”
He knew it was. He knew that I was not one to speak twice.
“Come with me, father,” he said. “But—come alone.”
We threaded our way through many a noisy and boisterous group who jeered and threatened the man in front of me, reckoning him one of the Bakoni. But I restrained them, giving an order here, and a word of advice there, in my capacity of second in command. All thought I was going on a round of inspection, and then thought no more about anything at all. The while Maroane had been craftily leading me the complete circle of the mountain-top, and now we had gained the rocky cone which arose from the further end. Then, as we passed behind it, and the people were lost to view, Maroane bent down suddenly in the grass and dragged out by the heels the dead body of a man. Another, too, he dragged forth, then turned panting to me.
“In here, leader of the King’s might,” he said.
I looked in amazement. Under the bodies which he had removed was a hole slanting downwards into the earth, partly hidden in the long grass. The slave explained that these two had been purposely killed by their own people, in order to conceal this opening with their bodies.
Now, I had already known what it is to walk in darkness through the heart of the earth, as you will remember, Nkose, when I followed Gungana into the cave of the Izimu, or Eaters-of-Men. But for such places I have no liking, wherefore I growled:
“And what will I find, dog, when I have left the light of day?”
The fellow’s eyes shone with excitement.
“The Queen of the múti of the Bakoni, father. She is beautiful,” he whispered. “And, indeed, my life is well worth this secret.”
“Ha! lead on, dog,” I said. “But beware that thou beholdest not the end of this spear-point through thy chest.”
I trod in Maroane’s footsteps in almost complete darkness for a little way, and while I did so I pondered. What was going to be revealed? I was ever eager to look into strange mysteries—a longing implanted in me, I think, by old Mazuka. And now I heard a wild, sweet voice singing, and it seemed to me the words were in the Zulu tongue.
Now it grew light, and in a moment we walked out from the darkness of the underground passage, and stood in the light of day.
It was a marvellous place, like an enormous bowl hollowed out in the face of the cliff. The rock sloped gradually outward, and above it a narrow belt of blue sky, but overhead the vaulted roof of the cliff. The floor of this place was of solid stone. It was a marvellous hiding-place, for from beneath the face of the cliff showed no sort or sign of a break. Why had not the craven Tayane sought refuge here? But perhaps even from him was the secret hidden.
This strange rock-nest was occupied by one human being—a woman. As I sprang into her view a low sharp scream of terror escaped her, and, covering her head, she sank down at the further end of the place; not, however, before I was able to see that she was of most beautiful and shapely build. She expected instant death. Yet she begged for mercy, and the voice that came from beneath the beaded robe which covered her was marvellously enthralling. She begged that her life might be spared, or taken as quickly and painlessly as possible. That she was terrified could hardly be wondered at, for my appearance must have been terrifying in the extreme. I had borne far from the smallest share in the slaughter of the Bakoni, and now, weapons, shield, and person were covered with blood. As I leaped into view she at once took me for the first of the slayers. But the words with which she appealed to me were spoken well and fluently in our own tongue.
“What is this?” I said. “The tongue of the Zulu in the mouth of a stranger?”
“I know you, son of Ntelani,” she said, without looking up from her crouching attitude. “I have seen you more than once, messenger of the King.”
“But I have not seen you, stranger, who speakest with the voice of the west wind. Uncover now, that I may do so, before we return to the King.”
“To the King? To Umzilikazi?” she uttered, in a tone as of fear. “That may not be. Look now, son of Ntelani, and say whether I am to fall a spoil to the King.”
Throwing off the beaded robe, she stood upright, and now I saw that my first glimpse had told me no lie. She was tall—tall as Nangeza—but never did I see more perfect proportions and rounder, firmer limbs. She, like Nangeza, was light of colour; but, unlike Nangeza, there was a softness, a sweetness in her face, and in her clear eyes, which was enough to befool any man, being young, who looked. She wore the short beaded petticoat and gold ornaments of the Bakoni, but her hair was gathered up in the impiti, or reddened cone, such as is worn by Zulu women.
Now, for all my bragging to the King that I cared not about women, I was, in those days, just as great a fool as others of my age, and although in a general way I did not care to add to the number of my wives, yet, when I came upon such a woman as this, I was apt to leave my reason and ordinary sense so far behind that a long journey would be required to pick it up again. So when this one—revealing herself thus suddenly—threw out those words about falling a spoil to the King, my reason started away—to hunt game perhaps; and the thought that ran through my mind was that I would, by some means, keep her for myself.
“Who art thou, sister?” I said; “and how art thou called?”
“I am called Lalusini, and my Zulu blood is as pure as thine own, son of Ntelani. Perhaps purer.”
“Hau!” I cried, bringing my hand to my mouth in amazement. “Here is a marvel! Then how earnest thou here, Lalusini, whom this dog just now named Queen of the Bakoni múti?”
“In that he told no lie, Untúswa,” she answered, with a glance at the slave. “But the tale is over-long to be told at such a time.”
My attention being recalled to the slave, I turned to look at him. He was crouching on the ground behind me—eyes, ears, mouth, all wide-open, looking scared somewhat; and, indeed, he would have looked more so could he have read what was passing in my mind. For I had resolved that this woman should belong to me alone; and that this should be so I must leave her here—and, indeed, her first words had seemed to point that way—for such an one as she, did Umzilikazi once set his eyes upon her, she would be taken into the isigodhlo at that moment. But the secret of this hiding-place was known to three of us—Maroane being the third—and I felt that it was shared by just one too many.
“I saw thee, Untúswa,” she went on, “thee and another. I saw thee, the chief of two men, laying down terms to an armed and angry nation. I saw thee again—thee and another—in the ruined walls; two men keeping back swarms of yonder dogs; and my heart went out to thee, and to the days when I dwelt among my own people. Yes, my heart went out to thee, thou great, brave fighter; but if it were better that it should go out to the King—”
This she spoke in a low voice, but with a look that shook my pulses, and made me mad. I sware then that she should not be delivered up to the King, but should remain hidden there, and belong to me, and to me alone; and my words seemed to please her. I promised to return shortly, but now I must depart, or the warriors would be wondering at my absence.
“Lead on now, dog!” I said to the slave. And it was the last word his ears ever heard, for when we had passed through the dark passage, and gained the outer air, I seized him by the ankle, and overthrew him; then bringing my knobstick down upon the back of his neck, I laid him dead before he could utter a sound. No second blow was required. The secret of the hiding-place was now shared by two only.
It is true, Nkose, that I had made a half-promise to spare his life, but to do so now would be to throw away my own. Nor could the dog be relied upon to preserve silence. He had betrayed me once, and deserted to the Bakoni; he would certainly not hesitate to betray me again—this time to the Great Great One himself.
But as I returned, and mixed with the people, I told myself that I was indeed the very king of fools. Had I not thrown away my life before for the sake of a woman, and to-day this same woman was an element of great trouble and disturbance in my life? And now, here I was, older, and with plentiful experience, doing exactly the same thing again! For to secrete captives or cattle taken in war was one of the most deadly offences in the eyes of the King. Its penalty was death, and more than death, for it was usually death by torture. And this deadly offence, I, Untúswa, the second fighting captain and trusted induna of the King, had deliberately committed; and all for the sake of a woman! In truth was I the very chief of fools!
Yet, at the time, I did not so name myself; for as we returned in triumph, with the captives in our midst, streaming down the mountain-side, and singing the war-song of Umzilikazi, I, for once, thought but little of warrior-pride, for my mind was back in that strange hiding-place, and in my ears was still the music of the voice of her whom I had found there. A spell indeed as of witchcraft had she cast over me; and now, as I walked among the triumphant warriors, I seemed quite outside of their rejoicings. It might be witchcraft, I told myself, but it was witchcraft that rose above the fear of death.
The plain beneath was covered with the blue cattle of the Bakoni, and, huddled in groups, were the women captives, frightened and sad. Other captives were there—men—and these had a set, still, stony look, for they reckoned themselves as already dead. To these were added the others we had brought down from the summit of the mountain—that fortified mountain which Tauane had boasted was able to defy the world. Yet we had ascended it so easily!
“Ha, Chief of the Blue Cattle!” I said mockingly. “Behold thy fortress! Behold the lion who roars louder than thee! Thou art already dead, thou who wouldst have done violence to the ambassadors of the Great King!”
“Perhaps not,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “Perhaps not. It may be that I can tell the King that which is worth my life.”
Now, Nkose, my heart stood still within me, for these were exactly the words of Maroane the slave. To how many was known the existence of Lalusini—the secret of her hiding-place? Had I dared, I would have slain Tauane with my own hand, but this was impossible. He was the King’s prisoner. Walking in the midst of the other captives, no colour had I for slaying him, and had I done so I should have drawn down upon myself the darkest suspicion. True, there was no direct proof, as yet, that I was aware of the secret, but the King’s distrust would be aroused and my undoing would then be a certainty. And, over and above all this, the thought that Lalusini might be reft from me filled my mind with a fierce and savage dread. I felt capable of slaying the King himself rather than that should befall.
Then the whole army mustered in two immense half-circles, and the tufted shields and waving plumes, and the quiver of assegai-hafts made a noise like that of a mighty wind shaking a forest, and amid the thunder of the war-song, the King appeared, preceded by several izimbonga. These were roaring like lions, trumpeting like elephants, bellowing like bulls, wriggling like snakes, each ornamented with the skin, or horns, or teeth of the animal he represented and which constituted the King’s titles.
Umzilikazi was arrayed in a war-dress of white ostrich-feathers and flowing cow-hair. The great white shield was held over him by his shield-bearer, but he himself carried a shield made of the skin of a lion, and a broad-bladed dark-handled spear similar to the one which he had given to me. It was not often the King appeared in all the war-adornments of a fighting leader, and now that he did the mad delight of the warriors knew no bounds.
“Elephant who bears the world!” they roared. “Divider of the sun! Black Serpent of Night! Black Bull, whose horns bear fire! Lion whose roar causeth the stars to fall!” were some of the phrases of bonga which arose; and, indeed, the King himself could hardly command silence, and then not for a very long time, so great was the excitement.
“Come hither, Untúswa,” said the Great Great One. “Thou shalt be my voice, for I talk not with the tongue of these dogs. Bring forward the dog who names himself a young lion.”
Tauane was brought forward. Deeming his obeisance not low enough, one of the body-guard seized him by the back of the neck and forced his face down on to the very earth before the King.
“Down, dog!” he growled. “Down before the Founder of Nations, the Scourge of the World!”
And in fierce, threatening chorus the warriors echoed the words.
Having contemplated with a scornful sneer the grovelling captive, Umzilikazi said—
“Speak now with my tongue, Untúswa. But wait. Let old Masuka be sent for. Two tongues are better than one.”
Now I saw myself again undone, Nkose, for in turning that language into our own I thought not to render it all, and therein lay safety. But the old Masuka would certainly render it word for word. Still, my snake was watching over me then, for a message came from the old isanusi that he was making múti, as befitted so serious a time. This answer, which no other man among us would have dared to send, unless he were more than tired of his life, seemed to satisfy the King.
“No matter,” he said. “Thou wert my tongue before, Untúswa, when I despatched thee to offer favour to this dog who calls himself a lion Thou shalt be my tongue now.”
As the King thus spoke, Nkose, I felt safe again, for old Masuka might not arrive before I had finished interpreting, and when that time had come I felt sure that the moments left to the captive chief of the Blue Cattle would be few indeed.
“So, brother!” said the Great Great One, speaking in that soft and pleasant voice which was the most terrible of all, “so, brother—who thought to rule the world? What bad dreams disturbed thy night’s rest to cause thee to make a mock of my messengers?”
This I put to Tauane. But he made no reply save a murmur, waiting for the King to continue.
“I offered thee life, and thou didst choose death; death for thyself and thy people. Go, ask such as remain of the tribes and peoples which have lain in and around our path—ask if the son of Matyobane was ever known to send forth his ‘word’ twice?”
Still the chief made no reply, save for a murmur. But there was a light in his eyes as of hope, for Umzilikazi’s voice was soft and pleasant, and therein he read mercy. Ha! we knew better than that—knew that for such a purpose the King’s voice had better have in it the roar of thunder.
“Not only didst thou turn a deaf ear to my offer of thy life and the lives of thy people, O Chief of the Blue Cattle,” went on Umzilikazi, “but to my messenger, Untúswa, thou didst offer violence, to him and to those who were with him. But for my arrival in time, he who was the tongue of the King would have been slain; slain by thee and thy people. What hast thou to say, Chief of the Blue Cattle?”
This I put to Tauane in glee, for I had not forgotten how they had smoked us like bees within the stone walls; how, but for our prowess and their cowardice, we should long since have been slain; how that we in our capacity of ambassadors should have been sacred, but, instead, had been set upon and assailed by these dogs of Bakoni. He urged eagerly in excuse that for what had happened he was not responsible, that he had been unable to control his people, which, when I had rendered into our tongue, raised an exclamation of derision from all who heard it; for to us the idea of a people refusing to listen to the voice of its chief, or any man remaining a chief who was unable to compel the implicit obedience of his people, seemed the most ridiculous thing in the whole world. If he thought to save his own life by throwing the blame upon his people, why then, never made any man a greater mistake, for never was cowardice in any form a way to the favour of Umzilikazi.
“And that is all thou hast to say, thou treacherous and cowardly dog?” said the King, dropping his soft and pleasant voice and pointing his spear at the captive chief.
“Not all, O Black Elephant,” was the answer; and now I felt on my own trial, for, if he mentioned the secret of Lalusini’s existence and hiding-place, how could I suppress it, or turn it into something else? I knew that none of the izinduna or others seated near by understood that language, yet many of the Amaholi, or slaves, did; and although these were in the background, I knew not how far Tauane’s voice might reach.
“There is yet more I would say,” he answered. “It is whispered that the great nation before whose irresistible bravery our race has gone down is followed by a hostile nation greater even than itself, before whom it flees. Now, O King, our weapons are good, and there are still some of our warriors left. Let them therefore konza to the Elephant of the Amandebeli, so when the Lion of the Zulu roars in pursuit behind, he will be met by many more spears than he had expected.”
This offer of alliance was so ludicrous that the warriors listening could not restrain their shouts of derision.
“Lo, a fighting bull! a lion indeed! Hau! listen to the trumpeting of the elephant!” they jeered, mocking the unfortunate chief. Then the King spoke, and again his voice was soft.
“Ha! That is what thou hast to say, Chief of the Blue Cattle? A noble alliance truly! An alliance between the elephant and the cricket, between the serpent and the frog! Ha! a people who in their armed hundreds are driven backwards and forwards like cattle by two men—only two! A people who in their armed thousands, and with fire to help them, are kept at a distance for half a day by two men—only two! Such are they who would fight side by side with us! Say now, chief of a nation of old women—if thy spears in their thousands could do nothing against two Zulu fighting-men, and that during half a day, how would they think to stand against a whole impi? The ostrich who vanishes beyond one sky-line when a man appears on the other is preferable as an ally to thee and thine. We want not such.”
So great were the murmurs of contemptuous hate which went up that I could hardly make myself heard as I rendered the King’s speech. It seemed to me, watching the countenance of Tauane, that hope had now left it, to be succeeded, however, by a rekindling gleam.
“I lie beneath the foot of the Elephant,” he said; “but there is that, which, if I am suffered to go untrampled, the Elephant would gladly know.”
I looked around. No sign of Masuka, and it seemed to me that none within hearing would understand this tongue. Now the moment had come, now was Tauane about to try and purchase his life by disclosing Lalusini’s secret and mine, and I was resolved that he should not. Yet it was a terrible thing to stand before the majesty of the Great Great One, and deliberately deceive him—a terrible thing! But I turned the speech of Tauane into a mere prayer that he might not be crushed beneath the foot of the Elephant.
“The house of the Great King should be full of beautiful women,” he went on; “yet the most beautiful of all is not there.”
Yes, the air was getting hot now; but I rendered the words so as to mean that the most beautiful women of the Bakoni had already fallen to the King’s possession.
“The blood of the most beautiful of all is that of the Amazulu. There flows in her veins the pure blood of kings,” he continued.
“They are beautiful as those of the Amazulu, almost worthy to mingle with the pure blood of kings,” I translated.
“She is the Queen of the hidden mysteries of the Bakoni; beautiful as the mate of the Great King should be, and she has yet to be brought to the Elephant of the Amandebeli.”
“Some even are skilled in the hidden mysteries of the Bakoni; and all have been delivered to the Elephant of the Amandebeli,” I put it.
“The secret of her hiding-place is known to me alone,” he said. “She is there, safe and unharmed, awaiting the arrival of those who shall lead her before the King. She is of the Amazulu, and is called Lalusini.”
I started inwardly. Ha! The name! I might play tricks with the remainder, but the name! It sounded so plain—stood forth so unmistakably Zulu among the wretched monkey-like speech of these people, that I saw, or fancied I saw, a spasm of astonishment come into the King’s face. Then I saw light.
“None have been hidden away in secret hiding-places,” I translated; “all have been delivered safe and unharmed to those who should lead them before the King. They are worthy mates for the Amazulu or the Baqulusini.”
(Note: Baqulusini, same as Abaqulusi. A mountain clan inhabiting Northern Zululand.)
Thus, Nkose, did I make use of the similarity between these two words, deeming that the King, if he detected any difference, would attribute it to the difficulty these people had in pronouncing Zulu words; and, in fact, he must have done so.
“And is this all thou hast to urge in favour of thy miserable life, rebellious dog, who barks at my messengers?” said the Great Great One, haughtily.
“And is this secret, indeed, known but to thee alone, and to no other? Not even to a dog?” I put it.
“To me alone; not even to a dog, Black Elephant,” said the chief. But his answer I turned into:
“This is all I have to urge, O Black Elephant. If it is not enough, I must even die.”
And now I felt safe. Nor could I help smiling to myself, for the words I had put into the mouth of Tauane were the words of a brave man, whereas the chief of the Blue Cattle was the greatest of cowards when face to face with death. And, indeed, I deserved gratitude from him, for in any case he was as good as dead; and it was better to die with the words of a brave man on one’s lips than with the grovelling whine of a coward.
Yet, just then, the laugh disappeared from my mind, for, looking up, I beheld drawing near old Masuka. Bent double, tottering with age, he crept along, and squatted, just a little apart, behind the izinduna.
“Now,” I thought, “if the King chooses to converse yet longer with Tauane through the old Mosutu, then, indeed, I am undone.”
But the Great Great One seemed in no mood for further indaba. Signing me to approach, he whispered a few words, and seldom or never have a few words sounded more welcome. Springing up, I passed round my orders to the warriors, and in a moment Tauane and those that remained of his people were seized and bound with thongs.
Then the King spoke, and his tones never were softer:
“Yonder is a round wall within another. Within those walls two men, fighting-men of the Amazulu, fought throughout the shining of yesterday’s sun—fought against a twofold enemy, the whole might of the People of the Blue Cattle and against fire! And one of these two men was the tongue and mouthpiece of myself. This day, again, those walls shall witness a merry strife, but it shall not be against such great and overpowering odds. The remaining fighting-men of the People of the Blue Cattle, who still number a great many more than two, shall, to-day, strive within those round walls. But they shall fight there against one enemy only—one enemy instead of two—wherein I am more merciful than they. And that enemy shall be fire! Go now, ye who remain of the warriors of Bakoni! go now, and fight where my two warriors fought. Fare ye well, Hambani gahle!”
The wave of the hand with which the King concluded was our signal. The warriors hailed the Great Great One’s words with roars of acclamation, and, throwing themselves upon the prisoners—nearly a hundred in number—began dragging them off to the round stone walls, which stood up from the plain some little distance off, amid the smoking ruins of the town of the Bakoni. Others, fleet-footed, had run on in advance, and by the time we arrived at the ruins had gathered and piled up a dense ring of brushwood and dry grass. The prisoners, bound, and shrieking and kicking, were flung within the inner wall, where they were heaped up, one upon another, a tossing, struggling mass.
“Gahle—gahle!” I cried. “Not so fast! The chief must crown the pile. It is only due to his rank.”
The warriors laughed, and went on flinging in the wretched Bakoni.
“Ha, Tauane,” I said, speaking in his own tongue, “it is not good to shake weapons in the face of the King’s messenger. And know this. Not to thee alone is the secret of the Queen of the mysteries of the Bakoni known. Through the darkness of the earth, to an outward chamber in the cliff, like unto the place of an eagle’s nest, there lies hidden she in whose veins runs the pure blood of the Amazulu, even the blood which is fit to mingle with that of kings. I know the place beside thyself—I alone.”
He stared at me with a strange, wild expression.
“Thou and the King—yes,” he muttered.
“Not the King—I only,” I jeered. “Not the King; thy words did not travel so far.”
“Yet he would have given me my life!” he said, in a bewildered way, looking giddily around. Then, as it seemed to burst upon him how he had been tricked, he began to scream aloud the story; but none there understood a word, and before he could say many words I had seized him by the neck. At a sign from me others seized him too, and, swinging him up, bound as he was, flung him right over the two walls, where he fell upon the living struggling mass of all that remained of his followers. Now fire was put in, and the great piles of dry stuff crackled and flared, and the flames and smoke drove across the bodies of those who had taken the places of myself and Mgwali, and were now suffering the death to which they had destined us. And, as the flames roared upward to the heavens, in a great circle our warriors formed around as near as the heat would allow them to draw, and the thunderous stamp of the war-dance drowned the wild shrieks of the last of the victims due to the insult and outrage offered to the King’s messengers. And that was the end of Tauane, the chief of the Bakoni, of the People of the Blue Cattle.
That night, when the fires were lighted, the King ordered a great dance of the Tyay’igama, or “calling of names,” when those named by their captains for deeds of valour should have an opportunity of recounting their claims to such distinction before the King and the whole nation. And, among others, I “named” my brother, Mgwali, who, in his manner of setting forth his deeds, when dancing alone amid the circle of warriors, reminded me not a little of my own performance when I was “named” by Gungana on a like occasion. However, the King “pointed at” him, and thereby he obtained permission to tunga. Yet his admiration for the female captives we had taken from the Bakoni was destined to bring him some disappointment; for the King exacted that, being young, he should choose his bride from among the girls of our own nation. For so jealous was Umzilikazi on behalf of keeping the old Zulu blood pure and strong, that, as yet, he would hardly ever allow a young man to take to wife captives or girls of an inferior race. And when the Tyay’igama dance was ended there was a great slaughter of cattle—the blue cattle of the Bakoni—and the night was spent in feasting and singing. And in the morning we moved on further away still from this place of death. And behind us, where the abodes of the destroyed race had been—although the houses had long since burnt out—yet above the smouldering cattle-kraals the grey smoke still went wreathing up; and, high overhead in the blue heavens, their pinions dazzling white in the sun, like flakes of driving snow, floated clouds of vultures. For in those days the march of our conquering and destroying nation might ever be followed and marked out by two things: a cloud of smoke and a cloud of vultures.
Many days went by before I was able to return and visit Lalusini in her strange hiding-place, and herein I found that it was not always an advantage to be great. For Untúswa the induna was a man of such consequence that, did any one meet him wandering abroad, heads would be turned to see whither he was going, whereas Untúswa the umfane and unringed might go where he would and nobody would be at the trouble to so much as wonder concerning his business. Howbeit, I was ever known as a great hunter, and keen in the pursuit of game; wherefore, on this ground alone, I found opportunities of wandering afar.
I climbed the mountain of death, and there, indeed, so plenteous had food been that there were not enough vultures and crows and jackals to devour it all; for more than half the dead bodies were untouched, and lay, shrivelled and withered, just where they had been slain. For it is our custom, Nkose, to rip the bodies of those who fall beneath our spears, in order that they should dry up and spread no disease; and, remembering how we “ate up” whole nations in those days, the custom was a wise one. Carefully I took my way across the flat summit, stepping in and out between the skulls and fleshless ribs, and fearful lest I might be seen from beneath, whether from far or near. But when I gained the cleft in the ground, and began to descend into cold darkness, I felt a strange feeling, for all was silence, and I wondered whether I should indeed find Lalusini still there. So I began to sing, and presently I heard that soft voice answering, as I had heard it at first.
And now, as I stood once more within this strange retreat, looking upon the beautiful and splendid form and into the shining eyes of her who dwelt in it, all thoughts of the danger I had incurred had fled as the morning mists when the sun mounts high. No longer did I call myself the king of fools—oh, no! I was the very induna of wisdom, so my feelings told me. I sprang forward to seize her in my arms, but she repulsed me very decidedly—though laughing.
“Not yet, Untúswa, not yet. The time has not yet come,” she cried. “But—are you come to fetch me for the King?”
And her eyes full of mockery, were laughing at me.
“The King? Hau! Not so. An indunas wife only shalt thou be, Lalusini—not the wife of a King.”
“Ah, ah! An induna’s wife? But I love not old men, and indunas are always old.”
“Not so, Lalusini. But yesterday I was only a boy, and unringed.”
“Ah, ah! son of Ntelani! You—an induna? You?”
And again she made the rocks ring with the music of her laughter.
“I?—yes, I,” was my answer, given with dignity, for my pride was ruffled. “I am only the second induna in command of the King’s army. Nothing very great. But a small thing. Laugh on, Lalusini; laugh on!”
But she did not laugh. Something in my words seemed to turn her suddenly grave. “Ah—the chance! The chance at last!” I heard her murmur. “I, too, am somebody,” she said. Then, turning to me, “Yes, Untúswa, I am somebody who is great—greater than any man among the Aba-ka-zulu; greater than Umzilikazi himself. And it may be that the day will come when you, too, shall be greater, son of Ntelani—greater than the King yonder.”
“Hau! We are talking in a ring!” I cried, but her words troubled me. “How now didst thou come among the people of the Blue Cattle, Lalusini?—for it seems to me the time has come for me to hear that tale.”
“The time has not come—not yet—but it will. And now tell me of the end of the Bakoni, for I think there must be few still alive.”
“Few, indeed,” I said. “But Tauane—was he the only one to know of this place?”
“The only one—he and the slave who brought you hither. What of them?” And her tone became quick and anxious.
“The slave, or what is left of him, lies above our heads. He got no further than the entrance hither when last I passed out through it. For Tauane, he is as the ashes of last season’s burnt grass.”
And then I told her all about the end of the prisoners, how the chief would have sold the secret of her hiding-place to save his own life, and how I had so misinterpreted his words as to prevent him from doing so. Lalusini’s eyes beamed with delight.
“Ha! You deserve to be an induna,” she said, “and a great one. The big, brave, strong fighting-man is frequently a fool in matters requiring head. But you, Untúswa, are no part of a fool. You have both the head and the strength. Lalusini—Baqulusini!” she repeated. “Whau! that was crafty indeed. But the King, did he have no suspicion?”
“He showed none,” I answered, in just the shadow of a cloud. “Yet how will I finally bring you in among ourselves? The name will bring back the King’s recollections.”
“Perhaps I will never go back among yourselves,” she answered. “There is a people into whose midst I will one day return, and there I shall be great indeed, and you through me. Come now, Untúswa—let us return to that people together.”
“Hau!” I cried, with a very dissatisfied shake of the head. “That which is distant is ever that which is uncertain.” For this proposition startled me. It reminded me too much of past foolishness. Once before I had sacrificed my chances as a warrior, had deserted my people, and had thrown away my life with both hands, all for the sake of a girl, and had found the position so little to my liking that I had willingly exchanged it for certain death. I had not found the death I expected, but life and great honour; yet that was a marvel, and such marvels do not occur twice within the experience of any one man. Now, I desired Lalusini greatly, but I desired her as a favourite wife of the King’s induna—not as the mate of a disgraced runaway. Wherefore her proposal found but little favour in my eyes; and, indeed, I thought she had made it only to try me.
Then we talked of other things, of Tauane and the nation we had destroyed; but of her powers as a sorceress she would tell me nothing, or how she had come among that people. And I sat and listened to her talk, for I was young in those days, and the sound of her voice was to my ears as the rippling of water in a sun-dried land. I know not how it is among you white people, Nkose, but among ourselves, when we are yet young, we are ever as fools in such matters; when we are older—ah, then it is different.
While we talked, her eye fell upon my broad spear—the King’s Assegai—and, reaching for it, she examined it knowingly.
“Worthy to be wielded by Tshaka himself,” she muttered. “A splendid spear! A royal weapon,” examining the haft, which was dark-red then, although it is now black with age. “Truly a royal weapon!”
“And a royal weapon it is,” I answered, “for I had it from Umzilikazi’s own hand.”
“Ha! And how was that?” she asked eagerly. But I looked knowing and laughed.
“Nothing for nothing, Lalusini,” I said. “Tell me thine own tale; then thou shalt have that of the King’s Assegai. And I promise thee that it is a stirring one.”
But she would not. Nevertheless, I told her my own tale, or a part of it. At the mention of Nangeza she looked up quickly. “How many wives have you, Untúswa?” she asked.
“Only three. But my inkosikazi is more trouble than any thirty ordinary women, for she wants to be chief over me, too.”
Lalusini laughed.
“And that is Nangeza for whom you deserted your nation and incurred death under its most terrible form?” she said.
I answered that it was.
“And you want me to go and be second to your inkosikazi, Untúswa!”
“Not so, for you would ever be my favourite wife.”
“Until you found some other Mystery Queen hidden in a mountain cave,” she said, mocking me. But I took snuff and answered nothing, for a man who undertakes to answer everything a woman says is like one who begins to swim across a flooded river: he knows where he goes in, but cannot tell where he may get out, or if ever—at least, so it is among ourselves; I know not if it is the same among white people.
“And the King?” she said. “How many wives has he?”
“That question is hard to answer. A great many does he possess, yet he cares not for any of them, neither does he love women over-much. A woman, he says, is like the grains of the umbona (maize), which is tender and nice when young, but soon grows hard and tooth-breaking, and needs much pounding to turn it once more into any use at all. Thus has the King often spoken when we have been talking together.”
How Lalusini laughed, and it was good to hear her laugh, even as to hear her talk.
“Yau!” she cried. “I do not think I will enter the isigodhlo of Umzilikazi.”
“But what if no choice is allowed you?”
“But there will be. There is that by which Umzilikazi dare not wed me.”
Now I cried out in wonder, yet was my mind relieved.
“There is,” she went on. “And—I am greater than your King, son of Ntelani.”
“Then must you be of the root of Senzangakona himself, for there is but one who is greater than our King, and that is Dingane, who now sits in the seat of Tshaka.”
(Senzangakona was father of Tshaka, the founder of the Zulu military dynasty.)
This I said jestingly, and then, seeing that the shadows were getting long, I rose and, going to the entrance of the place, I dragged in the carcass of a buck I had slain on my way; for, besides what game I could bring her, Lalusini had no food but dry corn. Of water she had abundance, for a little clear spring trickled down the rock at the further end of the place, losing itself in a dark cleft; but only at night could she make a fire, for then alone there was no risk of the smoke betraying her, and the light—of a small fire, at any rate—was quite hidden from without.
“Au! it must be lonely here at night,” I said, looking upward at the great gloomy rock-roof. “Do you not hear the ghosts up above, wailing among the dry bones wherein they dwelt when alive?”
“I fear not such things, Untúswa. What I fear more is that yonder stone may not be heavy enough to keep out a lion I have heard upon the mountain the last two nights. He was snapping and growling among the bones, and I feared he might try to force his way in here.”
I examined the hole, which was only large enough to admit the body of a man creeping on his hands and knees. This hole Lalusini used to stop at night by rolling a stone against its mouth, yet the stone did not fill up the entire hole, but only enough to render it too small for the passage of any large body.
“It is safe,” I said, testing the weight. “Nothing large enough to be harmful could force an entrance, yet I must try and slay that lion. And now, Lalusini, I must return, for it will be dark by the time I arrive, and our people like not those who wander overmuch in the night-time.”
We took an affectionate leave of each other, yet Lalusini would not at that time tell me anything of her own tale, and I made my way back to the top of the mountain. And all the way homeward my mind was full of her whom I had left, and I pondered much and oft about the greatness she had hinted at, and how such was in store for myself, too, as though she were the chieftainess of some mighty nation—and mighty indeed must it have been were it greater than our own, as she had said it was. But most of all I pondered as to how I should ever be able to bring her in among ourselves so that the King’s suspicions should not take the right road.
Thus thinking, and alternately singing to myself, I got over the ground at a swift pace, yet by the time I entered the hut of my chief wife it was quite dark. Nangeza was seated within alone. As I entered she looked up with a frown upon her face; and, indeed, a frown was more often to be found there than a smile in those days.
“Welcome, great hunter,” she said mockingly. “And, where is the game?”
“I have none,” I answered shortly, for I was in no humour to be worried by this woman’s evil temper.
“None?” she echoed. “Yet there are blood spots about thee, Untúswa.”
There were. In dragging the buck down through the hole into Lalusini’s hiding-place I had become smeared with blood, and this I had forgotten to wash away.
“I slew but two small bucks,” I said. “One I ate in the middle of the day. The other I gave to old Masuka.”
“Didst thou take it to him in the isigodhlo, Untúswa? For there has the old Mosutu been since the sun was at its highest, and is there still. Yet I saw thee from far off over the plain, and certainly thou hast not been to the isigodhlo, which is far beyond this house,” she answered; and her tones were jeering, and her eyes shone with evil fire, as those of a snake.
“Enough!” I cried. “Enough of this!” And, bending down to the side of the hut, I took up a stick, and advanced towards her; for I was furious. “I have never beaten thee, Nangeza, but hadst thou belonged to any other man, I think by this time not a whole bone would remain within thee. Now, of thine evil temper have I had more than enough; also of thy tongue.”
She retreated back as far as she could to the side of the hut—her eyes flashing, her lips drawn back from her gums, like those of a wild beast. But it was time to put a stop to this, or soon the second fighting commander of the King’s army would be under the command of a woman.
“Beware, Untúswa!” she snarled. “Beware! I made thee! Yea, I! And I will unmake thee!”
“Whau! if any one made me, it was not thou, but the King, and old Masuka, perhaps.” And then, as I saw her looking around for a weapon, I—well, I gave her no opportunity of either finding one or losing one; and, I think, Nkose, my inkosikazi went to sleep that night feeling as though she had been rolled down the rocky side of a very high mountain; while I went to the huts of my two other wives, and we spent a great part of that night in singing, and jests, and laughter. But the fault lay with Nangeza’s evil and inquisitive temper; and, more still, with her attempts to rule me, as though I were the woman and she the induna of the King. Wherefore, from the intolerable weariness which she had put upon me, I sought the company of my other wives, that they might cheer and amuse me, which, indeed, they were very glad to do.
Now, on the morrow, Nangeza went and complained to the King as to the punishment I had given her; but she might have spared herself the trouble, for Umzilikazi only mocked her, telling her that she was fortunate indeed in having to deal with me, and that warriors were not to be ruled by women, but the other way round. Then he bade them drive her from his presence. And afterwards he would often laugh with me about this matter; but from that day Nangeza hated me with a surpassing hatred, and set herself to work to bring about my ruin and downfall by some method or other, even though it should cost her her life.
During this while, since we had “eaten up” the Bakoni, we had been living in hastily run up huts. Many, indeed, had not even these, but lived and slept in the open. But now the King gave orders that we should remove a day’s march further, and there build a large kraal.
The site of this was a pleasant open plain, well grassed, and sprinkled with mimosa and other bush, and watered by a good-sized river.
The slaves and women were set to work; also the young regiments; the great circles were marked out, and in a few days there stood a noble kraal, built on the Zulu plan; the great open space ringed in by a double thorn-fence as high as a man’s head, between which stood the rows of round-topped huts, and the isigodhlo, or royal enclosure, at the upper end, partitioned off by a fence of fine woven grass. This kraal was of greater size than Ekupumuleni, and the surroundings far pleasanter, for there was abundance of grass, well watered by streams which never ran dry; and the rolling plains and dark forest belts were swarming with game. The river, too, was plentiful with sea-cows and alligators, which last the King would not allow any man to kill; so that they soon increased in numbers and boldness to an alarming extent; indeed, from this it was that our new kraal took its name, for it was called Kwa’zingwenya, “the Place of Alligators.” And when it was completed there was great dancing and singing, and the slaughter of cattle and general feasting, for here we intended to make our home, at any rate for a long time to come.
Now there was another reason why the place should have been named as it was. It happened one day that the King was strolling along the river bank, I being in attendance on him, when we came upon the high brow of a cliff falling sheer down into a deep, still pool. As we looked over we beheld several small dark objects floating upon the surface of the water. They were the heads and noses of alligators.
“Ha!” cried the King. “I have an idea, Untúswa, and I think it is not a bad one.” Then, turning round, he called to a boy who was herding calves not far off. The lad drew near, and, seeing who had called him, his knees began to tremble and his eyes to start from his head in his terror and awe of the Great Great One. He prostrated himself to the ground, and his tongue nearly clove to his mouth as he stuttered the Bayéte.
“Rise up, child,” said the King, “and go quickly and bring hither yonder calves. Delay not—yet stay; call those within sight to help thee.”
The lad sped away, and soon, in obedience to his calls, about a dozen other boys came up, and, making a half-circle, drove the entire herd, to the number of about twenty well-grown calves, up to where we were standing, the King and I, leaning upon our sticks.
“Make them leap,” said Umzilikazi. “Make them leap.”
But this was not so easy, for the calves were big, and, their instincts of danger warning them, they all bunched together, nor would they suffer themselves to be driven to the edge of the cliff, notwithstanding the yells and sticks of the boys who strove to drive them; and, indeed, I myself had to seize two of them and drag them to the brink, and even then I only pushed them over at the greatest risk of falling after them myself. Then the whole herd followed with a mighty splash, which echoed like thunder from the face of the rock.
The splash subsided, the surface was dotted with the heads of the animals swimming for the other side; and then the pool was in a boil, and the calves, swimming quietly before, heaved themselves up in the water with frantic bellowing as the alligators rose to seize them. They were dragged under wildly, to reappear again but for a moment, and soon the surface was dyed red, and the tranquil water lashed into foam; and the wild bellowings of anguish mingled with the snap, snap of bony jaws, followed by a hideous crunch; and as the long, grim, ugly bodies turned with their struggling prey, we could see that these alligators were of enormous size. It was over at last, save here and there a livid head, or a mangled quarter, or other fragment floating on the surface; but the shakings of the water, and the long strings of red bubbles which came streaming up, showed that the hideous brutes beneath were tearing and devouring their welcome, though unexpected, prey.
“Hau!” cried the King. “That was a good thought of mine. Now we have a new way of disposing of evil-doers, Untúswa. Not long have the alligators taken to dispose of twenty large and well-grown calves; not long would they take to dispose of a man, or of twenty men. In truth, it was a great idea!”
To this I agreed, of course. But, looking into that horrid pool and its bloody surface, where even now two or three of the alligators were reappearing, turning their eyes upward as though looking for more, I thought of the secreted captive and the hiding-place away on the mountain, and wondered if my death would come to me down in that horrible hole; and the thought, Nkose, was not a nice one.
“Go now, children,” said the King, waving away the staring and terrified boys; and go they did, for I believe they thought they were to be thrown in after the calves. “The idea is great; yes—great!” continued Umzilikazi, in high good humour, as we walked back. “They shall be kept there, those alligators, and from time to time I doubt not but we shall find them some food.”
During this time, Nkose, I have neglected to speak of my father, Ntelani. Him the King had still suffered to live—I think, because he desired to spare two such brave fighters as Mgwali and myself the disgrace of being henceforth the sons of nobody; for had our father died the death of a convicted traitor we could never more have been known as his sons. But, though his life was spared, Ntelani was adjudged to spend it in a state of banishment. He was allowed to erect a small kraal, and here with such of his wives as chose to cleave unto him, and just enough cattle to keep him and them alive—but only just—he dwelt, soon sinking into a state of premature old age and foolishness. Indeed, he passed out of the life of the nation, and his voice from its councils.
Once settled in our new country, the King lost no time in establishing cattle outposts and military kraals, of which latter I was appointed administrator, being held responsible for their order and efficiency. We fighting indunas, too, were required to form new regiments, levying upon the youth of the nation at a far earlier age than had hitherto been customary among us; but our losses during our wars were beginning to form a serious gap, and the King preferred, where possible, to recruit our fighting strength among our own blood, rather than among that of our miserable, poor-spirited slaves. But these youths made up in martial ardour what they lacked in years, for they were continually worrying the Great Great One, through us izinduna, to allow them to go forth—it mattered not where—and wet their spears. But Umzilikazi would dismiss them, laughing, and bidding them be patient; yet at their importunity he was not ill-pleased. However, they little knew there should shortly befall that which would give all their fiery mettle as much outlet as it could take care of.
Just then I was very busy, travelling from kraal to kraal, inspecting, and, at times, reviewing, the regiments, numbering the cattle and possessions of the King and the nation—for here, in this land, we intended to dwell, and already the women—who preferred peace and plenty to wandering and war—were making the land re-echo with their songs of gladness, as they laid out new gardens for their corn and melons, and daily saw the cattle milked at the same place. And the chiefs and heads of other tribes—learning of the fate which had overwhelmed Tauana and the Bakoni—hastened to come in and konza to Umzilikazi, realising that the tread of the Black Elephant of the Amandebeli stamped far, and that from it there was no escape.
It happened that I was returning from one of my rounds to make my report to the Great Great One. The morning was yet young; indeed, the sun had only just risen, and the forest path along which we travelled—I and Mgwali, who accompanied me—was bright with a golden network of sunshine through the leaves, and joyous with the song and whistle of birds and the chatter of monkeys. We were drawing near a pile of rocks, overhung with forest trees and trailers. Suddenly, my brother, who was walking behind me, touched my elbow.
“Do you hear nothing, son of my father?” he whispered.
I listened long and hard. I was about to reply, “Nothing,” when I heard the sound as of a voice—the voice of a man murmuring—even as the voice of one of our izanusi engaged in making múti. Now, there were caves in those rocks, Nkose, caves which were not unassociated among ourselves with tagati; wherefore, with the instinct of a warrior in the presence of evil, I gripped my broad assegai, and stole silently forward, eager to see through this mystery—if mystery there was—Mgwali pressing close behind me. The murmuring of the voice sounded plainer now; then we heard a low musical tinkling, as of the ringing of a bell.
Whau! Here was a strange thing. What could such sounds mean, here among the rocks and caves? The voice, too, was murmuring in a strange language; soft, though not so soft as ours, yet immeasurably softer than the croaking tongues of those inferior peoples which we had destroyed or enslaved. Stealthily we drew nearer, and, peering out through the trees, this is what we saw.
A great slab of rock out-hung from the cliff, forming a shallow cave. In the mouth of this a man was standing, his back towards us. He was clothed in a great cloak, red in colour, and bearing a broad crossed bar down its entire length, while showing below it was a long white garment which seemed to cover him from neck to foot. His movements called to our mind those of our own izanusi when sacrificing cattle to the ghosts of our fathers on solemn occasions; yet not. But this could be no isanusi, for he was a white man! Still he must be an isanusi of some sort, for he was undoubtedly engaged in offering sacrifice. In front of him and further in the cave was a great block of stone or a ledge in the rock formation—we could not determine which—and upon it were two little pillars tipped with flame. Moreover, upon this the man’s words and actions seemed centred, for upon it was something else, which from there we could not see. But here, if possible, was a more surprising thing. Behind him, bending low, knelt another man—a dark man, one of ourselves, and of the same race, for he wore the ring upon his head, and his other adornments were as ours. He, too, seemed in some way to be assisting the other, for his movements were much the same, and a few words would now and again drop from him as though in reply to the one who was sacrificing. Hau! it was wonderful! In rigid wonder we stared, not knowing what was to come next.
But a dead silence had fallen upon these two now, and the murmuring had ceased. Then the tinkling of the bell rang out once more, and the isanusi in the red cloak, having bent low, straightened himself up, raising both hands high overhead, and in his hands there flashed forth a Something—a Something upon which a ray of the newly-risen sun now glinted with dazzling whiteness. And the man behind—the black man—bent prone as one dead—even as a man might lie who awaits the sentence of the Great Great One himself.
Whau, Nkose! I know not how it was, but something seemed to cloud the brain of Mgwali and myself, binding us to the spot, staring at this strange and marvellous mystery, so unlike aught we had ever beheld before. We watched, confused by what followed, but of it we have but small recollection, save of one thing. The white isanusi turned full towards us, more than once, still murmuring, and, while we shrank in dread lest he should be putting upon us the spell of his múti, we took note of his face and that keenly. It was the face of a white man, very dark and burned as though by many suns; but it was a strong face, that of a man to whom, we could see at a glance, fear was unknown. The eyes were black and piercing as those of an eagle, and a long, thick beard fell low upon the breast, its dark masses plentifully streaked with grey.
We stood watching this marvellous performance, we two fearless and armed warriors, and yet there was that in it which laid upon us a kind of awe. At length it came to an end. Then we saw the white man extinguish the fire upon his stone of sacrifice and wrap up carefully in coverings such things as had been upon it. But our astonishment was greatest when we watched him take off his outer cloak of red and then the long white garment which was girded around him. We saw him then in a large loose robe of black, and this he did not take off. (Note 1.) The other dresses, however, he carefully rolled up in coverings, and while he was doing this the man who was with him—the kehla—lighted a fire, and set upon it a joint of game to roast, evidently the quarter of one of the smaller kinds of buck.
Few, indeed, Nkose, were the white men, except Amabuna, we had seen in those days, and that this was not one of those we felt certain. Mgwali was the first to recover from his astonishment.
“Whau!” he grunted. “I know not how yon isanusi—white though he be—dare come here and make múti without leave from the Great Great One. It may be tagati.”
“No hurt lurks beneath such múti, son of my father: of that I feel sure,” I answered. “But I think it is time to have speech with these.”
“Yeh-bo,” assented Mgwali, grinning. “And I think that quarter of meat roasting yonder seems too large for only two men. Au! but the smell of it is good.”
We went forward, and as we discovered ourselves but small was the surprise shown by these two strangers. The head-ringed man, who was attending to the fire and the roast, returned our salutation in the usual form, not heeding us much. But the other, speaking with our tongue, though haltingly, said:
“Welcome, my sons! Draw near, and seat yourselves; for our morning meal is nearly ready, and there is enough for all.”
Mgwali’s eyes glistened, and his mouth broadened into a grin; for he was younger than I, and hungry; and, in truth, the meat smelt good. He uttered a word or two of emphatic assent, and made a movement to comply. But I, remembering my dignity as an induna of the King, still stood. Then I said:
“First tell me, O white stranger, by whose leave you have entered this country, and made múti in the land of the Great Great One by whose light we live?”
“By whose leave?” he echoed; his face brightening up. “Ha! By the leave—nay, by the order—of the Great Great One in whose light we live.” Then, seeing that I frowned, and looked suspicious, he explained. “I will not pretend to misunderstand you; but I came into the country of your King by favour of even a greater than he.”
“Hau! You are joking, my father!” I answered, with a sneer, though my first thought was that he was speaking of Dingane. “Yet such words uttered here are dangerous, and would mean death to him who uttered them. Where, now, is he who is greater than Umzilikazi, the Mighty Elephant? Our young regiments are consumed with a longing to wet their spears; and there, I think, is the chance. Where is he who is greater than our king?”
“Pezulu!” (up above) replied the stranger, simply, pointing upward to the heavens.
Then I partly understood. I had heard strange tales of certain men among the whites who taught that a great, though invisible, King sat above the blue of the sky, and caused the sun to shine and the rain to fall; whose might was such that beside it the might of Tshaka himself was less than the might of a child. This, then, must be one of them. Yet—the strange ceremonies we had witnessed?
“Wherefore, then, wert thou making múti yonder, beneath the rock, O father of the red múti cloak? To what end was this?” I asked.
“To the end that all good might fall upon your King, and his people, and his land. With that object and intention were we making múti, as ye call it, children of this nation,” he answered, looking us fearlessly in the eyes.
And there was that about his glance which satisfied me that we might safely eat meat with him; nor did the ceremony which he and the other went through before partaking of it, and which was very like what we had seen during their strange act of sacrifice, avail to destroy this assurance. And, indeed, when, having finished, we rose up, to proceed at once to the presence of the Great Great One, we left nothing behind us but bones; for Mgwali had a fine appetite—nor came I far behind him in that way—and a quarter of buck is not quite too much among four men.
Note 1. From Untúswa’s description, it seems certain that he and his brother were witnessing an open-air celebration of Mass; and the strange white man would appear to have been a travelling missionary-priest of French nationality—probably a Jesuit.