With gloom around our hearts, and mightily discouraged, we lay and rested, and soon there came down to us a runner from Mgwali’s outpost to tell that an immense impi was advancing from the direction in which the defeated and retreating Zulu force was last seen, and then we knew, if we had not known before, that, as we rested there with our shattered and broken remnant, it was but for a breathing space before renewing a most desperate conflict which could have but one ending. Beneath, the hollow was heaped up with corpses—the hillsides, too. There they lay, the fiercest, bravest of our warriors, and of those of Dingane, likewise of ours the poorest; for our regiments of incorporated slaves could not stand before the stern might of Zulu, but were swept away like sheep, lying as they had fallen, in a fleeing attitude. Disheartened, dispirited now, we waited for the end. Even Kalipe’s impi, did it arrive, could hardly avail to turn the fortune of war now; yet we were resolved, determined as ever, that if a new nation were to die that day it should die hard.
While we lay thus thinking there came about a strange thing. Over the heavens a lurid cloud had been spreading, and it might have been this which had brought the matter back to men’s recollection. For in the air there thrilled the notes of that sweet, strange song—the Song of the Shield. Did it spring out of the very heavens? None could tell. All gazed eagerly up, for all heard it. Those who were weary and resting sprang to their feet, filled with fresh life. Those who were binding up wounds let that be, and, staring around, uttered ejaculations of awe and surprise. It seemed to spring from beneath the brow of the great iron-faced cliff, and to soar out thence in wreaths of sound. Could the singer be there hidden? No; that was impossible. But we—we listened, and it seemed that life lay outspread anew before our eyes.
Now there befell that which made our ears deaf once more to the Song of the Shield. Afar on the plain beneath came into sight that which we had been expecting—the remnant of the Zulu host, and the impi which had reinforced it, spread out in half-moon formation, covering an immense distance. It swept on, black and terrible, and we could see the glittering roll of its spear-points like the breaking crest of a huge wave in the sunlight, could hear the sweep and clash of its shields like winds shaking a forest. Whau! It looked terrible, that great impi, Fresh and strong, it would eat us up easily, for it was almost double our own numbers, and we were already crushed, dispirited, and weary.
And now the foremost of this new host came beneath, marching in dense serried ranks, victory already gleaming in the eyes of the plumed warriors almost visible to us where we lay; the countless array of broad shields, and the splendid discipline of their march—all this we marked as we lay. Sweeping rapidly onward they came, company after company. Their numbers seemed to have no end, and then the war-song of Dingane came rolling up the slope:
“Us’ eziteni!
Asiyikuza sababona!”
Note:
“Thou art in among the enemy!
We shall never get to see them!”
Meaning:
“There will be none left by the time we come up!”
In fierce, long-drawn, throaty barks, the words were jerked forth, like the baying of an army of large and ferocious dogs. And we were their game. Then, as the song was hushed for a moment, there quivered forth upon the air—this time loud and clear, and strong—the melody which turned our hearts to iron once more—the Song of the Shield.
Its words were caught up by our warriors, and thundered forth in a frenzy of delight. Now we believed we should defeat that huge host. Au! and we were to them but a handful!
The song of Dingane had ceased now, and in silence the great impi was climbing the spur of the hill, which it had already shut in with the dense half-circle of its formation. Behind us was the hard, smooth cliff—the face of the mountain—before us, Mhlangana’s spears. Whau! it recalled to my mind the day we stormed the fortified hill of the Bakoni. Only to-day these should find lions—not miserable jackals—lions who knew how to die biting.
Now, looking up to the high point where the King sat and watched the battle, and at times directed it, I beheld a signal—a strange signal, whereat I marvelled greatly, for it directed me to leave the high position we were on and charge down upon the densest ranks of the Zulu “horn.” But discipline among the King’s troops was absolute, wherefore I hesitated not a moment, but crying to my “Scorpions” to follow me, I went—we all went—I waving the white shield aloft. Below we could see the astonished looks of those whose spears were upraised to receive us.
The place we were now in, Nkose, was a hollow, half way up the slope, and shut in by steep walls and terraces of rock like the stairs in a white man’s house. And now I beheld another signal—the signal to turn and stand.
Down the stair-like place a crowd of men were pouring after us. Yet their look was not that of warriors in triumphant pursuit, such as it ought to be, for these men were the men of Mhlangana and they were sure of us, had us securely trapped, we being shut in between lines of spears. They wore rather the look of men who flee, and, indeed, such it appeared was the case, for above I could see the other half of my regiment of “Scorpions” showering down assegais upon them, pressing them hard down this steep and stony path which they knew not, but which we knew.
Now as we rushed forward to make an end of them before those below could climb up, I beheld upon one of the rock stairs a man—a tall, broad man, whose back was turned to me as he gave some order to those he led. Whau! I knew that back, for I had seen it before; had seen it rise out of nowhere, the night that the moon grew black. I was about to launch a casting assegai, which could not have missed, when, hard as our case was, I remembered that it was not fitting that one of the brother Kings of Zululand should be slain from behind, pierced through the back.
“Turn, Great Great One, brother of Dingane!” I cried.
Mhlangana turned; and, as he did so, zip! went my casting spear. Then he laughed. It was quivering in his shield—the great white shield which was like my own.
“Take back thy spear, thou whom I know not!” he cried; and I, it was all I could do to catch the assegai as he had done, or, rather, to turn it off.
“Ha! bearer of the other white shield!” I cried. “It may be that my day is done, but so is thine.” And I hurled at him another assegai. This struck him in the side, wounding him, for I saw the blood flow.
“Bayéte, brother King!” he called out mockingly. And then I knew that he mistook me for Umzilikazi.
We got within striking distance, but he was a little above me, and, covered by his shield, I could hardly reach him. I sprang upward, driving at him with a long-handled spear, and our shields clashed, as we met in full shock. Whau! they crashed together, the two white shields, but I felt I had wounded him again, and he began to totter. A moment more, and Dingane would have reigned sole King, when, I know not how it came about, but the whole crowd of Mhlangana’s picked men swept furiously down upon us, rolling us back, themselves pressed down by the other half of my regiment of Scorpions driving them from above. Then I could no longer see Mhlangana, for the gully was filled with men, fighting, struggling, stabbing, and the air was resonant with groans and hissing, and the slapping of the hide shields together, as warriors met in mortal shock, each fighting now to his own hand.
But the pursuers had by this time become the pursued; for, in turn, a great body of the Zulu force had surged up the ridge, and was driving The Scorpions before it. We were hemmed in completely now. We were cut off from the pass, through which the bulk of us might have escaped—others covering the retreat—for below, the other horn of Mhlangana’s force had closed in, and was merely waiting—waiting grimly until we should be driven down upon its spears. Then the Amandebeli would be no longer a nation.
In despair, still keeping our ranks close, we retreated slowly, fighting our way step by step, up the outermost of the three rifts. We could not escape, for now were we hemmed in on either side by rocks. Our tongues were swollen by thirst, and we panted like dogs. Many of us were gashed with wounds, and streaming with blood; but those who fell were immediately speared and ripped by the men of Mhlangana. Our shields were hacked and bent and our weapons dripping. Still the Zulu host seemed to hesitate, and now a voice cried from its ranks—
“Ho! leopards who are securely trapped! Come forth! Yield now to the mercy of the Great Great One! Come forth, thou Umzilikazi, who callest thyself King, and place thy neck beneath the paw of the Lion of Zulu!”
I can recall the thrill of delight which ran through me, even in that moment of death, Nkose on being again hailed as King; for it was clear that Mhlangana, seeing me in the forefront of the battle, waving the pure white shield, had mistaken me for Umzilikazi, though the Great Great One himself was far above us on the mountain crest, waiting and watching. But I answered fiercely defiant—
“Come, now, and place it there thyself, Mhlangana. But few of thy impi shall return to Dingane by the time that is done.”
A roar of fierce laughter went up from the bravest and staunchest of my followers. But most were silent, gloomily silent, and the silence was ominous. I even heard murmurs among some as to the uselessness of further resistance, since we and our enemies were of the same blood, and we might as well live to fight in the army of Dingane, who would spare us, as die in that of Umzilikazi, who was already a dead king.
Leaping up, I sprang upon the nearest of these, and with one blow of my broad spear—the King’s Assegai—laid him dead at my feet. Then, rolling my eyes over my dispirited remnant, I cried—
“Who is of the base blood of slaves to talk of yielding? Have The Scorpions no sting left? We will die as we have lived—stinging.”
Our enemies, thinking we were deliberating surrender, remained halted below in silence. As I finished speaking, there rang out once more, soft and clear upon the air, from the heights above, that wild, sweet voice—
“Great is small,
Little is great.
Great shall fall
In the coming Fate.
“Who may fear?
Who to-day will yield?
None who hear
The Song of the Shield!”
“Ou!” cried the warriors, their hands to their mouths. “The shield! The Song of the Shield again!”
“Hear ye what the words say?” I cried. “‘None who hear,’ Now, those hear not the sound, wherefore it is we who need not fear. Behold it, the white shield!” I cried again, in ringing tones, holding it aloft. “We will die beneath it. But we yield not!”
“The white shield! We will die beneath it!” they chorused, springing up, freshly heartened. But I restrained them, for I wished to parley with Mhlangana and his leaders, only, however, to gain time in order that, being rested, we might recommence that unequal fight with renewed vigour. And then, to my unbounded surprise, I, looking up, beheld from where the King sat on the heights above the signal to move downward—the signal to charge.
Au! I hardly knew whether I were dreaming or already dead. To charge? It was madness! Why, that host whose spears awaited us was four times as great as our own, fresh and untired, and thirsting for battle. It would eat us up in a moment. Umzilikazi’s brain must have turned at the impending fall of his power. Such an order was that of a general gone mad. Or had the enemy, unknown to us, surprised and captured the King, substituting others, even as we had done in the matter of Mhlangana’s outpost, who were signalling us to our sure and easy destruction. All these thoughts flashed through my mind like scorching fire: yet, even while this was so, I was already issuing my directions, for with ourselves in those days, Nkose, an order was given to be obeyed, not to be questioned.
And as we marched down—quietly at first—to fling ourselves in full charge upon the Zulu host, we could hardly believe our ears. The sound of a war-song rose upon the air, nearer and nearer, as though sung by men coming up the great pass—
“Yaingahlabi!
Leyo ’Nkunzi! Yai ukúfa!”
Ha! It was our own song—the war-song of the King. Our enemies heard it, too, though the Song of the Shield had not floated to their ears, being audible to ourselves alone, for the dense ranks, which had been squatting on the ground as though to rest, sprang into life, and heads were eagerly turned in the direction of this new force. We, however, hoped but little from this, for those who had been left to guard the defile under Gasibona would be but a mere mouthful in the open field of battle. But, as I saw the shields of the foremost emerging from between the cliffs, I glanced upward once more. The signal was to charge—to charge swiftly, and at once.
“Follow me now, my children!” I cried. “Follow the white shield!”
We hurled ourselves forward, and for a moment nothing was heard but the hissing of war-whistles and the rush of feet. Then—au! a crash as of a wave upon a hard rock. So hard had we struck them, so fierce had been the shock, that we rolled them back—at first. Hundreds lay dead and writhing, and still the burning hiss of the spear as it did its work!
At first—only at first. They came at us again. They were closing round us. I saw panic in my ranks.
“The shield! the white shield!” I roared. “Come beneath it, ye who fear.”
The shrinking, their spirits renewed, answered with a wild yell. Then we “saw red” as we stabbed and struggled. Ha! they yield. Yes, that dense host was falling back before us—before us—a handful of men! A wild shout arose from its midst—a shout of dismay. And as we pressed them, giving them not a moment wherein to recover themselves, we beheld the reason.
Pouring around the end of the spur came a great cloud of dust, and through it shields and spears. We needed not the alarm and confusion of the Zulu host to tell us that these were our own people, as, indeed, they were. It was Kalipe’s impi. Roaring the war-shout of Umzilikazi, they fell upon Mhlangana’s force, and at the same time the warriors who had issued from the pass assailed it furiously upon that side. Dismay and panic now took hold of the great impi. Thus suddenly attacked on three sides, realising that they had under-estimated both our strength and strategy, the warriors of Dingane turned and fled by the way which was still open, yet fast closing up, and we—we purposely refrained from closing quite their way because we could slay more of them in their flight, and with small loss to our own side, whereas, did we hem them in—these fierce and desperate Zulu lions—there was no foretelling the issue of the fray, for even yet they were equal to us in numbers. Panic alone was their destruction.
But although we thus left a way open for them to flee, we pressed them hard—au! we pressed them hard. We smote them as they fled, striking them down by scores, but I and Kalipe, and the other war-captains were too wary to allow this to continue, even if we had not seen the King’s signal of recall. So, singing in mockery after them the war-song of Dingane, we left the pursuit and returned in triumph.
Au, Nkose! that was a sight. I have seen your countrymen lying in heaps at Isandhlwana, and I have been in many a hard-fought battle since that of which I am telling. But never have I seen so vast a number of slain as that evening at the Place of the Three Rifts. They lay, here in heaps, there thickly strewn in twos and threes. Many of my kindred and friends fell there, and of our captains and valiant leaders not a few, while two whole regiments of our incorporated slaves had gone down before the Zulu spears. Far and wide they lay, and of the enemy the number of slain was as great as ourselves, and among them some of our older men recognised many whom they had known before our flight from Tshaka. But among the chiefs and leaders we found not the body of Mhlangana nor that of Silwane.
Thus we returned, weary with the flight and the pursuit, but with pride, and joy, and triumph in our hearts, for we had beaten back the most formidable of our foes, and of whom we had gone in dread ever since we had been a nation. And already, though the day was nearly done, vast clouds of vultures were gathering in the heavens, which beholding, many laughed exultantly, remembering the presage in the Song of the Shield. But as the sun sank below the rim of the world, again the great smooth cliffs of the mountain face glowed blood-red, even as I alone had seen them glow the evening before the last, and so wonderful was this omen that many cried out that the mountain itself was bleeding afresh for those who lay slain beneath it, and that it was a place of tagati. And, indeed, who shall gainsay this, remembering the strange things which it had witnessed; yet was such magic good towards us though evil to our foes, since but for the heartening result of that wild, sweet, mysterious song, and the múti of the white shield, even the King’s strategy, perfect as it was, could hardly have availed to save the life of a nation. And this, and nothing less, is what was accomplished that day at the Place of the Three Rifts.
“So, Untúswa! My commands were those of a general gone mad?”
“Not so, Serpent of Wisdom,” I answered, “for the eyes of one who sits aloft see farther than those who watch below.”
“Yet the order must have seemed passing strange. Whau! but these bore their part as cubs of the lion indeed,” went on the King, his snuff-spoon arrested in mid-air, as he rolled his eyes in pride over the assemblage of our warriors, who, squatted in rank, were resting after their hard-won victory. “I almost looked to see you give way, for the host of Dingane was terrible in its might, and ye—ye looked but a mouthful to it.”
“See yonder, Great Great One,” I said, pointing upward to the cliff. “No living thing surely could find foothold there, yet thence floated forth a wondrous song, and that song saved the day, Calf of a Black Bull. For it hardened our hearts, which were already sinking, so that we fell upon our enemies each man with the strength of ten. And that song was the Song of the Shield!”
“What tale is this, Untúswa?” said the King, mockingly. “Thy song must have been piped by a bird, then, for assuredly nothing human could find foothold there.”
“One man may, in truth, be mistaken, Father,” I answered. “Yet—ask these, ask all who followed the white shield this day.”
Now a murmur arose among those who were with me attending on the King—Xulawayo and Mgwali, and other fighting leaders.
“Yeh-bo!” they cried. “It is even as Untúswa has said, Father. The Song of the Shield was the same as that sung by the stranger sorceress when we went forth to war.”
Umzilikazi’s countenance clouded somewhat, I thought.
“The sorceress has won,” he muttered. “Yet is all this passing strange.”
That night we lay upon the heights of Inkume in battle formation, for we knew not whether another impi might come against us. Yet, weary as we were, we slept not over-much, for when the moon rose it seemed to look down blood-red upon the field of strife; and we—we thought we could see the bodies of those who were slain and gashed rise up once more and fight and slay each other again. Whau! And of the slain there were thousands, for in those days we met shield to shield, spear to spear, and every man slew his enemy or was slain by him. Thousands were there, and when the day dawned the rising of the sun was well-nigh darkened by soaring clouds of vultures, swooping and wheeling on their great soft pinions, awaiting our departure to settle down upon their feast.
With great triumph did we return to Kwa’zingwenya, for although we who had gone forth thence came back with little more than half our number, yet with Kalipe’s force—which, joining us in time to turn the conflict into a rout, had suffered but small loss—we made a brave show; for we had won a great victory, and, I think, Nkose, we had a strangely swelled opinion of ourselves, and that every man thought himself the greatest warrior in the world. Yet we had some cause for our pride, for we had once more met and rolled back the mighty Zulu power, had met and defeated a larger force than our own, one composed of the picked warriors of Dingane’s regiments.
As we drew near to Kwa’zingwenya we heard singing, and lo! a great company of girls, clad in their gayest dancing dresses, came out to meet us. They carried green boughs, which they waved as they sang, and at their head was Lalusini. At sight of her the warriors cried aloud her name, hailing her as their deliverer, for her múti it was which, when their hearts were as water, had turned them to iron once more. But she, smiling kindly at them, turned herself to the King, hailing him by all his titles. This time, however, she sang not the Song of the Shield, but the warriors did, for it was roared forth by the whole impi, and, indeed, it became one of the great songs of our nation, nor do I think it is forgotten yet. Also they sang this song:—
“Are they sharp - the horns of the Bull?
They are sharp. They are strong.
The Lion rushed upon them—
The Lion from the South—
Ou! Where is he - that Lion?
His head was high - loud was his roar:
His tail, too, was high;
But the horns of the Bull are sharp—
Ha! Ha! Now the Black Bull roars alone.”
We went through the rites of purifying after the shedding of human blood, and then there was great feasting and rejoicing; for our losses, which were heavy, were not to be spoken of at such a time, and songs of victory and rejoicing filled the air—not those of death and mourning—for great, indeed, had been our triumph, and we were still a mighty nation.
Death, too, had been busy at Kwa’zingwenya during our struggle for a nation’s life. For it had called to the white isanusi to come over into the Dark Unknown. The stranger was dead. He had been seized with sickness in certain swampy lands, while travelling to outlying kraals to spread his teaching, and had come back to die. And those who were with him say that he died very quickly, and without pain or fear. Now, I thought the King was not over-sorrowful about this; for, although the white doctor was his friend, yet, sooner or later, these two strangers would want to go forth from our midst—which we did not desire. And now both were dead: one on a bed of sickness, the other on the field of blood, as a warrior, making his dying bed of the bodies of those he had slain. Au! It were better so; yet were we sad as we buried the white priest—burying with him, too, all his possessions and articles of clothing and sacrifice, even as he used to wear them, deeming that he would need to make múti where he had gone, even as he had done here. Yes, we were sorry, for he was a good man and a brave man, that white teacher, and although I have seen and heard many since, Nkose, never did I hear any who spoke words quite as did that one.
Meanwhile, there was a thought ever present in my mind, and this was the matter of Lalusini. The King, too, when we were alone together, would, at times, talk strangely on that subject, as though he would read my thoughts; and I, recollecting, wondered if I had rendered Tauane’s last words as darkly as I had intended, or if some inkling of the Bakoni chief’s real meaning had not come back to the Great Great One’s mind. But when things had quieted down after our feasting and rejoicing, the King sent for Lalusini.
“Hail, Black Bull! whose horns are too sharp for the Lion!” was her salute.
“To thee, greeting, whose voice, singing from the air, brings life to the dead hearts of defeated warriors,” answered Umzilikazi. “Tell me now, sister, how was that done?”
“Nay, son of Matyobane,” she said, with a smile and a shake of the head. “That may not be. Sufficient is it that I have from the King’s own mouth that my múti did raise the drooping hearts of the warriors, and thus cause them to triumph over the Lion of the South. Does the word of the King stand?”
Umzilikazi looked disappointed. Yet it was scarcely a fair thing to question a sorceress as to the secrets of her magic; and I, sitting there, hearing her claim the fulfilment of the King’s promise, remembered how I, too, had once done the same, though, then, my case had been, indeed, a most desperate one.
“What, then, dost thou ask, sister?” he said.
“This, Great Great One. I am tired of wandering. I would fain rest within the kraal of the Black Bull, and dwell with this nation forever.”
“That is granted, daughter of the Mighty,” said the King.
“Not all my request is it, Elephant. I am tired of sorcery, I would fain abandon it and live as others do.”
Now we all cried out in surprise, we izinduna who were in attendance upon the King. After the proof she had given of her astounding powers, to desire to leave all this and dwell among us as any ordinary woman! Whau! It was a marvel.
“The word of the King was that there were already magicians enough in this nation,” she went on, fearlessly. “Now I would retire from among such. I would wed.”
“Hau!” we all cried, in amaze.
“And whom wouldst thou wed, Lalusini?” said the King.
“I would wed the bravest warrior of this nation, Great Great One.”
Now murmurs of astonishment filled the air, for, besides certain councillors, several of our principal fighting-captains were present—Kalipe, Gasibona, and Xulawayo, and others—besides myself.
“Whau!” cried the King. “Among so many who are brave who may say which is the bravest? What sayest thou, son of Ntelani?”
“I say in the words of the Great Great One. Among so many brave who can point out the bravest, my Father!” I answered, and, as I gazed upon Lalusini’s beauty, a terrible fear was round my heart lest some other should be chosen, and in my anxiety I bent forward, sweeping with my gaze the ring of set, astonished faces, and I seemed to behold them afar off, and as through a mist.
“What say ye all?” said the King, turning to the others.
There was a pause, then Kalipe answered, for he was well disposed towards me, and, moreover, liked not to wed with a sorceress himself.
“The bearer of the white shield, Great Great One. He is the bravest of our warriors—none braver.”
And all the others shouted aloud in assent of Kalipe’s words.
“Hear ye what these say, Lalusini?” said the King.
“I hear them, Black Elephant,” she replied, turning and smiling on me now for the first time.
“Let it be so, then, for my word stands,” said Umzilikazi.
Thus it came about, Nkose, that I took for my chief wife Lalusini, the daughter of great Tshaka, but as to this the King enjoined upon us to keep her birth a secret. And we dwelt long together and loved each other much, and there was peace in our kraal; for Lalusini was tender-hearted as well as beautiful, and not as Nangeza, who was hard and desired to be chief over all upon whom she looked. But save on very great and momentous occasions, Lalusini gave up practising sorcery, and, indeed, she told me afterwards how she had been able to sing the Song of the Shield in our ears in such wise as to turn the tide of the battle, and how that the great cliff above us was so formed at one place as to throw back the voice even when the singer was a long distance off: so had the song been heard as though it sprang out of nowhere, to the saving of our nation.
And I, after that I carried the white shield and the King’s broad spear into many a fray, and the might of the Amandebeli stood as it had ever done, nor was the arm of Dingane stretched out again to strike us until—Well, there came a time.
But it will soon grow dark, Nkose, nor is there time to begin another story. Whau! and a long one indeed has this been, for I think the sun had but just risen when I began, and now it is about to sink below the rim of the world again. In the lives of men, as in the lives of nations, strange things befall, and in mine, who am now old, strange things have befallen. I have lived under the shadow of five Kings—all mighty and great—but of them all, saving perhaps Tshaka, none was so great as Umzilikazi, the Father and Founder of a great and mighty nation.
Now as old Untúswa ended, the other two Zulus—who had been intently, eagerly, listening throughout—never interrupting, though uttering an emphatic murmur of assent or astonishment now and again, fell to discussing this tale they had heard—the Tale of the White Shield. They compared it with other traditions of magic feats and magic arms, wholly heroic and three parts mythical. But the old follower of Umzilikazi stood aloof with a good-humoured, yet pitying, kind of smile. He had other stories, he more than hinted; for this stirring epic which he had just narrated covered a time which was to his life as less than the blade of an assegai is to its whole length.
Then indeed, I, the stranger and the civilised, felt a growing compunction that time—and other things—forbade further dalliance amid the wild mountain haunts of these genuinely interesting barbarians, for from where we sat to Kambtila, whither the wagon had proceeded, was a far cry at that time of night; nor was the way better known to me than any other road I had never travelled before, and it was already growing dusk. Wherefore my steed, grazing hard by, was caught and saddled, and the splendid old veteran of a hundred fights, stood holding my stirrup in his courteous Zulu manner, and thus with hearty farewells we parted.
The darkness drew down, curtaining the grey cliffs above with shadowy gloom, and now lights twinkled forth from the little eyrie-like kraal, and as I slanted down the steep side of the mountain I could still see the dark forms of the three warriors, could hear the quivering rattle of assegai-hafts and the deep bass of voices, as they took their way homeward, half-hidden among the rocks and long grass.
So, too, did I take mine, reflecting on the completeness of this grand savage epic—the Tale of the White Shield; also of that other I had heard from the same narrator. What tales they were! What deeds, too, which most of these quiet-looking, pleasant-featured, courtly-mannered savages could tell of if they chose! dramas hardly credible as fitting in with the latter quarter of this prosaic nineteenth century. And I marvelled exceedingly—not for the first time—over the boundless stupidity of certain Britons of the denser sort, who in official or private capacity could move among such for a greater or lesser period of time, and yet bring away no more of an impression than that of a lot of “blacks” who wore precious little clothing and were not eager to learn the arts of “civilisation.”