“WOZ’UBONE, KITI KWAZULU.”

Lo Bengula sat within the esibayaneni the sacred enclosure wherein none dare intrude at his great kraal, Bulawayo.

The occupation on which the King was then engaged, was the homely and prosaic one of eating his breakfast. This consisted of a huge dish of bubende, being certain ingredients of the internal mechanism of the bullock, all boiled up with the blood, to the civilised palate an appalling article of diet, but highly favoured by the Matabele. Yet, while devouring this delicacy with vast appetite, the royal countenance was overcast and gloomy in the extreme.

Lo Bengula sat alone. From without a continuous roar of many voices reached him. It was never hushed, the night through it had hardly been hushed, and this was early morning. Song after song, some improvised, others the old war-songs of the nation, interluded with long pæans of his own praises, rising from the untiring throats of thousands of his warriors yet the King, in his heart of hearts, was tired of the lot.

He looked around upon his sheep and goats for the sacred enclosure included the kraal which contained his private and particular flock and he loved them, for he was by nature a born farmer, called by accident, and even then, reluctantly, to rule this nation of fierce and turbulent fighters. He looked upon the flocks surrounding him and wondered how much longer they would be his how much longer anything would be his for war was not merely in the air but was actually at his gates; war with the whites, with whom he had ever striven to live on friendly and peaceful terms. But, as had long been foreseen, his people had forced his hand at last.

Unwillingly he had bowed to the inevitable, he the despot, he, before whose frown those ferocious and bloodthirsty human beasts trembled, he the dark-skinned savage, whose word was law, whose ire conveyed terror over a region as wide-spreading and vast as that under the sway of any one of the greater Powers in Europe. But as long as the nation was a nation and he was alive, he intended to remain its King, however reluctant he had been to assume the supreme reins of government, and consistently with this it had been out of his power to check the aggressive ébullitions of his fiery adherents. And now war was within the land, and hourly, runners were bringing in tidings of the advance straight, fell, unswerving of purpose of a strong and compact expedition of whites their goal his capital.

Yes, day by day these were drawing nearer. The intelligence brought by innumerable spies and runners was unvarying. The approaching force in numbers was such that a couple of his best regiments should be able to eat it up at a mouthful. But it was splendidly armed, and its organisation and discipline were perfect. Its leaders seemed to take no risks, and at the smallest alarm all those waggons could be turned into a complete and defensive fort almost as quickly as a man might clap his hands twice. And then, from each corner, from every face of this unscaleable wall, peeped forth a small, insignificant thing, a little shining tube that could be placed on the back of a horse yet this contemptible-looking toy could rain down bullets into the ranks of his warriors at a rate which would leave none to return to him with the tale. Nay more, even the cover of rocks and bushes would not help them, for other deadly machines had these whites, which could throw great bags of bullets into the air to fall and scatter wherever they chose, and that at well-nigh any distance. All of this Lo Bengula knew and appreciated, but his people did not, and now from without, ever and increasing upon his ears, fell the din and thunder of their boasting songs of war.

“Au! They are poor, lean dogs!” he growled to himself. “They will be even as dogs who snarl and run away, when they get up to these whites. They bark loudly now and show their teeth. Will they be able to bite?”

Personally, too, he liked the English. He had been on very friendly terms with several of them. They were always bringing him presents, things that it was good to have, and of which now he owned considerable store. He liked conversing with them too, for these were men who had travelled far and had seen things and could tell him wonders about other lands, inhabited by other whites, away beyond the great sea. They were not fools, these English. And their bravery! Who among dark races would go and place themselves in the power of a mighty and warrior race as these did? What three or four men of such would dare to stand before him here at this very place, calm, smiling, unmoved, while thousands of his warriors were standing around, howling and clamouring for their blood? Not one. Then, too, their knowledge was wonderful. Had not several of them, from time to time, done that which had eased him of his gout, and of the shooting pains which afflicted his eyes, and threatened to deprive him of his sight? No, of a truth he desired not to quarrel with such. Well, it might be, that when these dogs of his had been whipped back when they had thought to hunt bucks and found that they had assailed instead, a herd of fierce and fearless buffalo bulls that then he might order them to lie down, and that peace between himself and the whites might again prevail.

Having arrived at this conclusion, and also at that of his repast, the King gave utterance to a call, and immediately there appeared two izinceku, or personal attendants of the royal household. These ran forward in a crouching attitude, with bodies bent low, and while one removed the utensils and traces of the feast, the other produced a great bowl of baked clay, nearly filled with fresh water. Into this the King plunged his hands, throwing the cold water over his face and head with great apparent enjoyment, then, having dried himself with a towel of genuine civilisation, he rose, strode over to his waggon the two attendants lying prostrate in the dust before him as he moved and lifting the canvas flap, disappeared from mortal ken: for this waggon was the place of his most sacred seclusion, and woe indeed to the luckless wight who should presume to disturb him in that retreat.

Without, the aspect of the mighty circle was stirring and tumultuous to the last degree. The huge radius of grass roofs lay yellow and shining in the fierce sunlight, alive too, with dark forms ever on the move, these however, being those of innumerable women, and glistening, rotund brats, chattering in wide-eyed excitement; for the more important spot, the great open space in front of the King’s enclosure, was given over to the warriors.

With these it was nearly filled. Regiment upon regiment was mustered there: each drafted according to the standing of those who composed its ranks, from the Ingubu, which enjoyed the high privilege of attending as bodyguard upon the King, hence its name the Blanket, i.e. the King’s ever around the royal person the fighting Imbizo, and the Induba down to the slave regiments such as the Umcityu, composed of slaves and the descendants of conquered and therefore inferior races. All these were in full war array. The higher of them wore the intye, a combination of cape and headpiece made of the jetty plumage of the male ostrich, others were crowned with the isiqoba, a ball of feathers nodding over the forehead, and supporting the tall, pointed wing feather of the vulture, or the blue crane. Mutyas of monkey-skin and cat-tails, in some few instances leopard’s skin, fantastic bunches of white cowhair at elbow and knee and ankle, with bead necklaces, varying in shape and colour, completed the adornment. But all were fully armed. The national weapon, the traditional implement of Zulu intrepidity and conquest, the broad-bladed, short-handled, close-quarter assegai of such each warrior carried two or three: a murderous-looking battle-axe with its sickle-like blade: a heavy-headed, short-handled knob-kerrie, and the great war-shield, black, with its facings of white, a proportion white entirely others red others again, streaked, variegated, and surmounted by its tuft of fur or jackal’s tail, or cowhair this array, chanting in fierce strophes, stamping in unison, and clashing time with weapon-haft upon hard hide shield, amid the streaming dust, made up a picture as terrific as it was formidable of the ferocious and pent-up savagery of a hitherto unconquered, and in its own estimation, unconquerable race.

A musky, foetid effluvium hung in the air, the mingled result of all this gathering of perspiring, moving humanity, and vast heaps of decaying bones, already decomposing in the fierce sunlight there on the killing place just outside the huge kraal at its eastern end, where a great number of the King’s cattle had been slaughtered on the previous day in order to feast the regiments mustered for war while myriads of buzzing flies combined to render the surcharged atmosphere doubly pestilential. Seated together, in a group apart, the principal indunas of the nation were gathered in earnest conference, while, further on, the whole company of izanusi, or war-doctors, arrayed in the hideous and disgusting trappings of their order, were giving a final eye to the removal of huge mutt bowls, containing some concoction equally hideous and disgusting, from the secluded and mysterious precincts wherein such had been brewed: for the whole army was about to be doctored for war.

Now a fresh stir arose among the excited armed multitude gathered there, and all eyes were turned to the eastward. Away over the rolling plain, from the direction of the flat-topped Intaba-’Zinduna, a moving mass was approaching, and as it drew nearer the gleam of spears and the sheen of hide shields flickered above the dark cloud. It was the Insukamini regiment, for whose presence those here had been waiting in order to render the master complete. As it swung up the slope, an old war-song of Umalikazi came volleying through the air to those here gathered:

“Yaingahlabi
Leyo’mkonzi!
Yai ukufa!”

With full-throated roar the vast gathering took it up, re-echoing the fell chorus until it became indescribable in its strength of volume, and soon, the newly arrived regiment, over a thousand strong, filed in, and fell into line, amid the thunder of its vociferous welcome.

Then the company of ixanuri came forward, and for some time these were busy as they went along the lines, administering to each warrior a morsel of the horrible hotch-potch they had been concocting, and which was designed to render him, if not quite impervious to the enemy’s missiles, at any rate to lessen his chances of being struck, and to make him a very lion of strength and courage in the day of battle.

This over, yet one ceremony remained, to sing the war-song in the presence of the King, and depart. A silence had fallen upon all after the doctoring was concluded. Soon, however, it was broken by the “praisers” shouting the King’s titles.

As Lo Bengula appeared in front of his warriors, the whole immense crescent fell forward like mown corn, and from every throat went up in one single, deep-voiced, booming roar, the royal greeting:

Kumalo!

The King did not seat himself. With head erect and kindling eyes, he paced up and down slowly, surveying the whole martial might of his nation. He, too, was arrayed in full war costume, crowned with the towering intye, and wearing a mutya of splendid leopard skin. He was attended by his shield-bearer, holding aloft the great white shield of state, but in his hand he carried another and a smaller shield, also white, and a long-hafted, slender, casting assegai.

Long and loud were the shouts of sibonga which rent the air as the warriors fell back into a squatting posture, their shields lying flat in front of them. They hailed him by every imaginable title of power and of might as their father, as their divinity, as the source of all that was good and beneficial which they possessed. They called the lightnings of the clouds, the thunders of the air everything into requisition to testify as to his immensity till at last, as though in obedience to some sudden and mysterious signal, they subsided into silence. Then Lo Bengula spoke:

“Children of Matyobane, the enemy is already in your land. These Amakiwa, who came to me few and poor, and begging, are now many and rich, and proud. They begged for a little land wherein to dig gold, and I gave it them, but, lo, they want more. Like devouring locusts, these few whites who came begging, and sat down here so humbly before me, were but the advance-guard of a swarm. I gave them meat, and now they require a whole ox. I gave them an ox, and now they require the whole herd. I gave them the little land they craved for, and now, nothing will satisfy them but to devour the whole land. Soon they will be here.

“There are dogs who bark and turn away, and there are dogs who bite. There are dogs who are brave when it is a matter of pulling down an antelope, but who put down their tails and slink away when it is a lion who fronts them. Of which are ye?

“Lo, the spirit of the Great Great One who founded this nation is still alive. His serpent still watches over those whom he made great in the art of war. Shall you shame his name, his memory? Of a truth, no.

“Yonder comes the white army nearer, nearer day by day. Soon it will be here. But first it will have to pass over the bodies of the lions of Matyobane. Shall it do so? Of a truth, no!”

The King ceased. And upon the silence arose mighty shouts. To the death they would oppose this invasion. The King, their father, might sit safe, since his children, his fighting dogs were at large. They would eat up these whites ha ha! a mere mouthful, and the race of Matyobane should be greater than ever among the great nations of the world.

Then again a silence fell suddenly, and immediately from a score of points along the lines, voices began to lead off the war-song:

“Woz’ubone!
Woz’ubone, kiti kwazulu!
Woz’ubone! Nantz’indaba.
Indaba yemkonto.
Jji-jji! Jji-jji!

“Nantz’indaba? Indaba yezizwe?
Akwasimuntu.
Jji-jji! Jji-jji!

“Woz’ubone! Nantz’indaba.
Indaba ka Matyobane.”

Louder and louder, in its full-throated cadence, the national war-song rolled forth, thundrous in its wild weird strophes, to the accompaniment of stamping feet and clashing of shields the effect of the deep humming hiss of the death chorus alone appalling in its fiendlike intensity. The vast crescent of bedizened warriors swayed and waved in its uncontrollable excitement, and the dust clouds streamed overhead as an earnest of the smoke of burning and pillage, which was wont to mark the fiery path of this terrible race in its conquering progress. Louder, louder, the song roared forth, and then, when excitement had reached its highest pitch, silence fell with a suddenness as startling as the mighty outburst which had preceded it.

For the King had advanced from where he had been standing. Facing eastward he now stood. Poising the long, slender, casting assegai in his hand with a nervous quiver, he hurled it far out over the stockade.

“Go now, children of Matyobane!” he cried in tones of thunder.

It was the signal. Rank upon rank the armed legions filed forth from the gates of the great kraal. In perfect silence now they marched, their faces set eastward a fell, vast, unsparing host upon destruction bent. Woe to the invading force if it should fail to repel the might of these!