THE GHOST OF THE DEAD

When Nanea leapt from the dizzy platform that overhung the Pool of Doom, a strange fortune befell her.  Close in to the precipice were many jagged rocks, and on these the waters of the fall fell and thundered, bounding from them in spouts of spray into the troubled depths of the foss beyond.  It was on these stones that the life was dashed out from the bodies of the wretched victims who were hurled from above.  But Nanea, it will be remembered, had not waited to be treated thus, and as it chanced the strong spring with which she had leapt to death carried her clear of the rocks.  By a very little she missed the edge of them and striking the deep water head first like some practised diver, she sank down and down till she thought that she would never rise again.  Yet she did rise, at the end of the pool in the mouth of the rapid, along which she sped swiftly, carried down by the rush of the water.  Fortunately there were no rocks here; and, since she was a skilful swimmer, she escaped the danger of being thrown against the banks.

For a long distance she was borne thus till at length she saw that she was in a forest, for trees cut off the light from the water, and their drooping branches swept its surface.  One of these Nanea caught with her hand, and by the help of it she dragged herself from the River of Death whence none had escaped before.  Now she stood upon the bank gasping but quite unharmed; there was not a scratch on her body; even her white garment was still fast about her neck.

But though she had suffered no hurt in her terrible voyage, so exhausted was Nanea that she could scarcely stand.  Here the gloom was that of night, and shivering with cold she looked helplessly to find some refuge.  Close to the water’s edge grew an enormous yellow-wood tree, and to this she staggered ­thinking to climb it, and seek shelter in its boughs where, as she hoped, she would be safe from wild beasts.  Again fortune befriended her, for at a distance of a few feet from the ground there was a great hole in the tree which, she discovered, was hollow.  Into this hole she crept, taking her chance of its being the home of snakes or other evil creatures, to find that the interior was wide and warm.  It was dry also, for at the bottom of the cavity lay a foot or more of rotten tinder and moss brought there by rats or birds.  Upon this tinder she lay down, and covering herself with the moss and leaves soon sank into sleep or stupor.

How long Nanea slept she did not know, but at length she was awakened by a sound as of guttural human voices talking in a language that she could not understand.  Rising to her knees she peered out of the hole in the tree.  It was night, but the stars shone brilliantly, and their light fell upon an open circle of ground close by the edge of the river.  In this circle there burned a great fire, and at a little distance from the fire were gathered eight or ten horrible-looking beings, who appeared to be rejoicing over something that lay upon the ground.  They were small in stature, men and women together, but no children, and all of them were nearly naked.  Their hair was long and thin, growing down almost to the eyes, their jaws and teeth protruded and the girth of their black bodies was out of all proportion to their height.  In their hands they held sticks with sharp stones lashed on to them, or rude hatchet-like knives of the same material.

Now Nanea’s heart shrank within her, and she nearly fainted with fear, for she knew that she was in the haunted forest, and without a doubt these were the Esemkofu, the evil ghosts that dwelt therein.  Yes, that was what they were, and yet she could not take her eyes off them ­the sight of them held her with a horrible fascination.  But if they were ghosts, why did they sing and dance like men?  Why did they wave those sharp stones aloft, and quarrel and strike each other?  And why did they make a fire as men do when they wish to cook food?  More, what was it that they rejoiced over, that long dark thing which lay so quiet upon the ground?  It did not look like a head of game, and it could scarcely be a crocodile, yet clearly it was food of some sort, for they were sharpening the stone knives in order to cut it up.

While she wondered thus, one of the dreadful-looking little creatures advanced to the fire, and taking from it a burning bough, held it over the thing that lay upon the ground, to give light to a companion who was about to do something to it with the stone knife.  Next instant Nanea drew back her head from the hole, a stifled shriek upon her lips.  She saw what it was now ­it was the body of a man.  Yes, and these were no ghosts; they were cannibals of whom when she was little, her mother had told her tales to keep her from wandering away from home.

But who was the man they were about to eat?  It could not be one of themselves, for his stature was much greater.  Oh! now she knew; it must be Nahoon, who had been killed up yonder, and whose dead body the waters had brought down to the haunted forest as they had brought her alive.  Yes, it must be Nahoon, and she would be forced to see her husband devoured before her eyes.  The thought of it overwhelmed her.  That he should die by order of the king was natural, but that he should be buried thus!  Yet what could she do to prevent it?  Well, if it cost her her life, it should be prevented.  At the worst they could only kill and eat her also, and now that Nahoon and her father were gone, being untroubled by any religious or spiritual hopes and fears, she was not greatly concerned to keep her own breath in her.

Slipping through the hole in the tree, Nanea walked quietly towards the cannibals ­not knowing in the least what she should do when she reached them.  As she arrived in line with the fire this lack of programme came home to her mind forcibly, and she paused to reflect.  Just then one of the cannibals looked up to see a tall and stately figure wrapped in a white garment which, as the flame-light flickered on it, seemed now to advance from the dense background of shadow, and now to recede into it.  The poor savage wretch was holding a stone knife in his teeth when he beheld her, but it did not remain there long, for opening his great jaws he uttered the most terrified and piercing yell that Nanea had ever heard.  Then the others saw her also, and presently the forest was ringing with shrieks of fear.  For a few seconds the outcasts stood and gazed, then they were gone this way and that, bursting their path through the undergrowth like startled jackals.  The Esemkofu of Zulu tradition had been routed in their own haunted home by what they took to be a spirit.

Poor Esemkofu! they were but miserable and starving bushmen who, driven into that place of ill omen many years ago, had adopted this means, the only one open to them, to keep the life in their wretched bodies.  Here at least they were unmolested, and as there was little other food to be found amid that wilderness of trees, they took what the river brought them.  When executions were few in the Pool of Doom, times were hard for them indeed ­for then they were driven to eat each other.  That is why there were no children.

As their inarticulate outcry died away in the distance, Nanea ran forward to look at the body that lay on the ground, and staggered back with a sigh of relief.  It was not Nahoon, but she recognised the face for that of one of the party of executioners.  How did he come here?  Had Nahoon killed him?  Had Nahoon escaped?  She could not tell, and at the best it was improbable, but still the sight of this dead soldier lit her heart with a faint ray of hope, for how did he come to be dead if Nahoon had no hand in his death?  She could not bear to leave him lying so near her hiding-place, however; therefore, with no small toil, she rolled the corpse back into the water, which carried it swiftly away.  Then she returned to the tree, having first replenished the fire, and awaited the light.

At last it came ­so much of it as ever penetrated this darksome den ­and Nanea, becoming aware that she was hungry, descended from the tree to search for food.  All day long she searched, finding nothing, till towards sunset she remembered that on the outskirts of the forest there was a flat rock where it was the custom of those who had been in any way afflicted, or who considered themselves or their belongings to be bewitched, to place propitiatory offerings of food wherewith the Esemkofu and Amalhosi were supposed to satisfy their spiritual cravings.  Urged by the pinch of starvation, to this spot Nanea journeyed rapidly, and found to her joy that some neighbouring kraal had evidently been in recent trouble, for the Rock of Offering was laden with cobs of corn, gourds of milk, porridge and even meat.  Helping herself to as much as she could carry, she returned to her lair, where she drank of the milk and cooked meat and mealies at the fire.  Then she crept back into the tree, and slept.

For nearly two months Nanea lived thus in the forest, since she could not venture out of it ­fearing lest she should be seized, and for a second time taste of the judgment of the king.  In the forest at least she was safe, for none dared enter there, nor did the Esemkofu give her further trouble.  Once or twice she saw them, but on each occasion they fled from her presence ­seeking some distant retreat, where they hid themselves or perished.  Nor did food fail her, for finding that it was taken, the pious givers brought it in plenty to the Rock of Offering.

But, oh! the life was dreadful, and the gloom and loneliness coupled with her sorrows at times drove her almost to insanity.  Still she lived on, though often she desired to die, for if her father was dead, the corpse she had found was not the corpse of Nahoon, and in her heart there still shone that spark of home.  Yet what she hoped for she could not tell.

When Philip Hadden reached civilised regions, he found that war was about to be declared between the Queen and Cetywayo, King of the Amazulu; also that in the prevailing excitement his little adventure with the Utrecht store-keeper had been overlooked or forgotten.  He was the owner of two good buck-waggons with spans of salted oxen, and at that time vehicles were much in request to carry military stores for the columns which were to advance into Zululand; indeed the transport authorities were glad to pay L90 a month for the hire of each waggon and to guarantee the owners against all loss of cattle.  Although he was not desirous of returning to Zululand, this bait proved too much for Hadden, who accordingly leased out his waggons to the Commissariat, together with his own services as conductor and interpreter.

He was attached to N column of the invading force, which it may be remembered was under the immediate command of Lord Chelmsford, and on the 20th of January, 1879, he marched with it by the road that runs from Rorke’s Drift to the Indeni forest, and encamped that night beneath the shadow of the steep and desolate mountain known as Isandhlwana.

That day also a great army of King Cetywayo’s, numbering twenty thousand men and more, moved down from the Upindo Hill and camped upon the stony plain that lies a mile and a half to the east of Isandhlwana.  No fires were lit, and it lay there in utter silence, for the warriors were “sleeping on their spears.”

With that impi was the Umcityu regiment, three thousand five hundred strong.  At the first break of dawn the Induna in command of the Umcityu looked up from beneath the shelter of the black shield with which he had covered his body, and through the thick mist he saw a great man standing before him, clothed only in a moocha, a gaunt wild-eyed man who held a rough club in his hand.  When he was spoken to, the man made no answer; he only leaned upon his club looking from left to right along the dense array of innumerable shields.

“Who is this Silwana (wild creature)?” asked the Induna of his captains wondering.

The captains stared at the wanderer, and one of them replied, “This is Nahoon-ka-Zomba, it is the son of Zomba who not long ago held rank in this regiment of the Umcityu.  His betrothed, Nanea, daughter of Umgona, was killed together with her father by order of the Black One, and Nahoon went mad with grief at the sight of it, for the fire of Heaven entered his brain, and mad he has wandered ever since.”

“What would you here, Nahoon-ka-Zomba?” asked the Induna.

Then Nahoon spoke slowly.  “My regiment goes down to war against the white men; give me a shield and a spear, O Captain of the king, that I may fight with my regiment, for I seek a face in the battle.”

So they gave him a shield and a spear, for they dared not turn away one whose brain was alight with the fire of Heaven.

When the sun was high that day, bullets began to fall among the ranks of the Umcityu.  Then the black-shielded, black-plumed Umcityu arose, company by company, and after them arose the whole vast Zulu army, breast and horns together, and swept down in silence upon the doomed British camp, a moving sheen of spears.  The bullets pattered on the shields, the shells tore long lines through their array, but they never halted or wavered.  Forward on either side shot out the horns of armed men, clasping the camp in an embrace of steel.  Then as these began to close, out burst the war cry of the Zulus, and with the roar of a torrent and the rush of a storm, with a sound like the humming of a billion bees, wave after wave the deep breast of the impi rolled down upon the white men.  With it went the black-shielded Umcityu and with them went Nahoon, the son of Zomba.  A bullet struck him in the side, glancing from his ribs, he did not heed; a white man fell from his horse before him, he did not stab, for he sought but one face in the battle.

He sought ­and at last he found.  There, among the waggons where the spears were busiest, there standing by his horse and firing rapidly was Black Heart, he who had given Nanea his betrothed to death.  Three soldiers stood between them, one of them Nahoon stabbed, and two he brushed aside; then he rushed straight at Hadden.

But the white man saw him come, and even through the mask of his madness he knew Nahoon again, and terror took hold of him.  Throwing away his empty rifle, for his ammunition was spent, he leaped upon his horse and drove his spurs into its flanks.  Away it went among the carnage, springing over the dead and bursting through the lines of shields, and after it came Nahoon, running long and low with head stretched forward and trailing spear, running as a hound runs when the buck is at view.

Hadden’s first plan was to head for Rorke’s Drift, but a glance to the left showed him that the masses of the Undi barred that way, so he fled straight on, leaving his path to fortune.  In five minutes he was over a ridge, and there was nothing of the battle to be seen, in ten all sounds of it had died away, for few guns were fired in the dread race to Fugitive’s Drift, and the assegai makes no noise.  In some strange fashion, even at this moment, the contrast between the dreadful scene of blood and turmoil that he had left, and the peaceful face of Nature over which he was passing, came home to his brain vividly.  Here birds sang and cattle grazed; here the sun shone undimmed by the smoke of cannon, only high up in the blue and silent air long streams of vultures could be seen winging their way to the Plain of Isandhlwana.

The ground was very rough, and Hadden’s horse began to tire.  He looked over his shoulder ­there some two hundred yards behind came the Zulu, grim as Death, unswerving as Fate.  He examined the pistol in his belt; there was but one undischarged cartridge left, all the rest had been fired and the pouch was empty.  Well, one bullet should be enough for one savage:  the question was should he stop and use it now?  No, he might miss or fail to kill the man; he was on horseback and his foe on foot, surely he could tire him out.

A while passed, and they dashed through a little stream.  It seemed familiar to Hadden.  Yes, that was the pool where he used to bathe when he was the guest of Umgona, the father of Nanea; and there on the knoll to his right were the huts, or rather the remains of them, for they had been burnt with fire.  What chance had brought him to this place, he wondered; then again he looked behind him at Nahoon, who seemed to read his thoughts, for he shook his spear and pointed to the ruined kraal.

On he went at speed for here the land was level, and to his joy he lost sight of his pursuer.  But presently there came a mile of rocky ground, and when it was past, glancing back he saw that Nahoon was once more in his old place.  His horse’s strength was almost spent, but Hadden spurred it forward blindly, whither he knew not.  Now he was travelling along a strip of turf and ahead of him he heard the music of a river, while to his left rose a high bank.  Presently the turf bent inwards and there, not twenty yards away from him, was a Kaffir hut standing on the brink of a river.  He looked at it, yes, it was the hut of that accursed inyanga, the Bee, and standing by the fence of it was none other than the Bee herself.  At the sight of her the exhausted horse swerved violently, stumbled and came to the ground, where it lay panting.  Hadden was thrown from the saddle but sprang to his feet unhurt.

“Ah!  Black Heart, is it you?  What news of the battle, Black Heart?” cried the Bee in a mocking voice.

“Help me, mother, I am pursued,” he gasped.

“What of it, Black Heart, it is but by one tired man.  Stand then and face him, for now Black Heart and White Heart are together again.  You will not?  Then away to the forest and seek shelter among the dead who await you there.  Tell me, tell me, was it the face of Nanea that I saw beneath the waters a while ago?  Good! bear my greetings to her when you two meet in the House of the Dead.”

Hadden looked at the stream; it was in flood.  He could not swim it, so followed by the evil laugh of the prophetess, he sped towards the forest.  After him came Nahoon, his tongue hanging from his jaws like the tongue of a wolf.

Now he was in the shadow of the forest, but still he sped on following the course of the river, till at length his breath failed, and he halted on the further side of a little glade, beyond which a great tree grew.  Nahoon was more than a spear’s throw behind him; therefore he had time to draw his pistol and make ready.

“Halt, Nahoon,” he cried, as once before he had cried; “I would speak with you.”

The Zulu heard his voice, and obeyed.

“Listen,” said Hadden.  “We have run a long race and fought a long fight, you and I, and we are still alive both of us.  Very soon, if you come on, one of us must be dead, and it will be you, Nahoon, for I am armed and as you know I can shoot straight.  What do you say?”

Nahoon made no answer, but stood still at the edge of the glade, his wild and glowering eyes fixed on the white man’s face and his breath coming in short gasps.

“Will you let me go, if I let you go?” Hadden asked once more.  “I know why you hate me, but the past cannot be undone, nor can the dead be brought to earth again.”

Still Nahoon made no answer, and his silence seemed more fateful and more crushing than any speech; no spoken accusation would have been so terrible in Hadden’s ear.  He made no answer, but lifting his assegai he stalked grimly toward his foe.

When he was within five paces Hadden covered him and fired.  Nahoon sprang aside, but the bullet struck him somewhere, for his right arm dropped, and the stabbing spear that he held was jerked from it harmlessly over the white man’s head.  But still making no sound, the Zulu came on and gripped him by the throat with his left hand.  For a space they struggled terribly, swaying to and fro, but Hadden was unhurt and fought with the fury of despair, while Nahoon had been twice wounded, and there remained to him but one sound arm wherewith to strike.  Presently forced to earth by the white man’s iron strength, the soldier was down, nor could he rise again.

“Now we will make an end,” muttered Hadden savagely, and he turned to seek the assegai, then staggered slowly back with starting eyes and reeling gait.  For there before him, still clad in her white robe, a spear in her hand, stood the spirit of Nanea!

“Think of it,” he said to himself, dimly remembering the words of the inyanga, “when you stand face to face with the ghost of the dead in the Home of the Dead.”

There was a cry and a flash of steel; the broad spear leapt towards him to bury itself in his breast.  He swayed, he fell, and presently Black Heart clasped that great reward which the word of the Bee had promised Him.

“Nahoon!  Nahoon!” murmured a soft voice, “awake, it is no ghost, but I ­Nanea ­I, your living wife, to whom my Ehlose has given it me to save you.”

      Guardian Spirit.

Nahoon heard and opened his eyes to look and his madness left him.

“Welcome, wife,” he said faintly, “now I will live since Death has brought you back to me in the House of the Dead.”

To-day Nahoon is one of the Indunas of the English Government in Zululand, and there are children about his kraal.  It was from the lips of none other than Nanea his wife that the teller of this tale heard its substance.

The Bee also lives and practises as much magic as she dares under the white man’s rule.  On her black hand shines a golden ring shaped like a snake with ruby eyes, and of this trinket the Bee is very proud.