THE OATH

We spent three more days at that place.  First it was necessary to allow time to elapse before the gases which generated in their great bodies caused those of the sea-cows which had been killed in the water, to float.  Then they must be skinned and their thick hides cut into strips and pieces to be traded for sjamboks or to make small native shields for which some of the East Coast tribes will pay heavily.

All this took a long while, during which I amused, or disgusted myself in watching those river natives devouring the flesh of the beasts.  The lean, what there was of it, they dried and smoked into a kind of “biltong,” but a great deal of the fat they ate at once.  I had the curiosity to weigh a lump which was given to one thin, hungry-looking fellow.  It scaled quite twenty pounds.  Within four hours he had eaten it to the last ounce and lay there, a distended and torpid log.  What would not we white people give for such a digestion!

At last all was over and we started homewards, the man with a broken leg being carried in a kind of litter.  On the edge of the bush-veld we found the waggon quite safe, also one of Captain Robertson’s that had followed us from Strathmuir in order to carry the expected load of hippopotamus’ hides and ivory.  I asked my voorlooper if anything had happened during our absence.  He answered nothing, but on the previous evening after dark, he had seen a glow in the direction of Strathmuir which lay on somewhat lower ground about twenty miles away, as though numerous fires had been lighted there.  It struck him so much, he added, that he climbed a tree to observe it better.  He did not think, however, that any building had been burned there, as the glow was not strong enough for that.

I suggested that it was caused by some grass fire or reed-burning, to which he replied indifferently that he did not think so as the line of the glow was not sufficiently continuous.

There the matter ended, though I confess that the story made me anxious, for what exact reason I could not say.  Umslopogaas also, who had listened to it, for our talk was in Zulu, looked grave, but made no remark.  But as since his tree-climbing experience he had been singularly silent, of this I thought little.

We had trekked at a time which we calculated would bring us to Strathmuir about an hour before sundown, allowing for a short halt half way.  As my oxen were got in more quickly than those of the other waggon after this outspan, I was the first away, followed at a little distance by Umslopogaas, who preferred to walk with his Zulus.  The truth was that I could not get that story about the glow of fires out of my mind and was anxious to push on, which had caused me to hurry up the inspanning.

Perhaps we had covered a couple of miles of the ten or twelve which still lay between us and Strathmuir, when far off on the crest of one of the waves of the veld which much resembled those of the swelling sea frozen while in motion, I saw a small figure approaching us at a rapid trot.  Somehow that figure suggested Hans to my mind, so much so that I fetched my glasses to examine it more closely.  A short scrutiny through them convinced me that Hans it was, Hans and no other, advancing at a great pace.

Filled with uneasiness, I ordered the driver to flog up the oxen, with the result that in a little over five minutes we met.  Halting the waggon, I leapt from the waggon-box and calling to Umslopogaas who had kept up with us at a slow, swinging trot, went to Hans, who, when he saw me, stood still at a little distance, swinging his apology for a hat in his hand, as was his fashion when ashamed or perplexed.

“What is the matter, Hans?” I asked when we were within speaking distance.

“Oh!  Baas, everything,” he answered, and I noticed that he kept his eyes fixed upon the ground and that his lips twitched.

“Speak, you fool, and in Zulu,” I said, for by now Umslopogaas had joined me.

“Baas,” he answered in that tongue, “a terrible thing has come about at the farm of Red-Beard yonder.  Yesterday afternoon at the time when people are in the habit of sleeping there till the sun grows less hot, a body of great men with fierce faces who carried big spears ­perhaps there were fifty of them, Baas ­crept up to the place through the long grass and growing crops, and attacked it.”

“Did you see them come?” I asked.

“No, Baas.  I was watching at a little distance as you bade me do and the sun being hot, I shut my eyes to keep out the glare of it, so that I did not see them until they had passed me and heard the noise.”

“You mean that you were asleep or drunk, Hans, but go on.”

“Baas, I do not know,” he answered shamefacedly, “but after that I climbed a tall tree with a kind of bush at the top of it” (I ascertained afterwards that this was a sort of leafy-crowned palm), “and from it I saw everything without being seen.”

“What did you see, Hans?” I asked him.

“I saw the big men run up and make a kind of circle round the village.  Then they shouted, and the people in the village came out to see what was the matter.  Thomaso and some of the men caught sight of them first and ran away fast into the hillside at the back where the trees grow, before the circle was complete.  Then the women and the children came out and the big men killed them with their spears ­all, all!”

“Good God!” I exclaimed.  “And what happened at the house and to the lady?”

“Baas, some of the men had surrounded that also and when she heard the noise the lady Sad-Eyes came out on to the stoep and with her came the two Zulus of the Axe who had been left sick but were now quite recovered.  A number of the big men ran as though to take her, but the two Zulus made a great fight in front of the little steps to the stoep, having their backs protected by the stoep, and killed six of them before they themselves were killed.  Also Sad-Eyes shot one with a pistol she carried, and wounded another so that the spear fell out of his hand.

“Then the rest fell on her and tied her up, setting her in a chair on the stoep where two remained to watch her.  They did her no hurt, Baas; indeed, they seemed to treat her as gently as they could.  Also they went into the house and there they caught that tall fat yellow girl who always smiles and is called Janee, she who waits upon the Lady Sad-Eyes, and brought her out to her.  I think they told her, Baas, that she must look after her mistress and that if she tried to run away she would be killed, for afterwards I saw Janee bring her food and other things.”

“And then, Hans?”

“Then, Baas, most of the great men rested a while, though some of them went through the store gathering such things as they liked, blankets, knives and iron cooking-pots, but they set fire to nothing, nor did they try to catch the cattle.  Also they took dry wood from the pile and lit big fires, eight or nine of them, and when the sun set they began to feast.”

“What did they feast on, Hans, if they took no cattle?” I asked with a shiver, for I was afraid of I knew not what.

“Baas,” answered Hans, turning his head away and looking at the ground, “they feasted on the children whom they had killed, also on some of the young women.  These tall soldiers are men-eaters, Baas.”

At this horrible intelligence I turned faint and felt as though I was going to fall, but recovering myself, signed to him to go on with his story.

“They feasted quite nicely, Baas,” he continued, “making no noise.  Then some of them slept while others watched, and that went on all night.  As soon as it was dark, but before the moon rose, I slid down the tree and crept round to the back of the house without being seen or heard, as I can, Baas.  I got into the house by the back door and crawled to the window of the sitting-room.  It was open and peeping through I saw Sad-Eyes still tied to the seat on the stoep not more than a pace away, while the girl Janee crouched on the floor at her feet ­I think she was asleep or fainting.

“I made a little noise, like a night-adder hissing, and kept on making it, till at last Sad-Eyes turned her head.  Then I spoke in a very low whisper, for fear lest I should wake the two guards who were dozing on either side of her wrapped in their blankets, saying, ’It is I, Hans, come to help you.’  ‘You cannot,’ she answered, also speaking very low.  ’Get to your master and tell him and my father to follow.  These men are called Amahagger and live far away across the river.  They are going to take me to their home, as I understand, to rule them, because they want a white woman to be a queen over them who have always been ruled by a certain white queen, against whom they have rebelled.  I do not think they mean to do me any harm, unless perhaps they want to marry me to their chief, but of this I am not sure from their talk which I understand badly.  Now go, before they catch you.’

“‘I think you might get away,’ I whispered back.  ’I will cut your bonds.  When you are free, slip through the window and I will guide you.’

“‘Very well, try it,’ she said.

“So I drew my knife and stretched out my arm.  But then, Baas, I showed myself a fool ­if the Great Medicine had still been there I might have known better.  I forgot the starlight which shone upon the blade of the knife.  That girl Janee came out of her sleep or swoon, lifted her head and saw the knife.  She screamed once, then at a word from her mistress was silent.  But it was enough, for it woke up the guards who glared about them and threatened Janee with their great spears, also they went to sleep no more, but began to talk together, though what they said I could not hear, for I was hiding on the floor of the room.  After this, knowing that I could do no good and might do harm and get myself killed, I crept out of the house as I had crept in, and crawled back to my tree.”

“Why did you not come to me?” I asked.

“Because I still hoped I might be able to help Sad-Eyes, Baas.  Also I wanted to see what happened, and I knew that I could not bring you here in time to be any good.  Yet it is true I thought of coming though I did not know the road.”

“Perhaps you were right.”

“At the first dawn,” continued Hans, “the great men who are called Amahagger rose and ate what was left over from the night before.  Then they gathered themselves together and went to the house.  Here they found a large chair, that seated with rimpis in which the Baas Red-Beard sits, and lashed two poles to the chair.  Beneath the chair they tied the garments and other things of the Lady Sad-Eyes which they made Janee gather as Sad-Eyes directed her.  This done, very gently they sat Sad-Eyes herself in the chair, bowing while they made her fast.  After this eight of them set the poles upon their shoulders, and they all went away at a trot, heading for the bush-veld, driving with them a herd of goats which they had stolen from the farm, and making Janee run by the chair.  I saw everything, Baas, for they passed just beneath my tree.  Then I came to seek you, following the outward spoor of the waggons which I could not have done well at night.  That is all, Baas.”

“Hans,” I said, “you have been drinking and because of it the lady Sad-Eyes is taken a prisoner by cannibals; for had you been awake and watching, you might have seen them coming and saved her and the rest.  Still, afterwards you did well, and for the rest you must answer to Heaven.”

“I must tell your reverend father, the Predikant, Baas, that the white master, Red-Beard, gave me the liquor and it is rude not to do as a great white master does, and drink it up.  I am sure he will understand, Baas,” said Hans abjectly.

I thought to myself that it was true and that the spear which Robertson cast had fallen upon his own head, as the Zulus say, but I made no answer, lacking time for argument.

“Did you say,” asked Umslopogaas, speaking for the first time, “that my servants killed only six of these men-eaters?”

Hans nodded and answered, “Yes, six.  I counted the bodies.”

“It was ill done, they should have killed six each,” said Umslopogaas moodily.  “Well, they have left the more for us to finish,” and he fingered the great axe.

Just then Captain Robertson arrived in his waggon, calling out anxiously to know what was the matter, for some premonition of evil seemed to have struck him.  My heart sank at the sight of him, for how was I to tell such a story to the father of the murdered children and of the abducted girl?

In the end I felt that I could not.  Yes, I turned coward and saying that I must fetch something out of the waggon, bolted into it, bidding Hans go forward and repeat his tale.  He obeyed unwillingly enough and looking out between the curtains of the waggon tent I saw all that happened, though I could not hear the words that passed.

Robertson had halted the oxen and jumping from the waggon-box strode forward and met Hans, who began to speak with him, twitching his hat in his hands.  Gradually as the tale progressed, I saw the Captain’s face freeze into a mask of horror.  Then he began to argue and deny, then to weep ­oh! it was a terrible sight to see that great man weeping over those whom he had lost, and in such a fashion.

After this a kind of blind rage seized him and I thought he was going to kill Hans, who was of the same opinion, for he ran away.  Next he staggered about, shaking his fists, cursing and shouting, till presently he fell of a heap and lay face downwards, beating his head against the ground and groaning.

Now I went to him and sat up.

“That’s a pretty story, Quatermain, which this little yellow monkey has been gibbering at me.  Man, do you understand what he says?  He says that all those half-blood children of mine are dead, murdered by savages from over the Zambesi, yes, and eaten, too, with their mothers.  Do you take the point?  Eaten like lambs.  Those fires your man saw last night were the fires on which they were cooked, my little so-and-so and so-and-so,” and he mentioned half a dozen different names.  “Yes, cooked, Quatermain.  And that isn’t all of it, they have taken Inez too.  They didn’t eat her, but they have dragged her off a captive for God knows what reason.  I couldn’t understand.  The whole ship’s crew is gone, except the captain absent on leave and the first officer, Thomaso, who deserted with some Lascar stokers, and left the women and children to their fate.  My God, I’m going mad.  I’m going mad!  If you have any mercy in you, give me something to drink.”

“All right,” I said, “I will.  Sit here and wait a minute.”

Then I went to the waggon and poured out a stiff tot of spirits into which I put an amazing doze of bromide from a little medicine chest I always carry with me, and thirty drops of chlorodyne on the top of it.  All this compound I mixed up with a little water and took it to him in a tin cup so that he could not see the colour.

He drank it at a gulp and throwing the pannikin aside, sat down on the veld, groaning while the company watched him at a respectful distance, for Hans had joined the others and his tale had spread like fire in drought-parched grass.

In a few minutes the drugs began to take effect upon Robertson’s tortured nerves, for he rose and said quietly,

“What now?”

“Vengeance, or rather justice,” I answered.

“Yes,” he exclaimed, “vengeance.  I swear that I will be avenged, or die ­or both.”

Again I saw my opportunity and said, “You must swear more than that, Robertson.  Only sober men can accomplish great things, for drink destroys the judgment.  If you wish to be avenged for the dead and to rescue the living, you must be sober, or I for one will not help you.”

“Will you help me if I do, to the end, good or ill, Quatermain?” he added.

I nodded.

“That’s as much as another’s oath,” he muttered.  “Still, I will put my thought in words.  I swear by God, by my mother ­like these natives ­and by my daughter born in honest marriage, that I will never touch another drop of strong drink, until I have avenged those poor women and their little children, and rescued Inez from their murderers.  If I do you may put a bullet through me.”

“That’s all right,” I said in an offhand fashion, though inwardly I glowed with pride at the success of my great idea, for at the time I thought it great, and went on,

“Now let us get to business.  The first thing to do is to trek to Strathmuir and make preparations; the next to start upon the trail.  Come to sit on the waggon with me and tell me what guns and ammunition you have got, for according to Hans those savages don’t seem to have touched anything, except a few blankets and a herd of goats.”

He did as I asked, telling me all he could remember.  Then he said,

“It is a strange thing, but now I recall that about two years ago a great savage with a high nose, who talked a sort of Arabic which, like Inez, I understand, having lived on the coast, turned up one day and said he wanted to trade.  I asked him what in, and he answered that he would like to buy some children.  I told him that I was not a slave-dealer.  Then he looked at Inez, who was moving about, and said that he would like to buy her to be a wife for his Chief, and offered some fabulous sum in ivory and in gold, which he said should be paid before she was taken away.  I snatched his big spear from his hand, broke it over his head and gave him the best hiding with its shaft that he had ever heard of.  Then I kicked him off the place.  He limped away but when he was out of reach, turned and called out that one day he would come again with others and take her, meaning Inez, without leaving the price in ivory and gold.  I ran for my gun, but when I got back he had gone and I never thought of the matter again from that day to this.”

“Well, he kept his promise,” I said, but Robertson made no answer, for by this time that thundering dose of bromide and laudanum had taken effect on him and he had fallen asleep, of which I was glad, for I thought that this sleep would save his sanity, as I believe it did for a while.

We reached Strathmuir towards sunset, too late to think of attempting the pursuit that day.  Indeed, during our trek, I had thought the matter out carefully and come to the conclusion that to try to do so would be useless.  We must rest and make preparations; also there was no hope of our overtaking these brutes who already had a clear twelve hours’ start, by a sudden spurt.  They must be run down patiently by following their spoor, if indeed they could be run down at all before they vanished into the vast recesses of unknown Africa.  The most we could do this night was to get ready.

Captain Robertson was still sleeping when we passed the village and of this I was heartily glad, since the remains of a cannibal feast are not pleasant to behold, especially when they are !  Indeed, of these I determined to be rid at once, so slipping off the waggon with Hans and some of the farm boys, for none of the Zulus would defile themselves by touching such human remnants ­I made up two of the smouldering fires, the light of which the voorlooper had seen upon the sky, and on to them cast, or caused to be cast, those poor fragments.  Also I told the farm natives to dig a big grave and in it to place the other bodies and generally to remove the traces of murder.

Then I went on to the house, and not too soon.  Seeing the waggons arrive and having made sure that the Amahagger were gone, Thomaso and the other cowards emerged from their hiding-places and returned.  Unfortunately for the former the first person he met was Umslopogaas, who began to revile the fat half-breed in no measured terms, calling him dog, coward, and other opprobrious names, such as deserter of women and children, and so forth ­all of which someone translated.

Thomaso, an insolent person, tried to swagger the matter out, saying that he had gone to get assistance.  Infuriated at this lie, Umslopogaas leapt upon him with a roar and though he was a strong man, dealt with him as a lion does with a buck.  Lifting him from his feet, he hurled him to the ground, then as he strove to rise and run, caught him again and as it seemed to me, was about to break his back across his knee.  Just at this juncture I arrived.

“Let the man go,” I shouted to him.  “Is there not enough death here already?”

“Yes,” answered Umslopogaas, “I think there is.  Best that this jackal should live to eat his own shame,” and he cast Thomaso to the ground, where he lay groaning.

Robertson, who was still asleep in the waggon, woke up at the noise, and descended from it, looking dazed.  I got him to the house and in doing so made my way past, or rather between the bodies of the two Zulus and of the six men whom they had killed, also of him whom Inez had shot.  Those Zulus had made a splendid fight for they were covered with wounds, all of them in front, as I found upon examination.

Having made Robertson lie down upon his bed, I took a good look at the slain Amahagger.  They were magnificent men, all of them; tall, spare and shapely with very clear-cut features and rather frizzled hair.  From these characteristics, as well as the lightness of their colour, I concluded that they were of a Semitic or Arab type, and that the admixture of their blood with that of the Bantus was but slight, if indeed there were any at all.  Their spears, of which one had been cut through by a blow of a Zulu’s axe, were long and broad, not unlike to those used by the Masai, but of finer workmanship.

By this time the sun was setting and thoroughly tired by all that I had gone through, I went into the house to get something to eat, having told Hans to find food and prepare a meal.  As I sat down Robertson joined me and I made him also eat.  His first impulse was to go to the cupboard and fetch the spirit bottle; indeed, he rose to do so.

“Hans is making coffee,” I said warningly.

“Thank you,” he answered, “I forgot.  Force of habit, you know.”

Here I may state that never from that moment did I see him touch another drop of liquor, not even when I drank my modest tot in front of him.  His triumph over temptation was splendid and complete, especially as the absence of his accustomed potations made him ill for some time and of course depressed his spirits, with painful results that were apparent in due course.

In fact, the man became totally changed.  He grew gloomy but resourceful, also full of patience.  Only one idea obsessed him ­to rescue his daughter and avenge the murder of his people; indeed, except his sins, he thought of and found interest in nothing else.  Moreover, his iron constitution cast off all the effects of his past debauchery and he grew so strong that although I was pretty tough in those days, he could out-tire me.

To return; I engaged him in conversation and with his help made a list of what we should require on our vendetta journey, all of which served to occupy his mind.  Then I sent him to bed, saying that I would call him before dawn, having first put a little more bromide into his third cup of coffee.  After this I turned in and notwithstanding the sight of those remains of the cannibal feast and the knowledge of the dead men who lay outside my window, I slept like a top.

Indeed, it was the Captain who awakened me, not I the Captain, saying that daylight was on the break and we had better be stirring.  So we went down to the Store, where I was thankful to find that everything had been tidied up in accordance with my directions.

On our way Robertson asked me what had become of the remains, whereon I pointed to the smouldering ashes of one of the great fires.  He went to it and kneeling down, said a prayer in broad Scotch, doubtless one that he had learned at his mother’s knee.  Then he took some of the ashes from the edge of the pyre ­for such it was ­and threw them into the glowing embers where, as he knew, lay all that was left of those who had sprung from him.  Also he tossed others of them into the air, though what he meant by this I did not understand and never asked.  Probably it was some rite indicative of expiation or of revenge, or both, which he had learned from the savages among whom he had lived so long.

After this we went into the Store and with the help of some of the natives, or half-breeds, who had accompanied us on the sea-cow expedition, selected all the goods we wanted, which we sent to the house.

As we returned thither I saw Umslopogaas and his men engaged, with the usual Zulu ceremonies, in burying their two companions in a hole they had made in the hillside.  I noted, however, that they did not inter their war-axes or their throwing-spears with them as usual, probably because they thought that these might be needed.  In place of them they put with the dead little models roughly shaped of bits of wood, which models they “killed” by first breaking them across.

I lingered to watch the funeral and heard Goroko, the witch-doctor, make a little speech.

“O Father and Chief of the Axe,” he said, addressing Umslopogaas, who stood silent leaning on his weapon and watching all, a portentous figure in the morning mist, “O Father, O Son of the Heavens” (this was an allusion to the royal blood of Umslopogaas of which the secret was well known, although it would never have been spoken aloud in Zululand), “O Slaughterer (Bulalio), O Woodpecker who picks at the hearts of men; O King-Slayer; O Conqueror of the Halakazi; O Victor in a hundred fights; O Gatherer of the Lily-bloom that faded in the hand; O Wolf-man, Captain of the Wolves that ravened; O Slayer of Faku; O Great One whom it pleases to seem small, because he must follow his blood to the end appointed ­”

This was the opening of the speech, the “bonga-ing” or giving of Titles of Praise to the person addressed, of which I have quoted but a sample, for there were many more of them that I have forgotten.  Then the speaker went on,

“It was told to me, though of it I remember nothing, that when my Spirit was in me a while ago I prophesied that this place would flow with blood, and lo! the blood has flowed, and with it that of these our brothers,” and he gave the names of the two dead Zulus, also those of their forefathers for several generations.

“It seems, Father, that they died well, as you would have wished them to die, and as doubtless they desired to die themselves, leaving a tale behind them, though it is true that they might have died better, killing more of the men-eaters, as it is certain they would have done, had they not been sick inside.  They are finished; they have gone beyond to await us in the Under-world among the ghosts.  Their story is told and soon to their children they will be but names whispered in honour after the sun has set.  Enough of them who have showed us how to die as our fathers did before them.”

Goroko paused a while, then added with a waving of his hands,

“My Spirit comes to me again and I know that these our brothers shall not pass unavenged.  Chief of the Axe, great glory awaits the Axe, for it shall feed full.  I have spoken.”

“Good words!” grunted Umslopogaas.  Then he saluted the dead by raising Inkosikaas and came to me to consult about our journey.