Chapter Thirty.

Chapter Thirty.The Latest Victim.There she stood—Aïda, my love. I could see every line of the sweet pale face, turned full towards me in the moonlight, but it wore a half-dazed look as that of one who walks and talks in her sleep. But it bore no sign of fear.“This is the third night,Inkosikazi, and it is time to restore you to your own people,” Ukozi was saying. “You will tell them that we have not harmed you, but that your presence was necessary for three nights, to render perfect ourmúti.”She looked as if she but half understood him, and nodded her head. They were but a few paces from us, and where they had emerged from we could not make out. Their backs were toward the horrid remains, and also toward the two crouching figures.“So now we are ready. Come.”This was clearly a signal, for the two crouching figures sprang up and forward to seize her. The first went down like a felled bullock, under a judiciously planted whack from Jan Boom’s knobkerrie as we leapt from our concealment. Falkner had grappled with the witch doctor, but Ukozi was a muscular and powerful savage, and it taxed all his younger foeman’s athletic resources to hold him. He writhed and struggled, and the two were rolling over and over on the ground. Then Jan Boom seizing his chance, let out again with his formidable knobkerrie, bringing it down bang in the middle of Ukozi’s skull. He, too, flattened out. The third, held at the point of Kendrew’s pistol, had already surrendered.“Better tie them up sharp before they come to,” said Falkner. “Here goes for Mr Witch Doctor anyhow.”All this had happened in a moment. In it I had borne no active part, my first care and attention had been given to Aïda. It was remarkable that she showed but little surprise at the sight of me.“Is that you, dear? And you have come to take me home? I am rather relieved, for I was beginning to get a little frightened I believe. But—what is it all about? These people have done me no harm.”“No—thank the Lord and we four,” said Falkner grimly. “Not yet, but we were only in the nick of time. There—you evil beast. You can come to now, as soon as you like.”This to the fellow whom Jan Boom had first stunned and whom he had just finished tying up in the most masterly manner. The Xosa had effected the same process with the third, under cover of Kendrew’s pistol.“Don’t look round, Aïda,” I said. “There’s a sight it’ll be as well for you not to see. In fact I’ll take you away as soon as Jan Boom is ready to show us the way out.”But Jan Boom was apparently not ready. He stood glaring down upon the prostrate and unconscious witch doctor with an expression of vindictive hatred upon his countenance that was positively devilish.“Not killed,” he muttered in his own tongue. “No—no—not killed. That were too sweet and easy for him.”“Ha-ha, Jan,” guffawed Falkner. “You were so keen on capturing the brute alive, and now you’ve killed him yourself.”“He not dead,” answered the Xosa in English. “Zulu nigga’s skull damn hard. He come to directly.”“Well it wasn’t much of a scrap anyway,” grumbled Falkner. “Are there any more of them?”“Only two women up there at the huts,” said Aïda. “But I don’t understand. They’ve done me no harm.”“No, exactly. You don’t understand, but we do,” answered Falkner grimly. “And, now, by the way, where are the said huts?”“Up above there. You go by the way you saw me come in. Through that passage.”Now we saw a narrow passage similar to the one we had entered by. It seemed to lead upward.“Quite sure it’s all there are?” he said.“Yes. There are only a couple of huts there, and I don’t think there’s any way out, that side. Oh—What is that?”The words came out in a sort of shriek. As ill luck would have it she had turned and caught sight of the remains of the other two victims. She covered her face with her hands.“Oh take me out of this horrible place. Now I begin to see,” and she shivered all over.“Be brave now, darling,” I whispered. “We will go at once. I didn’t want you to see that, but—it’s only a way they have of burying their dead,” I added under a swift inspiration that a lie of that sort was highly expedient, and even then I don’t think she more than half believed me.Jan Boom the while, together with Kendrew, had been acting in a thoroughly practical manner, by way of rendering the situation more secure. They had tied the three prisoners together by the leg, in addition to their other bonds, and this was as well, for the pair who had been stunned were showing signs of returning consciousness. Then we held a council of war. It was arranged that Jan Boom was to return with Aïda and myself to my place, thence he was to take one of the horses and ride straight on to Major Sewin’s and return with the police. The while Kendrew and Falkner would remain, and mount guard over the prisoners.“Mind you sing out loud enough when you come back, Jan,” said Falkner meaningly. “Because we are going to blow the head off the very first nigger that happens to poke his nose in upon us through either of those holes, and that without warning too.”The Xosa grinned broadly.“No fear, I’ll sing out, sir,” he said in English. “But you look after Ukozi. Witch doctor damn smart nigga. Plaps he get away.”“If he does he’s welcome to,” rejoined Falkner, poking the muzzle of his pistol against the shaven head of the principal prisoner, who having now recovered consciousness was staring stupidly about him. “Eh, my buck? But we won’t cheat the hangman in your case, no fear.”I was unspeakably glad on Aïda’s account, to find ourselves through the horrid tunnel-like way by which we had entered, and out in the wholesome night air again. She seemed none the worse for her adventures, and was wonderfully plucky. She never could feel anything but safe with me, she declared.The way was much easier now in the clear moonlight than when we had come, under the light of the stars, and as we walked she told me as well as she was able, what had befallen her on the afternoon of her solitary walk. When I chided her for undertaking a solitary walk she answered that she could not imagine harm overtaking her with so powerful a protector as Arlo.“I don’t know why,” she went on, “but I felt a half unconscious inclination to go over that way we came together that evening before you went. Suddenly I discovered that Arlo was no longer with me. I called him but he didn’t come. This was strange, so I turned back, still calling him. Then I saw him lying as if he was dead, and bending over him were two natives. They started up at the sound of my voice, and I recognised Ivondwe and the witch doctor.”“Ivondwe? Ah!” I interrupted, for a new light had now struck me. “Yes. Go on.”“They called to me to come—and I advanced, dreadfully concerned about poor Arlo, and then I don’t know how it was, whether some instinct warned me, or whether it was a look I saw pass between them, but—I acted like an idiot. I turned and ran. You see, I lost my head completely.”For answer I pressed the hand that rested on my arm closer to my side.“Well, and what then?” I said.“As soon as I began to run they came after me. As I say—I had lost my head completely, and hardly knew where I was going. Then, suddenly, I found myself on the brink of the waterhole; in fact I had nearly fallen into it. I turned, and the two were right upon me. ‘Why had I run away?’ they asked. ‘There was surely nothing to be afraid of. Surely I knew them both well enough. My dog was lying there dead and they had been trying to see what they could do for him.’“I was unaccountably frightened, and dreadfully out of breath after the run. I felt half faint. Then just as I began to think I had behaved like a fool something was thrown over my head from behind, something that seemed saturated with some particularly overpowering and nauseous drug. Then I became unconscious, and only recovered when I found myself at the place we have just come from—or rather in a small kraal in a hollow just above it.”“And you have been there all the time. Aïda, you are sure they have not injured you?”“Oh yes. On the contrary they were quite deferential, the witch doctor especially. He told me my presence was necessary for a certain time on account of an important rain-making ceremony he was engaged in. After that I should be taken home again. Well I thought it advisable to make a virtue of necessity, and conciliate them. I even began to enter into the adventure of the thing, and supposed I was going to witness some quaint and rare native superstition. Another thing. The drug that at first overpowered me had left a strange effect—I believe it is a little upon me still. It was a sort of half drowsy apathetic feeling, as if it was too much trouble to think about anything. The women there took care of me, great care; they were Ukozi’s wives they said. Well, this evening he came to me and said the moon was right, and with my help, he had accomplished all he wanted, and it would soon rain abundantly. The time had come to take me home and he would guide me there. Do you know, he can talk English quite well?”“No—by Jove I didn’t. He’s kept it remarkably dark hitherto. Yet he wasn’t talking English when you appeared.”“No he wasn’t. I’ve got to understand them rather well by this time. Well, then you all burst out upon us and here I am.”“Thank God for that!” I said fervently. “There’s another, too, of whom the same holds good, Jan Boom here.”The Xosa, who was walking a little ahead of us, paused at the sound of his name and waited for us.“Nkose,” he said, speaking in the vernacular. “Did you promise to tell me before three moons were dead, whether you were sorry you had kept me in your service or not?”“That I did, Jan Boom, and you know the answer. Nor will you find me forgetful—impela!”“Nkose!” he ejaculated and walked on.“I have yet to get the whole mystery out of him,” I said in a low tone, “but for that I must wait his own time.”There was another “time” for which I meant to wait. Not yet would I reveal to Aïda the horrible fate to which the repulsive superstition of the witch doctor had consigned her. That she would learn in due course. At present I wanted her to recover completely from the effects of her experience.It was close upon dawn when we reached my place, and as I attended to the refreshment and comfort of my love, after her trying and perilous experience, it was as a foretaste of the future. Her people would be here as soon as they could possibly arrive, meanwhile she was under my care. And she needed sleep.Tom, now cut loose from his night’s bonds, but none the worse, came up looking very sulky and foolish, and muttering vengeance against the Xosa, who for his part cared not a straw for such. A judicious present however soon altered that mood, and I believe he would have been quite willing to undergo the same treatment over again on the same terms, and bustled about making himself generally useful with renewed zest.Ah, how fair arose that morning’s dawn. All that I held precious—my whole world as it were—lay peacefully sleeping within that hut, and while I kept guard outside, half fearing lest again that priceless gem should be stolen from its casket, an overwhelming rush of intense thankfulness surged deep through my heart. What had I done—what could I ever do—to deserve such a gift, now valued, if possible, a hundredfold by reason of the awful agony and blank of a temporary loss?Far down in the river-bed lay waves of fleecy mist, and the rising sun gilded the heights with his early splendour. Birds piped and flashed among the dewy bush sprays, and the low of cattle and bark of a dog from a distant kraal floated upward. All was fair and bright and peaceful—and within—my love still slept on, serene, quiet, secure.

There she stood—Aïda, my love. I could see every line of the sweet pale face, turned full towards me in the moonlight, but it wore a half-dazed look as that of one who walks and talks in her sleep. But it bore no sign of fear.

“This is the third night,Inkosikazi, and it is time to restore you to your own people,” Ukozi was saying. “You will tell them that we have not harmed you, but that your presence was necessary for three nights, to render perfect ourmúti.”

She looked as if she but half understood him, and nodded her head. They were but a few paces from us, and where they had emerged from we could not make out. Their backs were toward the horrid remains, and also toward the two crouching figures.

“So now we are ready. Come.”

This was clearly a signal, for the two crouching figures sprang up and forward to seize her. The first went down like a felled bullock, under a judiciously planted whack from Jan Boom’s knobkerrie as we leapt from our concealment. Falkner had grappled with the witch doctor, but Ukozi was a muscular and powerful savage, and it taxed all his younger foeman’s athletic resources to hold him. He writhed and struggled, and the two were rolling over and over on the ground. Then Jan Boom seizing his chance, let out again with his formidable knobkerrie, bringing it down bang in the middle of Ukozi’s skull. He, too, flattened out. The third, held at the point of Kendrew’s pistol, had already surrendered.

“Better tie them up sharp before they come to,” said Falkner. “Here goes for Mr Witch Doctor anyhow.”

All this had happened in a moment. In it I had borne no active part, my first care and attention had been given to Aïda. It was remarkable that she showed but little surprise at the sight of me.

“Is that you, dear? And you have come to take me home? I am rather relieved, for I was beginning to get a little frightened I believe. But—what is it all about? These people have done me no harm.”

“No—thank the Lord and we four,” said Falkner grimly. “Not yet, but we were only in the nick of time. There—you evil beast. You can come to now, as soon as you like.”

This to the fellow whom Jan Boom had first stunned and whom he had just finished tying up in the most masterly manner. The Xosa had effected the same process with the third, under cover of Kendrew’s pistol.

“Don’t look round, Aïda,” I said. “There’s a sight it’ll be as well for you not to see. In fact I’ll take you away as soon as Jan Boom is ready to show us the way out.”

But Jan Boom was apparently not ready. He stood glaring down upon the prostrate and unconscious witch doctor with an expression of vindictive hatred upon his countenance that was positively devilish.

“Not killed,” he muttered in his own tongue. “No—no—not killed. That were too sweet and easy for him.”

“Ha-ha, Jan,” guffawed Falkner. “You were so keen on capturing the brute alive, and now you’ve killed him yourself.”

“He not dead,” answered the Xosa in English. “Zulu nigga’s skull damn hard. He come to directly.”

“Well it wasn’t much of a scrap anyway,” grumbled Falkner. “Are there any more of them?”

“Only two women up there at the huts,” said Aïda. “But I don’t understand. They’ve done me no harm.”

“No, exactly. You don’t understand, but we do,” answered Falkner grimly. “And, now, by the way, where are the said huts?”

“Up above there. You go by the way you saw me come in. Through that passage.”

Now we saw a narrow passage similar to the one we had entered by. It seemed to lead upward.

“Quite sure it’s all there are?” he said.

“Yes. There are only a couple of huts there, and I don’t think there’s any way out, that side. Oh—What is that?”

The words came out in a sort of shriek. As ill luck would have it she had turned and caught sight of the remains of the other two victims. She covered her face with her hands.

“Oh take me out of this horrible place. Now I begin to see,” and she shivered all over.

“Be brave now, darling,” I whispered. “We will go at once. I didn’t want you to see that, but—it’s only a way they have of burying their dead,” I added under a swift inspiration that a lie of that sort was highly expedient, and even then I don’t think she more than half believed me.

Jan Boom the while, together with Kendrew, had been acting in a thoroughly practical manner, by way of rendering the situation more secure. They had tied the three prisoners together by the leg, in addition to their other bonds, and this was as well, for the pair who had been stunned were showing signs of returning consciousness. Then we held a council of war. It was arranged that Jan Boom was to return with Aïda and myself to my place, thence he was to take one of the horses and ride straight on to Major Sewin’s and return with the police. The while Kendrew and Falkner would remain, and mount guard over the prisoners.

“Mind you sing out loud enough when you come back, Jan,” said Falkner meaningly. “Because we are going to blow the head off the very first nigger that happens to poke his nose in upon us through either of those holes, and that without warning too.”

The Xosa grinned broadly.

“No fear, I’ll sing out, sir,” he said in English. “But you look after Ukozi. Witch doctor damn smart nigga. Plaps he get away.”

“If he does he’s welcome to,” rejoined Falkner, poking the muzzle of his pistol against the shaven head of the principal prisoner, who having now recovered consciousness was staring stupidly about him. “Eh, my buck? But we won’t cheat the hangman in your case, no fear.”

I was unspeakably glad on Aïda’s account, to find ourselves through the horrid tunnel-like way by which we had entered, and out in the wholesome night air again. She seemed none the worse for her adventures, and was wonderfully plucky. She never could feel anything but safe with me, she declared.

The way was much easier now in the clear moonlight than when we had come, under the light of the stars, and as we walked she told me as well as she was able, what had befallen her on the afternoon of her solitary walk. When I chided her for undertaking a solitary walk she answered that she could not imagine harm overtaking her with so powerful a protector as Arlo.

“I don’t know why,” she went on, “but I felt a half unconscious inclination to go over that way we came together that evening before you went. Suddenly I discovered that Arlo was no longer with me. I called him but he didn’t come. This was strange, so I turned back, still calling him. Then I saw him lying as if he was dead, and bending over him were two natives. They started up at the sound of my voice, and I recognised Ivondwe and the witch doctor.”

“Ivondwe? Ah!” I interrupted, for a new light had now struck me. “Yes. Go on.”

“They called to me to come—and I advanced, dreadfully concerned about poor Arlo, and then I don’t know how it was, whether some instinct warned me, or whether it was a look I saw pass between them, but—I acted like an idiot. I turned and ran. You see, I lost my head completely.”

For answer I pressed the hand that rested on my arm closer to my side.

“Well, and what then?” I said.

“As soon as I began to run they came after me. As I say—I had lost my head completely, and hardly knew where I was going. Then, suddenly, I found myself on the brink of the waterhole; in fact I had nearly fallen into it. I turned, and the two were right upon me. ‘Why had I run away?’ they asked. ‘There was surely nothing to be afraid of. Surely I knew them both well enough. My dog was lying there dead and they had been trying to see what they could do for him.’

“I was unaccountably frightened, and dreadfully out of breath after the run. I felt half faint. Then just as I began to think I had behaved like a fool something was thrown over my head from behind, something that seemed saturated with some particularly overpowering and nauseous drug. Then I became unconscious, and only recovered when I found myself at the place we have just come from—or rather in a small kraal in a hollow just above it.”

“And you have been there all the time. Aïda, you are sure they have not injured you?”

“Oh yes. On the contrary they were quite deferential, the witch doctor especially. He told me my presence was necessary for a certain time on account of an important rain-making ceremony he was engaged in. After that I should be taken home again. Well I thought it advisable to make a virtue of necessity, and conciliate them. I even began to enter into the adventure of the thing, and supposed I was going to witness some quaint and rare native superstition. Another thing. The drug that at first overpowered me had left a strange effect—I believe it is a little upon me still. It was a sort of half drowsy apathetic feeling, as if it was too much trouble to think about anything. The women there took care of me, great care; they were Ukozi’s wives they said. Well, this evening he came to me and said the moon was right, and with my help, he had accomplished all he wanted, and it would soon rain abundantly. The time had come to take me home and he would guide me there. Do you know, he can talk English quite well?”

“No—by Jove I didn’t. He’s kept it remarkably dark hitherto. Yet he wasn’t talking English when you appeared.”

“No he wasn’t. I’ve got to understand them rather well by this time. Well, then you all burst out upon us and here I am.”

“Thank God for that!” I said fervently. “There’s another, too, of whom the same holds good, Jan Boom here.”

The Xosa, who was walking a little ahead of us, paused at the sound of his name and waited for us.

“Nkose,” he said, speaking in the vernacular. “Did you promise to tell me before three moons were dead, whether you were sorry you had kept me in your service or not?”

“That I did, Jan Boom, and you know the answer. Nor will you find me forgetful—impela!”

“Nkose!” he ejaculated and walked on.

“I have yet to get the whole mystery out of him,” I said in a low tone, “but for that I must wait his own time.”

There was another “time” for which I meant to wait. Not yet would I reveal to Aïda the horrible fate to which the repulsive superstition of the witch doctor had consigned her. That she would learn in due course. At present I wanted her to recover completely from the effects of her experience.

It was close upon dawn when we reached my place, and as I attended to the refreshment and comfort of my love, after her trying and perilous experience, it was as a foretaste of the future. Her people would be here as soon as they could possibly arrive, meanwhile she was under my care. And she needed sleep.

Tom, now cut loose from his night’s bonds, but none the worse, came up looking very sulky and foolish, and muttering vengeance against the Xosa, who for his part cared not a straw for such. A judicious present however soon altered that mood, and I believe he would have been quite willing to undergo the same treatment over again on the same terms, and bustled about making himself generally useful with renewed zest.

Ah, how fair arose that morning’s dawn. All that I held precious—my whole world as it were—lay peacefully sleeping within that hut, and while I kept guard outside, half fearing lest again that priceless gem should be stolen from its casket, an overwhelming rush of intense thankfulness surged deep through my heart. What had I done—what could I ever do—to deserve such a gift, now valued, if possible, a hundredfold by reason of the awful agony and blank of a temporary loss?

Far down in the river-bed lay waves of fleecy mist, and the rising sun gilded the heights with his early splendour. Birds piped and flashed among the dewy bush sprays, and the low of cattle and bark of a dog from a distant kraal floated upward. All was fair and bright and peaceful—and within—my love still slept on, serene, quiet, secure.

Chapter Thirty One.The Brotherhood of the Dew.Aïda looked none the worse for her adventures as she came forth into the clear freshness of the morning. The lethargic effect of the drug seemed to have left her entirely, and she was quite her old self, bright, sunny, fascinating as ever. But scarcely had we begun to talk than we saw three persons approaching on horseback.“They haven’t lost much time coming for you,” I said, as I made out the rest of the family. “And I wanted you all to myself a little longer.”“You mustn’t say that, dear,” she answered, with a return pressure from the hand I was holding. “They are perhaps just a little bit fond of me too.”“Hallo, Glanton,” sung out the Major, breathless with excitement, as he rode up. “What the dickens is this cock and bull yarn your fellow has been spinning us. I can’t make head or tail of it and I didn’t stop to try. Anyhow, there’s my little girl again all safe and sound. She is safe and sound? Eh?”“Absolutely, father,” answered Aïda, for herself. And then there was a good deal of bugging and kissing all round, and some crying; by the way, it seems that the women, dear creatures, can’t be brought to consider any ceremony complete unless they turn on the hose; for they turn it on when they’re happy, just as readily as when they’re not. For instance—there we were, all jolly together again—what the deuce was there to cry about? Yet cry they did.I had breakfast set out in the open on the shady side of the store, with the broad view of the Zulu country lying beneath in the distance, and they declared it reminded them of that memorable time when thecontre tempsas to Tyingoza’s head-ring had befallen. And then when Aïda had given her adventures once more in detail, through sheer reaction we were all intensely happy after the dreadful suspense and gloom of the last three days. At length it was I who proposed we should make a move down, for it would be as well to be on hand when the others returned with the police and the prisoners.“By Jove, Glanton, but you were right when you advised me to have nothing to do with that rascally witch doctor,” said the Major, as we rode along. “One consolation. I suppose he’s bound to be hung. Eh?”“That depends on how we work the case,” I said. “And it’ll take a great deal of working.”Hardly had we returned than the others arrived, bringing the three prisoners, and two more in the shape of the women of whom Aïda had told us. These however were kept entirely separate from Ukozi and his companions. No conversation between them was allowed.Ukozi was sullen and impassive, but the younger prisoners glared around with a savage scowl which deepened as it rested on Falkner. He for response only grinned.“All right my bucks,” he said. “There’s a rope and a long drop sticking out for you. By George, but this has been a ripping bit of fun for one night.”“That’s all right,” I said rather shortly. “But you might remember that the reason for it hasn’t been fun by any means.”“No, not for you, that’s understood,” he sneered, turning away, for he was still more than a little sore over my success.“Glanton, I’ve something devilish rum to tell you.”The speaker was Kendrew. “Come out of the crowd,” he went on. “Yes, it just is rum, and it gave me a turn, I can tell you. First of all, that nest of murderers we tumbled into, is bang on the edge of—if not within—my own place. Yes, it is my own place now—beyond a shadow of doubt. For we’ve unearthed something there.”“You don’t mean—” I began, beginning to get an inkling.He nodded.“Yes, I do. The furthest of those two poor devils stuck up there against the rock—ugh!—was poor old Hensley—my old uncle.”“Good lord!”“Yes indeed. I was able to identify him by several things—ugh, but it wasn’t a nice job, you understand. But the mystery is not how he couldn’t be found at the time, but how the deuce such a neat little devil hole could exist on the place at all, unknown to any of us. Why, you can’t get in—or out of it—at all from the top, only through the hole we slipped in by. It’s like a false bottom to a box by Jove. Yes—it’s rum how such a place could exist.”I thought so too. So now poor old Hensley’s disappearance stood explained; and the explanation was pitiable. He had been beguiled—or forcibly brought—to the hell pit of cruelty where these demons performed the dark rites of some secret superstition, and there horribly done to death by the water torture. When I thought of the one who had been destined to succeed him, and who by the mercy of Providence had been snatched from their fiendish hands just in the nick of time, a sort of “seeing red” feeling came over me, and had they been in my power, I could have massacred all four of the prisoners with my own hand.“Let’s see if we can get anything out of them, Kendrew,” I said. “Manvers won’t mind.”But Inspector Manvers did mind—at first. Then he agreed. They would be started off for the Police Camp that night; however, as they were here we could talk to them.We might just as well have saved ourselves the trouble. Ivondwe, who had been kept apart from the others, smiled sweetly and wondered what all the bother was about. He could not imagine why he had been seized and tied up. However that would soon come right. Government was his father, but it had made a mistake. However he, as its child, could not complain even if his father had made a mistake. It would all come right.The witch doctor simply refused to speak at all, but the young men jeered. One of these I seemed to recognise.“Surely I have seen thee before?” I said. “Where?”“Kwa ’Sipanga?”“I remember. Atyisayo is thy name. ‘Hot water.’ And I warned thee not to get into any more hot water—as the whites say.”He laughed at this—but evilly, and no further word could I get out of either of them.But if they would reveal nothing there was another who would, and that was Jan Boom. Him I had refrained from questioning until we should be all quiet again.The police, with the exception of three men, who had been detailed to remain on the spot and keep their eyes and ears open, started off that same evening with their prisoners. Later, Jan Boom came to the house and gave me to understand he had something to tell me. The family had just gone to bed, and Kendrew and I were sitting out on the stoep smoking a last pipe.“Nkose, the time has now come,” he said, “to tell you what will sound strange to your ears. I would not tell it before, no, not till theAmapolisehad gone. TheAmapoliseare too fond of asking many questions—foolish questions—asking them, too, as if they thought you were trying to throw sand in their eyes when all the time you are trying to help them. Now is that encouraging to one who would help them?”I readily admitted that it was not.“So now,Nkose, if you will come forth with me where we shall not be heard—yes, the nephew of Nyamaki may come, too—for my tale is not for all ears, you shall hear it.”We needed no second invitation. As we followed him I could not but call to mind, in deep and thankful contrast, his revelation of two nights ago—made in the same way and on the same spot.“You will have heard,Amakosi,” he began, “of the tribe called Amazolo, or the People of the Dew, which flourished in Natal before Tshaka’s impis drove the tribes of that land into the mountains or the sea.“It was out of this tribe that the principal rainmakers came. So sure and successful were they in making rain that they were always in request. Even Tshaka, the Great, came to hear of them, and was never without some of them at his Great Place, Dukuza, but as to these, well—he was ever sending for a fresh supply. But he, that Elephant, and Dingane after him, protected the Amazolo, so that they became looked up to and respected among all peoples.“Now Luluzela, the chief of that tribe, was jealous of the first rain-making doctor, Kukuleyo, for it had come to this—that Luluzela was chief of the Amazolo but Kukuleyo was chief of him. So Luluzela waited patiently and watched his chances, for he dare not strike the rain doctor openly because Dingane favoured him, and had anything happened to him would soon have demanded to know the reason why. One day accordingly, knowing some of the mysteries himself, he ordered Kukuleyo to bring rain. The cattle were dying for want of water, and the crops were parched. The people would soon be dying too. But Kukuleyo answered that the moment was not propitious; that anything he did then would anger theizitutainstead of propitiating them, and that when the time was right a sacrifice must be offered; not of cattle but of something quite beyond the ordinary. The chief jeered at this, but said the rain doctors might offer any sacrifice they chose.”“‘Any sacrifice they chose?’” echoed Kukuleyo with emphasis.“Yes. Any sacrifice they chose,” repeated the chief, angry and sneering. But if rain did not come within a certain time why then Kukuleyo and all those who helped him should suffer the fate which had always been that of impostors.“Soon after this, clouds began to gather in the heavens, and to spread and fly like vultures when they scent death afar. In a roaring thunder-rush they broke, and the land, all parched and cracked and gaping, ran off the water in floods. There was rejoicing, and yet not, for it had all come too quickly and violently, washing away and drowning the cattle which it should have restored to life, and covering the cornlands with thick layers of unfruitful sand. The people murmured against Kukuleyo and his rainmakers, the chief waxed fierce, and threatened. But his answer was firm and quiet. ‘Lo, I have brought you rain.’“Still, good followed, for when the worst had passed the worst, and the water was run off, the land was green again, and all things grew and thrived and fattened. But—then followed consternation on other grounds. The chief’s son, Bacaza, had disappeared.“He had disappeared, suddenly and in mystery. No trace was left. He might have gone into empty air. At first Luluzela was angry, then alarmed. He sent for Kukuleyo.“But the rain doctor’s face was like rock. What had he to do with the disappearance of people? he said. He was a rainmaker. He was not trained in unfolding mysteries. The chief of the Amazolo had better send for anisanusiif he wanted this one unfolded.“And then,Amakosi, a discovery was made. Bacaza, the son of the chief was found—what was left of him that is. He was spread out beneath the falling water above a lonely pool, and was so arranged that the constant flow of water falling upon the back of his head and neck, slowly wore him to death. But it took days of awful agony such as no words could tell.”“How do you know that, Jan Boom?” I said, moved to an uneasiness of horror by the vivid way in which the Xosa was telling his story, for his eyes rolled and he passed his hand quickly over his face to wipe off the beads of perspiration. Clearly the recollection was a real and a terrible one to him.“I know it, because I have been through it,” he answered. “For a whole night, and part of a day I have been through it.Hau! it is not a thing to look back to,Amakosi. But let me tell my tale. When Luluzela heard what had been done he sent for Kukuleyo, intending to put him and his rainmakers to a slow and lingering death by fire. But Kukuleyo was no fool. He appeared armed, and with a great force at his back, so that that plan could not be carried out. For some time they looked at each other like two bulls across a kraal fence, then Kukuleyo said:—“‘Did not the chief of the Amazolo bid us offer any sacrifice we pleased, in order to obtain the desired rain?’“‘Eh-hé, any sacrifice we pleased,’ echoed his followers, clamorously.“‘Why then, have I not taken the chief at his word?’ went on Kukuleyo, defiantly. ‘Nothing less than his son would satisfy theizituta, and his son have we offered. And—has it not rained? Ah! Ah! “Any sacrifice we pleased,” was the word,’ he went on mockingly. ‘The word of the chief.’“But Luluzela did not wait to hear more. With a roar of rage, he and those that were with him, hurled themselves upon the rainmakers. But these had come prepared, and had a goodly following too, all armed, many who were dissatisfied with Luluzela’s rule—where is there a chief without some dissatisfied adherents?—and who had benefited by the rain. Then there was a great fight, and in it the chief was slain, but Kukuleyo came out without a scratch. This led to other fighting, and the tribe was broken up, some wandering one way, some another. But ever since then the Amazolo have been in request. The scattered remnants thus drifted, but whenever a severe drought occurred some of them were sure to be found. With them they took the tradition of the sacrifice of Luluzela’s son.”“But,” I said. “Do they sacrifice someone every time rain is wanted?”“Not every time,Nkose. Still it is done, and that to a greater extent than you white people have any idea of. And it would have continued to be done if Ukozi had not conceived the idea of turning to white people for his victims. Hence the disappearance of Nyamaki. This time it was intended to seize Umsindo, but he is a great fighting bull, and would not only have injured others, but would most certainly have got injured himself; and it is essential that the victim who is put throughukuconsaas it is called, shall be entirely uninjured. So they chose theInkosikaziinstead.”“But, Jan Boom,” put in Kendrew. “How on earth did they manage, in the case of my uncle, to spirit him away as they did—and leave no trace?”“That I cannot tell you,Nkose. You must get that from Ukozi, if he will tell.”“Here is another thing,” I said. “Even if Ukozi belongs to this tribe, Atyisayo and Ivondwe do not. They are of Tyingoza’s people.”“That is true,Nkose. But the thing is no longer confined to the Amazolo. It has become a close and secret brotherhood, and all may belong. They are calledAbangan ’ema zolweni, the Comrades—or Brotherhood—of the Dew. And—it is everywhere. You remember what we found in Majendwa’s country? Well that was a victim ofukuconsaand it surprised me, because I had not thought the custom had found its way into Zululand.”“And what of the pool here, and the big serpent, and Ukozi feeding it with the kid?” I asked, for I had already told him about this.“The snake embodies the Water Spirit,” he said. “It is customary to feed such with offerings.”“Was there then a snake in the other pool which we found?” I asked, feeling a creepy, shuddering horror run through me at the thought of the indescribably ghastly fate which had hung over my darling and from which we had only just been in time to save her, thanks to the shrewd promptitude of this staunch fellow, whom I had begun by disliking and mistrusting.“That I cannot say,Nkose. But I think not. The water torture goes on for days, and the victim is left just as he is until he falls off or room is made for a fresh one, as we saw them so make it there.”“But you. How was it you were doomed to it, and how did you escape?” asked Kendrew.“That is a long story, and it will I tell another time. I was living in Pondoland then, not far on the other side of the Umtavuna. Ukozi did that, but now I shall have revenge. Tell me,Amakosi, will not your people have him lashed before they hang him? If so I should like to see that.”It was little wonder that this savage should give way to the intensity of his vindictive feeling. We white men both felt that mere hanging was too good for these fiends. But we were obliged to assure him that such was very unlikely.“When we returned from the Zulu country,” he went on, “I began to put things together. I remembered what we had found up there, and what with Ukozi being in these parts and the sudden disappearance of Nyamaki, a little while before, I felt sure that the Brotherhood of the Dew was at work. I asked you to keep me with you,Nkose, because I saw my way now, by striking at it, to revenge myself upon Ukozi for the torture he had made me undergo.Whau! and it is torture! That of the fire cannot be worse. I knew that the Brotherhood would be strong, because among the people here there are so many names that have to do with water—from Tyingoza and his son downwards—”I started. Yes, it was even as he said. There were many names of just that description. But Tyingoza! Could that open-mannered, straightforward chief for whom I had always entertained the highest regard, really be one of that black, devilish murder society!“Moreover,” he went on, “I knew whence they would draw their next victim. I, too, have eyes and ears,Nkose, as well as yourself,” he said, with a whimsical laugh, “and I used them. TheAbangan ’ema zolweniwere strong in numbers, but otherwise weak. Their brethren were too young and—they talked—ah—ah—they talked. Hence I was able to follow Atyisayo to where I guided you. The rest was easy.”“Well, Jan Boom,” I said seeing he had finished his story. “You will find you have done the very best day’s work for yourself as well as for others that you ever did in your life.”“Nkoseis my father,” he answered with a smile. “I am in his hands.”Neither Kendrew nor I said much as we returned to the house. This hideous tale of a deep and secret superstition, with its murderous results, existent right in our midst, was too strange, too startling, and yet, every word of it bore infinite evidence of truth. Well, it proved what I have more than once stated, that no white man ever gets to the bottom of a native’s innermost ways, however much he may think he does.

Aïda looked none the worse for her adventures as she came forth into the clear freshness of the morning. The lethargic effect of the drug seemed to have left her entirely, and she was quite her old self, bright, sunny, fascinating as ever. But scarcely had we begun to talk than we saw three persons approaching on horseback.

“They haven’t lost much time coming for you,” I said, as I made out the rest of the family. “And I wanted you all to myself a little longer.”

“You mustn’t say that, dear,” she answered, with a return pressure from the hand I was holding. “They are perhaps just a little bit fond of me too.”

“Hallo, Glanton,” sung out the Major, breathless with excitement, as he rode up. “What the dickens is this cock and bull yarn your fellow has been spinning us. I can’t make head or tail of it and I didn’t stop to try. Anyhow, there’s my little girl again all safe and sound. She is safe and sound? Eh?”

“Absolutely, father,” answered Aïda, for herself. And then there was a good deal of bugging and kissing all round, and some crying; by the way, it seems that the women, dear creatures, can’t be brought to consider any ceremony complete unless they turn on the hose; for they turn it on when they’re happy, just as readily as when they’re not. For instance—there we were, all jolly together again—what the deuce was there to cry about? Yet cry they did.

I had breakfast set out in the open on the shady side of the store, with the broad view of the Zulu country lying beneath in the distance, and they declared it reminded them of that memorable time when thecontre tempsas to Tyingoza’s head-ring had befallen. And then when Aïda had given her adventures once more in detail, through sheer reaction we were all intensely happy after the dreadful suspense and gloom of the last three days. At length it was I who proposed we should make a move down, for it would be as well to be on hand when the others returned with the police and the prisoners.

“By Jove, Glanton, but you were right when you advised me to have nothing to do with that rascally witch doctor,” said the Major, as we rode along. “One consolation. I suppose he’s bound to be hung. Eh?”

“That depends on how we work the case,” I said. “And it’ll take a great deal of working.”

Hardly had we returned than the others arrived, bringing the three prisoners, and two more in the shape of the women of whom Aïda had told us. These however were kept entirely separate from Ukozi and his companions. No conversation between them was allowed.

Ukozi was sullen and impassive, but the younger prisoners glared around with a savage scowl which deepened as it rested on Falkner. He for response only grinned.

“All right my bucks,” he said. “There’s a rope and a long drop sticking out for you. By George, but this has been a ripping bit of fun for one night.”

“That’s all right,” I said rather shortly. “But you might remember that the reason for it hasn’t been fun by any means.”

“No, not for you, that’s understood,” he sneered, turning away, for he was still more than a little sore over my success.

“Glanton, I’ve something devilish rum to tell you.”

The speaker was Kendrew. “Come out of the crowd,” he went on. “Yes, it just is rum, and it gave me a turn, I can tell you. First of all, that nest of murderers we tumbled into, is bang on the edge of—if not within—my own place. Yes, it is my own place now—beyond a shadow of doubt. For we’ve unearthed something there.”

“You don’t mean—” I began, beginning to get an inkling.

He nodded.

“Yes, I do. The furthest of those two poor devils stuck up there against the rock—ugh!—was poor old Hensley—my old uncle.”

“Good lord!”

“Yes indeed. I was able to identify him by several things—ugh, but it wasn’t a nice job, you understand. But the mystery is not how he couldn’t be found at the time, but how the deuce such a neat little devil hole could exist on the place at all, unknown to any of us. Why, you can’t get in—or out of it—at all from the top, only through the hole we slipped in by. It’s like a false bottom to a box by Jove. Yes—it’s rum how such a place could exist.”

I thought so too. So now poor old Hensley’s disappearance stood explained; and the explanation was pitiable. He had been beguiled—or forcibly brought—to the hell pit of cruelty where these demons performed the dark rites of some secret superstition, and there horribly done to death by the water torture. When I thought of the one who had been destined to succeed him, and who by the mercy of Providence had been snatched from their fiendish hands just in the nick of time, a sort of “seeing red” feeling came over me, and had they been in my power, I could have massacred all four of the prisoners with my own hand.

“Let’s see if we can get anything out of them, Kendrew,” I said. “Manvers won’t mind.”

But Inspector Manvers did mind—at first. Then he agreed. They would be started off for the Police Camp that night; however, as they were here we could talk to them.

We might just as well have saved ourselves the trouble. Ivondwe, who had been kept apart from the others, smiled sweetly and wondered what all the bother was about. He could not imagine why he had been seized and tied up. However that would soon come right. Government was his father, but it had made a mistake. However he, as its child, could not complain even if his father had made a mistake. It would all come right.

The witch doctor simply refused to speak at all, but the young men jeered. One of these I seemed to recognise.

“Surely I have seen thee before?” I said. “Where?”

“Kwa ’Sipanga?”

“I remember. Atyisayo is thy name. ‘Hot water.’ And I warned thee not to get into any more hot water—as the whites say.”

He laughed at this—but evilly, and no further word could I get out of either of them.

But if they would reveal nothing there was another who would, and that was Jan Boom. Him I had refrained from questioning until we should be all quiet again.

The police, with the exception of three men, who had been detailed to remain on the spot and keep their eyes and ears open, started off that same evening with their prisoners. Later, Jan Boom came to the house and gave me to understand he had something to tell me. The family had just gone to bed, and Kendrew and I were sitting out on the stoep smoking a last pipe.

“Nkose, the time has now come,” he said, “to tell you what will sound strange to your ears. I would not tell it before, no, not till theAmapolisehad gone. TheAmapoliseare too fond of asking many questions—foolish questions—asking them, too, as if they thought you were trying to throw sand in their eyes when all the time you are trying to help them. Now is that encouraging to one who would help them?”

I readily admitted that it was not.

“So now,Nkose, if you will come forth with me where we shall not be heard—yes, the nephew of Nyamaki may come, too—for my tale is not for all ears, you shall hear it.”

We needed no second invitation. As we followed him I could not but call to mind, in deep and thankful contrast, his revelation of two nights ago—made in the same way and on the same spot.

“You will have heard,Amakosi,” he began, “of the tribe called Amazolo, or the People of the Dew, which flourished in Natal before Tshaka’s impis drove the tribes of that land into the mountains or the sea.

“It was out of this tribe that the principal rainmakers came. So sure and successful were they in making rain that they were always in request. Even Tshaka, the Great, came to hear of them, and was never without some of them at his Great Place, Dukuza, but as to these, well—he was ever sending for a fresh supply. But he, that Elephant, and Dingane after him, protected the Amazolo, so that they became looked up to and respected among all peoples.

“Now Luluzela, the chief of that tribe, was jealous of the first rain-making doctor, Kukuleyo, for it had come to this—that Luluzela was chief of the Amazolo but Kukuleyo was chief of him. So Luluzela waited patiently and watched his chances, for he dare not strike the rain doctor openly because Dingane favoured him, and had anything happened to him would soon have demanded to know the reason why. One day accordingly, knowing some of the mysteries himself, he ordered Kukuleyo to bring rain. The cattle were dying for want of water, and the crops were parched. The people would soon be dying too. But Kukuleyo answered that the moment was not propitious; that anything he did then would anger theizitutainstead of propitiating them, and that when the time was right a sacrifice must be offered; not of cattle but of something quite beyond the ordinary. The chief jeered at this, but said the rain doctors might offer any sacrifice they chose.”

“‘Any sacrifice they chose?’” echoed Kukuleyo with emphasis.

“Yes. Any sacrifice they chose,” repeated the chief, angry and sneering. But if rain did not come within a certain time why then Kukuleyo and all those who helped him should suffer the fate which had always been that of impostors.

“Soon after this, clouds began to gather in the heavens, and to spread and fly like vultures when they scent death afar. In a roaring thunder-rush they broke, and the land, all parched and cracked and gaping, ran off the water in floods. There was rejoicing, and yet not, for it had all come too quickly and violently, washing away and drowning the cattle which it should have restored to life, and covering the cornlands with thick layers of unfruitful sand. The people murmured against Kukuleyo and his rainmakers, the chief waxed fierce, and threatened. But his answer was firm and quiet. ‘Lo, I have brought you rain.’

“Still, good followed, for when the worst had passed the worst, and the water was run off, the land was green again, and all things grew and thrived and fattened. But—then followed consternation on other grounds. The chief’s son, Bacaza, had disappeared.

“He had disappeared, suddenly and in mystery. No trace was left. He might have gone into empty air. At first Luluzela was angry, then alarmed. He sent for Kukuleyo.

“But the rain doctor’s face was like rock. What had he to do with the disappearance of people? he said. He was a rainmaker. He was not trained in unfolding mysteries. The chief of the Amazolo had better send for anisanusiif he wanted this one unfolded.

“And then,Amakosi, a discovery was made. Bacaza, the son of the chief was found—what was left of him that is. He was spread out beneath the falling water above a lonely pool, and was so arranged that the constant flow of water falling upon the back of his head and neck, slowly wore him to death. But it took days of awful agony such as no words could tell.”

“How do you know that, Jan Boom?” I said, moved to an uneasiness of horror by the vivid way in which the Xosa was telling his story, for his eyes rolled and he passed his hand quickly over his face to wipe off the beads of perspiration. Clearly the recollection was a real and a terrible one to him.

“I know it, because I have been through it,” he answered. “For a whole night, and part of a day I have been through it.Hau! it is not a thing to look back to,Amakosi. But let me tell my tale. When Luluzela heard what had been done he sent for Kukuleyo, intending to put him and his rainmakers to a slow and lingering death by fire. But Kukuleyo was no fool. He appeared armed, and with a great force at his back, so that that plan could not be carried out. For some time they looked at each other like two bulls across a kraal fence, then Kukuleyo said:—

“‘Did not the chief of the Amazolo bid us offer any sacrifice we pleased, in order to obtain the desired rain?’

“‘Eh-hé, any sacrifice we pleased,’ echoed his followers, clamorously.

“‘Why then, have I not taken the chief at his word?’ went on Kukuleyo, defiantly. ‘Nothing less than his son would satisfy theizituta, and his son have we offered. And—has it not rained? Ah! Ah! “Any sacrifice we pleased,” was the word,’ he went on mockingly. ‘The word of the chief.’

“But Luluzela did not wait to hear more. With a roar of rage, he and those that were with him, hurled themselves upon the rainmakers. But these had come prepared, and had a goodly following too, all armed, many who were dissatisfied with Luluzela’s rule—where is there a chief without some dissatisfied adherents?—and who had benefited by the rain. Then there was a great fight, and in it the chief was slain, but Kukuleyo came out without a scratch. This led to other fighting, and the tribe was broken up, some wandering one way, some another. But ever since then the Amazolo have been in request. The scattered remnants thus drifted, but whenever a severe drought occurred some of them were sure to be found. With them they took the tradition of the sacrifice of Luluzela’s son.”

“But,” I said. “Do they sacrifice someone every time rain is wanted?”

“Not every time,Nkose. Still it is done, and that to a greater extent than you white people have any idea of. And it would have continued to be done if Ukozi had not conceived the idea of turning to white people for his victims. Hence the disappearance of Nyamaki. This time it was intended to seize Umsindo, but he is a great fighting bull, and would not only have injured others, but would most certainly have got injured himself; and it is essential that the victim who is put throughukuconsaas it is called, shall be entirely uninjured. So they chose theInkosikaziinstead.”

“But, Jan Boom,” put in Kendrew. “How on earth did they manage, in the case of my uncle, to spirit him away as they did—and leave no trace?”

“That I cannot tell you,Nkose. You must get that from Ukozi, if he will tell.”

“Here is another thing,” I said. “Even if Ukozi belongs to this tribe, Atyisayo and Ivondwe do not. They are of Tyingoza’s people.”

“That is true,Nkose. But the thing is no longer confined to the Amazolo. It has become a close and secret brotherhood, and all may belong. They are calledAbangan ’ema zolweni, the Comrades—or Brotherhood—of the Dew. And—it is everywhere. You remember what we found in Majendwa’s country? Well that was a victim ofukuconsaand it surprised me, because I had not thought the custom had found its way into Zululand.”

“And what of the pool here, and the big serpent, and Ukozi feeding it with the kid?” I asked, for I had already told him about this.

“The snake embodies the Water Spirit,” he said. “It is customary to feed such with offerings.”

“Was there then a snake in the other pool which we found?” I asked, feeling a creepy, shuddering horror run through me at the thought of the indescribably ghastly fate which had hung over my darling and from which we had only just been in time to save her, thanks to the shrewd promptitude of this staunch fellow, whom I had begun by disliking and mistrusting.

“That I cannot say,Nkose. But I think not. The water torture goes on for days, and the victim is left just as he is until he falls off or room is made for a fresh one, as we saw them so make it there.”

“But you. How was it you were doomed to it, and how did you escape?” asked Kendrew.

“That is a long story, and it will I tell another time. I was living in Pondoland then, not far on the other side of the Umtavuna. Ukozi did that, but now I shall have revenge. Tell me,Amakosi, will not your people have him lashed before they hang him? If so I should like to see that.”

It was little wonder that this savage should give way to the intensity of his vindictive feeling. We white men both felt that mere hanging was too good for these fiends. But we were obliged to assure him that such was very unlikely.

“When we returned from the Zulu country,” he went on, “I began to put things together. I remembered what we had found up there, and what with Ukozi being in these parts and the sudden disappearance of Nyamaki, a little while before, I felt sure that the Brotherhood of the Dew was at work. I asked you to keep me with you,Nkose, because I saw my way now, by striking at it, to revenge myself upon Ukozi for the torture he had made me undergo.Whau! and it is torture! That of the fire cannot be worse. I knew that the Brotherhood would be strong, because among the people here there are so many names that have to do with water—from Tyingoza and his son downwards—”

I started. Yes, it was even as he said. There were many names of just that description. But Tyingoza! Could that open-mannered, straightforward chief for whom I had always entertained the highest regard, really be one of that black, devilish murder society!

“Moreover,” he went on, “I knew whence they would draw their next victim. I, too, have eyes and ears,Nkose, as well as yourself,” he said, with a whimsical laugh, “and I used them. TheAbangan ’ema zolweniwere strong in numbers, but otherwise weak. Their brethren were too young and—they talked—ah—ah—they talked. Hence I was able to follow Atyisayo to where I guided you. The rest was easy.”

“Well, Jan Boom,” I said seeing he had finished his story. “You will find you have done the very best day’s work for yourself as well as for others that you ever did in your life.”

“Nkoseis my father,” he answered with a smile. “I am in his hands.”

Neither Kendrew nor I said much as we returned to the house. This hideous tale of a deep and secret superstition, with its murderous results, existent right in our midst, was too strange, too startling, and yet, every word of it bore infinite evidence of truth. Well, it proved what I have more than once stated, that no white man ever gets to the bottom of a native’s innermost ways, however much he may think he does.

Chapter Thirty Two.The Last Penalty.Inspector Manvers was a shrewd as well as a smart officer, and it was not long before he had obtained from the two frightened women who had been made prisoners, sufficient information to warrant him in making several additional arrests. These, which were effected cleverly and quietly, included no less a personage than Ivuzamanzi, the son of Tyingoza. This would have astonished me, I own, but for Jan Boom’s narrative; besides after the defection of Ivondwe I was prepared to be astonished at nothing.An exhaustive search was made of the gruesome den of death, and in the result the identity of poor Hensley was established beyond a doubt, as his nephew had said. The police spared no pains. They dragged the bottom of the waterhole with grappling hooks, and brought up a quantity of human bones, and old tatters of rotted clothing. It was obvious that quite a number of persons had been done to death here.“TheAbangan ’ema zolweniwere strong in numbers but otherwise weak. Their brethren were too young, and—they talked.” Such had been Jan Boom’s dictum, and now events combined to bear it out. Two of the younger prisoners, fearing for their lives, confessed. This example was followed by others, and soon ample evidence was available to draw the web tight round the witch doctor, Ivondwe, Ivuzamanzi and Atyisayo, as prime movers in the whole diabolical cult. And then, that there could be no further room for doubt, Ukozi himself confessed.I own that I was somewhat astonished at this. But since his incarceration the witch doctor’s spirit seemed completely to fail him, which was strange; for a native, especially one of his age and standing, does not, as a rule, fear death. But fear, abject and unmistakable, had now taken hold of this one. He trembled and muttered, and at times it seemed as if his mind would give way. Then he declared his willingness to make a statement. Perhaps his life would be spared.But he was given to understand he need entertain no hopes of that kind if he should be convicted at the trial. Even then he persisted. He wanted to throw off the load, he said, for it lay heavy on his heart.His statement was consistent with that of all the others, moreover it tallied with all that Jan Boom had told me. The part of it that was peculiar was the manner in which they had been able to remove their victims so as to leave no trace. This had been done by means of muffled shoes. The drug administered had the effect of putting them into a kind of trance. They had all their faculties about them, save only that of volition, but afterwards they would remember nothing. Nyamaki had been easily removed because he lived alone. He, like Major Sewin, the witch doctor had gradually imbued with a taste for the occult. After that all was easy. It had at first been intended to entrap the Major, then his nephew, but for the reasons that Jan Boom had already given me, this plan was abandoned. Then it was decided to seize his eldest daughter. Such a sacrifice as that could not fail to move the Spirit of the Dew, and to bring abundant rain.No, she had in no way been injured. To have injured her would have been to have rendered the whole rite invalid. As for Ivondwe, he had gone to the Major’s with the object of forwarding the plan when it was ripe. He was almost as great among the Brethren of the Dew as Ukozi himself. Ivuzamanzi? Yes, he, too, was among the foremost of them. Tyingoza belonged to the Brotherhood, but he had been enrolled unwillingly, and had never taken part in any of their deeper mysteries: nor indeed, did they come within his knowledge.Thus ran Ukozi’s confession. When it was read out at the trial it created a profound sensation, as, indeed, did the whole case in the columns of the Colonial Press, which clamoured for a signal example to be made of the offenders. And the Court by which they were tried was of the same opinion.When those who had turned Queen’s evidence had been sifted out—of course with the exception of Ukozi—there was still a round dozen for trial. The Court-house at Grey Town was crammed. Natives especially, had mustered in crowds, but so far from there being any turbulence, or tendency to rescue, these were, if anything, considerably awed by the very circumstances of the case itself. Most of them indeed had never heard of theAbangan ’ema zolweni, and a new and stimulating matter of discussion was thus supplied to them.The confession of Ukozi, and of the others of course went far to simplify the trial. Still, the fairness and impartiality for which British jurisprudence is famous, was fully extended to the accused. I personally can bear witness to a good hour in the box, most of which was spent in cross-examination for the defence. The same held good of Kendrew and Falkner, the latter of whom by the way, drew down upon himself some very nasty remarks from the Bench, by reason of having stated in answer to a question as to whether he had not expressed a wish to see these men hanged—that he would cheerfully see every nigger in Natal hanged if he had his way, and they had their deserts. But he didn’t care. As he confided to me afterwards, what did it matter what an old fool in a gown said when he knew he couldn’t have his head punched for saying it.Aïda, too, was called upon to go through the ordeal, and of course she did it well. In fact a murmur of appreciation ran through the native section of the audience when she emphatically agreed with the defending counsel’s suggestion, in cross-examination, that she had not been ill-treated in any way. There was, too, a great cloud of native witnesses. Jan Boom, in particular, had a long and trying time of it, but the Xosa was a man of parts, and a good bit of a lawyer himself in his way. There was no shaking his evidence on any one single point. Thus, as I have said, in spite of his confession, Ukozi and his fellow accused were given every chance.The indictment, so far, was confined to the murder of Hensley. Had it broken down—which of course was inconceivable—the prisoners would have been re-indicted for the murder of the native victims, of two, at any rate, whose identity could have been easily established. Failing necessity, for the sake of their relatives, in view of possible danger involved to these, it was not deemed expedient to include them in the formal ground of indictment. The verdict of course, could only be “Guilty.” The four—viz. Ukozi, Ivuzamanzi, Ivondwe and Atyisayo—were brought in as principals—the others as accessories—some before, some after the fact.Never shall I forget the scene in court, as they were asked whether they had anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon them. It was just sundown, and an angry storm had been raging outside for fully an hour. Growling, cracking peals of thunder had interrupted the judge’s summing up, and now, during a lull, the glare of a wet sunset came in through the windows, and a few heavy drops of rain still fell like stones on the corrugated iron roof during the tense silence. They stood in the dock those twelve dark figures, some leaning eagerly forward over the rail, their eyeballs protruding in the climax of the moment’s excitement, others impassive and statuesque. Amid the public was a subdued, hush. The native public especially seemed turned to stone.In answer to the appeal the bulk of the prisoners shook their heads. They had nothing to say, they declared, and then subsided into stolid silence. But when it came to the turn of Ivondwe, he harangued the Court at some length. The white man, he said, professed to be the protector and tolerator of all religions. Now this, for which they stood there, was part of the black man’s religion—or at any rate a section of it. Why then, was not that tolerated too? Ivuzamanzi, when it came to his turn, answered with heat, that he was the son of a chief—that he was a Zulu of the tribe of Umtetwa; that he cared nothing for a set of preaching whites and their stupid laws; that he only wished he had crossed the river long ago, and gone tokonzato Cetywayo. There he would have been in a warrior land where the head-ring of his father and chief could not have been insulted with impunity by a swaggeringigcwanelike the one who sat yonder—pointing to Falkner—who, however, perhaps fortunately, didn’t understand what was being said until the interpreter had rendered it, and then it was too late to kick up a row. Then he might have joined one day in driving the whites into the sea, where sooner or later they would all be driven. He was the son of a chief and could die like one. He was not going to lie down and howl for mercy like a miserable cheat of anisanusi.This with a savage glare at Ukozi.The latter said not much. He had confessed. He had done what he could to put right what had been done. His life was in the hands of the Government.The judge drew on the black cap, and proceeded to pass formal sentence.The twelve prisoners before him, he said, after a long and painstaking trial extending over several days, had been convicted of the most heinous crime known to the law, that of murder, the penalty of which was death. They had only been indicted for, and found guilty of one murder, but there was ample evidence that many others had lain at their door. This murder then, was the outcome of one of the vilest, most benighted forms of superstition that had ever disgraced our common humanity, whether black or white. As for urging, as one of the prisoners had done, that such murder was part of the black man’s religion—or anybody’s religion—why he could only say that such a statement was a slander upon the honest, straightforward, native population of the Colony, of whose good and trustworthy qualities he personally had had many years of experience. It was a relic of the blackest and most benighted days of past heathenism, and it was clear that a bold attempt had been made on the part of the prisoner Ukozi, to revive and spread it in the midst of a peaceful and law-abiding native population living contentedly under the Queen’s rule and under the Queen’s laws. Once these terrible superstitions—and their outcome of foul and mysterious murder—took root, there was no seeing where they would end, therefore it was providential that this wicked and horrible conspiracy against the lives of their fellow subjects had been brought to light, and he would especially urge, and solemnly warn, his native hearers present in court to set their faces resolutely against anything of the kind in their midst. Not for one moment would it be tolerated, nor would any plea of custom, or such a travesty of the sacred name of religion, as had been brought forward by one of the prisoners, be even so much as considered in mitigation of the just doom meted out by the law to all who should be found guilty of such an offence.Sentence of death was then formally passed upon the whole dozen.There were many influential natives among the audience in court. These, I could see, were impressed, and in the right direction, moreover I gathered from their comments, which I overheard as they dispersed, that to many of them the existence of the Brotherhood of the Dew came as a revelation. And the comments were diverse and instructive.“Au!” one man remarked. “There is but one among the twelve who wears the head-ring, and he is the one that shows fear.”The death sentence in the case of all but three was subsequently commuted to various terms of imprisonment. Those three were Ukozi, Ivondwe and Ivuzamanzi. As for the latter, Tyingoza had got up a large deputation to the Governor, begging that his son’s life should be spared, but without avail. Ivuzamanzi had taken an active part in this new outlet of a destructive superstition, and it was felt that as the son of an influential chief, he of all others should be made an example of.I don’t know how it was—call it morbid curiosity if you like—but anyhow I was there when these three paid the last penalty. I had visited them in the gaol once. Ivondwe had talked as if nothing had happened, about old times and what not. The witch doctor was cowering and piteous. CouldIdo nothing to save him. He would remember it to the end of his days, and would tell me many things that would be useful to me. I told him plainly I could do nothing, but in consideration did not add that I would not if I could, for if ever miscreant deserved his fate he did. I gave them some tobacco however, poor wretches, and that was all I could do for them. Ivuzamanzi was stormily abusive, so I did not waste time over him. Yet for him, I felt pity, as one led away, and—was not he the son of my old friend?It had been decided that the execution should, contrary to custom, be a public one. It was reckoned that the opportunity would be a good one for striking terror among the natives, as an example of the fate that would certainly overtake, sooner or later, all who should indulge in similar practices. Rightly it was argued that a terrible superstition of this nature, fostered by a secret society and finding its logical outcome in barbarous and abominable forms of murder, needed to be sternly stamped out.On a grey and cloudy morning Ukozi, Ivondwe and Ivuzamanzi were led forth to die. There had been rain in the night, which had left a raw chill in the air; while the wind sang mournfully as it drove the low clouds along the hill tops. A pit had been dug in front of the gaol, to serve as a drop, and over this the gallows had been erected. From an early hour natives had been coming in by twos and threes, and now a crowd of several hundreds of them had assembled. Their demeanour however was neither turbulent nor defiant, on the contrary it was remarkably subdued, and they conversed in awed undertones. With a view to any possible demonstration a full troop of Mounted Police was disposed around the scaffold, with bandoliers filled, and all ready for action, but the precaution was unnecessary. The temper of the dark crowd was one of subdued awe as it contemplated the preparations for this grim and unaccustomed method of exit from life; in short just the very effect intended to be produced by making the execution a public one.A hollow murmur ran over the crowd like a wave as the gaol doors swung open and the prisoners appeared, pinioned. Their demeanour was varied. That of Ukozi showed, unmistakably, fear—shrinking fear. At sight of the scaffold something like a tremor ran through the frame of the witch doctor, and he half stopped instinctively, while his lips moved in piteous protest. Ivondwe was as impassive as a statue; but the chief’s son walked with his head thrown back, his tall form erect, and a bitter scowl of hate and defiance upon his face. Then his glance met mine.“That is the man through whom I am here,” he roared. “Are there none present to whom I may bequeath my vengeance?” And he glared around.“Yet I saved thy life once, son of Tyingoza,” I answered, speaking so that all could hear, and this I did with a purpose.“Walk on, Ivuzamanzi, and die like the son of a chief,” said the sheriff to him in a low tone. And he obeyed.The Indian hangman and his assistant did their work quickly and well, and the three disappeared from view, hardly a quiver in the ropes showing that they had met death instantaneously, and in infinitely more merciful fashion than the lingering and horrible manner in which they had meted it out to so many unsuspecting victims sacrificed to their abominable and devilish superstition; and as I thought of one who came within an ace of adding to the number of such victims I could feel no pity for them now, which may have been wrong, but if it is I can’t help it.In pursuance of the policy which had decreed that the execution should be public, the natives were allowed to come forward in batches and view the bodies if they wished. Many did so come forward, and the sight of the three hanging there, still and motionless, with the white caps drawn over their heads and faces, seemed to impress them deeply, judging from the remarks they made as they went away. Moreover I have reason to believe the effect was salutary and lasting. The pomp and awe and mystery of it appealed to them powerfully.I had a reason for answering Ivuzamanzi, otherwise I would not have seemed to wrangle with a man on the very steps of the scaffold. For, be it remembered, he was the son of a powerful chief, and his words might be in the highest degree dangerous to myself, and I had no hankering to be marked out as the object of a vendetta. But I knew that natives have a strong sense of justice, and the fact that I had once saved his life being made known, would go far towards taking the sting out of his denunciation.“He feared,” said a native voice at my elbow.I turned quickly, though I knew the voice. It was that of Jan Boom.“He feared,” repeated the Xosa. “He feared death. His heart melted to water within him.Silungile! Now am I avenged.”

Inspector Manvers was a shrewd as well as a smart officer, and it was not long before he had obtained from the two frightened women who had been made prisoners, sufficient information to warrant him in making several additional arrests. These, which were effected cleverly and quietly, included no less a personage than Ivuzamanzi, the son of Tyingoza. This would have astonished me, I own, but for Jan Boom’s narrative; besides after the defection of Ivondwe I was prepared to be astonished at nothing.

An exhaustive search was made of the gruesome den of death, and in the result the identity of poor Hensley was established beyond a doubt, as his nephew had said. The police spared no pains. They dragged the bottom of the waterhole with grappling hooks, and brought up a quantity of human bones, and old tatters of rotted clothing. It was obvious that quite a number of persons had been done to death here.

“TheAbangan ’ema zolweniwere strong in numbers but otherwise weak. Their brethren were too young, and—they talked.” Such had been Jan Boom’s dictum, and now events combined to bear it out. Two of the younger prisoners, fearing for their lives, confessed. This example was followed by others, and soon ample evidence was available to draw the web tight round the witch doctor, Ivondwe, Ivuzamanzi and Atyisayo, as prime movers in the whole diabolical cult. And then, that there could be no further room for doubt, Ukozi himself confessed.

I own that I was somewhat astonished at this. But since his incarceration the witch doctor’s spirit seemed completely to fail him, which was strange; for a native, especially one of his age and standing, does not, as a rule, fear death. But fear, abject and unmistakable, had now taken hold of this one. He trembled and muttered, and at times it seemed as if his mind would give way. Then he declared his willingness to make a statement. Perhaps his life would be spared.

But he was given to understand he need entertain no hopes of that kind if he should be convicted at the trial. Even then he persisted. He wanted to throw off the load, he said, for it lay heavy on his heart.

His statement was consistent with that of all the others, moreover it tallied with all that Jan Boom had told me. The part of it that was peculiar was the manner in which they had been able to remove their victims so as to leave no trace. This had been done by means of muffled shoes. The drug administered had the effect of putting them into a kind of trance. They had all their faculties about them, save only that of volition, but afterwards they would remember nothing. Nyamaki had been easily removed because he lived alone. He, like Major Sewin, the witch doctor had gradually imbued with a taste for the occult. After that all was easy. It had at first been intended to entrap the Major, then his nephew, but for the reasons that Jan Boom had already given me, this plan was abandoned. Then it was decided to seize his eldest daughter. Such a sacrifice as that could not fail to move the Spirit of the Dew, and to bring abundant rain.

No, she had in no way been injured. To have injured her would have been to have rendered the whole rite invalid. As for Ivondwe, he had gone to the Major’s with the object of forwarding the plan when it was ripe. He was almost as great among the Brethren of the Dew as Ukozi himself. Ivuzamanzi? Yes, he, too, was among the foremost of them. Tyingoza belonged to the Brotherhood, but he had been enrolled unwillingly, and had never taken part in any of their deeper mysteries: nor indeed, did they come within his knowledge.

Thus ran Ukozi’s confession. When it was read out at the trial it created a profound sensation, as, indeed, did the whole case in the columns of the Colonial Press, which clamoured for a signal example to be made of the offenders. And the Court by which they were tried was of the same opinion.

When those who had turned Queen’s evidence had been sifted out—of course with the exception of Ukozi—there was still a round dozen for trial. The Court-house at Grey Town was crammed. Natives especially, had mustered in crowds, but so far from there being any turbulence, or tendency to rescue, these were, if anything, considerably awed by the very circumstances of the case itself. Most of them indeed had never heard of theAbangan ’ema zolweni, and a new and stimulating matter of discussion was thus supplied to them.

The confession of Ukozi, and of the others of course went far to simplify the trial. Still, the fairness and impartiality for which British jurisprudence is famous, was fully extended to the accused. I personally can bear witness to a good hour in the box, most of which was spent in cross-examination for the defence. The same held good of Kendrew and Falkner, the latter of whom by the way, drew down upon himself some very nasty remarks from the Bench, by reason of having stated in answer to a question as to whether he had not expressed a wish to see these men hanged—that he would cheerfully see every nigger in Natal hanged if he had his way, and they had their deserts. But he didn’t care. As he confided to me afterwards, what did it matter what an old fool in a gown said when he knew he couldn’t have his head punched for saying it.

Aïda, too, was called upon to go through the ordeal, and of course she did it well. In fact a murmur of appreciation ran through the native section of the audience when she emphatically agreed with the defending counsel’s suggestion, in cross-examination, that she had not been ill-treated in any way. There was, too, a great cloud of native witnesses. Jan Boom, in particular, had a long and trying time of it, but the Xosa was a man of parts, and a good bit of a lawyer himself in his way. There was no shaking his evidence on any one single point. Thus, as I have said, in spite of his confession, Ukozi and his fellow accused were given every chance.

The indictment, so far, was confined to the murder of Hensley. Had it broken down—which of course was inconceivable—the prisoners would have been re-indicted for the murder of the native victims, of two, at any rate, whose identity could have been easily established. Failing necessity, for the sake of their relatives, in view of possible danger involved to these, it was not deemed expedient to include them in the formal ground of indictment. The verdict of course, could only be “Guilty.” The four—viz. Ukozi, Ivuzamanzi, Ivondwe and Atyisayo—were brought in as principals—the others as accessories—some before, some after the fact.

Never shall I forget the scene in court, as they were asked whether they had anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon them. It was just sundown, and an angry storm had been raging outside for fully an hour. Growling, cracking peals of thunder had interrupted the judge’s summing up, and now, during a lull, the glare of a wet sunset came in through the windows, and a few heavy drops of rain still fell like stones on the corrugated iron roof during the tense silence. They stood in the dock those twelve dark figures, some leaning eagerly forward over the rail, their eyeballs protruding in the climax of the moment’s excitement, others impassive and statuesque. Amid the public was a subdued, hush. The native public especially seemed turned to stone.

In answer to the appeal the bulk of the prisoners shook their heads. They had nothing to say, they declared, and then subsided into stolid silence. But when it came to the turn of Ivondwe, he harangued the Court at some length. The white man, he said, professed to be the protector and tolerator of all religions. Now this, for which they stood there, was part of the black man’s religion—or at any rate a section of it. Why then, was not that tolerated too? Ivuzamanzi, when it came to his turn, answered with heat, that he was the son of a chief—that he was a Zulu of the tribe of Umtetwa; that he cared nothing for a set of preaching whites and their stupid laws; that he only wished he had crossed the river long ago, and gone tokonzato Cetywayo. There he would have been in a warrior land where the head-ring of his father and chief could not have been insulted with impunity by a swaggeringigcwanelike the one who sat yonder—pointing to Falkner—who, however, perhaps fortunately, didn’t understand what was being said until the interpreter had rendered it, and then it was too late to kick up a row. Then he might have joined one day in driving the whites into the sea, where sooner or later they would all be driven. He was the son of a chief and could die like one. He was not going to lie down and howl for mercy like a miserable cheat of anisanusi.

This with a savage glare at Ukozi.

The latter said not much. He had confessed. He had done what he could to put right what had been done. His life was in the hands of the Government.

The judge drew on the black cap, and proceeded to pass formal sentence.

The twelve prisoners before him, he said, after a long and painstaking trial extending over several days, had been convicted of the most heinous crime known to the law, that of murder, the penalty of which was death. They had only been indicted for, and found guilty of one murder, but there was ample evidence that many others had lain at their door. This murder then, was the outcome of one of the vilest, most benighted forms of superstition that had ever disgraced our common humanity, whether black or white. As for urging, as one of the prisoners had done, that such murder was part of the black man’s religion—or anybody’s religion—why he could only say that such a statement was a slander upon the honest, straightforward, native population of the Colony, of whose good and trustworthy qualities he personally had had many years of experience. It was a relic of the blackest and most benighted days of past heathenism, and it was clear that a bold attempt had been made on the part of the prisoner Ukozi, to revive and spread it in the midst of a peaceful and law-abiding native population living contentedly under the Queen’s rule and under the Queen’s laws. Once these terrible superstitions—and their outcome of foul and mysterious murder—took root, there was no seeing where they would end, therefore it was providential that this wicked and horrible conspiracy against the lives of their fellow subjects had been brought to light, and he would especially urge, and solemnly warn, his native hearers present in court to set their faces resolutely against anything of the kind in their midst. Not for one moment would it be tolerated, nor would any plea of custom, or such a travesty of the sacred name of religion, as had been brought forward by one of the prisoners, be even so much as considered in mitigation of the just doom meted out by the law to all who should be found guilty of such an offence.

Sentence of death was then formally passed upon the whole dozen.

There were many influential natives among the audience in court. These, I could see, were impressed, and in the right direction, moreover I gathered from their comments, which I overheard as they dispersed, that to many of them the existence of the Brotherhood of the Dew came as a revelation. And the comments were diverse and instructive.

“Au!” one man remarked. “There is but one among the twelve who wears the head-ring, and he is the one that shows fear.”

The death sentence in the case of all but three was subsequently commuted to various terms of imprisonment. Those three were Ukozi, Ivondwe and Ivuzamanzi. As for the latter, Tyingoza had got up a large deputation to the Governor, begging that his son’s life should be spared, but without avail. Ivuzamanzi had taken an active part in this new outlet of a destructive superstition, and it was felt that as the son of an influential chief, he of all others should be made an example of.

I don’t know how it was—call it morbid curiosity if you like—but anyhow I was there when these three paid the last penalty. I had visited them in the gaol once. Ivondwe had talked as if nothing had happened, about old times and what not. The witch doctor was cowering and piteous. CouldIdo nothing to save him. He would remember it to the end of his days, and would tell me many things that would be useful to me. I told him plainly I could do nothing, but in consideration did not add that I would not if I could, for if ever miscreant deserved his fate he did. I gave them some tobacco however, poor wretches, and that was all I could do for them. Ivuzamanzi was stormily abusive, so I did not waste time over him. Yet for him, I felt pity, as one led away, and—was not he the son of my old friend?

It had been decided that the execution should, contrary to custom, be a public one. It was reckoned that the opportunity would be a good one for striking terror among the natives, as an example of the fate that would certainly overtake, sooner or later, all who should indulge in similar practices. Rightly it was argued that a terrible superstition of this nature, fostered by a secret society and finding its logical outcome in barbarous and abominable forms of murder, needed to be sternly stamped out.

On a grey and cloudy morning Ukozi, Ivondwe and Ivuzamanzi were led forth to die. There had been rain in the night, which had left a raw chill in the air; while the wind sang mournfully as it drove the low clouds along the hill tops. A pit had been dug in front of the gaol, to serve as a drop, and over this the gallows had been erected. From an early hour natives had been coming in by twos and threes, and now a crowd of several hundreds of them had assembled. Their demeanour however was neither turbulent nor defiant, on the contrary it was remarkably subdued, and they conversed in awed undertones. With a view to any possible demonstration a full troop of Mounted Police was disposed around the scaffold, with bandoliers filled, and all ready for action, but the precaution was unnecessary. The temper of the dark crowd was one of subdued awe as it contemplated the preparations for this grim and unaccustomed method of exit from life; in short just the very effect intended to be produced by making the execution a public one.

A hollow murmur ran over the crowd like a wave as the gaol doors swung open and the prisoners appeared, pinioned. Their demeanour was varied. That of Ukozi showed, unmistakably, fear—shrinking fear. At sight of the scaffold something like a tremor ran through the frame of the witch doctor, and he half stopped instinctively, while his lips moved in piteous protest. Ivondwe was as impassive as a statue; but the chief’s son walked with his head thrown back, his tall form erect, and a bitter scowl of hate and defiance upon his face. Then his glance met mine.

“That is the man through whom I am here,” he roared. “Are there none present to whom I may bequeath my vengeance?” And he glared around.

“Yet I saved thy life once, son of Tyingoza,” I answered, speaking so that all could hear, and this I did with a purpose.

“Walk on, Ivuzamanzi, and die like the son of a chief,” said the sheriff to him in a low tone. And he obeyed.

The Indian hangman and his assistant did their work quickly and well, and the three disappeared from view, hardly a quiver in the ropes showing that they had met death instantaneously, and in infinitely more merciful fashion than the lingering and horrible manner in which they had meted it out to so many unsuspecting victims sacrificed to their abominable and devilish superstition; and as I thought of one who came within an ace of adding to the number of such victims I could feel no pity for them now, which may have been wrong, but if it is I can’t help it.

In pursuance of the policy which had decreed that the execution should be public, the natives were allowed to come forward in batches and view the bodies if they wished. Many did so come forward, and the sight of the three hanging there, still and motionless, with the white caps drawn over their heads and faces, seemed to impress them deeply, judging from the remarks they made as they went away. Moreover I have reason to believe the effect was salutary and lasting. The pomp and awe and mystery of it appealed to them powerfully.

I had a reason for answering Ivuzamanzi, otherwise I would not have seemed to wrangle with a man on the very steps of the scaffold. For, be it remembered, he was the son of a powerful chief, and his words might be in the highest degree dangerous to myself, and I had no hankering to be marked out as the object of a vendetta. But I knew that natives have a strong sense of justice, and the fact that I had once saved his life being made known, would go far towards taking the sting out of his denunciation.

“He feared,” said a native voice at my elbow.

I turned quickly, though I knew the voice. It was that of Jan Boom.

“He feared,” repeated the Xosa. “He feared death. His heart melted to water within him.Silungile! Now am I avenged.”

Chapter Thirty Three.Conclusion.For all the brave way in which Aïda had taken her grisly experience—and the full gruesomeness of her peril and narrow escape had been borne in upon her, especially during the trial and the revelations it had evolved—an impression had been left upon her mind which rendered the life to which she had been looking forward, and its associations, distasteful to her for the present. So after our marriage, which took place a month later than the dark and tragical circumstances I have just recorded, we decided to start for a prolonged tour of a year or more in Europe.That time was a halcyon time for me, falling in no whit short of what I had always pictured it in anticipation. We did not hurry ourselves. We took things easily, and thus were spared all the worry and flurry of those who do not. In consequence we were able to enjoy to the full the pick of the Old World in all that was beautiful or interesting, and after my twenty years of up-country knocking about, and generally roughing it, everything enjoyed in such association was both.The farm I had bought for our joint occupation I was able to dispose of at a trifling loss, and my trading store I sold at some profit; which made things not merely as broad as they were long, as the saying goes, but broader. But before we started on our tour it transpired that Edith Sewin and Kendrew had managed to compass a very mutual excellent understanding—it might have occurred to me at the time of our anxiety and grief that Kendrew had displayed quite an unusual familiarity in his references to my sister-in-law elect, but I suppose in the all-absorbing anguish of my own loss I had no mind to give to any such trivial detail. But as we were to be away a long time, the artful dog took advantage of the circumstance to hurry forward his own ambition. It would never do, he urged—they both urged—for the presence of her only sister to be wanting at Edith’s marriage, and in the result if there was not a double wedding, at any rate there were two within a very short time of each other. Well, we were all glad. Kendrew was a good fellow—a thoroughly good fellow—and the farm he had inherited through poor old Hensley’s murder was a right good one. He was going to throw up transport-riding and work it, he declared, and he did.The old people, reft thus of both their daughters, decided to leave the frontier and settle just outside Durban; an excellent climate and country for those who have spent most of their lives in India. The farm was turned over to Falkner; who, by the way, soon blossomed into a remarkably able and energetic colonist. His sheer brutal pluck won him the very real and undiluted respect of the natives, and after not more than three attempts had been made upon his life, these came to the conclusion that “Umsindo” was really great, and one whom, taking him all round, it was no disgrace or disadvantage to serve; for with all his faults he was open-handed, and this tells. He was a very devil, they declared, but one that it was better to be with than against, and so he prospered. But he soon found a better outlet for his pugnacity than mere head punching, for the Zulu War broke out, and of course Falkner must be in the thick of it. He served all through, in a corps of Irregular Horse, and performed fine feats of daring on more than one occasion and notably during the disastrous rout on the Hlobane Mountain, for which he ought to have got the V.C. but didn’t, and is a happy man proportionately in that he cherishes a grievance. By a curious irony of Fate too he was instrumental in saving the life of no less a personage than our old antagonist, Dolf Norbury, for soon after the invasion of Zululand, that worthy, having quarrelled with his friend and ally Mawendhlela, found himself run very hard by that gin-loving potentate’s followers. He had made a desperate fight for it, and had shot down quite a number. Still there were numbers left, when Falkner, happening along with a patrol, rescued him only in the bare nick of time. Afterwards he told me that he had invited him to try, just in a friendly way, another “scrap” for the conqueror, but Dolf wasn’t taking any. He’d rather light out for over the Swazi border, he said, if it was all the same to his rescuer and quondam enemy. It was—and so they parted, this time in a kind of rough friendliness.Of the “Brotherhood of the Dew” I have been able to get no further information. Whether the Zulu War had created a far-reaching diversion, or that the hanging of Ukozi and Co. had conveyed the impression that it was unhealthy to carry on its operations in a white man’s country I can’t say for certain, but nothing more was heard of it, in Natal at any rate. Aïda’s experience of it however, had left such an impression upon her that she had a rooted aversion to returning to live anywhere near the scene of its former operations, so we decided to settle down upon a farm in one of the most healthy and picturesque parts of the Eastern Districts of the Cape Colony. There Jan Boom is our most reliable and trusted factotum; Jan Boom, now the owner of three wives—with power to add to the number—and much cattle—the result of the priceless service he rendered us in the past.Priceless service! Yes indeed, for although a good many years have gone by since the events happened of which I, Godfrey Glanton, have striven to set forward a clear account—remember literature is not an up-country man’s strong point—still they have been years of unbroken happiness. And still they remain, in proof whereof, I invite any reader of this narrative who may find himself in my part of the world, to come and judge for himself. I am easily found, and I promise him a cordial welcome, and—if he is fond of the gun—something not bad in the way of sport.The End.

For all the brave way in which Aïda had taken her grisly experience—and the full gruesomeness of her peril and narrow escape had been borne in upon her, especially during the trial and the revelations it had evolved—an impression had been left upon her mind which rendered the life to which she had been looking forward, and its associations, distasteful to her for the present. So after our marriage, which took place a month later than the dark and tragical circumstances I have just recorded, we decided to start for a prolonged tour of a year or more in Europe.

That time was a halcyon time for me, falling in no whit short of what I had always pictured it in anticipation. We did not hurry ourselves. We took things easily, and thus were spared all the worry and flurry of those who do not. In consequence we were able to enjoy to the full the pick of the Old World in all that was beautiful or interesting, and after my twenty years of up-country knocking about, and generally roughing it, everything enjoyed in such association was both.

The farm I had bought for our joint occupation I was able to dispose of at a trifling loss, and my trading store I sold at some profit; which made things not merely as broad as they were long, as the saying goes, but broader. But before we started on our tour it transpired that Edith Sewin and Kendrew had managed to compass a very mutual excellent understanding—it might have occurred to me at the time of our anxiety and grief that Kendrew had displayed quite an unusual familiarity in his references to my sister-in-law elect, but I suppose in the all-absorbing anguish of my own loss I had no mind to give to any such trivial detail. But as we were to be away a long time, the artful dog took advantage of the circumstance to hurry forward his own ambition. It would never do, he urged—they both urged—for the presence of her only sister to be wanting at Edith’s marriage, and in the result if there was not a double wedding, at any rate there were two within a very short time of each other. Well, we were all glad. Kendrew was a good fellow—a thoroughly good fellow—and the farm he had inherited through poor old Hensley’s murder was a right good one. He was going to throw up transport-riding and work it, he declared, and he did.

The old people, reft thus of both their daughters, decided to leave the frontier and settle just outside Durban; an excellent climate and country for those who have spent most of their lives in India. The farm was turned over to Falkner; who, by the way, soon blossomed into a remarkably able and energetic colonist. His sheer brutal pluck won him the very real and undiluted respect of the natives, and after not more than three attempts had been made upon his life, these came to the conclusion that “Umsindo” was really great, and one whom, taking him all round, it was no disgrace or disadvantage to serve; for with all his faults he was open-handed, and this tells. He was a very devil, they declared, but one that it was better to be with than against, and so he prospered. But he soon found a better outlet for his pugnacity than mere head punching, for the Zulu War broke out, and of course Falkner must be in the thick of it. He served all through, in a corps of Irregular Horse, and performed fine feats of daring on more than one occasion and notably during the disastrous rout on the Hlobane Mountain, for which he ought to have got the V.C. but didn’t, and is a happy man proportionately in that he cherishes a grievance. By a curious irony of Fate too he was instrumental in saving the life of no less a personage than our old antagonist, Dolf Norbury, for soon after the invasion of Zululand, that worthy, having quarrelled with his friend and ally Mawendhlela, found himself run very hard by that gin-loving potentate’s followers. He had made a desperate fight for it, and had shot down quite a number. Still there were numbers left, when Falkner, happening along with a patrol, rescued him only in the bare nick of time. Afterwards he told me that he had invited him to try, just in a friendly way, another “scrap” for the conqueror, but Dolf wasn’t taking any. He’d rather light out for over the Swazi border, he said, if it was all the same to his rescuer and quondam enemy. It was—and so they parted, this time in a kind of rough friendliness.

Of the “Brotherhood of the Dew” I have been able to get no further information. Whether the Zulu War had created a far-reaching diversion, or that the hanging of Ukozi and Co. had conveyed the impression that it was unhealthy to carry on its operations in a white man’s country I can’t say for certain, but nothing more was heard of it, in Natal at any rate. Aïda’s experience of it however, had left such an impression upon her that she had a rooted aversion to returning to live anywhere near the scene of its former operations, so we decided to settle down upon a farm in one of the most healthy and picturesque parts of the Eastern Districts of the Cape Colony. There Jan Boom is our most reliable and trusted factotum; Jan Boom, now the owner of three wives—with power to add to the number—and much cattle—the result of the priceless service he rendered us in the past.

Priceless service! Yes indeed, for although a good many years have gone by since the events happened of which I, Godfrey Glanton, have striven to set forward a clear account—remember literature is not an up-country man’s strong point—still they have been years of unbroken happiness. And still they remain, in proof whereof, I invite any reader of this narrative who may find himself in my part of the world, to come and judge for himself. I am easily found, and I promise him a cordial welcome, and—if he is fond of the gun—something not bad in the way of sport.

The End.

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