Chapter Seven.

Chapter Seven.The Imishologu.There is no bird in any last year’s nest.OneWhoever has traversed the valley of the Umzinivubu river below the Tabankulu Mountain, in that vicinity where the Tsitsa, the Tina, and the Umzimhlava streams have carved their several devious courses almost through the vitals of the earth to the main water-way, has seen the roughest part of Pondoland, and seldom feels inclined to repeat the experience. However, ponies accustomed to such regions will clamber up and down precipices which would make a domestic cat that is only habituated to the house-top of civilisation nervous, and accidents on such journeys seldom occur.It has been my fortune twice to penetrate these rugged regions, an interval of a year elapsing between the expeditions. Hence the following tale.The season was late autumn. I had made a very early start, and my horses were tired. I decided, therefore, to camp where I was, between the precipice from which I had just escaped and another, equally dangerous, frowning just before me, and which it seemed impossible to avoid. The place was a small, flat ledge upon a rugged tongue of land running from the mountain out to a sheer bluff, under which the river, still slightly swollen from the late summer rains, murmured, hundreds of feet below.A native kraal consisting of three huts, a stone cattle enclosure, and a small goat-pen made of bushes, stood on the ledge. Two of the huts were occupied by human beings, and the third, ordinarily used as a corn store, was civilly placed at my disposal by the head of the kraal, an old Pondo named Zwilibanzi. His son, one Madolo, and the latter’s wife and two children, were the only other occupants of the kraal.I was particularly struck by the air of cleanliness and neatness pervading the whole establishment. This was in strong contrast with the condition of the other kraals I had visited. The Pondos are, it may be stated, much dirtier in their habits than are other natives. Their huts are usually ragged and disorderly on the outside, and as to the interiors—why, the less said about them the better.The night was cold, so after assisting my after-rider to make the horses as comfortable as circumstances would permit, I entered the hut of Madolo, who, with the old man, was sitting on the ground next to a bright, almost smokeless fire. I then, for the first time, noticed the two children, one boy named Dhlaka, aged about ten years, and the other a little girl aged about six, whose name turned out to be Nodada, a Kafir word meaning “wild duck.” The mother was absent, but was momentarily expected to return.Nodada was a remarkably pretty child. All she wore in the way of clothing was a small apron of strung beads, unless a necklet of charms hung on hairs from the tail of the “ubulunga” cow can be counted as such. She made friends with me at once, although, as her grandfather assured me, she had never previously seen a European. The boy, on the other hand, would not come to terms at all, but crouched on the ground near the door, ready to spring up and flee, as he did whenever I attempted to make advances, After a short interval, the mother, a good-looking woman of about thirty, arrived. Her name was Nomayeshè. After greeting her husband, her father-in-law, and me (as guest) with politeness and ease, she turned to the children; the evidently genuine affection manifested between her and them was truly remarkable. She sat down on the floor of the hut and they flung themselves upon her. They were immediately clasped to her breast, with many an endearing epithet. I could not help wishing at the time that some of those who believe the Aryan race in South Africa to have a monopoly of the gentler feelings and emotions could have been present. It could easily be seen that the warmest feeling on the part of the mother was for the little girl, who, up to the time when I retired for the night, never left her side.Next morning, shortly after daybreak, I bade farewell to my kind hosts, and resumed climbing the anything-but-delectable mountains. In pausing to take breath just before passing out of sight of the kraal I looked back, and saw Nomayeshè at the hut door looking after me, and the little girl holding on to her mother’s skin skirt.Within a few days of a year afterwards, I travelled over the same course, but in an opposite direction. I had attempted to reach old Zwilibanzi’s, with the view of spending the night there, but when the sun went down, leaving me still several miles away from that spot, I found it necessary to seek shelter at another kraal, where my entertainment was somewhat indifferent. However, I reached Zwilibanzi’s next day at about noon. Even from a distance it was apparent that things were changed for the worse in comparison with what I had seen a year previously. The huts looked dilapidated, and there was an atmosphere of dreariness over the whole establishment. I found old Zwilibanzi asleep on a mat on the sunny side of his hut, but could see no sign of another human being. I wakened the old man, but it was some time before I could bring myself to his remembrance. He was totally blind and extremely deaf, and had aged considerably in every respect. At length he remembered me, and then he seemed extremely pleased.Where were Madolo, Nomayeshè, and the children? I asked. Alas! Nomayeshè and the little girl Nodada were both dead, Madolo had left the neighbourhood, and the boy Dhlaka had gone to stay with an uncle at another kraal. Of the happy family I had so often thought of, only this old man remained. A nephew, with his two wives, had come to dwell at the kraal, but I gathered from Zwilibanzi that they were not kind to him, that the nephew was idle, and too much in the habit of going to beer-drinks, and the wives lazy, ill-tempered, and fonder of emptying than of filling the milk-sack and the calabashes.There was much that was tragic, and some that was sordid, in the old man’s tale. What follows is an account of the tragedy.TwoIt was just at the merging of autumn and winter; the last of the maize crop was being gathered in, and the first touch of frost was browning the hill-tops. The field cultivated by Zwilibanzi’s family lay in a ravine a few hundred yards below the northern side of the ledge on which the kraal was built. Thither Nomayeshè, with another woman who came to assist at the harvesting, went every day for the purpose of stripping what remained of the maize-cobs from the withered stalks, and carrying what they gathered in baskets up to the kraal. At this work Madolo was not supposed to assist, so he took his departure for the “great place” of the paramount Pondo chief, for the purpose of attending an “umkandhlu,” or “meeting for talk,” of which general notice had been given.Early in the afternoon of the second day after Madolo left, there remained little more than two basketfuls of grain to remove, so Nomayeshè, with the other woman and Dhlaka, went down with baskets to fetch it. Some little gleaning had to be done, so they expected to be away, more or less, for the whole afternoon.The day was cold, and old Zwilibanzi was lying asleep in his hut, where a fire had been lighted. Little Nodada, who was very intelligent for her age, was left behind with instructions to attend to the fire and see that it neither went out nor endangered the hut by blazing too freely. This was an occupation to which she was quite accustomed. Thus, when Nomayeshè and her two companions went to the field, the old man and the child were the only ones left at the kraal.The cattle were within sight on the hill-side, and the little flock of goats was close at hand. Just before he disappeared over the lip of the ledge, Dhlaka called out to Nodada, asking her to keep her eye on the goats, among which were a few strange ones that might be liable to stray.The sun was still shining when Nomayeshè returned. She found old Zwilibanzi asleep next to the fireplace, which was quite cold, but little Nodada was missing. At first she felt no alarm, but rather anger at the child’s disobedience in thus absenting herself, but after the sun sank behind the ’Ngwemnyama Mountain, and the child was still absent, she began to feel uneasy. When the shades of night began to darken over the valley she became alarmed, and began searching all around the edge of the plateau, calling loudly the child’s name. The woman, her assistant in the harvesting, helped in the search. Up and down the stony gullies, among the narrow rock fissures, below the precipice with which the ledge where the kraal was built ended, the frantic mother and her companion sought with flaming brands throughout the greater part of the long, cold night, but no trace of the child could they find.The kraal nearest to that of Zwilibanzi was about three miles away, and thither Nomayeshè hurried some time before daybreak, upon her companion’s suggestion that the child might have taken refuge there. At this kraal, however, nothing could be heard of her. When day broke all the men, women, and children turned out and scoured the country. The alarm was wailed out to all the surrounding kraals, and the inhabitants of these joined in the search. When the all too short day drew towards its close, little Nodada was still missing. The hills resounded with the shouts of the seekers, and dwellers in the more distant valleys, flocking in to see what was the matter, had swelled the number of the searchers to a considerable crowd. But all in vain. The sun again sank, and night descended from an untarnished sky of throbbing stars, and the poor little child was still lost in the maze of bare, frowning peak and yawning chasm.The unhappy mother was now nearly insane. Throughout the whole day she had never rested for a moment, and since the previous noon she had not tasted food. When darkness fell and the seekers returned to their homes, she kindled a large fire on a stony ridge just above the kraal, and all night long she wandered about carrying firebrands, and calling the name of her lost Nodada into the cold ear of the night that mocked her with wild echoes.Daylight found the searchers again at work, but the experience of the second day was only a repetition of that of the first. Late in the afternoon Nomayeshè fell exhausted to the ground, and was carried senseless to her dwelling. Then the searchers again wended sadly homewards, feeling that further effort would be vain.ThreeThe kraal of ’Ndondo was built in a particularly inaccessible part of the valley of the Umzimhlava, and about seven miles from the dwelling of Zwilibanzi. Here, on the second day after the disappearance of little Nodada, was held a small and select gathering. A fat ox had been slaughtered for the occasion, and the pink foam of beer was visible over the lips of several large earthen pots, some of them nearly three feet high.’Ndondo was related to the heads of several important kraals in the neighbourhood, to which he had only very recently returned. He had, a few years previously, been “smelt out” upon an accusation of having, by means of black magic, caused the death of one of the wives of his chief. Luckily, however, he had got wind of the matter in time, and accordingly had managed to escape—not alone with his life, but with the bulk of his cattle—to the Cwera country. His alleged confederate had not been so lucky. This unhappy man had been tortured to death, his kraal had been destroyed, and all his property confiscated.Subsequently, however, ’Ndondo, by means of judicious bribery, had managed to convince the chief of his innocence, and had accordingly been permitted to return, as it were, on probation of good behaviour. He was rich in cattle, and was now celebrated for generosity and hospitality to the “isanuse” and “inyanga” fraternities, members of which were generally to be found at his kraal.On the present occasion, no less than four witch-doctors—one a most celebrated man, a very Matthew Hopkins among witch-finders—were present, the occasion being an attempt to cure one of ’Ndondo’s daughters of what was really epilepsy, but which was supposed to be an attack of “umdhlemnyana,” or “love frenzy,” believed to have been induced by a young man of the neighbourhood by means of the casting a love spell.It was about mid-day. Long strips of roasted meat were circulating among the feasters, and the beer, which was of a very heavy brew, was being handed round freely in small pots, each with a cleft-calabash spoon floating in it. Then one of the boys who had been herding cattle on the mountain-side rushed in, breathless, and told a strange tale. He had, so he said, been seeking honey in a steep gorge, the entrance to which was visible from the kraal, when he heard cries, as of a child, issuing from beneath a large flat stone. The gorge was not far off, and thither the feasters wended, some gazing back ruefully at the liquor and the baked meats.They reached the flat stone; it was evidently part of an old land-slip, and lay as a sort of bridge across the bottom of the gorge. On each side the ground was flush with the top. Below it were piled stones which had been carried over by aeons of floods, and above it boulders, too heavy to admit of their being moved by water over the obstacle, had lodged. Among these were a few crevices, this being probably due to a general shifting of the whole mass under exceptionally violent pressure of water from above.All the men listened carefully, but at first nothing could be heard. The boy, however, was evidently in earnest over his tale, so they all sat down and waited. Sure enough after a few moments they heard a faint wail issuing from under the stone. Here was a portent which the witch-doctors welcomed as something coming specially within their province, and towards an explanation of which they alone could give a clue.The most celebrated witch-doctor was asked his opinion. He did not give an opinion; he gave a full and positive explanation of the case. There was, he said, undoubtedly a child under the stone, but it had been placed there by the “imishologu,” or spirits of the earth, and under no circumstances whatever should it be interfered with so long as it was in their august charge. The “imishologu” might, of course, be asked in some appropriate and orthodox manner to deliver the child back to the light of day, but any attempt to violate their domain would certainly be followed by severe punishment.The three other witch-doctors at once declared that they had each independently arrived at exactly the same conclusion.Upon being asked as to what form the request to the “imishologu” should take, the most celebrated witch-doctor claimed to have had it as a direct personal communication from some most potent spirits of this class, that the sounds most delectable to their shadowy ears were those caused by the trampling hoofs and clashing horns of cattle, the lowing of which was also grateful to them, but in a minor degree. He, the witch-doctor, therefore recommended that the cattle be collected and driven round and over the spot, so that haply thereby might the earth-spirits be propitiated to the extent of permitting the imprisoned child to return to the light of day. So the boys, of whom several were present, were sent to collect the cattle on the mountain-side, and drive them down the gorge for the appeasing of the “imishologu.”All this time the pitiful wail of a little child who was dying in the cold and darkness could be heard coming at intervals from under the stone, which had lain through immemorial ages, not more deaf to pity, or more senseless, than the fraud and superstition of man.The cattle were not far off, so within a short time the lowing herd was hurried down the gorge by the shouting boys. The men then formed a ring about a hundred yards in diameter, the flat stone being in the centre, and in this circle the cattle were driven round and round, the animals being crowded together so that their horns might clash, and beaten with sticks to make them low and bellow loudly. This went on for some time; until, in fact, the afternoon was well spent. Then the cattle were driven away, and the witch-doctors, jointly and severally, shouted down the crevices leading under the rock, conjuring the “imishologu” to permit the imprisoned child to return to the light of day.But, perchance, the “imishologu” slept, like Baal of old. They gave no answer, nor did the child come forth. When the sun went down the men returned to ’Ndondo’s kraal, and resumed their feasting.Next morning one of the minor witch-doctors stated that he had, on a former occasion, been told by some “imishologu,” in a vision, that the light pattering of the hoofs, the varying bleat, and the rank smell of goats were things that pleased them. After consultation it was decided to try the experiment of propitiation by means of goats, where the cattle had failed. The most celebrated witch-doctor, whilst admitting the possibility of some result from the goat function, gave it as his opinion that as the “imishologu” had remained obdurate in spite of the cattle function, they would not now relent.The witch-doctors again went up the gorge to the flat stone, the goats being driven after them by the people of the kraal. They bent over the cleft and listened carefully. After a while a faint moaning could be distinctly heard. Then the goats were hurried in, made to crowd over the stone, and to rush backward and forward. This went on until nearly noon, when the flock of goats was driven away.A most solemn invocation of the “imishologu” followed this, but they were still unappeased. The child did not come forth, nor could any sounds now be heard issuing from under the stone. Perhaps Death had at length shown mercy.The most celebrated witch-doctor now apparently became epileptic, and soon fell into a trance. Upon awaking, he claimed to have been in spiritual communication with the “imishologu.” The child had, he declared, been taken by the spirits of the earth, but was being well treated, and was, in fact, much happier than it ever had been before. It was now playing in the wonderful underground fields where the sun never scorched nor wind chilled, with numerous companions. It would never more suffer hunger, thirst, nor any other pain. It was so happy that it did not wish to return to the regions of day and night. Much of this may, after all, have been true.FourAfter Nomayeshè had been carried down to her hut on the afternoon of the second day of the search for her lost child, she lay long unconscious, and when she awoke, it was to raging delirium, which lasted until late in the night, when sleep suddenly overcame her.Next morning, just after sunrise, she opened her eyes, and lay for a long time wondering as to what had happened. At length she remembered, and with a cry she started up for the purpose of going forth again to search. She staggered out of the hut, only to fall helplessly to the ground before the doorway. Several women from the nearest kraals had come to tend her, and these tried to persuade her of the uselessness of further search. Tears came to her relief, and she became calmer. At length she was persuaded to drink a little milk, after which she sank to the floor in a stone-like sleep. When she awoke, it was nearly noon.It happened just about this time that Dhlaka, who had been out herding the flock of goats, returned to the kraal with strange news. In the veldt he had foregathered with other boys, who told him that a child had been heard crying under a stone near the kraal of ’Ndondo.When this was communicated to Nomayeshè, she uttered one wild cry in which hope and agony were blended, and rushed forth. Her weakness had disappeared, and she climbed the steep, stony hills so fast that the two women who started with her were soon labouring on with heavy pantings, some distance behind. The seven miles she had to travel led her through many a tangled thicket, and along many a dizzy ledge with frowning buttresses above, and sheer precipices yawning beneath. She plunged into dark ravines, in the depths of which the light of day was almost lost, and scaled narrow, knife-back ridges so steep that hands as well as feet had to be used by the climber.Nomayeshè reached the kraal of ’Ndondo alone, about the middle of the afternoon, and probably two hours after the return of the party from the scene of their unsuccessful attempt at appeasing the “imishologu” by means of the goats.These hours had been spent by the men in heavy drinking; all had endeavoured to make up the time that had been lost, and the beer, being now fully fermented, was at its point of greatest strength, just before turning sour.Nomayeshè, wild-eyed and quivering, strode into the circle and sank exhausted to the ground before ’Ndondo, who was the only one present with whom she was acquainted. In disjointed sentences she began asking about her child, for she knew that the one she had heard of as crying under the stone must be little Nodada.’Ndondo was in a very maudlin state, and the only two clear ideas he had were: that he must on no account whatsoever affront the witch-doctors, and that the said witch-doctors had stringently forbidden any interference with the child beneath the stone, under peril of the vengeance of the “imishologu”; or rather, what concerned ’Ndondo more nearly, under peril of offending the witch-doctors themselves.’Ndondo accordingly declared, with drunken emphasis, that he knew nothing of the matter, and that the account of the child crying under the stone was an idle tale set current by boys, who should be well beaten for speaking falsely.The most celebrated witch-doctor, however, took a different line. He had reached that stage in his cups which brings to some immense self-confidence. He arose, albeit somewhat unsteadily, and made a vigorous and eloquent speech. He recapitulated all he had previously said about the danger of offending the “imishologu” by interference with their concerns. He drew attention to an occurrence of a few years back, which was still fresh in the memories of all present, when the solid earth had shaken until a bluff of the mountain slid down with thunderous roarings, and overwhelmed a kraal, not one of the inhabitants of which had escaped. Continuing, he depicted once more the happy condition of the child in the subterranean fields. He ended by pronouncing the direst anathemas upon any one becoming accessory to the impious deed which the woman contemplated.Then Nomayeshè went around the circle, grovelling at the feet of each individual separately, and beseeching that she might be shown the spot where her Nodada, her little wild duck, the child she had carried in her womb and suckled at her breast, lay perishing in the cold and darkness. Some of the men were evidently inclined to tell, but the warning frowns of the witch-doctors deterred them, and they maintained the cruelty of silence.Then Nomayeshè broke out into fierce rage, and cursed all present, and their fathers and mothers before them as dogs and apes. She wished that they might die under the spears of an enemy, and that the bodies of their children might shrivel and hiss under their burning roof-trees. This outburst came as a great relief to the men. Her invective was easier to endure than her entreaties, and the drunken crew only laughed at her fury.While all this was going on, the two women who had followed Nomayeshè arrived at the kraal. They had found out, from some other women they had met, all that Nomayeshè wanted to know. These women described accurately the situation of the flat stone, so when Nomayeshè staggered back from the beer-drinkers, and met her two friends outside the circle of huts, she was led at once by them to the gorge where she knew that her lost child lay hidden.It was dusk when they reached the stone. With unerring instinct the mother made straight for the largest crevice, through which she at once descended into the darkness. The two women waited in silence, standing apart from each other. Soon a faint shriek was heard issuing as though from the bowels of the earth. The women looked at each other with awe in their eyes... Nomayeshè emerged from the crevice, clasping her dead child to her bosom.It was past midnight when the three women, carrying Nodada’s body, arrived at Zwilibanzi’s kraal. Their return journey was made by a longer but safer route. Nomayeshè placed the little body on a mat, and then laid herself down next to it. The two women lit a fire, and prepared some food. When they went to Nomayeshè to try and persuade her to eat, they found that she was dead.

There is no bird in any last year’s nest.

There is no bird in any last year’s nest.

Whoever has traversed the valley of the Umzinivubu river below the Tabankulu Mountain, in that vicinity where the Tsitsa, the Tina, and the Umzimhlava streams have carved their several devious courses almost through the vitals of the earth to the main water-way, has seen the roughest part of Pondoland, and seldom feels inclined to repeat the experience. However, ponies accustomed to such regions will clamber up and down precipices which would make a domestic cat that is only habituated to the house-top of civilisation nervous, and accidents on such journeys seldom occur.

It has been my fortune twice to penetrate these rugged regions, an interval of a year elapsing between the expeditions. Hence the following tale.

The season was late autumn. I had made a very early start, and my horses were tired. I decided, therefore, to camp where I was, between the precipice from which I had just escaped and another, equally dangerous, frowning just before me, and which it seemed impossible to avoid. The place was a small, flat ledge upon a rugged tongue of land running from the mountain out to a sheer bluff, under which the river, still slightly swollen from the late summer rains, murmured, hundreds of feet below.

A native kraal consisting of three huts, a stone cattle enclosure, and a small goat-pen made of bushes, stood on the ledge. Two of the huts were occupied by human beings, and the third, ordinarily used as a corn store, was civilly placed at my disposal by the head of the kraal, an old Pondo named Zwilibanzi. His son, one Madolo, and the latter’s wife and two children, were the only other occupants of the kraal.

I was particularly struck by the air of cleanliness and neatness pervading the whole establishment. This was in strong contrast with the condition of the other kraals I had visited. The Pondos are, it may be stated, much dirtier in their habits than are other natives. Their huts are usually ragged and disorderly on the outside, and as to the interiors—why, the less said about them the better.

The night was cold, so after assisting my after-rider to make the horses as comfortable as circumstances would permit, I entered the hut of Madolo, who, with the old man, was sitting on the ground next to a bright, almost smokeless fire. I then, for the first time, noticed the two children, one boy named Dhlaka, aged about ten years, and the other a little girl aged about six, whose name turned out to be Nodada, a Kafir word meaning “wild duck.” The mother was absent, but was momentarily expected to return.

Nodada was a remarkably pretty child. All she wore in the way of clothing was a small apron of strung beads, unless a necklet of charms hung on hairs from the tail of the “ubulunga” cow can be counted as such. She made friends with me at once, although, as her grandfather assured me, she had never previously seen a European. The boy, on the other hand, would not come to terms at all, but crouched on the ground near the door, ready to spring up and flee, as he did whenever I attempted to make advances, After a short interval, the mother, a good-looking woman of about thirty, arrived. Her name was Nomayeshè. After greeting her husband, her father-in-law, and me (as guest) with politeness and ease, she turned to the children; the evidently genuine affection manifested between her and them was truly remarkable. She sat down on the floor of the hut and they flung themselves upon her. They were immediately clasped to her breast, with many an endearing epithet. I could not help wishing at the time that some of those who believe the Aryan race in South Africa to have a monopoly of the gentler feelings and emotions could have been present. It could easily be seen that the warmest feeling on the part of the mother was for the little girl, who, up to the time when I retired for the night, never left her side.

Next morning, shortly after daybreak, I bade farewell to my kind hosts, and resumed climbing the anything-but-delectable mountains. In pausing to take breath just before passing out of sight of the kraal I looked back, and saw Nomayeshè at the hut door looking after me, and the little girl holding on to her mother’s skin skirt.

Within a few days of a year afterwards, I travelled over the same course, but in an opposite direction. I had attempted to reach old Zwilibanzi’s, with the view of spending the night there, but when the sun went down, leaving me still several miles away from that spot, I found it necessary to seek shelter at another kraal, where my entertainment was somewhat indifferent. However, I reached Zwilibanzi’s next day at about noon. Even from a distance it was apparent that things were changed for the worse in comparison with what I had seen a year previously. The huts looked dilapidated, and there was an atmosphere of dreariness over the whole establishment. I found old Zwilibanzi asleep on a mat on the sunny side of his hut, but could see no sign of another human being. I wakened the old man, but it was some time before I could bring myself to his remembrance. He was totally blind and extremely deaf, and had aged considerably in every respect. At length he remembered me, and then he seemed extremely pleased.

Where were Madolo, Nomayeshè, and the children? I asked. Alas! Nomayeshè and the little girl Nodada were both dead, Madolo had left the neighbourhood, and the boy Dhlaka had gone to stay with an uncle at another kraal. Of the happy family I had so often thought of, only this old man remained. A nephew, with his two wives, had come to dwell at the kraal, but I gathered from Zwilibanzi that they were not kind to him, that the nephew was idle, and too much in the habit of going to beer-drinks, and the wives lazy, ill-tempered, and fonder of emptying than of filling the milk-sack and the calabashes.

There was much that was tragic, and some that was sordid, in the old man’s tale. What follows is an account of the tragedy.

It was just at the merging of autumn and winter; the last of the maize crop was being gathered in, and the first touch of frost was browning the hill-tops. The field cultivated by Zwilibanzi’s family lay in a ravine a few hundred yards below the northern side of the ledge on which the kraal was built. Thither Nomayeshè, with another woman who came to assist at the harvesting, went every day for the purpose of stripping what remained of the maize-cobs from the withered stalks, and carrying what they gathered in baskets up to the kraal. At this work Madolo was not supposed to assist, so he took his departure for the “great place” of the paramount Pondo chief, for the purpose of attending an “umkandhlu,” or “meeting for talk,” of which general notice had been given.

Early in the afternoon of the second day after Madolo left, there remained little more than two basketfuls of grain to remove, so Nomayeshè, with the other woman and Dhlaka, went down with baskets to fetch it. Some little gleaning had to be done, so they expected to be away, more or less, for the whole afternoon.

The day was cold, and old Zwilibanzi was lying asleep in his hut, where a fire had been lighted. Little Nodada, who was very intelligent for her age, was left behind with instructions to attend to the fire and see that it neither went out nor endangered the hut by blazing too freely. This was an occupation to which she was quite accustomed. Thus, when Nomayeshè and her two companions went to the field, the old man and the child were the only ones left at the kraal.

The cattle were within sight on the hill-side, and the little flock of goats was close at hand. Just before he disappeared over the lip of the ledge, Dhlaka called out to Nodada, asking her to keep her eye on the goats, among which were a few strange ones that might be liable to stray.

The sun was still shining when Nomayeshè returned. She found old Zwilibanzi asleep next to the fireplace, which was quite cold, but little Nodada was missing. At first she felt no alarm, but rather anger at the child’s disobedience in thus absenting herself, but after the sun sank behind the ’Ngwemnyama Mountain, and the child was still absent, she began to feel uneasy. When the shades of night began to darken over the valley she became alarmed, and began searching all around the edge of the plateau, calling loudly the child’s name. The woman, her assistant in the harvesting, helped in the search. Up and down the stony gullies, among the narrow rock fissures, below the precipice with which the ledge where the kraal was built ended, the frantic mother and her companion sought with flaming brands throughout the greater part of the long, cold night, but no trace of the child could they find.

The kraal nearest to that of Zwilibanzi was about three miles away, and thither Nomayeshè hurried some time before daybreak, upon her companion’s suggestion that the child might have taken refuge there. At this kraal, however, nothing could be heard of her. When day broke all the men, women, and children turned out and scoured the country. The alarm was wailed out to all the surrounding kraals, and the inhabitants of these joined in the search. When the all too short day drew towards its close, little Nodada was still missing. The hills resounded with the shouts of the seekers, and dwellers in the more distant valleys, flocking in to see what was the matter, had swelled the number of the searchers to a considerable crowd. But all in vain. The sun again sank, and night descended from an untarnished sky of throbbing stars, and the poor little child was still lost in the maze of bare, frowning peak and yawning chasm.

The unhappy mother was now nearly insane. Throughout the whole day she had never rested for a moment, and since the previous noon she had not tasted food. When darkness fell and the seekers returned to their homes, she kindled a large fire on a stony ridge just above the kraal, and all night long she wandered about carrying firebrands, and calling the name of her lost Nodada into the cold ear of the night that mocked her with wild echoes.

Daylight found the searchers again at work, but the experience of the second day was only a repetition of that of the first. Late in the afternoon Nomayeshè fell exhausted to the ground, and was carried senseless to her dwelling. Then the searchers again wended sadly homewards, feeling that further effort would be vain.

The kraal of ’Ndondo was built in a particularly inaccessible part of the valley of the Umzimhlava, and about seven miles from the dwelling of Zwilibanzi. Here, on the second day after the disappearance of little Nodada, was held a small and select gathering. A fat ox had been slaughtered for the occasion, and the pink foam of beer was visible over the lips of several large earthen pots, some of them nearly three feet high.

’Ndondo was related to the heads of several important kraals in the neighbourhood, to which he had only very recently returned. He had, a few years previously, been “smelt out” upon an accusation of having, by means of black magic, caused the death of one of the wives of his chief. Luckily, however, he had got wind of the matter in time, and accordingly had managed to escape—not alone with his life, but with the bulk of his cattle—to the Cwera country. His alleged confederate had not been so lucky. This unhappy man had been tortured to death, his kraal had been destroyed, and all his property confiscated.

Subsequently, however, ’Ndondo, by means of judicious bribery, had managed to convince the chief of his innocence, and had accordingly been permitted to return, as it were, on probation of good behaviour. He was rich in cattle, and was now celebrated for generosity and hospitality to the “isanuse” and “inyanga” fraternities, members of which were generally to be found at his kraal.

On the present occasion, no less than four witch-doctors—one a most celebrated man, a very Matthew Hopkins among witch-finders—were present, the occasion being an attempt to cure one of ’Ndondo’s daughters of what was really epilepsy, but which was supposed to be an attack of “umdhlemnyana,” or “love frenzy,” believed to have been induced by a young man of the neighbourhood by means of the casting a love spell.

It was about mid-day. Long strips of roasted meat were circulating among the feasters, and the beer, which was of a very heavy brew, was being handed round freely in small pots, each with a cleft-calabash spoon floating in it. Then one of the boys who had been herding cattle on the mountain-side rushed in, breathless, and told a strange tale. He had, so he said, been seeking honey in a steep gorge, the entrance to which was visible from the kraal, when he heard cries, as of a child, issuing from beneath a large flat stone. The gorge was not far off, and thither the feasters wended, some gazing back ruefully at the liquor and the baked meats.

They reached the flat stone; it was evidently part of an old land-slip, and lay as a sort of bridge across the bottom of the gorge. On each side the ground was flush with the top. Below it were piled stones which had been carried over by aeons of floods, and above it boulders, too heavy to admit of their being moved by water over the obstacle, had lodged. Among these were a few crevices, this being probably due to a general shifting of the whole mass under exceptionally violent pressure of water from above.

All the men listened carefully, but at first nothing could be heard. The boy, however, was evidently in earnest over his tale, so they all sat down and waited. Sure enough after a few moments they heard a faint wail issuing from under the stone. Here was a portent which the witch-doctors welcomed as something coming specially within their province, and towards an explanation of which they alone could give a clue.

The most celebrated witch-doctor was asked his opinion. He did not give an opinion; he gave a full and positive explanation of the case. There was, he said, undoubtedly a child under the stone, but it had been placed there by the “imishologu,” or spirits of the earth, and under no circumstances whatever should it be interfered with so long as it was in their august charge. The “imishologu” might, of course, be asked in some appropriate and orthodox manner to deliver the child back to the light of day, but any attempt to violate their domain would certainly be followed by severe punishment.

The three other witch-doctors at once declared that they had each independently arrived at exactly the same conclusion.

Upon being asked as to what form the request to the “imishologu” should take, the most celebrated witch-doctor claimed to have had it as a direct personal communication from some most potent spirits of this class, that the sounds most delectable to their shadowy ears were those caused by the trampling hoofs and clashing horns of cattle, the lowing of which was also grateful to them, but in a minor degree. He, the witch-doctor, therefore recommended that the cattle be collected and driven round and over the spot, so that haply thereby might the earth-spirits be propitiated to the extent of permitting the imprisoned child to return to the light of day. So the boys, of whom several were present, were sent to collect the cattle on the mountain-side, and drive them down the gorge for the appeasing of the “imishologu.”

All this time the pitiful wail of a little child who was dying in the cold and darkness could be heard coming at intervals from under the stone, which had lain through immemorial ages, not more deaf to pity, or more senseless, than the fraud and superstition of man.

The cattle were not far off, so within a short time the lowing herd was hurried down the gorge by the shouting boys. The men then formed a ring about a hundred yards in diameter, the flat stone being in the centre, and in this circle the cattle were driven round and round, the animals being crowded together so that their horns might clash, and beaten with sticks to make them low and bellow loudly. This went on for some time; until, in fact, the afternoon was well spent. Then the cattle were driven away, and the witch-doctors, jointly and severally, shouted down the crevices leading under the rock, conjuring the “imishologu” to permit the imprisoned child to return to the light of day.

But, perchance, the “imishologu” slept, like Baal of old. They gave no answer, nor did the child come forth. When the sun went down the men returned to ’Ndondo’s kraal, and resumed their feasting.

Next morning one of the minor witch-doctors stated that he had, on a former occasion, been told by some “imishologu,” in a vision, that the light pattering of the hoofs, the varying bleat, and the rank smell of goats were things that pleased them. After consultation it was decided to try the experiment of propitiation by means of goats, where the cattle had failed. The most celebrated witch-doctor, whilst admitting the possibility of some result from the goat function, gave it as his opinion that as the “imishologu” had remained obdurate in spite of the cattle function, they would not now relent.

The witch-doctors again went up the gorge to the flat stone, the goats being driven after them by the people of the kraal. They bent over the cleft and listened carefully. After a while a faint moaning could be distinctly heard. Then the goats were hurried in, made to crowd over the stone, and to rush backward and forward. This went on until nearly noon, when the flock of goats was driven away.

A most solemn invocation of the “imishologu” followed this, but they were still unappeased. The child did not come forth, nor could any sounds now be heard issuing from under the stone. Perhaps Death had at length shown mercy.

The most celebrated witch-doctor now apparently became epileptic, and soon fell into a trance. Upon awaking, he claimed to have been in spiritual communication with the “imishologu.” The child had, he declared, been taken by the spirits of the earth, but was being well treated, and was, in fact, much happier than it ever had been before. It was now playing in the wonderful underground fields where the sun never scorched nor wind chilled, with numerous companions. It would never more suffer hunger, thirst, nor any other pain. It was so happy that it did not wish to return to the regions of day and night. Much of this may, after all, have been true.

After Nomayeshè had been carried down to her hut on the afternoon of the second day of the search for her lost child, she lay long unconscious, and when she awoke, it was to raging delirium, which lasted until late in the night, when sleep suddenly overcame her.

Next morning, just after sunrise, she opened her eyes, and lay for a long time wondering as to what had happened. At length she remembered, and with a cry she started up for the purpose of going forth again to search. She staggered out of the hut, only to fall helplessly to the ground before the doorway. Several women from the nearest kraals had come to tend her, and these tried to persuade her of the uselessness of further search. Tears came to her relief, and she became calmer. At length she was persuaded to drink a little milk, after which she sank to the floor in a stone-like sleep. When she awoke, it was nearly noon.

It happened just about this time that Dhlaka, who had been out herding the flock of goats, returned to the kraal with strange news. In the veldt he had foregathered with other boys, who told him that a child had been heard crying under a stone near the kraal of ’Ndondo.

When this was communicated to Nomayeshè, she uttered one wild cry in which hope and agony were blended, and rushed forth. Her weakness had disappeared, and she climbed the steep, stony hills so fast that the two women who started with her were soon labouring on with heavy pantings, some distance behind. The seven miles she had to travel led her through many a tangled thicket, and along many a dizzy ledge with frowning buttresses above, and sheer precipices yawning beneath. She plunged into dark ravines, in the depths of which the light of day was almost lost, and scaled narrow, knife-back ridges so steep that hands as well as feet had to be used by the climber.

Nomayeshè reached the kraal of ’Ndondo alone, about the middle of the afternoon, and probably two hours after the return of the party from the scene of their unsuccessful attempt at appeasing the “imishologu” by means of the goats.

These hours had been spent by the men in heavy drinking; all had endeavoured to make up the time that had been lost, and the beer, being now fully fermented, was at its point of greatest strength, just before turning sour.

Nomayeshè, wild-eyed and quivering, strode into the circle and sank exhausted to the ground before ’Ndondo, who was the only one present with whom she was acquainted. In disjointed sentences she began asking about her child, for she knew that the one she had heard of as crying under the stone must be little Nodada.

’Ndondo was in a very maudlin state, and the only two clear ideas he had were: that he must on no account whatsoever affront the witch-doctors, and that the said witch-doctors had stringently forbidden any interference with the child beneath the stone, under peril of the vengeance of the “imishologu”; or rather, what concerned ’Ndondo more nearly, under peril of offending the witch-doctors themselves.

’Ndondo accordingly declared, with drunken emphasis, that he knew nothing of the matter, and that the account of the child crying under the stone was an idle tale set current by boys, who should be well beaten for speaking falsely.

The most celebrated witch-doctor, however, took a different line. He had reached that stage in his cups which brings to some immense self-confidence. He arose, albeit somewhat unsteadily, and made a vigorous and eloquent speech. He recapitulated all he had previously said about the danger of offending the “imishologu” by interference with their concerns. He drew attention to an occurrence of a few years back, which was still fresh in the memories of all present, when the solid earth had shaken until a bluff of the mountain slid down with thunderous roarings, and overwhelmed a kraal, not one of the inhabitants of which had escaped. Continuing, he depicted once more the happy condition of the child in the subterranean fields. He ended by pronouncing the direst anathemas upon any one becoming accessory to the impious deed which the woman contemplated.

Then Nomayeshè went around the circle, grovelling at the feet of each individual separately, and beseeching that she might be shown the spot where her Nodada, her little wild duck, the child she had carried in her womb and suckled at her breast, lay perishing in the cold and darkness. Some of the men were evidently inclined to tell, but the warning frowns of the witch-doctors deterred them, and they maintained the cruelty of silence.

Then Nomayeshè broke out into fierce rage, and cursed all present, and their fathers and mothers before them as dogs and apes. She wished that they might die under the spears of an enemy, and that the bodies of their children might shrivel and hiss under their burning roof-trees. This outburst came as a great relief to the men. Her invective was easier to endure than her entreaties, and the drunken crew only laughed at her fury.

While all this was going on, the two women who had followed Nomayeshè arrived at the kraal. They had found out, from some other women they had met, all that Nomayeshè wanted to know. These women described accurately the situation of the flat stone, so when Nomayeshè staggered back from the beer-drinkers, and met her two friends outside the circle of huts, she was led at once by them to the gorge where she knew that her lost child lay hidden.

It was dusk when they reached the stone. With unerring instinct the mother made straight for the largest crevice, through which she at once descended into the darkness. The two women waited in silence, standing apart from each other. Soon a faint shriek was heard issuing as though from the bowels of the earth. The women looked at each other with awe in their eyes... Nomayeshè emerged from the crevice, clasping her dead child to her bosom.

It was past midnight when the three women, carrying Nodada’s body, arrived at Zwilibanzi’s kraal. Their return journey was made by a longer but safer route. Nomayeshè placed the little body on a mat, and then laid herself down next to it. The two women lit a fire, and prepared some food. When they went to Nomayeshè to try and persuade her to eat, they found that she was dead.

Chapter Eight.The Madness of Gweva.“I have not left any calamity more hurtful to man than woman.”Table-talk of Mohammad.One“Yes, my father; for although your years are many less than mine, did you not protect me, even as a father, when these dogs of Fingo policemen would have made me guilty over the chopping down of that white iron-wood tree? I will now tell you the tale of Gweva, the son of Mehlo, which we yesterday spoke of when resting in the big forest during the hunt. Here, boy, bring fuel for the fire, for the night is cold and the tale is long. Fetch also the last pot of that beer which was brewed seven days ago. The new beer has not yet worked, and it tastes like water from a muddy puddle. Fetch also the large calabash spoon; then clear out, and come not near unless you are called.“There is one subject, my father, upon which you and I will never agree, namely women. You tell me that the women of your race are wiser than those of mine. This is no doubt true in the same sense as that you, a European, are wiser than I, a Kafir; but experience teaches me that women are just women, whatever be their colour, and that men should be their masters. Where it is otherwise, trouble always follows. I grant you that some women are wiser and better than most men; your great Queen, for instance. Her I used to hear of when I was a boy, and I still hear of her now that my head is white.Shemust be strong and wise. Then, who has not heard of Gubèlè the wife of Umjoli, the cowardly chief of the Abasekunene, who, when her husband fled before Tshaka, remained behind with half of the tribe, and slew so many Zulus that men sang of her that she piled up the gateways of her kraal with Zulu heads to prevent the cattle from coming out.“But such women, my father, are really men, and besides, one does not meet them, one only hears of them. I speak of the women one sees and knows and who become the mothers of our children, and I say that he who is their master, and holds them for his profit and pleasure, for the bringing forth of sons to fight for the chief (I forgot for the moment that we are under Government) and daughters for whom ‘lobola’ (dowry) cattle will be sent to his kraal, is wise, whilst he who sets his heart on one woman only, and desires her above all else, suffers from a madness that often leads to ruin.“Hear then the tale of Gweva, the son of Mehlo, which tends to prove the truth of my judgment in this matter. I will relate it, so far as I can, in the words of my grandfather Nqokomisa, who told it to me many years ago; he being at the time a man extremely old, also blind and deaf, and bereft of the use of every member except the tongue.“You have heard of our ‘great chief’ ’Ngwanya, whose body lies in the deep pool in the Tina river just below the drift where the wagons cross. They tied him to a green iron-wood log and sunk him in the water so that no enemy could obtain his bones wherewith to work magic against the tribe. Every year are cast into the pool slaughtered oxen and new bowls of beer as offerings. You may have noticed that no woman of the Pondomisi ever lifts her skin skirt, no matter how high the water is, in crossing the Tina.“Well, in the days of ’Ngwanya, we Pondomisi occupied the whole of the country between the Dedesi, at the source of the Umzimvubu, and the Umtata. We were then a large tribe, and we feared no enemy. When we rose against the English in the last war, we should have regained our position had not our chief Umhlonhlo offended the ‘imishologu’ by killing his magistrate treacherously. Then an evil spirit put it into the minds of some of us to attack the Fingoes of the Tsitsa, who thereupon became our enemies instead of our allies, as had been arranged. When Makaula and his Bacas slaughtered us in the Tina valley the ‘imishologu’ had turned their faces from us, and we knew it.“’Ngwanya was old when his father died, and was the father of many sons and daughters. The eldest daughter of his ‘great house’ was Nomasaba, and it is of the madness caused by her, which fell upon Gweva, the son of Mehlo, that I am about to tell.“Mehlo was the younger brother of ’Ngwanya. He was killed in a battle with the Tembus, on the Bazaya Mountain. He was a young man of great courage, and his death was so much lamented that his uncle, who had been to him as a father, found his hair grow grey with grief. Mehlo had only one wife—he had only been married a few months before his death. The wife was, according to custom, taken into ’Ngwanya’s household, and when, half a year afterwards, she gave birth to a boy, it was said that his name should be ‘Gwevu,’ which means ‘grey.’ Soon afterwards she died, and the boy was formally adopted into ’Ngwanya’s ‘great house.’ Once he was gored by a grey ox, and thereupon the witch-doctors said that his name was an unlucky one, so they changed it to ‘Gweva,’ which means ‘one who spies about.’“When Gweva was three years old, Nomasaba was born, and these two grew up together in one hut. According to native custom they were brother and sister. I have been told that amongst Europeans marriage is allowed between people so related, but with us such a thing would be looked upon as most horrible and unnatural.“Gweva grew up exactly like what his father had been—tall and strong, brave as a lion, and with eyes and voice that commanded the obedience of men, even against their will. When hardly more than a lad he could fling an assegai or a knobbed stick farther, and as true, as any man in the tribe. But for the madness that fell on him he would have been chief in the room of Pahlo, who was only of the right-hand house, the only son of the ‘great house,’ into which Gweva had been legally adopted, having died young, through being bitten by a snake.“Nomasaba was said to be the most beautiful woman ever seen. She was not black, but of a rich brown colour; she had large, smooth, rounded limbs, a neck like the trunk of a young tree, a bosom fit to give milk to the son of a great chief, and pleasing features, which, however, but seldom smiled. Her voice, although soft, was said to resemble that of a man. Nomasaba was sought by many in marriage, but she treated all offers with disdain.“When Tahli succeeded Dayènè as great chief of the Pondos, ’Ngwanya became desirous that Nomasaba should be his ‘great wife,’ so without the girl’s knowledge he sent messengers, of whom my grandfather was one, to the ‘great place’ in Pondoland, to open negotiations on the subject. My grandfather, being fleet of foot, was sent with the assegai and the ‘umlomo,’ or ‘word present’ for the intended bridegroom. These he dropped in the Pondo chiefs presence and then, according to custom, fled, pursued by the young men of the kraal. Although hard pressed, he succeeded in escaping; otherwise, had he been caught, he would have been driven homeward ignominiously with his hands bound behind him, and the ‘umlomo’ tied on his back.“After this the women were sent to ‘hlolela’ or ‘spy’ for the bride, and whilst they were absent on this errand Nomasaba was informed for the first time of the marriage which had been arranged for her. To the surprise and embarrassment of all, she declared that she did not want to marry, and that nothing would induce her to go to the Pondo chief. However, we natives have our own ways of arranging such matters, so no notice was taken of her words.“Gweva was absent on a military expedition against a clan of Tembus which dwelt amongst the mountains just over our inland border, and which had been raiding into our territory. He had departed shortly before the first messengers were sent, and he did not return until after the ‘hlolela’ party had come back, having arranged all preliminaries. Nomasaba was then told that she should start with the bridal party on a certain day, and after declaring over and over again with considerable violence that she would kill herself, and that they might take her dead body to the Pondo chief, she suddenly changed her tone, and cheerfully signified her willingness to accept Tahli as her husband.“In due course the bridal party started. The bride was accompanied by twenty girls and fifty young men, including my grandfather and Gweva, who went as the representatives of ’Ngwanya. Amongst the girls was one Nonsimbi, who was known as Nomasaba’s shadow, for the reason that she hardly ever left Nomasaba’s side. She was a girl of fierce temper and great strength, and she loved Nomasaba as a dog loves its master.“The ‘great place’ of the Pondo chief was distant about five days’ walk from that of ’Ngwanya. On the afternoon of the fourth day Nomasaba, at whose side Nonsimbi was walking, suddenly fell to the ground with a sharp cry. When questioned she said she had hurt her ankle, and that it was impossible for her to proceed any farther. They were then on the bank of the Umzimvubu river, close to the Lukawi drift, and there were no dwellings of men close at hand. The huts at which it had been arranged to sleep were still a long way ahead, so nothing could be done except halt for the night where they were. Some of the young men went into the forest close by to cut light poles and wattles which they meant to bind together in the form of a litter, whereon to carry Nomasaba next day unless, as appeared unlikely, she should prove to be better in the morning.“Nomasaba, moaning and crying out, limped, with the assistance of Nonsimbi, to a spot a short distance apart from where the others had halted, and there lay down.“Next morning at daylight when the men awoke they found that Gweva, the son of Mehlo, Nomasaba, and Nonsimbi had disappeared. Search was made in every direction, but a heavy dew had fallen, and consequently no spoor could be found. This, of course, indicated that the three must have taken their departure early in the night.Two“I will not say much about what happened to my grandfather, the men of the escort, and the companions of the bride. They did not proceed to the ‘great place’ of the Pondo chief, but after searching much and finding no trace of the missing ones, started for home, travelling so fast, that although the return journey was up-hill, they performed it in less than three days. They had much difficulty in persuading ’Ngwanya of the truth of their story, and the lives of my grandfather and, in fact, of all the men of the party, were in the greatest danger. To avoid so far as possible any cause of quarrel, ’Ngwanya, who was at the time at war with the Tembus, sent the fifty men who had formed the escort unarmed to Tahli to answer for their carelessness, and suffer such punishment as the Pondo chief might think fit to inflict. However, by that time Tahli’s wrath was no longer hot, so he sent them back unpunished.“What now follows was told many years afterwards when, ’Ngwanya being dead and the Bahlo chief in his place, she ventured to return to the Pondomisi country to die among her own people.“It would appear that the plan of escaping was arranged before the bridal party left ’Ngwanya’s ‘great place,’ in fact on the very day Nomasaba stated her willingness to accept the Pondo chief as her husband. The plan originated with Nomasaba herself, and she caused Nonsimbi to communicate the same to Gweva. No particular spot was fixed upon for the escape, it being settled that Gweva should give the signal agreed upon, on reaching some locality where, from the density of its forests and its lack of inhabitants, escape would be rendered easy.“Through Nonsimbi’s good management the fugitives were enabled to take with them enough food to last several days. They fled quite early in the night, in fact whilst some of the men were still talking around the fires, and slipped at once into the forest. They then bore swiftly away towards the coast by a route which Gweva had discovered in the afternoon when cutting sticks for the litter whereon to carry Nomasaba.“The coast country in this part of Pondoland is extremely broken, and even now is well wooded, but in those days it was covered by dense, almost continuous forest, which was full of elephants, buffaloes, and other kinds of game. All this had been ascertained by Gweva from the people of the kraals at which he and his party had rested on their way down. Gweva’s idea was to lie in hiding in the forest for some little time, and then work his way down until he could manage to cross the Umtata river and enter the country of the Amabonwane, who were reported to be hospitable to strangers.“In the forest track, however, were living a number of Pondo outlaws, formerly the adherents of a chief who had rebelled against Tahli’s father Dayènè, and had lost his life in consequence. These people were fierce and brave; for years they had evaded the different expeditions sent against them. They always made welcome and incorporated among themselves any fugitives from Pondoland or elsewhere who were willing to join them. They lived principally by hunting, but had entered into a secret arrangement with those people living nearest the forest, who, in return for being left unmolested, grew a little grain for the outlaws and looked after the few cattle that they owned.“One day Gweva and his two companions found themselves surrounded by a number of these people. Instead, however, of being killed, as they expected, the fugitives were civilly treated; eventually they were received into full fellowship by the outlaw community.“Gweva represented that his house had been ‘eaten up’ after his father had been ‘smelt out’ by the witch-doctor, and killed, and that he, with his wife and sister, for he represented Nonsimbi as standing in the latter relationship towards himself, had fled in consequence from over the Pondo border.“Gweva soon became a leader amongst the outlaws; his bravery, his skill in hunting, and his strength being very great. Nomasaba and Nonsimbi built huts in a glade deep in the thickest part of the forest, and there the three dwelt together for a time. But women were scarce among the outlaws, and soon Nonsimbi found herself asked in marriage after a manner which made it difficult for her to refuse, so she left the dwelling of Gweva, and went to live with one of the leaders of the outlaws as his wife.“Gweva and Nomasaba dwelt together in the forest for four years, during which time the man’s madness did not abate, and it was said that the madness of the woman became worse as time passed. Although living very much to themselves and, in fact, avoiding other people as much as possible, they seemed to be happy and contented with their lot. Early in the second year Nomasaba bore a son, and in the year following she was delivered of a daughter.“The forest being full of game there was never any lack of meat; much honey was to be found in the hollow trees: and the ground held many roots which were fit for food. Besides, some few trees bore fruits, and on the dead tree-trunks large mushrooms, good to eat, grew plentifully. After they had become accustomed to the life, Gweva and Nomasaba ceased to feel any hardship. Besides, their love-madness for each other was such that they were content only to be together.“It was early in the fourth year of Gweva’s dwelling in the forest when messengers from the Pondo chief arrived offering forgiveness to the outlaws if they would consent to leave the forest and return to their homes. The outlaws assembled and heard the words of the messengers, who satisfied them that the proposals were made in good faith, and that the chief really meant to overlook the past. Most of the outlaws were tired of the life they were leading, so were glad to accept the terms proposed, and return to their allegiance.“The word being given, the whole outlaw community moved out of the forest and assembled between the Umlengaan hill and the Umgazi river, at a spot agreed upon. Here they were met by the chief induna of Tahli, who had brought a herd of cattle given by the chief as a token of forgiveness. The appearance of the outlaws was extremely fierce—they were gaunt and worn from the effects of the hard life and the scarcity of food. The children born in the forest were as wild as apes, and showed great uneasiness in the open country. In passing through the Umzimvubu forest, several of them ran away and hid, and were only recovered after great difficulty.“It was soon ascertained that Gweva, who was known amongst the outlaws by the name of Sondaba, and his family were missing. No particular attention was paid to this fact at the time, but some months afterwards, when the people had settled in their old homes, it began to be talked about. The late outlaws were naturally much given to discussion with their old friends as to all that had happened in Pondoland during recent years, and, as may be imagined, the disappearance of the daughter of the Pondomisi chief when on her wedding journey did not fail to be mentioned. Gradually the idea grew that the wife of Sondaba was the missing bride, and the shocking suggestion that these two who lived as man and wife were really brother and sister (as, according to our ideas, they were) was whispered from one to another. Nonsimbi, who had also changed her name, was questioned on the subject, but no information could be elicited from her.“The rumour at length reached the ears of Tahli, who sent word of it to ’Ngwanya, asking what he wished to be done. ’Ngwanya’s wrath at the flight of Nomasaba had from the first been fiercer than Tahli’s, and his heart was such that he never forgave an insult or an injury. He sent back word to the Pondo chief that he wished his shameless daughter and her criminal lover to be captured and sent to him for punishment. Such punishment, the messengers added, would be of such severity that men would talk of it for many years.“Tahli thereupon dispatched an expedition to capture Gweva and Nomasaba. Some of those who had been outlaws acted as guides, and accordingly, a few days after the arrival of ’Ngwanya’s messenger, the valley wherein the huts of Gweva were built was surrounded by armed men. But Gweva, who evidently had expected some such event, had removed from the valley just after the departure of the outlaws, and taken up his abode some distance away, nearer the sea.“Gweva had great skill in the training of dogs to hunt, and it was through his dogs that he was betrayed to his doom. After vainly scouring the forest in unsuccessful search of the fugitives during several days, the induna in charge of the expedition decided to return home. He and the guides were of opinion that Gweva had fled across the Umtata river.“On the first day of the return journey one of a hunting party, that had been led afar in pursuit of a wounded koodoo, heard a dog barking in the distance. Following the sound, the men went up a narrow, winding valley with steep, rocky sides, until they came to a cave. The dog had now ceased barking, having been, as they afterwards found out, tied up inside the cave. They had found tracks leading to the cave, so the men, who were ten in number, formed a line before its mouth, so that none who were inside could escape. They then advanced, and a man armed with a large stabbing spear and a shield made of buffalo hide, came towards them, calling out a warning that they were to advance no farther. Behind him was a woman also armed with a spear. She had two children with her, one she held to her breast, whilst the other clung to her skin skirt. The man and woman looked so fierce that the ten stood still for a space at their warning.“‘Who are you, and what do you want?’ asked the man of the cave.“‘Who we are matters not,’ replied the leader of the ten, ‘but we want you, Gweva, and this wife of yours who is also your sister.’“‘My husband, it has come,’ said the woman in a deep but quiet voice; ‘I will do my work; see that you do yours as well.’“With that she plunged the spear into the back of the little boy who was clinging to her skirt; then she withdrew it, and drove it through the body of the child which she held on her arm. This done, she flung down the spear, lifted her arms high over her head, and cried out in a loud voice:“‘My husband, I am ready—remember.’“The man turned, lifted his spear, and smote the woman downwards above the left breast.“He withdrew the spear gently, and the woman sank slowly to the ground, he supporting her to save her from falling, and holding his hand under her head as she lay, until she ceased gasping.“The man then lifted his shield from where he had placed it leaning against a rock, put his arm through the loop-thong, and turned towards the ten, who stood struck dumb and rigid by what they had seen. Those who were living when the sun went down that day said that the face of Gweva was like a thunder-cloud, and that red flashes darted out of his eyes. He lifted his spear and sprang upon the ten like a wounded lion. Their surprise at the deeds they had just witnessed was such, that they were taken quite unprepared. Three fell dead from as many rapid strokes, and then the others closed in on the desperate man, who did not seem to heed the many wounds which were dealt him. A fourth fell with his throat slit in such a manner that he soon afterwards died, and then Gweva drove his spear so hard into the head of a fifth, through the eye, that the weapon stuck by its edges between the bones of the aperture. Being thus disarmed, Gweva was quickly pierced through the heart from behind, so he sank dead to the ground.“This was the end of Gweva, the son of Mehlo, who was smitten with such a strange madness of desire for a woman whom he could not lawfully take as his wife. Had he escaped this misfortune of love-madness, he might have been ‘great chief’ of the Pondomisi nation, and have taken a new woman to his kraal each year, through all the years of his life.”

“I have not left any calamity more hurtful to man than woman.”Table-talk of Mohammad.

“I have not left any calamity more hurtful to man than woman.”Table-talk of Mohammad.

“Yes, my father; for although your years are many less than mine, did you not protect me, even as a father, when these dogs of Fingo policemen would have made me guilty over the chopping down of that white iron-wood tree? I will now tell you the tale of Gweva, the son of Mehlo, which we yesterday spoke of when resting in the big forest during the hunt. Here, boy, bring fuel for the fire, for the night is cold and the tale is long. Fetch also the last pot of that beer which was brewed seven days ago. The new beer has not yet worked, and it tastes like water from a muddy puddle. Fetch also the large calabash spoon; then clear out, and come not near unless you are called.

“There is one subject, my father, upon which you and I will never agree, namely women. You tell me that the women of your race are wiser than those of mine. This is no doubt true in the same sense as that you, a European, are wiser than I, a Kafir; but experience teaches me that women are just women, whatever be their colour, and that men should be their masters. Where it is otherwise, trouble always follows. I grant you that some women are wiser and better than most men; your great Queen, for instance. Her I used to hear of when I was a boy, and I still hear of her now that my head is white.Shemust be strong and wise. Then, who has not heard of Gubèlè the wife of Umjoli, the cowardly chief of the Abasekunene, who, when her husband fled before Tshaka, remained behind with half of the tribe, and slew so many Zulus that men sang of her that she piled up the gateways of her kraal with Zulu heads to prevent the cattle from coming out.

“But such women, my father, are really men, and besides, one does not meet them, one only hears of them. I speak of the women one sees and knows and who become the mothers of our children, and I say that he who is their master, and holds them for his profit and pleasure, for the bringing forth of sons to fight for the chief (I forgot for the moment that we are under Government) and daughters for whom ‘lobola’ (dowry) cattle will be sent to his kraal, is wise, whilst he who sets his heart on one woman only, and desires her above all else, suffers from a madness that often leads to ruin.

“Hear then the tale of Gweva, the son of Mehlo, which tends to prove the truth of my judgment in this matter. I will relate it, so far as I can, in the words of my grandfather Nqokomisa, who told it to me many years ago; he being at the time a man extremely old, also blind and deaf, and bereft of the use of every member except the tongue.

“You have heard of our ‘great chief’ ’Ngwanya, whose body lies in the deep pool in the Tina river just below the drift where the wagons cross. They tied him to a green iron-wood log and sunk him in the water so that no enemy could obtain his bones wherewith to work magic against the tribe. Every year are cast into the pool slaughtered oxen and new bowls of beer as offerings. You may have noticed that no woman of the Pondomisi ever lifts her skin skirt, no matter how high the water is, in crossing the Tina.

“Well, in the days of ’Ngwanya, we Pondomisi occupied the whole of the country between the Dedesi, at the source of the Umzimvubu, and the Umtata. We were then a large tribe, and we feared no enemy. When we rose against the English in the last war, we should have regained our position had not our chief Umhlonhlo offended the ‘imishologu’ by killing his magistrate treacherously. Then an evil spirit put it into the minds of some of us to attack the Fingoes of the Tsitsa, who thereupon became our enemies instead of our allies, as had been arranged. When Makaula and his Bacas slaughtered us in the Tina valley the ‘imishologu’ had turned their faces from us, and we knew it.

“’Ngwanya was old when his father died, and was the father of many sons and daughters. The eldest daughter of his ‘great house’ was Nomasaba, and it is of the madness caused by her, which fell upon Gweva, the son of Mehlo, that I am about to tell.

“Mehlo was the younger brother of ’Ngwanya. He was killed in a battle with the Tembus, on the Bazaya Mountain. He was a young man of great courage, and his death was so much lamented that his uncle, who had been to him as a father, found his hair grow grey with grief. Mehlo had only one wife—he had only been married a few months before his death. The wife was, according to custom, taken into ’Ngwanya’s household, and when, half a year afterwards, she gave birth to a boy, it was said that his name should be ‘Gwevu,’ which means ‘grey.’ Soon afterwards she died, and the boy was formally adopted into ’Ngwanya’s ‘great house.’ Once he was gored by a grey ox, and thereupon the witch-doctors said that his name was an unlucky one, so they changed it to ‘Gweva,’ which means ‘one who spies about.’

“When Gweva was three years old, Nomasaba was born, and these two grew up together in one hut. According to native custom they were brother and sister. I have been told that amongst Europeans marriage is allowed between people so related, but with us such a thing would be looked upon as most horrible and unnatural.

“Gweva grew up exactly like what his father had been—tall and strong, brave as a lion, and with eyes and voice that commanded the obedience of men, even against their will. When hardly more than a lad he could fling an assegai or a knobbed stick farther, and as true, as any man in the tribe. But for the madness that fell on him he would have been chief in the room of Pahlo, who was only of the right-hand house, the only son of the ‘great house,’ into which Gweva had been legally adopted, having died young, through being bitten by a snake.

“Nomasaba was said to be the most beautiful woman ever seen. She was not black, but of a rich brown colour; she had large, smooth, rounded limbs, a neck like the trunk of a young tree, a bosom fit to give milk to the son of a great chief, and pleasing features, which, however, but seldom smiled. Her voice, although soft, was said to resemble that of a man. Nomasaba was sought by many in marriage, but she treated all offers with disdain.

“When Tahli succeeded Dayènè as great chief of the Pondos, ’Ngwanya became desirous that Nomasaba should be his ‘great wife,’ so without the girl’s knowledge he sent messengers, of whom my grandfather was one, to the ‘great place’ in Pondoland, to open negotiations on the subject. My grandfather, being fleet of foot, was sent with the assegai and the ‘umlomo,’ or ‘word present’ for the intended bridegroom. These he dropped in the Pondo chiefs presence and then, according to custom, fled, pursued by the young men of the kraal. Although hard pressed, he succeeded in escaping; otherwise, had he been caught, he would have been driven homeward ignominiously with his hands bound behind him, and the ‘umlomo’ tied on his back.

“After this the women were sent to ‘hlolela’ or ‘spy’ for the bride, and whilst they were absent on this errand Nomasaba was informed for the first time of the marriage which had been arranged for her. To the surprise and embarrassment of all, she declared that she did not want to marry, and that nothing would induce her to go to the Pondo chief. However, we natives have our own ways of arranging such matters, so no notice was taken of her words.

“Gweva was absent on a military expedition against a clan of Tembus which dwelt amongst the mountains just over our inland border, and which had been raiding into our territory. He had departed shortly before the first messengers were sent, and he did not return until after the ‘hlolela’ party had come back, having arranged all preliminaries. Nomasaba was then told that she should start with the bridal party on a certain day, and after declaring over and over again with considerable violence that she would kill herself, and that they might take her dead body to the Pondo chief, she suddenly changed her tone, and cheerfully signified her willingness to accept Tahli as her husband.

“In due course the bridal party started. The bride was accompanied by twenty girls and fifty young men, including my grandfather and Gweva, who went as the representatives of ’Ngwanya. Amongst the girls was one Nonsimbi, who was known as Nomasaba’s shadow, for the reason that she hardly ever left Nomasaba’s side. She was a girl of fierce temper and great strength, and she loved Nomasaba as a dog loves its master.

“The ‘great place’ of the Pondo chief was distant about five days’ walk from that of ’Ngwanya. On the afternoon of the fourth day Nomasaba, at whose side Nonsimbi was walking, suddenly fell to the ground with a sharp cry. When questioned she said she had hurt her ankle, and that it was impossible for her to proceed any farther. They were then on the bank of the Umzimvubu river, close to the Lukawi drift, and there were no dwellings of men close at hand. The huts at which it had been arranged to sleep were still a long way ahead, so nothing could be done except halt for the night where they were. Some of the young men went into the forest close by to cut light poles and wattles which they meant to bind together in the form of a litter, whereon to carry Nomasaba next day unless, as appeared unlikely, she should prove to be better in the morning.

“Nomasaba, moaning and crying out, limped, with the assistance of Nonsimbi, to a spot a short distance apart from where the others had halted, and there lay down.

“Next morning at daylight when the men awoke they found that Gweva, the son of Mehlo, Nomasaba, and Nonsimbi had disappeared. Search was made in every direction, but a heavy dew had fallen, and consequently no spoor could be found. This, of course, indicated that the three must have taken their departure early in the night.

“I will not say much about what happened to my grandfather, the men of the escort, and the companions of the bride. They did not proceed to the ‘great place’ of the Pondo chief, but after searching much and finding no trace of the missing ones, started for home, travelling so fast, that although the return journey was up-hill, they performed it in less than three days. They had much difficulty in persuading ’Ngwanya of the truth of their story, and the lives of my grandfather and, in fact, of all the men of the party, were in the greatest danger. To avoid so far as possible any cause of quarrel, ’Ngwanya, who was at the time at war with the Tembus, sent the fifty men who had formed the escort unarmed to Tahli to answer for their carelessness, and suffer such punishment as the Pondo chief might think fit to inflict. However, by that time Tahli’s wrath was no longer hot, so he sent them back unpunished.

“What now follows was told many years afterwards when, ’Ngwanya being dead and the Bahlo chief in his place, she ventured to return to the Pondomisi country to die among her own people.

“It would appear that the plan of escaping was arranged before the bridal party left ’Ngwanya’s ‘great place,’ in fact on the very day Nomasaba stated her willingness to accept the Pondo chief as her husband. The plan originated with Nomasaba herself, and she caused Nonsimbi to communicate the same to Gweva. No particular spot was fixed upon for the escape, it being settled that Gweva should give the signal agreed upon, on reaching some locality where, from the density of its forests and its lack of inhabitants, escape would be rendered easy.

“Through Nonsimbi’s good management the fugitives were enabled to take with them enough food to last several days. They fled quite early in the night, in fact whilst some of the men were still talking around the fires, and slipped at once into the forest. They then bore swiftly away towards the coast by a route which Gweva had discovered in the afternoon when cutting sticks for the litter whereon to carry Nomasaba.

“The coast country in this part of Pondoland is extremely broken, and even now is well wooded, but in those days it was covered by dense, almost continuous forest, which was full of elephants, buffaloes, and other kinds of game. All this had been ascertained by Gweva from the people of the kraals at which he and his party had rested on their way down. Gweva’s idea was to lie in hiding in the forest for some little time, and then work his way down until he could manage to cross the Umtata river and enter the country of the Amabonwane, who were reported to be hospitable to strangers.

“In the forest track, however, were living a number of Pondo outlaws, formerly the adherents of a chief who had rebelled against Tahli’s father Dayènè, and had lost his life in consequence. These people were fierce and brave; for years they had evaded the different expeditions sent against them. They always made welcome and incorporated among themselves any fugitives from Pondoland or elsewhere who were willing to join them. They lived principally by hunting, but had entered into a secret arrangement with those people living nearest the forest, who, in return for being left unmolested, grew a little grain for the outlaws and looked after the few cattle that they owned.

“One day Gweva and his two companions found themselves surrounded by a number of these people. Instead, however, of being killed, as they expected, the fugitives were civilly treated; eventually they were received into full fellowship by the outlaw community.

“Gweva represented that his house had been ‘eaten up’ after his father had been ‘smelt out’ by the witch-doctor, and killed, and that he, with his wife and sister, for he represented Nonsimbi as standing in the latter relationship towards himself, had fled in consequence from over the Pondo border.

“Gweva soon became a leader amongst the outlaws; his bravery, his skill in hunting, and his strength being very great. Nomasaba and Nonsimbi built huts in a glade deep in the thickest part of the forest, and there the three dwelt together for a time. But women were scarce among the outlaws, and soon Nonsimbi found herself asked in marriage after a manner which made it difficult for her to refuse, so she left the dwelling of Gweva, and went to live with one of the leaders of the outlaws as his wife.

“Gweva and Nomasaba dwelt together in the forest for four years, during which time the man’s madness did not abate, and it was said that the madness of the woman became worse as time passed. Although living very much to themselves and, in fact, avoiding other people as much as possible, they seemed to be happy and contented with their lot. Early in the second year Nomasaba bore a son, and in the year following she was delivered of a daughter.

“The forest being full of game there was never any lack of meat; much honey was to be found in the hollow trees: and the ground held many roots which were fit for food. Besides, some few trees bore fruits, and on the dead tree-trunks large mushrooms, good to eat, grew plentifully. After they had become accustomed to the life, Gweva and Nomasaba ceased to feel any hardship. Besides, their love-madness for each other was such that they were content only to be together.

“It was early in the fourth year of Gweva’s dwelling in the forest when messengers from the Pondo chief arrived offering forgiveness to the outlaws if they would consent to leave the forest and return to their homes. The outlaws assembled and heard the words of the messengers, who satisfied them that the proposals were made in good faith, and that the chief really meant to overlook the past. Most of the outlaws were tired of the life they were leading, so were glad to accept the terms proposed, and return to their allegiance.

“The word being given, the whole outlaw community moved out of the forest and assembled between the Umlengaan hill and the Umgazi river, at a spot agreed upon. Here they were met by the chief induna of Tahli, who had brought a herd of cattle given by the chief as a token of forgiveness. The appearance of the outlaws was extremely fierce—they were gaunt and worn from the effects of the hard life and the scarcity of food. The children born in the forest were as wild as apes, and showed great uneasiness in the open country. In passing through the Umzimvubu forest, several of them ran away and hid, and were only recovered after great difficulty.

“It was soon ascertained that Gweva, who was known amongst the outlaws by the name of Sondaba, and his family were missing. No particular attention was paid to this fact at the time, but some months afterwards, when the people had settled in their old homes, it began to be talked about. The late outlaws were naturally much given to discussion with their old friends as to all that had happened in Pondoland during recent years, and, as may be imagined, the disappearance of the daughter of the Pondomisi chief when on her wedding journey did not fail to be mentioned. Gradually the idea grew that the wife of Sondaba was the missing bride, and the shocking suggestion that these two who lived as man and wife were really brother and sister (as, according to our ideas, they were) was whispered from one to another. Nonsimbi, who had also changed her name, was questioned on the subject, but no information could be elicited from her.

“The rumour at length reached the ears of Tahli, who sent word of it to ’Ngwanya, asking what he wished to be done. ’Ngwanya’s wrath at the flight of Nomasaba had from the first been fiercer than Tahli’s, and his heart was such that he never forgave an insult or an injury. He sent back word to the Pondo chief that he wished his shameless daughter and her criminal lover to be captured and sent to him for punishment. Such punishment, the messengers added, would be of such severity that men would talk of it for many years.

“Tahli thereupon dispatched an expedition to capture Gweva and Nomasaba. Some of those who had been outlaws acted as guides, and accordingly, a few days after the arrival of ’Ngwanya’s messenger, the valley wherein the huts of Gweva were built was surrounded by armed men. But Gweva, who evidently had expected some such event, had removed from the valley just after the departure of the outlaws, and taken up his abode some distance away, nearer the sea.

“Gweva had great skill in the training of dogs to hunt, and it was through his dogs that he was betrayed to his doom. After vainly scouring the forest in unsuccessful search of the fugitives during several days, the induna in charge of the expedition decided to return home. He and the guides were of opinion that Gweva had fled across the Umtata river.

“On the first day of the return journey one of a hunting party, that had been led afar in pursuit of a wounded koodoo, heard a dog barking in the distance. Following the sound, the men went up a narrow, winding valley with steep, rocky sides, until they came to a cave. The dog had now ceased barking, having been, as they afterwards found out, tied up inside the cave. They had found tracks leading to the cave, so the men, who were ten in number, formed a line before its mouth, so that none who were inside could escape. They then advanced, and a man armed with a large stabbing spear and a shield made of buffalo hide, came towards them, calling out a warning that they were to advance no farther. Behind him was a woman also armed with a spear. She had two children with her, one she held to her breast, whilst the other clung to her skin skirt. The man and woman looked so fierce that the ten stood still for a space at their warning.

“‘Who are you, and what do you want?’ asked the man of the cave.

“‘Who we are matters not,’ replied the leader of the ten, ‘but we want you, Gweva, and this wife of yours who is also your sister.’

“‘My husband, it has come,’ said the woman in a deep but quiet voice; ‘I will do my work; see that you do yours as well.’

“With that she plunged the spear into the back of the little boy who was clinging to her skirt; then she withdrew it, and drove it through the body of the child which she held on her arm. This done, she flung down the spear, lifted her arms high over her head, and cried out in a loud voice:

“‘My husband, I am ready—remember.’

“The man turned, lifted his spear, and smote the woman downwards above the left breast.

“He withdrew the spear gently, and the woman sank slowly to the ground, he supporting her to save her from falling, and holding his hand under her head as she lay, until she ceased gasping.

“The man then lifted his shield from where he had placed it leaning against a rock, put his arm through the loop-thong, and turned towards the ten, who stood struck dumb and rigid by what they had seen. Those who were living when the sun went down that day said that the face of Gweva was like a thunder-cloud, and that red flashes darted out of his eyes. He lifted his spear and sprang upon the ten like a wounded lion. Their surprise at the deeds they had just witnessed was such, that they were taken quite unprepared. Three fell dead from as many rapid strokes, and then the others closed in on the desperate man, who did not seem to heed the many wounds which were dealt him. A fourth fell with his throat slit in such a manner that he soon afterwards died, and then Gweva drove his spear so hard into the head of a fifth, through the eye, that the weapon stuck by its edges between the bones of the aperture. Being thus disarmed, Gweva was quickly pierced through the heart from behind, so he sank dead to the ground.

“This was the end of Gweva, the son of Mehlo, who was smitten with such a strange madness of desire for a woman whom he could not lawfully take as his wife. Had he escaped this misfortune of love-madness, he might have been ‘great chief’ of the Pondomisi nation, and have taken a new woman to his kraal each year, through all the years of his life.”

Chapter Nine.The Love Charm.“Fetch me that flower; the herb I showed thee once;The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid,Will make or man or woman madly doteUpon the next live creature that it sees.”A Midsummer Night’s Dream.“Ca, ’mntan ’am (no, my child), I am too old, as you can see for yourself; my memory is no longer good, and all these things happened so very long ago. Besides, you have not yet told me why you want me to talk about these old days, you white people are so wise you cannot require to learn from an old woman such as I. Hear him now, what can the great people who live beyond the sea in those big houses you show me the shadows (pictures) of, and of which I never can tell the top from the bottom, want to know about the dead and gone Bacas? Yes, yes, I have heard all this before from you, and you know I only promised to talk on condition that you told me the true reason why you wanted to write down my words.“You white people areverysly; you know most things, yet one thing you are always trying to learn, all of you: the magic of the native. And what is our magic compared with yours? With us the ‘isanuse’ (witch-doctor) calls to all in a loud voice, boasting of what he knows, yet you ‘abelungu’ (white people) are for ever trying to persuade the natives that you are not wizards. Don’t tell me. Does not one of you speak with your mouth close to the end of an iron string at Umzimkulu, while another listens at Matatièlè where the string passes over the big poles, and hear the words spoken? and this over a distance which it takes a man six days to walk. I know myself that such is the case, because when my grand-daughter’s baby was born at Umzimkulu last spring, did I not learn it from the pink paper which the constable read to me on the same day. I asked Rachel particularly about the date afterwards, and she swore to me that the child was born two days before the new moon, and that was the day on which the constable came.“Did you not yourself open the eye of a box at me, with a click, and show me the next day the water-shadow of myself upon paper; and was not the very torn place in my blanket, which I had not yet mended, there too? Magic,Iknow magic when I see it.“Yes, I am very old. I remember, like it were yesterday, the time when Ncapay was killed by the Pondos, when he and his ‘impi’ were driven over the cliff on the Umzimvubu, and I have seen our chief, Makaula, herding calves when he was a boy. My first husband was old Palelo (he died when I was away at Umzimkulu), and my second was Momlotyolo, who got his head broken with a club in a fight with the Pondomisi. He came home with his head tied up, and laid himself down on a mat. Next day he could not speak. He lay snoring for five days, and then died in a fit. I had only been married to him three years, and we had three children. The first was a girl, she died when still a child, and the second a boy whom we called Tutani. He was drowned trying to cross the Umzimvubu after a beer-drink.“The first time I was married? That is long ago, and I have almost forgotten all about it. We were then living in what is now Cweraland. I was quite a young girl when old Palelo took me as his wife. Yes, he had six other wives then living, and several others had died. Palelo was a very old man, but he was rich and my father was poor. Eighteen head of cattle were given as my dowry, and a new hut was built for me. In this hut old Palelo nearly lived for two years, and I was quite glad when I heard that he was paying ‘lobola’ for another girl, as I knew that when he married her, he’d leave me alone for a time.“Who told you that I went to Umzimkulu? So, so, I had forgotten mentioning it. Well, I suppose I may as well tell you everything about it now, because you might hear it spoken of by others who do not know all that happened, and thus come to think evil of me, not knowing that it was Lamla’s fault, and that I was blameless.“You have heard of the charm which a man places upon a woman to make her follow him. Perhaps you do not believe in such things, eh? I thought not. It is strange what a lot of true things you wise people disbelieve in. Well, well, if you do not believe in such things why do you want to hear about them? I think I know the reason, but it runs on a different spoor to that of your words. Whether you believe in them or not, these things exist. I have lived much longer than you in spite of the drought on the top of your head, and I have not only seen, but experienced the effect of such a charm. No, no, although you are old enough to know better, you are also old enough to have seen that the eyes of a young woman do not shine on you as on younger men, and this knowledge might lead you into mischief.“Well, I will tell you of some, but not of the strongest. There are many things which can be used as charms, and some work quite differently from others. Some are of use only to a young man, and some to one who is old. There is the ‘duba’ (wild garlic:Tulbaghia alliacea) which is pounded up with fat and clay, and kept in the tip of a goat’s horn. If a young man touch a young woman with this it will make her think of him night and day, until the ‘umdhlemnyana’ (a kind of hysteria) seizes her. This will never leave her unless he releases her, or she can steal the charm from where he has to keep it, wrapped in a skin, in the roof of his dwelling. Then there is the ‘insonga ’mazwe’ (literally ‘turner’ or ‘wrapper up’ of words—Commelyna speciosa—a little blue, furry flower, with bright yellow anthers). If a young man bathes, and then rubs himself all over with this, his words become so wise and sweet to the ear, that no woman can deny him anything. Besides, there is that stuff which can be bought at the big stores, ‘zamlandela’ (camphor; literally ‘that which leads,’ or ‘induces’). If a young man rub his hands with this, and he touch a girl on the cheeks, she will dream of him whether she be asleep or awake. There are other things; roots and flowers which, if placed by a man in the water-pool at which the girls drink, or in which they bathe in hot weather, will have such an effect that their fathers and brothers will want to shed blood. Then there is another flower which, if broken up and scattered on a path along which a woman walks, will make her follow the man who scattered it wheresoever he leads her. It was in this way I was charmed and led away to Umzimkulu, where I dwelt for a year.“Lamla came to dwell in our neighbourhood nearly two years after I had married old Palelo. He was a young man of Umzimkulu. He had been obliged to flee for a time from there on account of having broken the law. He was related to some people of a kraal near ours, and with them he stayed. He was a very big man and a strong dancer, and was nearly always laughing.“Old Palelo had many sons and daughters, and as he was rich, there was plenty of feasting at our kraal. Lamla often visited my hut and seemed to be very fond of talking to Palelo about old times, and about the deeds my husband had done in his youth. The two would often sit over the fire, far into the night, and I used to lie on my mat, my head covered with a kaross, listening. There was a little hole in the kaross, and through this I used to watch Lamla, who always sat with his face towards me. I do not know how it was, but somehow that part of the kaross with the hole in it was always just in front of my eyes. It was strange to see how fond old Palelo was of Lamla; I think it was because Lamla listened to him so quietly, and just let him talk.“Lamla said very little to me on these occasions, but we used often to meet when I went down to the pool to fetch water, or to the millet-field to hoe. I did not altogether like meeting him alone, because the way in which he talked and went on annoyed me. It was not so much his words as his ways that made me angry. Whenever we were alone he mimicked old Palelo—his walk, his voice, his way of taking snuff—everything. Although I could not keep from laughing, I did not like Lamla to go on like this. He said he meant to make himself so like Palelo that none would be able to tell one from the other, and that he came to practise before me, so that I could tell him how he was getting on.“Sometimes he would tell me about what a lot of girls were in love with him at Umzimkulu, and when I told him to go back to them and not trouble me any more, he said he had got so fond of Palelo that he could not bear to think of departing. Occasionally he would come down to the field where I was hoeing, and if it were a hot day would make me sit with him under a tree, chewing ‘imfe’ (sweet reed), and listening while he blew music on the ‘ugwalo’ (a musical instrument formed of a single string attached to a quill, and stretched along a stick), or talking nonsense.“One day as I was returning from the pool carrying a pot of water, I met Lamla coming out of the bush with a lot of yellow flowers in his hands. I inquired as to what he was going to do with these, and he said he was going to do some ‘doctoring.’ ‘Who, then, is sick?’ I asked. ‘I am,’ he replied. I laughed at this, because at the dance the day before he had tired all the others out. ‘Do you know what sickness these are to cure?’ he asked, looking at me very hard. ‘No,’ said I, ‘unless it be the sickness that makes people think they are not themselves; that is the only sickness you have got.’ ‘Why, you are almost as good as a doctor yourself,’ he replied; then he laughed and went away.“Next morning I saw some little bits of yellow stuff on the ground just outside my hut, and also strewn along the pathway leading to the millet-field. I picked a piece up, and found it to be very like a portion of a flower such as Lamla had been carrying when I met him coming out of the bush. I soon picked up a whole flower. This, without considering what I was doing, I stuck into the carrying-hole of my left ear. Then it suddenly seemed as if something began to sing inside me, and I felt very happy, but rather frightened.“On that day I could not work. I felt as if quite changed in every way. I could not forget the yellow flowers, or Lamla. I just stuck my hoe into the ground and went to the spot under the big tree where he and I used to sit. It was very hot, so I lay down and soon fell fast asleep.“I had a strange dream. I thought that Lamla came to me with a lot of yellow flowers tied around his head in the way the Pondos tie the ‘imvani’ (wild asparagus) when they want rain to fall. I thought he kept changing into old Palelo, and then back into himself again, and that I was running away from him and at the same time feeling sorry that he could not catch me. Just as I thought he had caught me, I woke up suddenly, and there he stood.“I got such a fright that I screamed out and then began to weep. Lamla sat down next to me. I told him to leave me alone, but he would not, so I jumped up and ran away home.“That night I could eat nothing, and the ‘umdhlemnyana’ sickness seized me so badly that old Palelo became quite frightened, and said he would fetch the witch-doctor next day to see who had bewitched me. When I felt better I lay down to try and sleep, but it was of no use. I dreamed of Lamla’s coming, but when it got late and he had not come, I felt like a long-tailed finch trying to fly against the wind on a wet day. I kept wondering as to where he was, and the thought that he might be at a feast at another kraal where there was a girl who I knew liked him, troubled me so much that I got another ‘umdhlemnyana’ fit, and when old Palelo came to me with a pot of water, I threw the water all over him, and broke the pot. This made me feel a little better, so I lay quiet, pretending to be asleep.“Old Palelo went to sleep on his mat, but I lay long awake, until at length I felt I could not stay in the hut any longer; something seemed to draw me outside. I took my kaross and left the hut. The moon was large and yellow. The stream of water in the kloof just below was making a noise exactly like some one speaking, and at length I found out what it was saying. It was ‘lam-lam-lam-la-la-la-lam-la-la-lam-la-lam-la-lam-la,’ that the water was calling out over and over again as it ran over the stones. Lamla seemed to be all about me, and I kept looking behind me to see if he was not there.“A jackal up on the hill was calling out ‘yonk, yonk, yonk, yow-a-a-ow,’ like a man singing through his nose. The bats and night-jars were flitting about, and two owls were crying out to each other among the tops of the yellow-wood trees.“I first sat down near the hut, but old Palelo was snoring like a big frog, so I walked away beyond the cattle kraal, and laid myself down on the short, green grass, which was cool and wet with dew.“All this time I could think of nothing but Lamla, and I kept wondering why this should be so. Why did I feel so strange and so changed? My thoughts went back to the first time I had seen him. It was at the wedding feast of one of Palelo’s daughters. I remember thinking I had never seen any one dance so well. Then I went over, one by one, all the occasions upon which we had since met. Although they were many I think I remembered every one of them. I began to laugh when I thought of the way he used to mimic my husband. Then I thought of the long talks in the hut at night, so I lay back and covered myself up with the kaross, looking through the same little hole at a post standing near me, and trying to imagine it was Lamla, giving his ears to Palelo and his eyes to me.“Next I remembered his coming out of the bush with the yellow flowers, and this set me thinking of what had been strewn on the path. Then I suddenly understood the whole thing—I was bewitched. Lamla had said the flowers were for medicine, and this was what he had meant, the rogue.“When the thought first struck me I felt very much frightened, and I jumped up, meaning to run into the hut at once. However, I remained where I was for a little time, and then my fright seemed to pass away. Then I walked on a few yards and sat down on the grass.“I listened to the water calling out Lamla’s name, and thought seriously over the whole matter of Lamla and his doings. After considering for a while I concluded that in spite of the ‘umdhlemnyana’ sickness, being bewitched was, after all, not so very terrible. I had often heard of girls being charmed in this way, and I knew that one cure for it was to follow the man about, and make him take off the charm. ‘Ah, ha, my friend Lamla,’ thought I, ‘I am up to your ways and tricks, and will let you know it the next time we meet. You have not got a silly girl to deal with this time, but a woman who has been married nearly two years, and who can take care of herself very well, in spite of the “umdhlemnyana.”’“The dogs suddenly began to bark all together, and then they rushed round to the back of the cattle kraal, where they all ceased barking. Just afterwards a man walked out into the moonlight from behind the kraal-fence, and came slowly towards me. It was Lamla. The dogs knew him, and were running after him and fawning.“He came up to where I was sitting, and without saying a word took my hands in his and drew me gently towards him. I stood up, and then he walked on, and I followed. I could not have resisted then, even if I had wanted to, but I do not think I wanted to at all. You see, the charm had influenced me more strongly than I had thought. I was no longer myself, but just Lamla and nothing else.“I followed Lamla down the hill along the path to the millet-field, and then we sat down under the tree. The dogs came too, and Lamla got very angry because he could not at first manage to drive them back. ‘Lamla,’ said I, ‘you have bewitched me with those yellow flowers, and we will both be killed by Palelo’s sons.’ ‘No,’ said he, ‘it is you that have bewitched me, and I only used those flowers to cure myself.’“After a while we went on together, Lamla leading me by the hand. When we reached a little bush near the kraal he was living at, he left me for a short time, and then he returned with two bundles, one of which he gave me to carry. We walked on all night. Just before daybreak we turned to the left and entered a thick forest. Here we spent the day. We did not light a fire. Lamla had brought some millet already boiled, in a skin bag. We ate this, and also some roots which he dug up with the blade of his spear. From a hollow tree he brought some of the sweetest honey I have ever tasted. He did not seem to mind the bees stinging him at all.“All this time we hardly spoke a word. In the afternoon we were sitting together hidden in some thick, green brushwood; I heard a rustle and, looking up, saw a long green snake gliding through the branches just over Lamla’s head. I called out: ‘Look, there is a snake.’ He just smiled and, without standing up, killed the snake with one blow of his stick. It nearly fell on him, so I screamed out, but he laughed and comforted me and said that he had been doctored by a great wizard against all dangerous things except me.“Then he asked me how I liked being bewitched. I replied: ‘I like it very well now, because the charm is on me, but I know that by and by I will be very angry.’ He laughed very loud at this. Afterwards he asked me if I knew what had really happened. I answered: ‘Yes, Lamla, you wicked man, you have bewitched me and made me follow you away from my home.’ ‘No, you are mistaken,’ said he, ‘I am not Lamla at all, but your husband Palelo in Lamla’s body; Lamla is still at the kraal in the body of Palelo.’ I could not understand how this could be, and I now know that he was talking nonsense, but at the time the charm was so strong on me that I would have believed anything he told me.“That night we crossed the Umzimvubu, and reached the big forest below the Tabankulu. Here we laid down and slept. The sun was high when we awoke. We travelled on through the forest, and again rested and spent the night on the other side.“Next day we went on without concealment through the open country. We were now in Pondoland, so had nothing to fear, so we just wandered on quietly from kraal to kraal, getting food in plenty; for Lamla had such pleasant ways, especially with the women, that we were always made welcome. Lamla said I was his wife, whom he had fetched from the Pondomisi country, and no one seemed to doubt his words.“When we reached the Baca country at Umzimkulu, we went straight to the kraal of Lamla’s father, and when he told his relations that I was his wife, and that he had paid ‘lobola’ for me, they all laughed at him, and asked whether horns or feathers grew on the ‘lobola’ cattle. I did not see at the time why they should have doubted his words, but I found out the reason afterwards.“At first we lived very happily, for the charm was still strong upon me, but after some months Lamla began to go away from home very often, and then I heard that he was courting another girl. Well, he married her, and she and I quarrelled, and he took her part and beat me, so I became very miserable. It was nearly a year after we came to Umzimkulu that my baby, a boy, was born.“One day, when my baby was over a month old, who should walk up to the kraal but the Matshoba, old Palelo’s ‘great son.’ I picked up the child and ran away into the bush, but next day I got hungry and had to return. Matshoba was not very angry. It turned out that Palelo was dead. Matshoba said that I must return with him. I was not sorry to do so, because the charm had now quite passed away from me.“Matshoba brought a law case before the chief against Lamla for taking me away. I told all about the charm which had been used, and Lamla did not deny having used it. He was ordered by the chief to pay ten head of cattle as a fine. These his father had to pay, because Lamla had no cattle of his own. The chief said that if Lamla’s father had got him a wife Lamla would not have gone about bewitching the wives of other people. When the cattle were paid the chief took five head, and Matshoba and I drove the other five to my old home. Soon afterwards I was married to Momlotyolo.“My baby grew up and became just like his father both in appearance and ways. When quite a young man he was ‘smelt out’ for bewitching one of the wives of the chief, and had to flee for his life. I have never heard of him since.“No, no; I am not going to tell you anything more about the flower. It was not a yellow flower at all, but one of quite another colour. Besides, it is a young man’s charm, and therefore would be of no use to you.”

“Fetch me that flower; the herb I showed thee once;The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid,Will make or man or woman madly doteUpon the next live creature that it sees.”A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

“Fetch me that flower; the herb I showed thee once;The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid,Will make or man or woman madly doteUpon the next live creature that it sees.”A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

“Ca, ’mntan ’am (no, my child), I am too old, as you can see for yourself; my memory is no longer good, and all these things happened so very long ago. Besides, you have not yet told me why you want me to talk about these old days, you white people are so wise you cannot require to learn from an old woman such as I. Hear him now, what can the great people who live beyond the sea in those big houses you show me the shadows (pictures) of, and of which I never can tell the top from the bottom, want to know about the dead and gone Bacas? Yes, yes, I have heard all this before from you, and you know I only promised to talk on condition that you told me the true reason why you wanted to write down my words.

“You white people areverysly; you know most things, yet one thing you are always trying to learn, all of you: the magic of the native. And what is our magic compared with yours? With us the ‘isanuse’ (witch-doctor) calls to all in a loud voice, boasting of what he knows, yet you ‘abelungu’ (white people) are for ever trying to persuade the natives that you are not wizards. Don’t tell me. Does not one of you speak with your mouth close to the end of an iron string at Umzimkulu, while another listens at Matatièlè where the string passes over the big poles, and hear the words spoken? and this over a distance which it takes a man six days to walk. I know myself that such is the case, because when my grand-daughter’s baby was born at Umzimkulu last spring, did I not learn it from the pink paper which the constable read to me on the same day. I asked Rachel particularly about the date afterwards, and she swore to me that the child was born two days before the new moon, and that was the day on which the constable came.

“Did you not yourself open the eye of a box at me, with a click, and show me the next day the water-shadow of myself upon paper; and was not the very torn place in my blanket, which I had not yet mended, there too? Magic,Iknow magic when I see it.

“Yes, I am very old. I remember, like it were yesterday, the time when Ncapay was killed by the Pondos, when he and his ‘impi’ were driven over the cliff on the Umzimvubu, and I have seen our chief, Makaula, herding calves when he was a boy. My first husband was old Palelo (he died when I was away at Umzimkulu), and my second was Momlotyolo, who got his head broken with a club in a fight with the Pondomisi. He came home with his head tied up, and laid himself down on a mat. Next day he could not speak. He lay snoring for five days, and then died in a fit. I had only been married to him three years, and we had three children. The first was a girl, she died when still a child, and the second a boy whom we called Tutani. He was drowned trying to cross the Umzimvubu after a beer-drink.

“The first time I was married? That is long ago, and I have almost forgotten all about it. We were then living in what is now Cweraland. I was quite a young girl when old Palelo took me as his wife. Yes, he had six other wives then living, and several others had died. Palelo was a very old man, but he was rich and my father was poor. Eighteen head of cattle were given as my dowry, and a new hut was built for me. In this hut old Palelo nearly lived for two years, and I was quite glad when I heard that he was paying ‘lobola’ for another girl, as I knew that when he married her, he’d leave me alone for a time.

“Who told you that I went to Umzimkulu? So, so, I had forgotten mentioning it. Well, I suppose I may as well tell you everything about it now, because you might hear it spoken of by others who do not know all that happened, and thus come to think evil of me, not knowing that it was Lamla’s fault, and that I was blameless.

“You have heard of the charm which a man places upon a woman to make her follow him. Perhaps you do not believe in such things, eh? I thought not. It is strange what a lot of true things you wise people disbelieve in. Well, well, if you do not believe in such things why do you want to hear about them? I think I know the reason, but it runs on a different spoor to that of your words. Whether you believe in them or not, these things exist. I have lived much longer than you in spite of the drought on the top of your head, and I have not only seen, but experienced the effect of such a charm. No, no, although you are old enough to know better, you are also old enough to have seen that the eyes of a young woman do not shine on you as on younger men, and this knowledge might lead you into mischief.

“Well, I will tell you of some, but not of the strongest. There are many things which can be used as charms, and some work quite differently from others. Some are of use only to a young man, and some to one who is old. There is the ‘duba’ (wild garlic:Tulbaghia alliacea) which is pounded up with fat and clay, and kept in the tip of a goat’s horn. If a young man touch a young woman with this it will make her think of him night and day, until the ‘umdhlemnyana’ (a kind of hysteria) seizes her. This will never leave her unless he releases her, or she can steal the charm from where he has to keep it, wrapped in a skin, in the roof of his dwelling. Then there is the ‘insonga ’mazwe’ (literally ‘turner’ or ‘wrapper up’ of words—Commelyna speciosa—a little blue, furry flower, with bright yellow anthers). If a young man bathes, and then rubs himself all over with this, his words become so wise and sweet to the ear, that no woman can deny him anything. Besides, there is that stuff which can be bought at the big stores, ‘zamlandela’ (camphor; literally ‘that which leads,’ or ‘induces’). If a young man rub his hands with this, and he touch a girl on the cheeks, she will dream of him whether she be asleep or awake. There are other things; roots and flowers which, if placed by a man in the water-pool at which the girls drink, or in which they bathe in hot weather, will have such an effect that their fathers and brothers will want to shed blood. Then there is another flower which, if broken up and scattered on a path along which a woman walks, will make her follow the man who scattered it wheresoever he leads her. It was in this way I was charmed and led away to Umzimkulu, where I dwelt for a year.

“Lamla came to dwell in our neighbourhood nearly two years after I had married old Palelo. He was a young man of Umzimkulu. He had been obliged to flee for a time from there on account of having broken the law. He was related to some people of a kraal near ours, and with them he stayed. He was a very big man and a strong dancer, and was nearly always laughing.

“Old Palelo had many sons and daughters, and as he was rich, there was plenty of feasting at our kraal. Lamla often visited my hut and seemed to be very fond of talking to Palelo about old times, and about the deeds my husband had done in his youth. The two would often sit over the fire, far into the night, and I used to lie on my mat, my head covered with a kaross, listening. There was a little hole in the kaross, and through this I used to watch Lamla, who always sat with his face towards me. I do not know how it was, but somehow that part of the kaross with the hole in it was always just in front of my eyes. It was strange to see how fond old Palelo was of Lamla; I think it was because Lamla listened to him so quietly, and just let him talk.

“Lamla said very little to me on these occasions, but we used often to meet when I went down to the pool to fetch water, or to the millet-field to hoe. I did not altogether like meeting him alone, because the way in which he talked and went on annoyed me. It was not so much his words as his ways that made me angry. Whenever we were alone he mimicked old Palelo—his walk, his voice, his way of taking snuff—everything. Although I could not keep from laughing, I did not like Lamla to go on like this. He said he meant to make himself so like Palelo that none would be able to tell one from the other, and that he came to practise before me, so that I could tell him how he was getting on.

“Sometimes he would tell me about what a lot of girls were in love with him at Umzimkulu, and when I told him to go back to them and not trouble me any more, he said he had got so fond of Palelo that he could not bear to think of departing. Occasionally he would come down to the field where I was hoeing, and if it were a hot day would make me sit with him under a tree, chewing ‘imfe’ (sweet reed), and listening while he blew music on the ‘ugwalo’ (a musical instrument formed of a single string attached to a quill, and stretched along a stick), or talking nonsense.

“One day as I was returning from the pool carrying a pot of water, I met Lamla coming out of the bush with a lot of yellow flowers in his hands. I inquired as to what he was going to do with these, and he said he was going to do some ‘doctoring.’ ‘Who, then, is sick?’ I asked. ‘I am,’ he replied. I laughed at this, because at the dance the day before he had tired all the others out. ‘Do you know what sickness these are to cure?’ he asked, looking at me very hard. ‘No,’ said I, ‘unless it be the sickness that makes people think they are not themselves; that is the only sickness you have got.’ ‘Why, you are almost as good as a doctor yourself,’ he replied; then he laughed and went away.

“Next morning I saw some little bits of yellow stuff on the ground just outside my hut, and also strewn along the pathway leading to the millet-field. I picked a piece up, and found it to be very like a portion of a flower such as Lamla had been carrying when I met him coming out of the bush. I soon picked up a whole flower. This, without considering what I was doing, I stuck into the carrying-hole of my left ear. Then it suddenly seemed as if something began to sing inside me, and I felt very happy, but rather frightened.

“On that day I could not work. I felt as if quite changed in every way. I could not forget the yellow flowers, or Lamla. I just stuck my hoe into the ground and went to the spot under the big tree where he and I used to sit. It was very hot, so I lay down and soon fell fast asleep.

“I had a strange dream. I thought that Lamla came to me with a lot of yellow flowers tied around his head in the way the Pondos tie the ‘imvani’ (wild asparagus) when they want rain to fall. I thought he kept changing into old Palelo, and then back into himself again, and that I was running away from him and at the same time feeling sorry that he could not catch me. Just as I thought he had caught me, I woke up suddenly, and there he stood.

“I got such a fright that I screamed out and then began to weep. Lamla sat down next to me. I told him to leave me alone, but he would not, so I jumped up and ran away home.

“That night I could eat nothing, and the ‘umdhlemnyana’ sickness seized me so badly that old Palelo became quite frightened, and said he would fetch the witch-doctor next day to see who had bewitched me. When I felt better I lay down to try and sleep, but it was of no use. I dreamed of Lamla’s coming, but when it got late and he had not come, I felt like a long-tailed finch trying to fly against the wind on a wet day. I kept wondering as to where he was, and the thought that he might be at a feast at another kraal where there was a girl who I knew liked him, troubled me so much that I got another ‘umdhlemnyana’ fit, and when old Palelo came to me with a pot of water, I threw the water all over him, and broke the pot. This made me feel a little better, so I lay quiet, pretending to be asleep.

“Old Palelo went to sleep on his mat, but I lay long awake, until at length I felt I could not stay in the hut any longer; something seemed to draw me outside. I took my kaross and left the hut. The moon was large and yellow. The stream of water in the kloof just below was making a noise exactly like some one speaking, and at length I found out what it was saying. It was ‘lam-lam-lam-la-la-la-lam-la-la-lam-la-lam-la-lam-la,’ that the water was calling out over and over again as it ran over the stones. Lamla seemed to be all about me, and I kept looking behind me to see if he was not there.

“A jackal up on the hill was calling out ‘yonk, yonk, yonk, yow-a-a-ow,’ like a man singing through his nose. The bats and night-jars were flitting about, and two owls were crying out to each other among the tops of the yellow-wood trees.

“I first sat down near the hut, but old Palelo was snoring like a big frog, so I walked away beyond the cattle kraal, and laid myself down on the short, green grass, which was cool and wet with dew.

“All this time I could think of nothing but Lamla, and I kept wondering why this should be so. Why did I feel so strange and so changed? My thoughts went back to the first time I had seen him. It was at the wedding feast of one of Palelo’s daughters. I remember thinking I had never seen any one dance so well. Then I went over, one by one, all the occasions upon which we had since met. Although they were many I think I remembered every one of them. I began to laugh when I thought of the way he used to mimic my husband. Then I thought of the long talks in the hut at night, so I lay back and covered myself up with the kaross, looking through the same little hole at a post standing near me, and trying to imagine it was Lamla, giving his ears to Palelo and his eyes to me.

“Next I remembered his coming out of the bush with the yellow flowers, and this set me thinking of what had been strewn on the path. Then I suddenly understood the whole thing—I was bewitched. Lamla had said the flowers were for medicine, and this was what he had meant, the rogue.

“When the thought first struck me I felt very much frightened, and I jumped up, meaning to run into the hut at once. However, I remained where I was for a little time, and then my fright seemed to pass away. Then I walked on a few yards and sat down on the grass.

“I listened to the water calling out Lamla’s name, and thought seriously over the whole matter of Lamla and his doings. After considering for a while I concluded that in spite of the ‘umdhlemnyana’ sickness, being bewitched was, after all, not so very terrible. I had often heard of girls being charmed in this way, and I knew that one cure for it was to follow the man about, and make him take off the charm. ‘Ah, ha, my friend Lamla,’ thought I, ‘I am up to your ways and tricks, and will let you know it the next time we meet. You have not got a silly girl to deal with this time, but a woman who has been married nearly two years, and who can take care of herself very well, in spite of the “umdhlemnyana.”’

“The dogs suddenly began to bark all together, and then they rushed round to the back of the cattle kraal, where they all ceased barking. Just afterwards a man walked out into the moonlight from behind the kraal-fence, and came slowly towards me. It was Lamla. The dogs knew him, and were running after him and fawning.

“He came up to where I was sitting, and without saying a word took my hands in his and drew me gently towards him. I stood up, and then he walked on, and I followed. I could not have resisted then, even if I had wanted to, but I do not think I wanted to at all. You see, the charm had influenced me more strongly than I had thought. I was no longer myself, but just Lamla and nothing else.

“I followed Lamla down the hill along the path to the millet-field, and then we sat down under the tree. The dogs came too, and Lamla got very angry because he could not at first manage to drive them back. ‘Lamla,’ said I, ‘you have bewitched me with those yellow flowers, and we will both be killed by Palelo’s sons.’ ‘No,’ said he, ‘it is you that have bewitched me, and I only used those flowers to cure myself.’

“After a while we went on together, Lamla leading me by the hand. When we reached a little bush near the kraal he was living at, he left me for a short time, and then he returned with two bundles, one of which he gave me to carry. We walked on all night. Just before daybreak we turned to the left and entered a thick forest. Here we spent the day. We did not light a fire. Lamla had brought some millet already boiled, in a skin bag. We ate this, and also some roots which he dug up with the blade of his spear. From a hollow tree he brought some of the sweetest honey I have ever tasted. He did not seem to mind the bees stinging him at all.

“All this time we hardly spoke a word. In the afternoon we were sitting together hidden in some thick, green brushwood; I heard a rustle and, looking up, saw a long green snake gliding through the branches just over Lamla’s head. I called out: ‘Look, there is a snake.’ He just smiled and, without standing up, killed the snake with one blow of his stick. It nearly fell on him, so I screamed out, but he laughed and comforted me and said that he had been doctored by a great wizard against all dangerous things except me.

“Then he asked me how I liked being bewitched. I replied: ‘I like it very well now, because the charm is on me, but I know that by and by I will be very angry.’ He laughed very loud at this. Afterwards he asked me if I knew what had really happened. I answered: ‘Yes, Lamla, you wicked man, you have bewitched me and made me follow you away from my home.’ ‘No, you are mistaken,’ said he, ‘I am not Lamla at all, but your husband Palelo in Lamla’s body; Lamla is still at the kraal in the body of Palelo.’ I could not understand how this could be, and I now know that he was talking nonsense, but at the time the charm was so strong on me that I would have believed anything he told me.

“That night we crossed the Umzimvubu, and reached the big forest below the Tabankulu. Here we laid down and slept. The sun was high when we awoke. We travelled on through the forest, and again rested and spent the night on the other side.

“Next day we went on without concealment through the open country. We were now in Pondoland, so had nothing to fear, so we just wandered on quietly from kraal to kraal, getting food in plenty; for Lamla had such pleasant ways, especially with the women, that we were always made welcome. Lamla said I was his wife, whom he had fetched from the Pondomisi country, and no one seemed to doubt his words.

“When we reached the Baca country at Umzimkulu, we went straight to the kraal of Lamla’s father, and when he told his relations that I was his wife, and that he had paid ‘lobola’ for me, they all laughed at him, and asked whether horns or feathers grew on the ‘lobola’ cattle. I did not see at the time why they should have doubted his words, but I found out the reason afterwards.

“At first we lived very happily, for the charm was still strong upon me, but after some months Lamla began to go away from home very often, and then I heard that he was courting another girl. Well, he married her, and she and I quarrelled, and he took her part and beat me, so I became very miserable. It was nearly a year after we came to Umzimkulu that my baby, a boy, was born.

“One day, when my baby was over a month old, who should walk up to the kraal but the Matshoba, old Palelo’s ‘great son.’ I picked up the child and ran away into the bush, but next day I got hungry and had to return. Matshoba was not very angry. It turned out that Palelo was dead. Matshoba said that I must return with him. I was not sorry to do so, because the charm had now quite passed away from me.

“Matshoba brought a law case before the chief against Lamla for taking me away. I told all about the charm which had been used, and Lamla did not deny having used it. He was ordered by the chief to pay ten head of cattle as a fine. These his father had to pay, because Lamla had no cattle of his own. The chief said that if Lamla’s father had got him a wife Lamla would not have gone about bewitching the wives of other people. When the cattle were paid the chief took five head, and Matshoba and I drove the other five to my old home. Soon afterwards I was married to Momlotyolo.

“My baby grew up and became just like his father both in appearance and ways. When quite a young man he was ‘smelt out’ for bewitching one of the wives of the chief, and had to flee for his life. I have never heard of him since.

“No, no; I am not going to tell you anything more about the flower. It was not a yellow flower at all, but one of quite another colour. Besides, it is a young man’s charm, and therefore would be of no use to you.”

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