A Frontier Mystery. Mitford Bertram

there through the billowy undulations of the same, and above, a gleam of silver where Umzinyati’s waters babbled on to join it. So, too, over the far expanse of warrior Zululand – peaceful enough now to outward aspect in all conscience – the slumbrous yet far from enervating heat of mid-afternoon still brooded.

      Yes, it was hot, decidedly hot, and I remarked thereupon to Tyingoza, who agreed with me of course. Every well-bred native agrees with you – that is to say pretty well every native – and Tyingoza was a well-bred native, being of Umtetwa breed – the royal clan what time Tshaka the Usurper, Tshaka the Great, Tshaka the Genius, Tshaka the Terrible, shook up the dry bones and made the nation of Zulu to live. Incidentally Tyingoza was the chief of a very large native location situated right on the border – and in this connection I have often wondered how it is that with the fear of that awful and bloodthirsty tyrant Cetywayo (see the Blue Books) before their eyes, such a congested native population could have been found to plant itself, of its own free will, right bang within assegai throw of his “manslaying machine” (see again the Blue Books), that is to say, with only the division afforded by an easily fordable river between it and them. Tyingoza’s father had migrated from Zululand what time the Dutch and Mpande fought Dingane, and Dingane fought both; for, like a wise man, he held that he could not konza to three kings, and now Tyingoza would have returned to his fatherland, with which all his sympathies – sentimental – lay, but for the material fact that he – and incidentally, his followers – were exceedingly comfortable where they were.

      “M-m!” hummed Tyingoza. “In truth it is hot here, but – not over there, Iqalaqala.”

      There was a quizzical twinkle in Tyingoza’s eyes, as he pointed down into the valley beneath – and I understood him. The above, by the way, was my native name, meaning one who is wide awake at a deal; bestowed presumably because when I had bought out the former owner of the trading store at Isipanga the guileless native had discovered rather a more difficult subject to get round than that worthy dealer; who was all too frequently in his cups, and easy to “best” while in that halcyonic condition. I did not resent the use of the sobriquet on this or any other occasion: in the first place because it was not an unflattering one; in the next because I liked Tyingoza, who was a gentleman every inch of him, and – shrug not in horror, oh ye noble white brethren – in my heart of hearts I could not but recognise that this aristocratic scion of a splendid race was, taking him all round, every whit as good a man, albeit dusky, as a certain happy-go-lucky inconsequent and knockabout trader in the Zulu.

      I understood his meaning. “Over there” —la pa– referred to the abode of my nearest neighbour, a retired British officer, who had lived to no better experience than to imagine himself expressly cut out for a second and farming career, entered on late in life – and, I suspected, on little beyond a commuted pension, here on the Natal border. He owned a comfortable homestead, and a grown-up family, including a brace of exceedingly good-looking daughters. Here then was a bright and wholesome British home circle to which I, a lonely, knockabout sort of semi-barbarian, had found a welcome; and indeed, while not outwearing this, I believe I did not underrate it; for the bush path between my trading store and Major Sewin’s farm had become far more worn and easier to be found by the unskilled stranger since its former occupant, a bankrupt and stertorous Dutchman, had been obliged to evacuate it in favour of its present owner.

      Now, as Tyingoza spoke, I looked longingly down into the valley on the other side. Away, where it wound beneath a towering cone, I could make out a film of smoke, and was wondering whether it was too soon after my last visit to send my horse down along the ten miles of rugged bush path between it and where we sat – in something over the hour. I could get back at midnight, or soon after, and time was no object to me in those days. I had spent enough of it among savages to have acquired something of their indifference to it. It mattered nothing what time I slept or woke. If I felt sleepy I slept, if I felt hungry I ate – if I felt neither I did neither – and that about summed up my rule of life, as, in those days, it did that of many another circumstanced like myself. But of making a point of turning in or turning out at a given time – no. I had long parted with anything of the kind; indeed the fact that there was such a thing as a watch or a clock on the place was the merest accident.

      Tyingoza produced his snuff-box – his Zulu conservatism had restrained him from learning to smoke – and handed it to me. Then he helped himself.

      “They will not be here long,” he said presently.

      “No? Why not?” I answered, knowing to whom he referred.

      “Their feet are planted on strange ground. They have built a house where it cannot stand. Au! They are even as children these Amangisi.”

      I did not resent the mild suggestion – “Amangisi” meaning English – because I knew that the speaker did not include myself, practically a son of the land, using the word as applicable to the newly imported emigrant.

      “They do not understand the people,” he went on, “nor do they try to. They treat the people as though they were soldiers under them. Now, Iqalaqala, will that do?”

      I agreed that it would not; in fact I had more than once ventured to hint as much to Major Sewin – but that veteran, though a dear old man, was likewise a stiff-necked one, and had not taken my well-meant advice in good part.

      “A nigger, sir,” he had answered with heat, “is created to work. If he won’t work he must be made to – and, damme, sir, I’m the man to make him.”

      I had ventured to remind him that there were about four hundred thousand of the said “niggers” in the colony of Natal, and that we stood in a precious deal more need of them than they did of us. But, as the last thing in the world I wished was to quarrel with him, I fear I did so half-heartedly.

      “So,” now continued Tyingoza, “they will have to herd their own sheep and milk their own cows themselves, for none will do it for them. Will they not soon become tired of this, and go elsewhere?”

      This I thought more than likely, but I did not wish it. The chief’s words had pretty well summed up the situation. The Natal native, especially there on the Zulu border, is a difficult animal to lead and nearly impossible to drive, and the hot-headed old soldier was of the sort which prefers driving.

      “All you say is true,” I answered. “Yet – We are friends, Tyingoza, wherefore for my sake, use your influence with your people not to join in driving out these. I do not want them to leave. See, I am lonely here, and if I had no neighbours I might leave too.”

      “Au! it is difficult,” was the answer. “They are like children. Still for your sake, I will do what I can.”

      We were interrupted by the appearance of two young men. Their bronze figures, straight and tall, moved with easy, supple grace as they advanced to where we were seated, and, having saluted the chief with infinite respect, they squatted down at a becoming distance; for they would not interrupt our conversation. However I wanted to get rid of them, so allowing sufficient time for the requirements of etiquette, I asked them what they had come for.

      They answered that they were in need of a few articles such as I kept in the store, and so I took them within. I reached down from the shelves the things they required, a matter of trifles whose aggregate value hardly amounted to a shilling, and I thought as I moved thus, clad in an old shirt, and ditto pair of trousers, among green blankets and pots and kettles, and sheepskins and goatskins, with strings of beads and brass buttons festooned from the beams, and the shelves loaded with roll Boer tobacco and sugar pockets and coffee canisters and butcher knives, and all sorts of minor “notions” in demand for native trade – I wondered, I say, what sort of figure I should cut in the eyes of Major Sewin’s highbred looking daughters should they happen suddenly to ride up and thus discover me; then I wondered why the deuce I should have thought about it at all.

      The boys were soon satisfied, and I gave them a bit of tobacco apiece by way of clenching the deal, for it is bad policy to earn a name for stinginess among natives. But instead of going away they squatted themselves down outside. I did not immediately follow them.

      “What was I saying, Iqalaqala?” began Tyingoza, as soon as I did. “The Ingisi down there is clearly anxious to herd his own