The White Shield. Mitford Bertram

rain. Beneath lay a great panorama of desolate rolling plain and craggy spurs—treeless, forbidding—with here and there a kraal, dotted at intervals, symmetrical in its circular ring-fences. But here, where we sat, poised high above the world, I had come upon another small kraal, and, turning my pony loose to graze, had, as usual, tarried to make friends with its people.

      Now, the older of the two warriors with whom I had been in converse, called aloud, and presently there appeared a couple of stalwart, shapely-limbed damsels, bearing a very large earthen bowl brimming with tywala, or corn-beer, and a basket containing roasted mealies. A goodly portion of the liquor was poured into a smaller bowl and handed to me, after the preliminary sip required by Zulu etiquette, the others taking draughts in common from the large earthen pot.

      Zulus, like most uncivilised races, are extremely fond of listening to stories, and hold a good narrator in high repute; therefore, these two sat with faces all animation and heads bent eagerly forward. Then, having taken several copious pinches of snuff, old Untúswa commenced the tale which follows.

Chapter One.

       Table of Contents

      The Chief of the Blue Cattle.

      You will remember, Nkose, how we of the Royal House of Dingiswayo, of the tribe of Umtetwa, with the Amandebeli, went out from the land of Zulu to found a new nation, and how we shut back the overwhelming number of the spears of Tshaka in the gates of the great Kwahlamba mountains. So, too, you will remember how, having hailed our leader Umzilikazi as king we swept ever onward, to the west and to the north, stamping flat the tribes within our path and laying waste the land, leaving behind us a desert that the cubs of the Lion of Zulu would find difficult of crossing. So, too, you will remember, how we built the great Kraal of Ekupumuleni, and subdued all the tribes round about, and sat in our fair resting-place, feared as a great and mighty people. For of the races around, all came in to konza to Umzilikazi, and to pay tribute, and such as did not—well, it was not long before the trumpeting of the Elephant sounded in their ears, dwelt they even two or three moons distant. But there was one tribe or nation which refused thus to konza, and of it I shall speak presently.

      As time went by, our new nation grew in numbers and strength—though the latter might be our weakness in the day of grave trial. For we had incorporated into our army the youth of such tribes as we had conquered and whom the king deemed capable of bearing arms. These Amaholi, or slaves, were really our dogs, and even of this they might have been proud, for in our veins ran the clear unmixed blood of the “People of the Heavens;” (Such is the literal meaning of the word “Amazulu”) but did the spears of Tshaka show upon the skyline there would not be one of these miserable jackals within a day’s march of them by the time they drew near. Howbeit, although they were too cowardly to fight for us, we did not fear lest they should turn and fight against us, for the spears of Tshaka would devour them just as readily as they would ourselves; nay, more readily, for we Amandebeli were as lions, and dealt back blow for blow, were the enemy tenfold our own strength.

      Time passed by, and as our impis went farther and farther afield, reports came in of a wonderful land to the north: of a land whose streams were never dry, and where the grass was ever green, and rich, and sweet. Now, around the King’s kraal, Ekupumuleni, it was not always so, and for many moons we had suffered greatly for want of rain; indeed, the King had sent out expressly to take all the rain-makers of every tribe and race and to bring them in. These tried their powers, each and all, and failed, wherefore they were put to death, for Umzilikazi declared that, as they were highly honoured and loaded with gifts when they could perform their office, it was only fair that they should pay forfeit when they could not; and this fate befell most of our own rain-makers, who were tied with their heels round the backs of their necks, and flung into a water-hole. Indeed, the only one who escaped was Masuka, the old Mosutu, whom we took, and whose life I had saved at the burning of certain Bapedi kraals, and who, while declaring himself an isanusi but no rain-maker, yet managed to bring rain, and thus not only escaped death but was advanced to still further honour. He was now of a great age, this old man, and was little else than a human skin loosely covering a skeleton; yet his eyes were as bright and marvellous as ever.

      That Masuka stood so high in the king’s favour and in such honour among the people delighted me greatly, for I knew that as long as this was so I was safe from any plots my enemies might lay against me. I was now second fighting induna of the whole army, and a kehla, or ringed man. I had won a place of great power, young as I was, and those whose bitter jealousy would have moved them to compass my downfall and death were many. Moreover Umzilikazi had become suspicious of late, and was inclined to suspect each and all of his principal captains of designs upon his life and seat; and there were times when I fancied his suspicions rested strongly on Kalipe, the chief induna of the army, and myself—but mostly upon myself.

      Yet, Nkose, this idea, terrible as it was, did not fill me with unmingled dismay. That I, but yesterday an umfane and unringed, should now be in a position to be suspected of usurping Umzilikazi’s seat, of aspiring to become King of the Aba-ka-zulu; Hau! This indeed would cause my veins to flow and my nerves to thrill with a strange proud tingling. Yet the other side of the picture was grim and dark, for from it loomed the stake of impalement—the death of the hot stones; or, at the mildest, the knob-sticks of the slayers. I remembered, too, the words which, in times past, had been spoken by Nangeza, my chief wife: “A man who is brave and cautious may climb to any height,”—and, indeed, she suffered me not to forget them, for she was as proud and ambitious as ever, and was continually inciting me to supplant Kalipe. Then once I held the army in the hollow of my hand, what easier than—

      But at this point I would stop my ears and cry upon her to hold her peace, lest she brought me—brought us all—to a far more fearful and lingering death than that which I extended my breast to meet when I claimed and won the King’s assegai—as I have already told you, Nkose. But Nangeza had a plotting brain and would ever be first—indeed, had the King taken her to wife, she would never have rested until she had made herself King over him or—until she had been led forth to the place of slaughter. Moreover, I would do nothing against Kalipe, whose word and ways were as straight as his path when the King’s enemies lay before him, and although he was much older than I he would never show any jealousy because I had been promoted nearly to an equality with himself.

      “It is the weakness of our nation, Untúswa,” he would say, “that we rend and devour each other like a pack of jackals; and every man plots, lest another rise to be a little greater than himself. Now, the man I would sooner see second to me, or even equal with me, is not the oldest, nor yet the richest man, but the bravest; and that man is, I believe, yourself, son of Ntelani, young in years as you are.”

      Thus spake Kalipe, and, indeed, he meant his words; and while this was so, and I had old Masuka on my side, I feared the grudges and jealousy of no man.

      Now, it was in the mind of the King to abandon Ekupumuleni, and to move farther northward, partly for the reasons I have given, partly that the arm of Tshaka stretched far, and he was never quite certain that we were beyond the reach of it. So he ordered me to take a force of warriors, and make an expedition into the country with the ever-flowing streams, and to verify such reports of it as had come in.

      My command was but a small one, comprising perhaps sixty or seventy men—the merest handful, remembering that those through whom our path lay were in countless thousands, and that small cause indeed had they to love us. Yet such was the terror inspired by the very name of the Amandebeli—or Aba-ka-zulu, as these people termed us—that though they were in swarming numbers, they fled from their kraals as our tiny impi drew near, and took refuge among the hills. We laughed and shook our spears at them in proud contempt, and taking whatever we wanted, passed on our way, for we were only the eyes of the lion this time, not his teeth and claws, wherefore we left them their lives and their cattle.

      But this was not to last for ever. Day by day as we progressed the country became fairer, swarming as it did with