Allan Quatermain. H. Rider Haggard

tall man (who among his own people was commonly known as the ‘Woodpecker’, and also as the ‘Slaughterer’) started, and almost let the long-handled battleaxe he held in his hand fall in his astonishment. Next second he had recognized me, and was saluting me in an outburst of sonorous language which made his companions the Wakwafi stare.

      ‘Koos’ (chief), he began, ‘Koos-y-Pagete! Koos-y-umcool! (Chief from of old—mighty chief) Koos! Baba! (father) Macumazahn, old hunter, slayer of elephants, eater up of lions, clever one! watchful one! brave one! quick one! whose shot never misses, who strikes straight home, who grasps a hand and holds it to the death (i.e. is a true friend) Koos! Baba! Wise is the voice of our people that says, “Mountain never meets with mountain, but at daybreak or at even man shall meet again with man.” Behold! a messenger came up from Natal, “Macumazahn is dead!” cried he. “The land knows Macumazahn no more.” That is years ago. And now, behold, now in this strange place of stinks I find Macumazahn, my friend. There is no room for doubt. The brush of the old jackal has gone a little grey; but is not his eye as keen, and are not his teeth as sharp? Ha! ha! Macumazahn, mindest thou how thou didst plant the ball in the eye of the charging buffalo—mindest thou—’

      I had let him run on thus because I saw that his enthusiasm was producing a marked effect upon the minds of the five Wakwafi, who appeared to understand something of his talk; but now I thought it time to put a stop to it, for there is nothing that I hate so much as this Zulu system of extravagant praising—‘bongering’ as they call it. ‘Silence!’ I said. ‘Has all thy noisy talk been stopped up since last I saw thee that it breaks out thus, and sweeps us away? What doest thou here with these men—thou whom I left a chief in Zululand? How is it that thou art far from thine own place, and gathered together with strangers?’

      Umslopogaas leant himself upon the head of his long battleaxe (which was nothing else but a pole-axe, with a beautiful handle of rhinoceros horn), and his grim face grew sad.

      ‘My Father,’ he answered, ‘I have a word to tell thee, but I cannot speak it before these low people (umfagozana),’ and he glanced at the Wakwafi Askari; ‘it is for thine own ear. My Father, this will I say,’ and here his face grew stern again, ‘a woman betrayed me to the death, and covered my name with shame—ay, my own wife, a round-faced girl, betrayed me; but I escaped from death; ay, I broke from the very hands of those who came to slay me. I struck but three blows with this mine axe Inkosikaas—surely my Father will remember it—one to the right, one to the left, and one in front, and yet I left three men dead. And then I fled, and, as my Father knows, even now that I am old my feet are as the feet of the Sassaby {Endnote 2}, and there breathes not the man who, by running, can touch me again when once I have bounded from his side. On I sped, and after me came the messengers of death, and their voice was as the voice of dogs that hunt. From my own kraal I flew, and, as I passed, she who had betrayed me was drawing water from the spring. I fleeted by her like the shadow of Death, and as I went I smote with mine axe, and lo! her head fell: it fell into the water pan. Then I fled north. Day after day I journeyed on; for three moons I journeyed, resting not, stopping not, but running on towards forgetfulness, till I met the party of the white hunter who is now dead, and am come hither with his servants. And nought have I brought with me. I who was high-born, ay, of the blood of Chaka, the great king—a chief, and a captain of the regiment of the Nkomabakosi—am a wanderer in strange places, a man without a kraal. Nought have I brought save this mine axe; of all my belongings this remains alone. They have divided my cattle; they have taken my wives; and my children know my face no more. Yet with this axe’—and he swung the formidable weapon round his head, making the air hiss as he clove it—‘will I cut another path to fortune. I have spoken.’

      I shook my head at him. ‘Umslopogaas,’ I said, ‘I know thee from of old. Ever ambitious, ever plotting to be great, I fear me that thou hast overreached thyself at last. Years ago, when thou wouldst have plotted against Cetywayo, son of Panda, I warned thee, and thou didst listen. But now, when I was not by thee to stay thy hand, thou hast dug a pit for thine own feet to fall in. Is it not so? But what is done is done. Who can make the dead tree green, or gaze again upon last year’s light? Who can recall the spoken word, or bring back the spirit of the fallen? That which Time swallows comes not up again. Let it be forgotten!

      ‘And now, behold, Umslopogaas, I know thee for a great warrior and a brave man, faithful to the death. Even in Zululand, where all the men are brave, they called thee the “Slaughterer”, and at night told stories round the fire of thy strength and deeds. Hear me now. Thou seest this great man, my friend’—and I pointed to Sir Henry; ‘he also is a warrior as great as thou, and, strong as thou art, he could throw thee over his shoulder. Incubu is his name. And thou seest this one also; him with the round stomach, the shining eye, and the pleasant face. Bougwan (glass eye) is his name, and a good man is he and a true, being of a curious tribe who pass their life upon the water, and live in floating kraals.

      ‘Now, we three whom thou seest would travel inland, past Dongo Egere, the great white mountain (Mt. Kenia), and far into the unknown beyond. We know not what we shall find there; we go to hunt and seek adventures, and new places, being tired of sitting still, with the same old things around us. Wilt thou come with us? To thee shall be given command of all our servants; but what shall befall thee, that I know not. Once before we three journeyed thus, in search of adventure, and we took with us a man such as thou—one Umbopa; and, behold, we left him the king of a great country, with twenty Impis (regiments), each of 3,000 plumed warriors, waiting on his word. How it shall go with thee, I know not; mayhap death awaits thee and us. Wilt thou throw thyself to Fortune and come, or fearest thou, Umslopogaas?’

      The great man smiled. ‘Thou art not altogether right, Macumazahn,’ he said; ‘I have plotted in my time, but it was not ambition that led me to my fall; but, shame on me that I should have to say it, a fair woman’s face. Let it pass. So we are going to see something like the old times again, Macumazahn, when we fought and hunted in Zululand? Ay, I will come. Come life, come death, what care I, so that the blows fall fast and the blood runs red? I grow old, I grow old, and I have not fought enough! And yet am I a warrior among warriors; see my scars’—and he pointed to countless cicatrices, stabs and cuts, that marked the skin of his chest and legs and arms. ‘See the hole in my head; the brains gushed out therefrom, yet did I slay him who smote, and live. Knowest thou how many men I have slain, in fair hand-to-hand combat, Macumazahn? See, here is the tale of them’—and he pointed to long rows of notches cut in the rhinoceros-horn handle of his axe. ‘Number them, Macumazahn—one hundred and three—and I have never counted but those whom I have ripped open {Endnote 3}, nor have I reckoned those whom another man had struck.’

      ‘Be silent,’ I said, for I saw that he was getting the blood-fever on him; ‘be silent; well art thou called the “Slaughterer”. We would not hear of thy deeds of blood. Remember, if thou comest with us, we fight not save in self-defence. Listen, we need servants. These men,’ and I pointed to the Wakwafi, who had retired a little way during our ‘indaba’ (talk), ‘say they will not come.’

      ‘Will not come!’ shouted Umslopogaas; ‘where is the dog who says he will not come when my Father orders? Here, thou’—and with a single bound he sprang upon the Wakwafi with whom I had first spoken, and, seizing him by the arm, dragged him towards us. ‘Thou dog!’ he said, giving the terrified man a shake, ‘didst thou say that thou wouldst not go with my Father? Say it once more and I will choke thee’—and his long fingers closed round his throat as he said it—‘thee, and those with thee. Hast thou forgotten how I served thy brother?’

      ‘Nay, we will come with the white man,’ gasped the man.

      ‘White man!’ went on Umslopogaas, in simulated fury, which a very little provocation would have made real enough; ‘of whom speakest thou, insolent dog?’

      ‘Nay, we will go with the great chief.’

      ‘So!’ said Umslopogaas, in a quiet voice, as he suddenly released his hold, so that the man fell backward. ‘I thought you would.’

      ‘That man Umslopogaas seems to have a curious moral ascendency over his companions,’ Good afterwards remarked thoughtfully.