"At your right hand sits your councillor Rolobani; he and Matshaka, who has joined the Christians, are the guilty men."

Rolobani started to his feet, his eye-b.a.l.l.s starting from his head, and his face ashen-grey. He tried to speak, but could only gasp for breath.

His companions fell away in every direction to avoid the contamination of his touch.

The crescent broke up in disorder, the men surrounding the doomed wretch in a furious, surging crowd. Nomaduma held up the spear, its head glinting brightly in the sunshine, and again dead silence fell on the throng. She then walked up to Rolobani and seized the necklet of charms which he wore, after the manner of most natives. This she dragged from his neck, and held out at arm's length.

"In the pot of medicines prepared by the war-doctor for the chief, was the dried head of a water-snake; the war-doctor is present; let him declare if I speak the truth or not."

The war-doctor called out from amongst the crowd that this statement was true.

"Look. I open this bag which I have taken from Rolobanis neck, and in it find the thing I have named. He stole it out of the pot which he sold to the Cwera chief."

Here she held up the shrivelled snake's head, so that it could be seen by all.

This was accepted as proof positive, in the face of which, had any man dared to lift his voice in favour of the doomed but guiltless victim, he would probably have been killed as an accomplice. The unhappy Rolobani again tried to speak, but his voice was drowned in shouts of rage. In a few moments his hands were bound behind his back, and he was led away by two men, each holding a thong which was noosed around his neck.

Rolobani was dragged towards the Bonxa hill, followed by the furious crowd. On the least appearance of faltering he was freely prodded behind with spears, and by the time he reached the commencement of the steep ascent, he was streaming with blood. Then a frenzy seized him and he bounded forward, climbing over the rocks on his abrupt course so fast that he tugged at the thongs by which he was held prisoner. He knew he had to die at the top of the hill, and his only anxiety now was to get it over as quickly as possible. Consequently, he and the two men holding him got some considerable distance ahead, and reached the bare summit of the hill some seconds before the nearest of the crowd which straggled after them. Among the boulders forming the fringe gleamed white bones, and a shapeless horror, emitting a dreadful stench lay huddled in a cleft at the prisoners feet. As the men arrived one by one, they gradually formed a ring around the doomed wretch whose last hour had so nearly sped; their black, sinister, relentless countenances shining with the sweat that poured plentifully from them.

Rolobani was a man whose bravery had been proved in many a tribal fight.

The terrible accusation of witchcraft combined with foul treachery had broken down his courage for a little s.p.a.ce, but now he was his own man again, and, in the strength of his conscious innocence, could look steadily into the eyes of death. He glanced round the ring of angry faces contemptuously, and then stood stolidly awaiting his certain doom.

After a short pause a man stole out from the circle armed with a heavily k.n.o.bbed club, and struck him from behind a violent, smashing blow on the head. He fell forward on his face, and in a few moments was beaten into a shapeless ma.s.s.

Matshaka had not been bidden to the gathering at Nomaduma's kraal. He was, however, aware of such through overhearing a conversation between two of his sons. His conversion to Christianity had been a fruitful topic among the Pondos during the previous week; at every "beer-drink"

it had been discussed. His name became a by-word among the heathen, a shaking of the head among the people.

As the men pa.s.sed his kraal on their way to the witch-doctor's they shouted derisive and insulting words at him. His former friends had cut him dead in the public ways. All this was no more than he expected; he had helped to make others suffer what he now endured, and he felt that he deserved it.

When he thought of the future it seemed to be one ma.s.s of difficulties, not the least of which was presented by his four wives. His chief wife, old Nolenti, had been neglected by him for years past. He now determined to marry her according to Christian rites, and to send the other three back to their respective homes. He tried to explain this to Nolenti, but utterly failed to make her understand him. She was quite satisfied with her position of chief wife, and her consequent immunity from labour in the fields. It was, he felt, his appointed task to endeavour to make her see and appreciate the truth which illuminated his enfranchised spirit. His three eldest sons had married and were established in kraals of their own. They spent most of their days in going from beer-drink to beer-drink, leaving their wives to hoe in the fields. Several of his elder daughters were also married. His younger sons lounged about the huts all day, their only occupation being the herding of cattle, and keeping the calves away from the cows until milking-time. His younger daughters played, naked and unashamed, about the kraal, except when fetching fuel from the forest on the Intsiza, or scaring the long-tailed finches from the crops. He felt he must try and save the souls of his children; how to begin, that was the question. He was as much an object of suspicion among them as among strangers. He read distrust in every eye. Even at his own kraal, if a few were gathered together and he approached, silence fell upon all, and they would nervously disperse if he joined them.

And now, on this Sunday morning, Matshaka experienced his first revulsion of feeling against his new belief. Was it true, after all?

He could hardly have told what it was that he believed in. How large the difficulties loomed! how bitter were the sufferings he was enduring!

how the future lowered and threatened! Matshaka was naturally a sociable man, and the ostracism to which he was subjected caused him acute pain.

Musing miserably on all these things, he walked slowly towards the comb of the ridge about two miles from his kraal and in the direction of the Rode. From this ridge the church could be seen by looking diagonally across a long, shallow, gra.s.sy valley. This was the day on which he was to have been formally received into the church as a member. Now his courage failed him, and he determined to postpone the matter, at all events for another week.

As he reached the top of the ridge, the sound of the bell came floating and quivering up through the limpid air. Being much nearer the church, the ringing sounded more clear and distinct in his ear than on the morning he had spent upon the mountain.

Away to the left, and distant about five miles, the upper half of the Bonxa hill could be clearly seen projecting over an intervening ridge.

Matshaka could see the swarm of men around the summit; he knew by experience what that indicated, and a shudder went through him. He sat watching until he saw the crowd break up, descend slowly, and disappear behind the ridge.

The bell rang on, and again Matshaka saw the little knots of people moving in towards the church, like ants towards a nest. Then, suddenly, the doubter recovered his faith. His soul again became flooded with light. He bent his head and wept, partly with shame at his recent doubts, but mostly with relief and joy at the recovering of his faith.

He arose after a while and moved towards the church. After walking a few yards he recollected that he was wearing nothing but his blanket.

He did not wish to enter the church unless properly clothed, so he sat down again, his brain reeling with the crowd of thoughts that hurtled through it, and his ears filled with the music of the mission bell.

Glancing to the left, Matshaka noticed a party of about thirty men coming along the footpath which led towards his kraal over the saddle where he was sitting. These men came from the direction of the Bonxa.

Wishing to avoid them, Matshaka arose and walked slowly forward in the direction of the Rode. Looking around again after a few moments, he saw to his surprise that the men had left the path, and were apparently endeavouring to intercept him. He quickened his pace, and they began to run. In an instant he saw what had happened: he had been "smelt out,"

and this was the killing party sent to put him to a cruel death.

The instinctive love of life surged up in Matshaka, and he bounded forward in the direction of the church where, like Adonijah, he might catch hold on the horns of the altar. Matshaka well knew that the church was held to be an inviolable sanctuary even by the chiefs most rabid in their hatred of supposed wizards. He had himself helped to hunt a fugitive along the same course under similar circ.u.mstances, and had angrily grumbled when the man eluded his clutches.

But Matshaka was an elderly man, whilst several of his pursuers were young and in the prime of their strength. They did not succeed in intercepting him, but as the chase proceeded it could easily be seen that the hunted man was losing ground. He now crossed a shallow valley, the bulging side of which hid the church from view. Running up the hill sorely tried his strength. Glancing back over his shoulder he could see that the three foremost of his pursuers were rapidly gaining on him.

Just then the bell rang out once more to call the people together to a special cla.s.s meeting held after the conclusion of the ordinary service.

The sound nerved Matshaka to fresh effort. He knew that his time had conic--that he would never gain the sanctuary; so he now strove only to reach the top of the ridge from where the church could be seen. This he just succeeded in doing, and then he turned and faced his pursuers, who were only a few yards behind him. Instinctively he had thus far carried his k.n.o.bbed stick; this he now flung away over the heads of his three enemies, lest he should be tempted to use it.

In a few seconds Matshaka was surrounded by a ring of implacable foes.

He stood as still as his panting would permit, with folded arms, and gazed fixedly at the church. He was quite naked, having long since flung away his blanket in the course of the pursuit. The bell had now ceased ringing, and the minister with his congregation stood bare-headed at the side of the building, sadly expectant of the impending tragedy.

They knew they dared not interfere.

The leader of the pursuers, a tall, ill-looking man named 'Ndatyana, took a pace forward and said:

"Ha, Matshaka, son and father of wizards, so we have caught you."

"Yes, and I am a dead man. Whatever I am, my children are guiltless.

Give me but a little time to pray; then do with me what you will, but spare them."

Matshaka knelt down, clasped his hands, closed his eyes, and turned his face upwards to the sky. His lips moved slightly. The men stood around him without sound or movement. After a short pause he stood up, folded his arms, looked straight into the eyes of 'Ndatyana, and said:

"I am ready."

For some seconds no one moved. Then, at a nod from the leader, one stepped forward and struck Matshaka a violent blow on the head with a club. He fell heavily to the ground, and in a few seconds all was over.

The little congregation went back into the church, and soon the strains of a hymn arose. When this had ceased, the minister offered up a fervent prayer to the Lord that He might show mercy and forgiveness to those who thus ignorantly slew His servants.

By this time 'Ndatyana and his men were out of sight, so the male members of the congregation, headed by the minister, who carried a large white sheet, wended slowly to where the body lay. Then with reverent hands they lifted it from the ground and bore it into the church. They laid it, bleeding, in front of the little communion table at which they had so recently celebrated the Lord's Supper.

And every one there knew it to be an acceptable offering.

CHAPTER SIX.

LITTLE TOBE.

"It wastes me more Than were't my picture fashioned out of wax, Stuck with a magic needle, and then buried In some foul dunghill."

_The d.u.c.h.ess of Malfy_.

_One_.

For nearly two years after Madilenda came to the kraal of Sikulume as his third wife, she was fairly happy, Mamagobatyana, the "great wife,"

was neither jealous nor exacting; she was fat and lazy, and took her highest enjoyment in sleeping in the hot sunshine on the lee-side of the hut. Nozika, the second wife, had apparently been selected by her spouse for her muscle; she was extremely stupid and not particularly well-favoured, but powerfully built, and equal to any amount of hard work in the fields.

Madilenda was of a type somewhat uncommon among native women. She was light in colour, with finely-formed features and very prominent eyes.

Her figure was the perfection of symmetry. According to European taste she was very pretty indeed, but the ordinary native would have preferred a woman somewhat larger built, and generally of a coa.r.s.er type.