_Three_.

Sikulume soon ascertained that Madilenda was at the kraal of Galonkulu, and on the second day of her sojourn there he followed with the intention of persuading her to return to her home. She confronted him with blazing eyes and heaving breast, and bade him begone and never again approach her. Galonkulu and all the others at his kraal were fully persuaded of the guilt of Mamagobatyana, and they strongly suspected Sikulume of complicity. He, conscious of his innocence, was thunderstruck at the accusation, the foulest that can be made against a native, and at once withdrew, filled with indignation.

Madilenda and little Tobe were given a hut to live in, and were provided with milk and corn. The poor little child only lived for a week after his removal. One morning, after a night of terrible coughing, he lay very still in his mother's arms. Fearing to disturb him she sat still until she became quite stiff. By and by he grew cold, and when she moved her hand to reach for a blanket to cover him with, his head fell back loosely. He had been dead for a long time whilst she thought he was sleeping.

They dug a grave close to the kraal; a pit was first sunk to a depth of about five feet, and then in the side a little chamber was excavated.

In this the emaciated little body, which had grown so long, was laid facing the north. It was wrapped in white calico obtained from the trader, and beneath it was a mat. The opening of the side-chamber was then walled up, and the grave filled in. The desolate mother would sit for hours on a stone next to the grave-cairn, and weep bitter tears.

The unhappy woman brooded day and night over her sorrow, and, as the time for her confinement approached, she was filled with a fresh dread.

She had persuaded herself that Mamagobatyana and her husband had bewitched her unborn child, and that it would die like little Tobe.

This delusion preyed upon her mind to such an extent that she became almost insane. The people of the kraal feared and avoided her. They still supplied her with food and left her in possession of the hut, but otherwise neglected her completely. She took to lonely wanderings and often talked to herself. Sikulume, wroth at the undeserved aspersion cast upon him and his "great wife," did not again come near her, and thus she ate her own heart out in grief, terror, and loneliness.

It was now September, and the spring rains set in with a cold deluge.

The Kenira river roared in flood through the rocky gorge below the northern face of the Umgano Mountain.

One morning, the second after the rain had ceased, Madilenda wandered down the valley she dwelt in, to where it joins the river, and then lay down to rest in a sunny nook just below a rocky bluff. The deep-thrilling murmur of the brown flood as it churned along in its winding course soothed her, the warm sunshine brought a sensation of physical comfort which to her weary and debilitated body had long been unknown, and she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. When she awoke it was late in the afternoon. She tried to rise, but found she was unable to do so. A succession of sharp pains racked her. Her time had come.

One advantage which women of the uncivilised races possess over their European sisters is this, that for them the curse of Eve is lightened to such an extent as to be hardly a curse at all. That ordeal which the artificial life of our race through so many generations has made pathological, is, with the majority of native women, a process so easy that in normal instances little suffering and hardly any danger is entailed. But in Madilenda's case mental agony and bodily fatigue during the terrible months she had just lived through had lowered her vitality to such an extent that she completely collapsed. The sun went down on her ineffectual pangs; throughout the long, cold, winter's night the stars swept over her anguish.

The sun arose and thawed the thick h.o.a.rfrost that had crusted over the shrubs and the gra.s.s, and still she lay moaning between frequent swoons.

A troop of wild baboons came searching along the mountain-side, turning over the stones in their pursuit of lizards and scorpions; the leader looked at Madilenda where she lay, and darted aside with a startled cough. A jackal slinking home to his burrow after a night of depredation, crept close up to her, looked long and carefully, and then hid amongst the stones near by, awaiting further developments. A wandering vulture made a loop in its course and then swept upwards in a widening circle. Soon afterwards, other vultures, that had read the signal aright, came flocking up from all directions in increasing numbers.

Late in the afternoon exhausted nature made a final effort, and the child was born. The mother fainted immediately and then lay long unconscious. When she again came to herself she turned with painful difficulty and drew the child to her. It was cold and dead.

So the curse had fallen here as well, as she had expected. A wild indignation surged up in Madilenda and conquered the weakness of death that was stealing over her. The sky seemed to have turned black, and the swirling river blood-red.

A shadow slid over her. She looked up and saw the sweeping vultures which were now rapidly drawing in their spirals over where she lay. She knew what that meant. One of them swooped so close that she felt the wind of its wings, and heard the horrible skur-r-r-r of the pinions.

The bird alighted on a stone a few yards off, and began to preen the vermin from its filthy feathers.

Drawing the dead child under her arm, Madilenda crept backwards on her hands and knees in the direction of the river. From the ledge on which she had been lying, a steep slope of about twenty yards, which ended in an abrupt drop of a few feet where the water had undermined the bank, led to the swirling torrent. Down this slope she slowly and painfully crept. When she reached it, the undermined bank gave way under her, and she dropped like a stone into the water. One dull splash, scarcely to be heard over the growling of the flood, and Madilenda slept in the soft and merciful arms of Death.

Note. When a native woman marries, her husband presents her with a heifer, which is thereupon considered a sacred animal. It may never be slaughtered, under any circ.u.mstances, and should it die untimely, such is regarded as a token of evil fortune. The hairs of the tail are thought to have peculiarly protective properties for members of the "house," in respect of illness. This animal is known as the "ubulunga."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE IMISHOLOGU.

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

_One_.

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 a.s.sisting my after-rider to make the horses as comfortable as circ.u.mstances 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 ap.r.o.n 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 a.s.sured 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 Nomayeshe.

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 pa.s.sing out of sight of the kraal I looked back, and saw Nomayeshe 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, Nomayeshe, and the children? I asked. Alas!

Nomayeshe 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.

_Two_.

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 Nomayeshe, with another woman who came to a.s.sist 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 a.s.sist, 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 Nomayeshe, 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 Nomayeshe 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 Nomayeshe 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 a.s.sistant 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 Nomayeshe 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 repet.i.tion of that of the first. Late in the afternoon Nomayeshe 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.

_Three_.

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.