Telling Umslopogaas to wait, I tumbled into my clothes and went off with him to Sir Henry’s room, where the Zulu repeated his story word for word. It was a sight to watch Curtis’ face as he heard it.
‘Great Heavens!’ he said: ‘here have I been sleeping away while Nyleptha was nearly murdered—and all through me, too. What a fiend that Sorais must be! It would have served her well if Umslopogaas had cut her down in the act.’
‘Ay,’ said the Zulu. ‘Fear not; I should have her ere she struck. I was but waiting the moment.’
I said nothing, but I could not help thinking that many a thousand lives would have been saved if he had out to Sorais the fate she meant for her sister. And, as the issue proved, I was right.
After he had told his tale Umslopogaas went off unconcernedly to get his morning meal, and Sir Henry and I fell to talking.
At first he was very bitter against Good, who, he said, was no longer to be trusted, having designedly allowed Sorais to escape by some secret stair when it was his duty to have handed her over to justice. Indeed, he in the most unmeasured terms on the matter. I let him run on awhile, reflecting to myself how easy we find it to be hard on the weaknesses of others, and how tender we are to our own.
‘Really, my dear fellow,’ I said at length, ‘one would never think, to hear you talk, that you were the man who had an interview with this same lady yesterday, and found it rather difficult to resist her , notwithstanding your ties to one of the loveliest and most loving women in the world. Now suppose it was Nyleptha who had tried to murder Sorais, and you had caught her, and she had pleaded with you, would you have been so very eager to hand her over to an open shame, and to death by fire? Just look at the matter through Good’s eyeglass for a minute before you denounce an old friend as a scoundrel.’
He listened to this jobation submissively, and then acknowledged that he had spoken hardly. It is one of the best points in Sir Henry’s character that he is always ready to admit it when he is in the wrong.
But, though I spoke up thus for Good, I was not blind to the fact that, however natural his behaviour might be, it was obvious that he was being involved in a very awkward and disgraceful complication. A and wicked murder had been attempted, and he had let the murderess escape, and , among other things, allowed her to gain a complete ascendency over himself. In fact, he was in a fair way to become her tool—and no more dreadful fate can befall a man than to become the tool of an unscrupulous woman, or indeed of any woman. There is but one end to it: when he is broken, or has served her purpose, he is thrown away—turned out on the world to hunt for his lost self-respect. Whilst I was pondering thus, and wondering what was to be done—for the whole subject was a one—I suddenly heard a great clamour in the courtyard outside, and the voice of Umslopogaas and Alphonse, the former cursing furiously, and the latter yelling in terror.
Hurrying out to see what was the matter, I was met by a ludicrous sight. The little Frenchman was running up the courtyard at an extraordinary speed, and after him sped Umslopogaas like a great greyhound. Just as I came out he caught him, and, lifting him right off his legs, carried him some paces to a beautiful but very flowering which bore a flower not unlike the , but was covered with short thorns. Next, despite his howls and struggles, he with one thrust poor Alphonse head first into the bush, so that nothing but the of his legs and heels remained in evidence. Then, satisfied with what he had done, the Zulu folded his arms and stood grimly the Frenchman’s kicks, and listening to his yells, which were awful.
‘What art thou doing?’ I said, running up. ‘Wouldst thou kill the man? Pull him out of the bush!’
With a he obeyed, seizing the wretched Alphonse by the ankle, and with a jerk that must have nearly dislocated it, tearing him out of the heart of the shrub. Never did I see such a sight as he presented, his clothes half torn off his back, and bleeding as he was in every direction from the sharp thorns. There he lay and yelled and rolled, and there was no getting anything out of him.
At last, however, he got up and, ensconcing himself behind me, cursed old Umslopogaas by every saint in the calendar, by the blood of his heroic grandfather that he would poison him, and ‘have his revenge’.
At last I got to the truth of the matter. It appeared that Alphonse cooked Umslopogaas’s porridge, which the latter ate for breakfast in the corner of the courtyard, just as he would have done at home in Zululand, from a , and with a wooden spoon. Now Umslopogaas had, like many Zulus, a great horror of fish, which he considered a species of water-snake; so Alphonse, who was as fond of playing tricks as a monkey, and who was also a cook, to make him eat some. Accordingly he grated up a quantity of white fish very finely, and mixed it with the Zulu’s porridge, who swallowed it nearly all down in ignorance of what he was eating. But, unfortunately for Alphonse, he could not restrain his joy at this sight, and came and peering round, till at last Umslopogaas, who was very clever in his way, suspected something, and, after a careful examination of the of his porridge, discovered ‘the heifer’s trick’, and, in revenge, served him as I have said. Indeed, the little man was fortunate not to get a broken neck for his pains; for, as one would have thought, he might have learnt from the episode of his display of axemanship that ‘le Monsieur noir’ was an ill person to play practical jokes upon.
This incident was unimportant enough in itself, but I it because it led to serious consequences. As soon as he had the bleeding from his scratches and washed himself, Alphonse went off still cursing, to recover his temper, a process which I knew from experience would take a very long time. When he had gone I gave Umslopogaas a jobation and told him that I was ashamed of his behaviour.
‘Ah, well, Macumazahn,’ he said, ‘you must be gentle with me, for here is not my place. I am weary of it, weary to death of eating and drinking, of sleeping and giving in marriage. I love not this soft life in stone houses that takes the heart out of a man, and turns his strength to water and his flesh to fat. I love not the white robes and the delicate women, the blowing of and the flying of . When we fought the Masai at the kraal yonder, ah, then life was worth the living, but here is never a blow struck in anger, and I begin to think I shall go the way of my fathers and lift Inkosi-kaas no more,’ and he held up the and gazed at it in sorrow.
‘Ah,’ I said, ‘that is thy complaint, is it? Thou hast the blood-sickness, hast thou? And the Woodpecker wants a tree. And at thy age, too. Shame on thee! Umslopogaas.’
‘Ay, Macumazahn, mine is a red trade, yet is it better and more honest than some. Better is it to a man in fair fight than to suck out his heart’s blood in buying and selling and after your white fashion. Many a man have I slain, yet is there never a one that I should fear to look in the face again, ay, many are there who once were friends, and whom I should be right glad to snuff with. But there! there! thou hast thy ways, and I mine: each to his own people and his own place. The high-veldt ox will die in the fat bush country, and so is it with me, Macumazahn. I am rough, I know it, and when my blood is warm I know not what to do, but yet thou be sorry when the night swallows me and I am lost in blackness, for in thy heart thou lovest me, my father, Macumazahn the fox, though I be but a broken-down Zulu war-dog—a chief for whom there is no room in his own kraal, an outcast and a wanderer in strange places: ay, I love thee, Macumazahn, for we have grown grey together, and there is that between us that cannot be seen, and yet is too strong for breaking;’ and he took his snuff-box, which was made of an old , from the in his ear where he always carried it, and handed it to me for me to help myself.
I took the pinch of snuff with some emotion. It was quite true, I was much attached to the bloodthirsty old ruffian. I do not know what was the charm of his character, but it had a charm; perhaps it was its fierce honesty and directness; perhaps one admired his almost superhuman skill and strength, or it may have been simply that he was so absolutely unique. Frankly, with all my experience of , I never knew a man quite like him, he was so wise and yet such a child with it all; and though it seems laughable to say so, like the hero of the Yankee , he ‘had a tender heart’. Anyway, I was very fond of him, though I should never have thought of telling him so.
‘Ay, old wolf,’ I said, ‘thine is a strange love. Thou wouldst split me to the chin if I stood in thy path tomorrow.’
‘Thou speakest truth, Macumazahn, that would I if it came in the way of duty, but I should love thee all the same when the blow had gone fairly home. Is there any chance of some fighting here, Macumazahn?’ he went on in an voice. ‘Methought that what I saw last night did show that the two great Queens were one with another. Else had the “Lady of the Night” not brought that with her.’
I agreed with him that it showed that more or less and existed between the ladies, and told him how things stood, and that they were quarrelling over Incubu.
‘Ah, is it so?’ he exclaimed, springing up in delight; ‘then will there be war as surely as the rivers rise in the rains—war to the end. Women love the last blow as well as the last word, and when they fight for love they are pitiless as a wounded buffalo. See thou, Macumazahn, a woman will swim through blood to her desire, and think nought of it. With these eyes have I seen it once, and twice also. Ah, Macumazahn, we shall see this fine place of houses burning yet, and hear the battle cries come ringing up the street. After all, I have not wandered for nothing. Can this folk fight, think ye?’
Just then Sir Henry joined us, and Good arrived, too, from another direction, looking very pale and hollow-eyed. The moment Umslopogaas saw the latter he stopped his bloodthirsty talk and greeted him.
‘Ah, Bougwan,’ he cried, ‘greeting to thee, Inkoos! Thou art surely weary. Didst thou hunt too much yesterday?’ Then, without waiting for an answer, he went on—
‘Listen, Bougwan, and I will tell thee a story; it is about a woman, therefore wilt thou hear it, is it not so?
‘There was a man and he had a brother, and there was a woman who loved the man’s brother and was beloved of the man. But the man’s brother had a favourite wife and loved not the woman, and he made a mock of her. Then the woman, being very cunning and fierce-hearted for revenge, took counsel with herself and said to the man, “I love thee, and if thou wilt make war upon thy brother I will marry thee.” And he knew it was a lie, yet because of his great love of the woman, who was very fair, did he listen to her words and made war. And when many people had been killed his brother sent to him, saying, “Why slayest thou me? What hurt have I done unto thee? From my youth up have I not loved thee? When thou wast little did I not thee, and have we not gone down to war together and divided the cattle, girl by girl, ox by ox, and cow by cow? Why slayest thou me, my brother, son of my own mother?”
‘Then the man’s heart was heavy, and he knew that his path was evil, and he put aside the of the woman and ceased to make war on his brother, and lived at peace in the same kraal with him. And after a time the woman came to him and said, “I have lost the past, I will be thy wife.” And in his heart he knew that it was a lie and that she thought the evil thing, yet because of his love did he take her to wife.
‘And the very night that they were , when the man was plunged into a deep sleep, did the woman arise and take his axe from his hand and creep into the hut of his brother and slay him in his rest. Then did she slink back like a lioness and place the of the red axe back upon his wrist and go her ways.
‘And at the dawning the people came shouting, “Lousta is slain in the night,” and they came unto the hut of the man, and there he lay asleep and by him was the red axe. Then did they remember the war and say, “Lo! he hath of a surety slain his brother,” and they would have taken and killed him, but he rose and fled swiftly, and as he fleeted by he the woman.
‘But death could not wipe out the evil she had done, and on him rested the weight of all her sin. Therefore is he an outcast and his name a scorn among his own people; for on him, and him only, resteth the burden of her who betrayed. And, therefore, does he wander afar, without a kraal and without an ox or a wife, and therefore will he die afar like a stricken and his name be accursed from generation to generation, in that the people say that he slew his brother, Lousta, by treachery in the night-time.’
The old Zulu paused, and I saw that he was deeply by his own story. Presently he lifted his head, which he had bowed to his breast, and went on:
‘I was the man, Bougwan. Ou! I was that man, and now hark thou! Even as I am so wilt thou be—a tool, a plaything, an ox of burden to carry the evil deeds of another. Listen! When thou didst creep after the “Lady of the Night” I was hard upon thy track. When she struck thee with the knife in the sleeping place of the White Queen I was there also; when thou didst let her slip away like a snake in the stones I saw thee, and I knew that she had bewitched thee and that a true man had abandoned the truth, and he who aforetime loved a straight path had taken a way. Forgive me, my father, if my words are sharp, but out of a full heart are they spoken. See her no more, so shalt thou go down with honour to the grave. Else because of the beauty of a woman that weareth as a garment of fur shalt thou be even as I am............