"Now then, _Umfundisi_," impatiently exclaimed one of the Kafirs, dragging him by the shoulder. Swaysland walked dejectedly away, glad of the Kafir's escort to protect him from the ill-treatment of the women and children; and Claverton, leaning back, wondered, dreamily, what the deuce would be his own fate. So the hours dragged their slow length; and it was with but scant hope that the captives awaited the arrival of the Gaika chief.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE "WORD" OF THE GREAT CHIEF.

Tired of gazing at the prisoner, and realising, moreover, that there was not much fun to be got out of one who took matters so coolly, the women and children ceased to crowd round him, and he was left very much, to himself. It was broiling hot, and every now and then upon the sultry hushened air came the discharge of firearms in the far distance.

Evidently the rival forces were making targets of each other; but it was probably only a slight skirmish with some patrol, and Claverton did not allow himself to hope anything from the circ.u.mstance. The Kafirs, too, seemed in no way to trouble themselves about it.

"Time pa.s.ses slowly, doesn't it, Lenzimbi?" said Mopela, mockingly. "It pa.s.sed quicker sitting by the pool at midnight, you and the tall dark lily at Seringa Vale. How well you looked together! Why didn't you bring her here with you, eh? It would have been much more comfortable for you, and for us, ha, ha!"

At that moment Claverton would have bartered his life to be free to spring upon the jibing savage and tear him in pieces with his bare hands. But it is safe to worry a chained mastiff, if only the chain is strong enough.

"Ha! ha! What will the dark lily say when you do not return to her?"

went on Mopela. "When she hears how you were cut in pieces like a sheep, or roasted. Once we killed a man by putting red-hot stones upon him. At last they slid off, but we held them on again with sticks. He was two days dying. That was for witchcraft. Another was smeared over with honey, and a nest of black ants was broken over him. They stung him, they got into his ears, and nose, and eyes, and stung him everywhere. He died raving mad. Another was skinned alive, and then his skin was sewn round him again. Another was hung by the heels over a slow fire, and his eyes were put out with red-hot fire-sticks. Which of these things would you rather have happen to you, Lenzimbi?" concluded the Kafir with a hideous laugh.

"Nothing of the kind will happen to me," was the imperturbable reply.

A low boom of thunder smote upon the air--long, very distant, but distinctly audible. On the farthest horizon a little cloud was just visible. The slightest suspicion of a superst.i.tious misgiving was in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of the bystanders. How could this man preserve such perfect imperturbability unless he were sure of some miraculous deliverance?

"Will it not?" jeered Mopela. "What will happen then?"

"Wait and see. If you have been telling me those interesting stories to try and frighten me--well, then, Mopela, you're a bigger fool than even I took you for, and have been taking a vast deal of trouble about nothing. But now, if it's all the same to you, I think I'll go to sleep."

They stared at him. Here was a marvellous thing. These white men, too, were so afraid of pain; and this one, whom in a few hours they intended to burn alive, announced his intention of going to sleep. But they offered no objection. He was in their eyes a natural curiosity, and to be studied as such.

And he actually did sleep, and slept soundly, too, so that two hours later when the whole kraal was astir and in a commotion, he awoke quite refreshed. The arbiters of his fate had arrived.

The chief, Sandili, a refugee with the remnant of his tribe in the fastnesses of the Amatola forest, was a very different personage to the sleek, well-fed, benevolent-looking old "sponge" who had asked for sixpences when sitting against the wall of the Kaffrarian trading-store.

To begin with, he was sober, a state he could rarely plead guilty to during the piping times of peace. But there were no canteens in these rugged strongholds, and the very limited supply of liquor that could be smuggled in was but as a drop in the bucket to this habitual old toper.

His temper, too, was peevish and uncertain, whether owing to the supplies of grog being cut off, or the reverses sustained by his arms, was open to debate. So when this prisoner stood before him as he sat in front of his hut surrounded by his _amapakati_ [councillors] and attendants, the old chief's countenance wore none of its former friendliness and geniality.

One swift glance at the rows of dark, impa.s.sive faces, whose eyes were fixed upon him, keenly noting every point of his demeanour, and Claverton saluted the chief--easily, naturally, and as between equals.

A murmur ran through the group in acknowledgment, and every eye was bent upon the prisoner. For some moments they regarded each other in silence, and then Sandili spoke.

"Who are you, white man, and what are you doing here?"

"Who am I? The chief will recollect that we have met before. Does he not remember Thompson's store and the man who talked with him there?

That was myself."

Again a hum of a.s.sent ran through the group, and the chief sat gazing at his prisoner as if in deep thought. And what an unaccountable turn of fate it seemed to Claverton! The last time he had talked with this man he had felt for him a good-humoured, contemptuous kind of pity as he gave him the trifling gifts which the other had asked for; and Lilian's sweet eyes had looked upon the old savage with a delicious air of half-frightened interest, much as she might have regarded a tame old lion, and then they had ridden so light-heartedly away, without much thought of the evil to come. How vividly that day came back to him now--now, as he once more stood before the old chief, whose lightest word was sufficient to decide his fate! Verily, the turns in the wheel of Fortune are capricious.

Seeing that no one was in a hurry to break the silence, Claverton continued:

"As to what I am doing here, I was brought here, very much against my will, I admit. Our friends here drove me over a cliff higher than that one yonder," pointing to one that overhung the hollow; "but I stopped half-way down and got inside. Then I walked down through the heart of the earth, and came out at the foot of the cliff, where your people found me."

"What childishness is this?" said the chief, sternly. "Are we children and fools that you tell us such tales, white man?"

"Ask those who brought me here if it is not as I say," was the cool reply.

A rapid conversation took place among the Kafirs, many of whom confirmed the prisoner's statement. It was an unaccountable thing, they said; but the white man seemed to be something of a sorcerer. Anyhow, all that he said about the cliff was true.

And now a fresh excitement took place in the shape of some new arrivals, some mounted, some on foot. Claverton noticed a stoutly-built man in European clothing, who seemed rather to shrink back as if anxious to avoid observation.

"Who is that?" he asked of his guards during the slight confusion that followed.

"Gonya--Sandili's son," was the reply.

This Gonya, or Edmund Sandili, as he was known to the colonists, had received a civilised education, and, at the time of the outbreak, held a post as clerk and interpreter in the Civil Service of the colony. This post he had thrown up in order to cast in his lot with his own people--a course which, whether that of a traitorous rebel or self-sacrificing patriot, is a matter of opinion.

"And who is the _Umfundisi_?" he went on, in an ironical tone, glancing in the direction of a thoroughbred Kafir who was arrayed in a clerical suit of black, with which, and with the white choker adorning his throat, the rifle he carried in his hand seemed startlingly out of keeping.

"Ha! that's Dukwana. He's a real _Umfundisi_ at Emgwali. He can pray well, but he can shoot better," replied the barbarian, with a sneering laugh. "Ha! there's Matanzima--Sandili's other son. He _is_ a warrior?"

"Yes, I know him," said Claverton, as he watched his former enemy join the group and seat himself near his father. The old chief looked not best pleased at the interruption as he turned frowningly towards his impetuous son.

"Where is the prisoner?" the latter was saying. "Aha! white man, we have caught you at last!" he went on, as Claverton again stood before the group.

"Why did you not 'catch' me that day in the thorns, when we met in real battle, Matanzima?" he retorted. "That was a good rough-and-tumble, wasn't it?"

The other showed all his white teeth and laughed. He had a pleasing face--bold, daring, and reckless. Then they began questioning the prisoner about the colonial movements. To each query he replied with a readiness that astonished them.

"You are not misleading us?" said one of the _amapakati_, threateningly.

"Why do you tell us all your countrymen's moves so readily?"

"I am not misleading you, because not the slightest advantage would be gained by it; the result will be the same, anyhow. I tell you, Sandili, and all you _amapakati_, that you are going straight to destruction.

You had much better make terms before it is too late. You can get better terms now than a month hence."

A murmur of amazement ran round the a.s.sembly. Here was a prisoner--a bound, helpless prisoner--talking to them, the chiefs and councillors of the Gaika nation, like a victorious general dictating terms! It was a thing unheard of.

Suddenly a strange interruption occurred. A figure bounded into the midst--a frightful figure, with long, gaunt limbs and gleaming eyes.

From neck, and shoulder, and wrist, and ankle, dangled beads, and cows'

tails, and feathers, and magic strings of birds' beaks and claws, while the creature's body wae hideously tattooed from head to foot. Of tall stature, a coif, consisting of a huge snake's skin all entwined with the claws of scorpions, made him look even taller. With a long, wild beast-like howl, this hideous object stood poised on one foot before the group.

"Treason! Treason!" he mouthed.

All started; each man, by an involuntary movement, looking uneasily at his neighbour. In one glance Claverton recognised this diabolical-looking creature. It was the wizard, Nomadudwana.

"Treason! Treason?" he repeated, foaming at the mouth and gnashing his teeth.

"What does the sorcerer mean?" asked Sandili. "Who is the traitor?"

"There is a white prisoner here," bellowed the wizard. "He belongs to us. He belongs to the nation--to the Great Chief--to me--to us all--for we shall all take of the war-medicine which I will make out of his heart. He is a brave man; his heart will make strong war-medicine. The Great Chief, Sandili, is our father; but there is treason in his house-- in his own house!" And again the hideous wizard broke into a series of prolonged and diabolical howls. "There is one here who would have deprived us of our spoil," he went on; "who would have released our prisoner and enriched himself; who would have gone over to the white men and betrayed us, his brethren--betrayed the Great Chief, his father, and the head of his father's house!"

The councillors were visibly agitated. Though their consciences were clear, it might be in the purpose of Nomadudwana to denounce any one of them. A shout of wrath went up from the crowd beyond.