"My chief, Sandili," began the old man, in a low, earnest voice; "my brethren, the wise men and councillors of the house of Gaika; my children, its warriors--listen to my words, which have always been spoken for your welfare. Have they not?"

An emphatic hum of a.s.sent having testified to the veneration in which the speaker was held, he proceeded:

"I am an old man now, far older than most of you here, and, as I look back upon the past of the Gaika nation I look forward all the more gladly to the grave. There was a time when we possessed the land; a time when our chiefs were feared almost from sea to sea; a time when our people dwelt at ease, and their cattle lowed upon a thousand hills; when the hearts of our young men were glad, and the songs of our young women resounded among the rustling corn. All was then well with us. The fountains gushed from yon cool forests, and the pastures were green, and our eyes were glad, for we dwelt in the fairest land that eye could look upon. The whites, our neighbours, did not molest us, but traded with us many things which now we cannot do without. Why did we not keep what we had got? We could not. There came a demon among us, and we could not sit still. We made war.

"What was the result? We were beaten, driven back. We lost our warriors by hundreds, and our cattle were taken. We lost a portion even of our lands. Here was a lesson to us--to us who proudly thought we could eat up the whites because they were so few. But we would not learn. We made war again; and this time we fought well, but it was of no use, again we were beaten. And this time the white man gave us back the land which he had taken from us--gave it us back! Was ever such a thing heard of before? Did not this show that he desired to save us--to treat us as his friends? Yet we could not sit still. Evil counsels prevailed among us, false prophets sprang up, and lured the people to destruction. They went--poor blind sheep--they went straight to the slaughter. What could I do--I, Tyala? It was in vain that I warned and entreated; in vain that I lifted up my voice day and night against their besotted folly. They even threatened to take my life--my wretched life; that, they were quite welcome to if it would but save them from themselves. The counsels of the false prophets prevailed. The war-cry was raised again.

"Why should I go on? The rest you all know. We lost what we had retaken before, but even the third time the English forgave us poor deluded people, and then, when the famine came they fed us when we were starving and crept to their doors to beg for food. Why did they not kill us all then, when we were in their hands? And now look around; look at the fair lands which are about to be taken from us--rather which we ourselves have given up because we could not rest quiet upon them.

Are they not large enough? Are they not fertile enough? Are our streams not abundant enough, and our pastures not rich enough? Yet we have thrown all this away because the chiefs of the house of Gaika have allowed themselves to be led astray by a parcel of youths, a parcel of boys, who had never seen war and must needs clamour for it as for a new plaything. And what is the result? Look at us now--hunted into our stronghold, tracked like criminals and wild beasts. And yet, I say, it is all our own doing."

The old man's voice had become strong and firm as he spoke, though it shook slightly with the halting tremor of age. As he paused, many a deep murmur from his auditors told that his words had struck home.

"Who warned you against all this?--Tyala. Who warned you against the words of the false prophets?--Tyala. Who warned you against the rifles of the English?--Tyala. Whose voice has ever been raised in your behalf, in council, in diplomacy, even in the battle?--That of Tyala.

But it has never been heeded. Now listen, my chief Sandili; and you, _amapakati_, my brothers. Here is a chance to stand well with the English, our conquerors; for they are our conquerors, even now. Do not throw it away. This man, our prisoner, is a man of rank and standing among his own people. What, then, shall we gain by taking his life?

Let us restore him to his own people and say: 'The Gaika people are not wolves, when they make war they do not kill the prisoners. Take this man, whom we found among us unarmed.' The English are generous as well as brave. They will remember this act when they make terms with us.

The man himself will speak well for us. It is an act that will gain us sympathy everywhere. Do I hear it said that Tyala is the white man's friend? That is true, he is. But he is still more the friend of his own people. Have we not seen enough blood? Has not blood been poured out until the whole of the land is red with it--blood, blood, everywhere, nothing but blood? We are weary of blood-shedding, we would fain rest. Now, my chief, do not listen to the clamour of the young men, or the boys. Do not allow them to shed the blood of this white man. Restore him to his own people alive and well. We shall be glad of it, when we have done so, and the English will treat us generously.

This is the counsel of Tyala."

The old man ceased, and drawing his blanket around him, sat silent and motionless. Every word of his speech, ill.u.s.trated by many a graceful wave of the hand and inflection of the voice, with here and there an expressive native e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, was listened to with profound attention.

When the murmurs which greeted its conclusion had subsided, another councillor, scarcely the junior of the first either in age or appearance, gave his opinion. His advice, too, was in favour of mercy.

Unlike his predecessor he did not recommend the unconditional release of the prisoner, but rather that terms should be made beforehand.

After him, no one seemed inclined to plead the prisoner's cause any further, when, just as the opposite opinion was going to speak, Claverton suddenly found an unexpected advocate. This was Usivulele, the man whom he had held as a hostage, after the fight with the Hottentot Levy, when he had allowed the Kafirs to look after their wounded. He was not a councillor, but being a warrior of considerable standing, and a man of great shrewdness and sagacity, he was allowed a seat and a voice among that august body. As he had only arrived when the prisoner had been removed, the latter had not seen him.

Beginning with the usual complimentary allusion to the wisdom of his hearers, the speaker followed the lead of Tyala, setting forth with considerable power the inexpediency of provoking the vengeance of the English by pushing matters to their bitterest end. He dwelt upon the bravery in the field of the white leader now in their hands--having witnessed it in battle himself--upon his humanity to the wounded shown on more than one occasion, as in giving them water with his own hand, and saving their lives from the merciless rage of his own followers.

Such men were scarce, and if the Amaxosa rewarded them by torturing and killing them, others of a different order would be put into their place.

Far better let this man go. Then Usivulele went on, with cunningly veiled sneers, to cast ridicule upon the wizard Nomadudwana, whom they all hated. These impostors, he said, were gaining more and more ascendancy, till at last it seemed that chiefs and people were to be led by the nose by this impudent quack, who made pretended war charms, whose efficiency he had not the courage to test himself. He concluded with a powerful appeal to the chiefs to spare the prisoner's life, if only to show that they were still chiefs, and as such not to be dictated to by a shouting mob, or influenced by the wretched jugglery of a sham soothsayer.

But if men were to be found who had the courage of their convictions, the majority of those who sat there were wedded to the traditions of their order and of their race. They, indeed, regarded the wizard as a despicable sham, but then he was necessary to such a national inst.i.tution as "smelling out," [Note 1] whereby, for purposes of gain or policy, obnoxious individuals might from time to time be got rid of; and the common people believed in him. It would not do to shake the popular faith in national inst.i.tutions; to do so would be to aim a blow at authority itself, especially at such a time as this, when the Colonial Government was strenuously exerting itself to do away with chieftainship and tribal independence, and to subst.i.tute white magistrates everywhere.

So one after another spoke at considerable length, combating the opinions of those who advocated mercy. It was a mistake to suppose, they said, that the liberation of this one man would make any difference whatever. They had reddened their spears, and must take the consequences; it was of no use thinking to cleanse them in such simple and easy fashion. There was no reason why this man's life should be spared. He had proved a formidable enemy in battle, and had slain dozens of their warriors; it was only fair, then, to hand him over to the vengeance of the people. The people were clamouring for him, and they ought to have him. That was the custom of the nation.

Thus spake the majority of the _amapakati_. One especially, a grim old war-wolf, whose toothless fangs could scarcely mumble out his bloodthirsty words, did his utmost to influence his hearers in the direction of vengeance. The English, he said, were not to be trusted.

They would probably visit it upon them ten times more heavily for having taken the man prisoner at all. Did the English spare the Gaikas when they captured them? No, they handed them over to the _Amafengu_ to be put to death by them. Free warriors of the house of Gaika to die at the hands of Fingo dogs! Let this white man be burnt.

The last consideration told, as the ferocious old ruffian intended that it should. The councillors were now all but unanimous against the prisoner, and Sandili, whose sympathies, moreover, were with them, yielded, as usual, to the voice of the majority. One or two urged Tyala again to speak, but the old man shook his head sadly.

"No," he said, "I have advised my chief and my people all my life. They have ever rejected my councils, and they have repented of it. They reject them now, and they will repent of it. I will say no more," and sinking his chin in his blanket, he sat motionless as a statue, and heedless of what went on around him.

Meanwhile, outside the notice of the august circle a livelier scene was being enacted.

When Claverton was ordered to be taken out of hearing, the crowd, seeing him brought towards them, took for granted that their prey was indeed theirs at last, and surged forward with a roar like a den of wild beasts let loose. Their longing for blood was about to be gratified.

"Bring him to the fire!" they yelled. "Bring him to the fire?"

Some fanned up the flames; others, bending down, drew out bits of red-hot iron and blew upon them. It was difficult for his guards, amid that deafening roar, to persuade the mob that the time had not yet come.

They pressed forward, weighed on by those behind. They shook their a.s.segais towards the prisoner, they glared and mouthed upon him, they howled and threatened, and all the while the red flames shot up with a dull, hungry roar, and the bright caverns glowed around the instruments of torture which lay in them. The women were among the most merciless of that fiendish crowd. Hideous hags brandished knives and skewers, explaining to the prisoner exactly how they meant to begin upon him, and their repulsive wrinkled skins, all shaking and perspiring in the heat, gave them the air of toad-like fiends from the nethermost h.e.l.l. Boys held up a.s.segai points which had been heated in the fire, and yelled shrilly that they were going to dig them into the white flesh. One imp, with a diabolical leer upon his face, took a bit of hot iron and glided between the guards, intending to apply it to the prisoner's leg.

Unfortunately for him, however, some one jostled him, and, instead of "touching up" the captive, the iron was brought into contact with the naked thigh of one of the guards, who, with a startled exclamation, turned sharply round, and, seizing the youthful fiend, administered to him such a thrashing that he slunk off, howling like a whipped dog, amid the jeers and laughter of his fellows. And the said guards had their work cut out for them. They dared not, on their peril, allow a finger to be laid on their charge before the chief's "word" was given, and yet every moment the mob nearly tore him from their possession. So they laid about them l.u.s.tily, whacking the women and children on the backs and shoulders with their a.s.segai shafts, and even threatening some of the young men with the blades, and the crowd fell back a little. Then they were able to explain that the prisoner still belonged to the chief, and they must wait.

It was a frightful moment for Claverton; even though he knew that he was for the time being safe, yet the position was one calculated to try the strongest nerves. And it was but delaying the hour. He had small hopes that the councillors would decide to spare his life. It might be that they would elect to keep him prisoner a little longer; there was just this chance, and it was worth next to nothing at all.

"Aha, Lenzimbi! Did I not tell you it would come to this?" mocked Mopela, gloating over his helpless enemy. "In a few minutes I shall put one of those red-hot irons into your eye--slowly--slowly--like this,"

and he ill.u.s.trated his blood-curdling speech by taking one of the hot nails from the fire and gently boring a hole in the ground. The crowd had fallen back now, leaving an open s.p.a.ce around the prisoner and his guards.

"Ha! What is this?" he continued, as something bright was disclosed to view through the open breast of the prisoner's shirt; and, inserting his fingers, he drew out a chain, at the end of which hung a large and curiously-wrought locket of steel. The chain was clasped so near to the wearer's throat that there was no getting it off by any method short of decapitation, it being fastened by a secret spring. In vain the savage jerked and tugged at the loose end by which the locket hung down on Claverton's chest. It was of strong steel, and showed no signs of giving.

"Haow! Lenzimbi's charm!" he cried. "We must take it away, then Lenzimbi will be weak and full of fear. This is what makes him strong.

We must take it away."

But this was easier said than done, for the chain was made of stout metal. At last a pair of pincers was procured, and Mopela wrenched and twisted with all the strength of his muscular grip.

"Take care what you are about!" whispered Claverton, his face livid with deadly rage. "The man who succeeds in taking that off will die on the spot. It is magic. Take care!"

For answer the savage only laughed, and redoubled his efforts to break the chain. A snap--a wrench--another snap--and Mopela sprang to his feet, triumphantly holding up the locket, with three inches of chain dangling from his hand, and crying: "Lo! the white man's charm?"

Claverton's face was pale as death, white to the very lips, but his eyes were glowing like coals of fire. The crowd was watching him curiously.

Already the removal of the charm had begun to take effect, they thought.

How it happened he himself could not have told to save his life, but the locket, which seemed as close as an unbroken egg-sh.e.l.l as Mopela was turning it over and over in his hands, suddenly flew open, disclosing, to the astonished eyes of the savage, the face of Lilian Strange. Yes, there it was, beautiful and lifelike, an exquisitely-painted miniature-- her own work. A tender smile played round the curves of the sweet mouth, and the lovely eyes, opening wide beneath their long lashes, looked out with a calm, glad, trustful air that was inexpressibly bewitching. Even the warm flush beneath the delicate olive skin, and the soft wealth of bronzed, dusky hair, was true to the very life. A bordering of forget-me-nots, beautifully painted, was wound round the portrait, and in the opposite compartment of the locket reposed a thick coil of hair, matching exactly that in the miniature, and half hidden beneath this was the letter "L," painted in blue upon a white ground.

And this token of the purest, holiest love wherewith man was ever blest, was now held in the rude hand and gazed upon by the bold eyes of a savage. The firelight destined to wither up the limbs of her lover glowed upon the sweet, delicate features of Lilian, portrayed there, lifelike in her radiant beauty; and still Mopela stood gazing into the locket which lay in his hand, fairly lost in wondering amazement.

"Whaow!" he exclaimed. "Lenzimbi should have brought her here;" and then his voice was jammed in his throat. He was choking. For a marvellous thing had happened, and a shout arose from the crowd--a shout of awe, and consternation, and warning. The prisoner was free.

A madman, we know, is at times endowed with superhuman strength.

Claverton was for the moment mad, and the stout raw-hide thongs fell from him like packthread, as with one tiger bound, he sprang upon Mopela and bore him to the earth. Then digging his knee into the shoulders of the barbarian, who had fallen face downwards, he grasped him by the hair and thrust his head into the blazing fire. It was all done in a twinkling, and a deathly hush was upon the bystanders, who seemed thunderstruck. He might even have escaped; but no thought had he of anything other than vengeance. He seemed transformed into a wild beast.

His eyes started from their sockets, and he gnashed his teeth as he literally ground the glowing cinders with the face of the prostrate man, till the flesh crackled horribly and roasted in the heat, and even then his fury seemed but to increase.

With a loud shout the Kafirs, recovering from their momentary stupor, threw themselves upon him. He hardly saw them, he continued to beat his adversary's head into the fierce fire without heeding them. They dragged him off and secured him, but with difficulty; he was mad. Then some of them raised Mopela. The huge barbarian presented an awful appearance. The whole of his face was peeled and blackened--burnt to a cinder--and the sight of both his eyes was for ever destroyed. He lay, half insensible, and moaning like an animal.

"There!" shouted Claverton, in ringing tones. "There! That is my vengeance. That dog lying yonder dared to profane with his filthy eyes what was sacred. Now he will never see with those eyes again. They are taken from him. He will be in darkness until he dies."

A vengeful murmur rose among his listeners. Suddenly some one cried:

"The charm--where is the charm?"

Where, indeed? They looked around--on the ground--in the fire-- everywhere. In vain. Of the steel locket there was no sign. It had completely disappeared.

But the wonder and speculation of the superst.i.tions savages was nipped in the bud by a mandate from Sandili that the prisoner should again be brought before him.

And now, once more, Claverton stood before that semicircle of dark, stern countenances, but he read no hope. They were about to doom him to torture and to death. Around pressed the crowd, eager, expectant, the women and children jostling against the warriors in front, struggling to obtain a view of the proceedings. Every now and then a red flash of lightning played upon the half-naked figures of the barbarians, and upon a.s.segai points, and rolling eyeb.a.l.l.s, and necklaces of jackals' white teeth and all the savage paraphernalia wherewith the fierce, lithe forms were decked.

A silence was upon all as the wizard stood, looking like a figure conjured up from h.e.l.l, haranguing the a.s.sembly. The burden of his speech was a mere repet.i.tion of the wrongs they had suffered at the hands of the white men in general, and this one in particular, whom he now claimed on behalf of the nation, in pursuance of unvarying custom.

And at his words a shout of a.s.sent went up from the fierce crew standing around.

"Give him to us!" they cried. "Give him to us, Great Chief!"

Then Sandili was about to speak, to utter the words of doom, when, in a strong, ringing voice which echoed through that savage fastness like the notes of a clarion, the prisoner cried:

"Stop! I, too, have something to say; listen to it all of you. First of all, who is this Nomadudwana, that claims to direct your councils? I will tell you--"