The White Hand and the Black Part 6

CHAPTER SIX.

A NATIVE UTOPIA.

The open s.p.a.ce outside the kraal was thronged. Hundreds had collected in obedience to the word of the chief. More were still coming in, and the preacher rubbed his fat hands together with smug complacency. Your educated native is nothing if not conceited, and the Rev Job Magwegwe was no exception to this rule. Here was an audience for him; a n.o.ble audience, and, withal an appreciative one.

His appearance was greeted by a deep murmur from the expectant crowd, which at once disposed itself to listen. He had resumed his black coat and waistcoat and settled his white choker; he was not going to omit any accessory to his clerical dignity if he knew it.

He led off with a long prayer, to which most of those present listened with ill-concealed boredom, but the smug self-conceit of the man had captured his better judgment, and he was only brought up by Babatyana remarking in an audible aside that the people had not a.s.sembled to take part in a prayer meeting but to hear the news. So he took the hint and started his address.

He began by sketching the history of the people, within their own time.

Since the days of the old wars they had increased immensely and were still increasing, so that soon the land would not be able to hold its population. It would hold them but for the white man. The white man.

But was this the white man's land? Did Nkulunkulu [Literally, "The Great Guest." one of the names for the Deity] give him this land? No.

The white man came over the sea in ships and took it. Nkulunkulu said "This is the black man's land and here have I placed him," yet the white man took it. The whites came over in small numbers, then more. But even now what were their numbers? Why, a handful, a mere handful. The whites who ruled them could live in an ostrich's nest, when compared to the blacks whom they had dispossessed. And why had they been able to dispossess them? Because there was no unity among the native nations.

Each was jealous of the other and none could combine. The time, however, was at hand when these dissensions should be of the past; when all the native nations should unite, when their native land should belong to them and not to the white man, when the Amazulu and the Basutu, the tribes in Natal and the Amampondo and the Amaxosa should all possess their own again, should all dwell together as brothers, none lording it over the other, should dwell together in peace and unity in the land which Nkulunkulu had given to them--to them and not to the white man.

The preacher was working himself up to a pitch of eloquence that impressed his audience--and a native orator can be very eloquent indeed.

Murmurs of applause greeted his periods, and now as he paused to wipe his clammy forehead with the white handkerchief of civilisation, these grew quite tumultuous. Only Manamandhla the Zulu kept saturnine silence. He knew who, in this wonderful brotherhood of equality, was going to have the upper hand, and any idea to the contrary moved him to mirth, as too absurd to be worthy of a moment's consideration.

But the ways of Nkulunkulu--went on the preacher unctuously--though sometimes slow were always sure, and now He had revealed His will to some who had come across great distances of sea to bring it to them; not white men but black like themselves. These had come hither with a message of deliverance to all the dark races, and he himself was a humble mouthpiece of such. But there were many such mouthpieces. They were everywhere, and were being heard gladly. Who could refuse to hear them? The people of this land were being oppressed and trampled upon; and so it was wherever the white man set down his foot. Let them look at the past. Where were the nations that dwelt proudly in their own lands? Gone, utterly gone, or slaves to the white man; who planted his own laws upon them and punished them heavily if they did not obey.

The crafty rascal however found it convenient to ignore the fact that the worst that the white man had ever done to them was a joke when compared with the treatment formerly meted out to the black man by his brother black. Then he proceeded to quote from the Scriptures.

There was a fair sprinkling of _amakolwa_ among his audience, i.e. those who had been converted to Christianity--of a sort--and these now listened with renewed zest. They would appreciate his arguments, and afterwards make them plain to their fellow countrymen not so privileged, in their discussions from kraal to kraal.

He deftly quoted from the history of the Israelites, and their deliverance from the Egyptian bondage, making out that these were in similar bondage, that the promises made to Israel were given to them too. He went further. He even a.s.sured them that they were offshoots of Israel, cleverly citing numbers of their national and tribal customs, some obsolete but many still in force, which exactly corresponded with the precepts of the Mosaic law. The great book of the white men which revealed the will of Nkulunkulu, he declared, was wrongly so called, in that it was not revealed to white men at all, but to dark men. The whites had stolen it, as they stole everything.

A deep ba.s.s hum of applause broke from his audience. It was a strange scene. The vast a.s.semblage held spellbound, the preacher, arrayed as one who preaches the gospel of peace, instead, swaying this mult.i.tude of dark savages with the gospel of revolt and war, and all the ruthless atrocity of horror which such represents. All spellbound there in the clear light of the broad moon, flooding down upon ridge and valley, and loom of mountain misty against the stars.

For upwards of another hour the preacher went on, the entranced audience drinking in every word. They could have listened to him all night, but he had too much natural astuteness to risk repeating himself.

"Brothers," he concluded, "I have shown you your bondage. You are increasing, as the chosen people of old, and the more you are increasing the more you have to pay in taxes to the white man; the more you have to submit to his slave-imposing laws. You may say--as many have said--'What can we do? The white man has cannon and we have the a.s.segai, what chance then have we?' But even the white man's cannon is not able to go everywhere, and even if it could, there is a more powerful weapon still. There are those who rule the whites who will lift up a voice in your behalf. Who will say--'Stop. This has gone far enough. We will not have our black brethren butchered solely because they are black.' I know what I say, for I have seen and talked with such. 'Stop,' they will say. 'Bloodshed must cease.' And the nation will approve because war costs money, and white people are no fonder of having to pay than are black people. Then when their fighting men are withdrawn--then we will rise in our might, in one overwhelming black wave, and sweep all these whites back into the sea, whence they came.

Be patient. You will have 'the word' in good time and that time soon.

I have shown you your bondage, now I am showing you your way out, for it is the will of Nkulunkulu. I have done."

A deep murmur arose. The vast mult.i.tude, moved to the core, took some time to realise that the proceedings were over. Then it broke up. Many remained on the ground, squatting in groups, eagerly discussing the points put forward; others broke up, and in twos or threes, or singly, departed for their homes. Among the latter was Teliso the native detective.

Not all, however, so went. There was a disposition among some of the headmen to probe further the speaker's statements. Who were these rulers among the Amangisi [English] who would call upon their countrymen to stop the war? enquired the old man who had shown a disposition to heckle the preacher in Babatyana's hut. He was old, but he had never heard of the chiefs of any people who would seek to turn that people back in the moment of their victory. _Whau_! this was wonderful news, but--who were they?

"M-m! Who are they?" hummed the others. But the Rev Job was not nonplussed.

"They are among the head indunas of the nation," he replied. "The ways of the white man are not as our ways, else that which I have been telling you would seem so much childish folly. Brothers, you will remember how the indunas of the Amangisi treated the Amabuna [Boers]

when they had conquered them many years ago. They gave them back all their lands, and went away. They lost hundreds and hundreds of fighting men at the hands of the Amabuna, yet they gave them back all their lands, nor did they even exact any tribute. And what happened yesterday? After three years of fighting, wherein thousands and thousands of Amangisi were slain, did they not pay the Amabuna largely to make peace? Are they not preparing even now to give them back their lands once more? _Whau_! And even so will they deal with us."

"And the King?" put in Babatyana with his head on one side. "The King of the Amangisi? What will he do with such indunas as they?"

"He will do as his indunas advise, brother, for such is the way with the Amangisi."

"A king who is ruled by his indunas is as a dog that is wagged by its tail. U' Tshaka!" returned Baba tyana vehemently, swearing by the name of the great Zulu. And the others murmured a.s.sent.

"Yet it is so, _amadoda_. I, who have seen, I, who know, tell you so."

And the confidence with which the speaker declared this, the certainty in his whole manner and look, staggered the doubters. In such wise was the venom drop injected by these snakes in the gra.s.s fostered and educated all unknowingly by the agencies of philanthropy and civilisation.

"Great news have we heard this night, brothers. But, even though we drive the Amangisi out, have we not to reckon with the Amabuna? They are terrible fighters. Not all the tribes in the world could drive _them_ out, _impela_!"

The speaker was Teliso, who had joined a group which was discussing what they had heard.

"Not all the tribes in the world!" repeated one, derisively. "Hear that!"

"Even that Lion, Dingane, had to flee before them," urged the detective.

"Ha! Was there not another Lion of Zulu that roared louder, and divided the nation? But for this they had been driven out themselves."

"M-m!" hummed another. "That is as the preacher says. Combine--do not divide."

"And this preacher--will he speak again here?" asked Teliso innocently.

"Not here. At Nteseni's Great Place. There will he speak. But many will go from here to listen."

The detective was on the point of asking whether he was likely to cross to the other side, and talk with the chiefs in Zululand, but judged it wise not to seem too curious. He could find that out later, for he had made up his mind to be one of those who should go on from here to Nteseni's Great Place.

For Teliso was having a good time. There had been a fair season and food was plentiful. The people were hospitable; and he was just as fond of meat and _tywala_ as any other native. He was faithful to his employers, the Government, according to his lights, but his pay was not on a luxurious scale, and the risks he ran were at times considerable.

So he made up his mind to combine pleasure with business--to lay himself out to have a good time. And--who shall blame him?

CHAPTER SEVEN.

OF A DAY OF REST.

Sunday had come round--had dawned, just such a morning as anybody could have wished, cloudless, glowing--warm of course, it would be hot in an hour or so, but Elvesdon, like other people, was used to this at the time of year and cared not a rush for it, especially as he was dressed accordingly.

His horse was being led up and down before the stoep by his native servant. The animal was chafing impatiently as though aware that it was bound for its old home. It was the horse that Thornhill had pressed upon his acceptance, and somehow Elvesdon could not help wishing that he had not. The animal was a fine, useful, well-looking beast--this he fully appreciated; but somehow he could not shake off the idea that it was a sort of compensation for what he had been able--privileged--to do, and this idea he did not like in the least.

Well, after all, it was a mistake to be too thin-skinned, he decided.

Probably the donor did not look at it in that light at all. At any rate he was going to put in a long, enjoyable day in the company of the said donor--and in that of somebody else; so, in the best of spirits, he raised the stirrups by a hole or two and swung himself into the saddle.

"So long, Prior," he called out to the clerk, who was standing by, watching his departure. "I may or may not be back to-night, but in any case shall be here in the morning in time to open as usual."

"All right, sir. So long."

The young man gazed after him, perhaps a trifle wistfully. The day would be a bit dull without him. He had grown to like his new chief more than a little, as we heard him admit to Thornhill in no uncertain tones, and enjoyed his conversation. Well, he would get through the day as he had got through so many other Sundays--taking it thoroughly easy; with a pipe, and the last ill.u.s.trated papers out from England and a magazine or two: then a snooze in the heat of the afternoon, and perhaps a smoke and chat with the sergeant of Mounted Police. And he was used to it.

Elvesdon rode on, his pulses keeping pace with every elastic bound of his steed. He was in the very heyday of his prime, and in the full health and strength of his physical being rejoiced in the sheer joy of living. Higher and higher mounted the flaming wheel of the sun above the roll of those golden plains; and sheeny winged birds, flashing from frond to frond, seemed to echo in their gladsome piping the exaltation which thrilled through his own heart. What was it that had given rise to this new exaltation, this new interest? He did not trouble to answer the mental, unformed question; he realised it, and that was sufficient.