Part 10 (1/2)

”I see you, Lamonti. _Au_! Zwabeka? He is asleep.”

”No matter. It will do when he wakes. Meanwhile we will go into a hut, for the rain will be great.”

”'M--'m!” a.s.sented the bystanders in a guttural hum. ”The rain will be great. Ah! ah! The rain will be great!”

There was a significance in the repet.i.tion hardly observed at the time by the new arrivals. One of them, at any rate, was to appreciate it later. To one of them, also, the utter absence of geniality on the part of the people supplied food for thought, combined too as it was with the use of his native name--in this instance a corruption of his own-- instead of the more respectful '_Nkose_.' But then Zwabeka's people were mostly Abezantsi--or those of the old, pure-blooded Zulu stock, and therefore proud.

”Come this way, _Amakosi_,” said the man he had addressed as Gudhlusa, pointing to a small enclosure. ”We will put your horses there, and give them grain. Yonder is a new hut with the thatch but just on. There will ye rest.”

”That is good, Gudhlusa,” said Lamont, giving him some tobacco. ”Later, when the chief is awake we will talk with him.”

The new hut proved to be a very new one, which was a huge advantage in that it ensured immunity from the swarming c.o.c.kroaches inseparable from old ones, and even worse. On the other hand, the thatch 'just put on,'

was not as complete as it might be, for a glint of sky visible through a hole or two in the roof did not give encouraging promise of a water-tight protection from the average thunder-shower. The saddlery and luggage was accordingly disposed in what looked likely to prove the driest side of the hut.

”Well, Father, I'm inclined to think we can see our quarters for to-night,” said Lamont cheerfully, as he filled his pipe and pa.s.sed on his pouch to his companion.

”Thanks. I think so too. Well, we might do worse.”

”Oh yes. A dry camp is better than a wet one. Do you talk the Sindabele?”

”A little. Enough to make myself understood for the ordinary purposes.

But I am learning it. You seem to have got it well, though.”

”I wish I had it better. You see I am a bit interested in these people.

They--and their history--appeal to me. Poor devils! I can't help sympathising with them to a certain extent. It must be rotten hard luck for a lot of these older ones, like Zwabeka for instance, who have been big-wigs in their time, having to knuckle down to a new and strange form of government in which they come out very under-dog indeed. Still, it's the universal law and there's no help for it. But--I'm sorry for them for all that.”

Could he have seen what was in Zwabeka's mind,--Zwabeka, nominally asleep in one of the huts a few yards away,--could he have heard what was on Zwabeka's tongue, yea, at that very moment, where would his sympathy have been? The course of but a few days was destined to change it, like that of many another who desired to treat the conquered race with fairness and consideration, and who like himself were sitting on the brink of the hitherto quiescent vent of a raging volcano.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

ZWABEKA'S KRAAL.

”Isn't that a perfect picture of savage life, set in a savage surrounding?” said Lamont, as he stood with his travelling companion before the door of the hut allotted to them. ”It is artistically complete.”

”It is indeed,” was the answer.

And it was. The circle of the kraal, with its great open s.p.a.ce and the conical huts, four deep, ringing it in: the dark, lithe forms of its occupants, unclothed save for a _mutya_ of dangling monkey skins; or in the case of the women a greasy hide ap.r.o.n: the sinuous movements as the young men and boys ran in and out among the multi-coloured cattle: the reek of smoke and kine: the wild background of wooded ridge and craggy rock, and the swirling streamers of the storm-cloud above, pouring forth jetty beams of steely blue light and reverberating roll against the bushy spurs and darksome recesses. All this in the fast-gathering dusk made up a picture of sombre, impressive grandeur, the very soul of which seemed to permeate the minds of its two civilised spectators.

Then the full force of the storm broke overhead, and it was as though the whole world were on fire, and split in twain; what with the unintermittent electric glare, and the ear-splitting crashes, hardly more intermittent. But, with it all, not a drop of rain.

”It's grand; but I've a notion it's beastly dangerous,” said Lamont.

”We'd better get inside. There's more electricity in us than in a roof.

They say,” he went on, as they gained their shelter, ”that dry storms are more dangerous than when it rains, but that may be a popular superst.i.tion. Anyway everyone doesn't share it, for here's somebody coming.”

Even as he spoke, there crept through the low doorway, which had been left open, a young man followed by two girls, one bearing a basket of green mealies roasted on the ashes, the other a large bowl of _tywala_.

The youth explained that they were sent by Gudhlusa, who was sorry he could not send meat, but the people were poor, since Government and the pestilence had killed all their cattle, and they had no meat.

”We shall do famously,” said Lamont. Then to the young man: ”We thank Gudhlusa. And thou, _umfane_, make ready and broil these birds for us.