V
A year had gone by, during which time, by the most heroic exertions,
Thomas Bull had at length succeeded in rebuilding the church. There it
stood, a very nice mission-church, constructed of sun-dried bricks
neatly plastered over, cool and spacious within, for the thatched roof
was lofty, beautifully furnished (the font and the pulpit had been
imported from England), and finished off with the spire and clock of
his dreams, the latter also imported from England and especially
adjusted for a hot climate.
Moreover, there was a sweet and loud-throated bell upon which the
clock struck, with space allowed for the addition of others that must
wait till Thomas could make up his mind to approach Dorcas as to the
provision of the necessary funds. Yes, the church was finished, and
the Bishop of those parts had made a special journey to consecrate it
at the hottest season of the year, and as a reward for his energy had
contracted fever and nearly been washed away in a flooded river.
Only one thing was lacking, a sufficient congregation to fill this
fine church, which secretly the Bishop, who was a sensible man,
thought would have been of greater value had it been erected in any of
several other localities that he could have suggested. For alas! the
Christian community of Sisa-Land did not increase. Occasionally Thomas
succeeded in converting one of Menzi's followers, and occasionally
Menzi snatched a lamb from the flock of Thomas, with the result that
the scales remained even neither going up nor down.
The truth was, of course, that the matter was chiefly one of race;
those of the Sisas in whom the Basuto blood preponderated became
Christian, while those who were of the stubborn Zulu stock,
strengthened and inspired by their prophet Menzi, remained
unblushingly heathen.
Still Thomas did not despair. One day, he told himself, there would be
a great change, a veritable landslide, and he would see that church
filled with every Zulu in the district. Needless to say, he wished him
no ill, but Menzi was an old man, and before long it might please
Providence to gather that accursed wizard to his fathers. For that he
was a wizard of some sort Thomas no longer doubted, a person directly
descended from the Witch of Endor, or from some others of her company
who were mentioned in the Bible. There was ample authority for
wizards, and if they existed then why should they they not continue to
do so? Since he could not explain it, Thomas swallowed the magic, much
as in his boyhood he used to swallow the pills.
Yes, if only Menzi were removed by the will of Heaven, which really,
thought Thomas, must be outraged by such proceedings, his opportunity
would come, and "Menzi's herd," as the heathens were called in Sisa-
land, would be added to his own. The Bishop, it is true, was not
equally sanguine, but said nothing to discourage zeal so laudable and
so uncommon.
It was while his Lordship was recovering from the sharp bout of fever
which he had developed in a new and mosquito-haunted hut with a damp
floor that had been especially erected for his accommodation, that at
last the question of the re-building of the mission-house came to a
head, which it could not do while all the available local labour, to
say nothing of some hired from afar, was employed upon the church.
Thomas, it was true, wished to postpone it further, pointing out that
a school was most necessary, and that after all they had grown quite
accustomed to the huts and were fairly comfortable in them.
On this point, however, Dorcas was firm; indeed, it would not be too
much to say that, having already been disappointed once, she struck
with all the vigour of a trade-unionist. She explained that the
situation of the huts on the brink of the river was low and most
unhealthy, and that in them she was becoming a victim to recurrent
attacks of fever. He, Thomas, might be fever-proof, as indeed she
thought he was. It was true also that Tabitha had been extraordinarily
well and grown much ever since she came to Sisa-Land, which puzzled
her, inasmuch as the place was notoriously unhealthy for children,
even if they were of native blood. Indeed, in her agitation she added
an unwise remark to the effect that she could only explain their
daughter's peculiar health by supposing that Menzi had laid a "good
charm" upon her, as all the natives believed, and he announced
publicly that he had done.
This made Thomas very angry, admittedly not without cause. Forgetting
his conversation to a belief in the reality of Menzi's magic, he
talked in a loud voice about the disgrace of being infected with vile,
heathen superstitions, such as he had never thought to hear uttered by
his wife's Christian lips. Dorcas, however, stuck to her point, and
enforced it by a domestic example, adding that the creatures which in
polite society are called "bed-pests," that haunted the straw of the
huts, tormented her while Tabitha never had so much as a single bite.
The end of it was that the matter of mission-house /versus/ huts was
referred to the Bishop for his opinion. As the teeth of his Lordship
were chattering with ague resulting, he knew full well, from the fever
he had contracted in the said huts, Dorcas found in him a most
valuable ally. He agreed that a mission-house ought to be built before
the school or anything else, and suggested that it should be placed in
a higher and better situation, above the mists that rose from the
river and the height to which mosquitoes fly.
Bowing to the judgment of his superior, which really he heard with
gratitude, although in his zeal and unselfishness he would have
postponed his own comfort and that of his family till other duties had
been fulfilled, Thomas replied that he knew only one such place which
would be near enough to the Chief's town. It was on the koppie itself,
about fifty feet above the level of and overhanging the river, where
he had noted there was always a breeze, even on the hottest day, since
the conformation of this hill seemed to induce an unceasing draught of
air. He added that if his Lordship were well enough, they might go to
look at the site.
So they went, all of them. Ascending a sloping, ancient path that was
never precipitous, they came to the place, a flat tableland that
perhaps measured an acre and a half, which by some freak of nature had
been scooped out of the side of the koppie, and was backed by a
precipitous cliff in which were caves. The front part of this plateau,
that which approached to and overhung the river, was of virgin rock,
but the acre or so behind was filled with very rich soil that in the
course of centuries had been washed down from the sides of the koppie,
or resulted from the decomposition of its material.
"The very place," said the Bishop. "The access is easy. The house
would stand here--no need to dig deep foundations in this stone, and
behind, when those trees have been cleared away, you could have a
beautiful and fertile garden where anything will grow. Also, look,
there is a stream of pure water running from some spring above. It is
an ideal site for a house, not more than three minutes' walk from the
church below, the best I should say in the whole valley. And then,
consider the view."
Everyone agreed, and they were leaving the place in high spirits,
Dorcas, who had household matters to attend, having already departed,
when whom should they encounter but Menzi seated on a stone just where
the path began to descend. Thomas would have passed him without notice
as one with whom he was not on speaking terms, but the Bishop, having
been informed by Tabitha who he was, was moved by curiosity to stop
and interchange some words with him, as knowing his tongue perfectly,
he could do.
"/Sakubona/" (that is, "good day"), he said politely.
Menzi rose and saluted with his habitual courtesy, first the Bishop,
then the others, as usual reserving his sweetest smile for Tabitha.
"Great Priest," he said at once, "I understand that the Teacher
Tombool intends to build his house upon this place."
The Bishop wondered how on earth the man knew that, since the matter
had only just been decided by people talking in English, but answered
that perhaps he might do so.
"Great Priest," went on Menzi in an earnest voice, "I pray you to
forbid the Teacher Tombool from doing anything of the sort."
"Why, friend?" asked the Bishop.
"Because, Great Priest, this place is haunted by the spirits of the
dead, and those who live here will be haunted also. Hearken. I myself
when I was young have seen evil-doers brought from Zululand and hurled
from that rock, blinded and broken-armed, by order of the King. I say
that scores have been thrown thence to be devoured by the crocodiles
in the pool below. Will such a sight as this be pleasant for white
eyes to look upon, and will such cries as those of the evil-doers who
have 'gone down' be nice for white ears to hear in the silence of the
night?"
"But, my good man," said the Bishop, "what you say is nonsense. These
poor creatures are dead, 'gone down' as you say, and do not return. We
Christians have no belief in ghosts, or if they exist we are protected
from them."
"None at all," interposed Thomas boldly and speaking in Zulu. "This
man, my Lord, is at his old tricks. For reasons of his own he is
trying to frighten us; for my part I will not be frightened by a
native witch-doctor and his rubbish, even if he does deal with Satan.
With your permission I shall certainly build the mission-house here."
"Quite right, of course, quite right," said the Bishop, though within
himself he reflected that evidently the associations of the spot were
disagreeable, and that were he personally concerned, perhaps he should
be inclined to consider an alternative site. However, it was a matter
for Mr. Bull to decide.
"I hear that Tombool will not be turned from his purpose. I hear that
he will still build his house upon this rock. So be it. Let him do so
and see. But this I say, that Imba, the Floweret, shall not be haunted
by the /Isitunzi/ (the ghosts of the dead) who wail in the night,"
said Menzi.
He advanced to Tabitha, and holding his hands over her he cried out:
"Sweet eyes, be blind to the /Isitunzi/. Little ears, do not hear
their groans. Spirits, build a garden fence about this flower and keep
her safe from all night-prowling evil things. Imba, little Flower,
sleep softly while others lie awake and tremble."
Then he turned and departed swiftly.
"Dear me!" said the Bishop. "A strange man, a very strange man. I
don't know quite what to make of him."
"I do," answered Thomas, "he is a black-hearted villain who is in
league with the devil."
"Yes, I dare say--I mean as to his being a villain, that is according
to our standards--but does your daughter--a clever and most attractive
little girl, by the way--think so? She seemed to look on him with
affection--one learns to read children's eyes, you know. A very
strange man, I repeat. If we could see all his heart we should know
lots of things and understand more about these people than we do at
present. Has it ever struck you, Mr. Bull, how little we white people
/do/ understand of the black man's soul? Perhaps a child can see
farther into it than we can. What is the saying--'a little child shall
lead them,' is it not? Perhaps we do not make enough allowances.
'Faith, Hope and Charity, these three, but the greatest of these is
charity'--or love, which is the same thing. However, of course you are
quite right not to have been frightened by his silly talk about the
/Isitunzi/, it would never do to show fear or hesitation. Still, I am
glad that Mrs. Bull did not hear it; you may have noticed that she had
gone on ahead, and if I were you I should not repeat it to her, since
ladies are so nervous. Tabitha, my dear, don't tell your mother
anything of all this."
"No, Bishop," answered Tabitha, "I never tell her all the queer things
that Menzi says to me when I meet him, or at least not many of them."
"I wish I had asked him if he had a cure for your local fever," said
the Bishop with a laugh, "for against it, although I have taken so
much that my ears buzz, quinine cannot prevail."
"He has given me one in a gourd, Bishop," replied Tabitha
confidentially, "but I have never taken any, because you see I have
had no fever, and I haven't told mother, for if I did she would tell
father" (Thomas had stridden ahead, and was out of hearing), "and he
might be angry because he doesn't like Menzi, though I do. Will you
have some, Bishop? It is well corked up with clay, and Menzi said it
would keep for years."
"Well, my dear," answered the Bishop, "I don't quite know. There may
be all sorts of queer things in Mr. Menzi's medicine. Still, he told
you to drink it if necessary, and I am absolutely certain that he does
not wish to poison /you/. So perhaps I might have a try, for really I
feel uncommonly ill."
So later on, with much secrecy, the gourd was produced, and the Bishop
had "a try." By some strange coincidence he felt so much better after
it that he begged for the rest of the stuff to comfort him on his
homeward journey, which ultimately he accomplished in the best of
health.
That most admirable and wide-minded prelate departed, and so far as
history records was no more seen in Sisa-Land. But Thomas remained,
and set about the building of the house with his usual vigour. Upon
the Death Rock, as it was called, in course of time he erected an
excellent and most serviceable dwelling, not too large but large
enough, having every comfort and convenience that his local experience
could suggest and money could supply, since in this matter the cheque-
book of the suffering Dorcas was entirely at his service.
At length the house was finished, and with much rejoicing the Bull
family, deserting their squalid huts, moved into it at the
commencement of the hot season. After the first agitations of the
change and of the arrangement of the furniture newly-arrived by wagon,
they settled down very comfortably, directing all their energies
towards the development of the garden, which had already been brought
into some rough order during the building of the house.
One difficulty, however, arose at once. For some mysterious reason
they found that not a single native servant would sleep in the place,
no, not even Tabitha's personal attendant, who adored her. Every soul
of them suddenly developed a sick mother or other relative who would
instantly expire if deprived of the comfort of their society after
dark. Or else they themselves became ailing at that hour, saying they
could not sleep upon a cliff like a rock-rabbit.
At any rate, for one cause or another off they went the very moment
that the sun vanished behind the western hills, nor did they re-appear
until it was well up above those that faced towards the east.
At least this happened for one night. On the following day, however, a
pleasant-looking woman named Ivana, whom they knew to be of good
repute, though of doubtful religion, as sometimes she came to church
and sometimes she did not, appeared and offered her services as
"night-dog"--that is what she called it--to Tabitha, saying that she
did not mind sleeping on a height. Since it was inconvenient to have
no one about the place from dark to dawn, and Dorcas did not approve
of Tabitha being left to sleep alone, the woman, whose character was
guaranteed by the Chief Kosa and the elders of the church, was taken
on at an indefinite wage. To the matter of pecuniary reward, indeed,
she seemed to be entirely indifferent.
For the rest she rolled herself in blankets, native fashion, and slept
across Tabitha's door, keeping so good a watch that once when her
father wished to enter the room to fetch something after the child was
sleep, she would not allow even him to do so. When he tried to force a
way past her, suddenly Ivana became so threatening that he thought she
was about to spring at him. After this he wanted to dismiss her, but
Dorcas said it only showed that she was faithful, and that she had
better be left where she was, especially as there was no one to take
her place.
So things went on till the day of full moon. On that night Ivana
appeared to be much agitated, and insisted that Tabitha should go to
bed earlier than was usual. Also after she was asleep Dorcas noticed
that Ivana walked continually to and fro in front of the door of the
child's room and up and down the veranda on to which its windows
opened, droning some strange song and waving a wand.
However, at the appointed hour, having said their prayers, Dorcas and
her husband went to bed.
"I wonder if there is anything strange about this place," remarked
Dorcas. "It is so very odd that no native will stop here at night
except that half-wild Ivana."
"Oh! I don't know," replied Thomas with a yawn, real or feigned.
"These people get all sorts of ideas into their silly heads. Do stop
twisting about and go to sleep."
At last Dorcas did go to sleep, only to wake up again suddenly and
with great completeness just as the church clock below struck three,
the sound of which she supposed must have roused her. The brilliant
moonlight flooded the room, and as for some reason she felt creepy and
disturbed, Dorcas tried to occupy her mind by reflecting how
comfortable it looked with its new, imported furnishings, very
different from that horrible hut in which they had lived so long.
Then her thoughts drifted to more general matters. She was heartily
tired of Sisa-Land, and wished earnestly that her husband could get a
change of station, which the Bishop had hinted to her would not be
impossible--somewhere nearer to civilisation. Alas! he was so
obstinate that she feared nothing would move him, at any rate until he
had converted "Menzi's herd," who were also obstinate, and remained as
heathen as ever. Indeed why, with their ample means, should they be
condemned to perpetual exile in these barbarous places? Was there not
plenty of work to be done at home, where they might make friends and
live decently?
Putting herself and her own wishes aside, this existence was not fair
to Tabitha, who, as she saw, watching her with a mother's eye, was
becoming impregnated with the native atmosphere. She who ought to be
at a Christian school now talked more Zulu than she did English, and
was beginning to look at things from the Zulu point of view and to use
their idioms and metaphors even when speaking her own tongue. She had
become a kind of little chieftainess among these folk, also, Christian
and heathen alike. Indeed, now most of them spoke of her as the Maiden
/Inkosikazi/, or Chieftainess, and accepted her slightest wish or
order as law, which was by no means the case where Dorcas herself and
even Thomas were concerned.
In fact, one or twice they had been driven to make a request through
the child, notably upon an important occasion that had to do with the
transport-riding of their furniture, to avoid its being left for a
couple of months on the farther side of a flooded river. The details
do not matter, but what happened was that when Tabitha intervened that
which had been declared to be impossible proved possible, and the
furniture arrived with wonderful celerity. Moreover, Tabitha made no
request; as Dorcas knew, though she hid it from Thomas, she sent for
the headmen, and when they were seated on the ground before her after
their fashion, Menzi among them, issued an order, saying:
"What! Are my parents and I to live like dogs without a kennel or
cattle that lack a winter kraal, because you are idle? Inspan the
wagons and fetch the things or I shall be angry. /Hamba/--Go!"
Thereon they rose and went without argument, only lifting their right
hands above their heads and murmuring, "/Ikosikaas! Umame!/
(Chieftainess! Mother!) we hear you." Yes, they called Tabitha
"Mother!"
It was all very wrong, thought Dorcas, but she supposed, being a pious
little person, that she must bear her burden and trust to Providence
to free her from it, and she closed her eyes to wipe away a tear.
When Dorcas opened them again something very strange seemed to have
happened. She felt wide awake, and yet knew that she must be dreaming
because the room had disappeared. There was nothing in sight except
the bare rock upon which the house stood. For instance, she could see
the gorge behind as it used to be before they made it into a garden,
for she recognised some of the very trees that they had cut down.
Moreover, from one of the caves at the end of it issued a procession,
a horrible procession of fierce-looking, savage warriors, with spears
and knobkerries, who between them half dragged, half carried a young
woman and an elderly man.
They advanced. They passed within a few feet of her, and observing the
condition of the woman and the man, she saw that these must be led
because for a certain reason they could not see where to go,--oh!
never mind what she saw.
The procession reached the edge of the rock where the railing was,
only now the railing had gone like the house. Then for the first time
Dorcas heard, for hitherto all had seemed to happen in silence.
"Die, /Umtakati!/ Die, you wizard, as the King commands, and feed the
river-dwellers," said a deep voice.
There followed a struggle, a horrible twisting of shapes, and the
elderly man vanished over the cliff, while a moment later from below
came the noise of a great splash.
Next the girl was haled forward, and the words of doom were repeated.
She seemed to break from her murderers and stagger to the edge of the
precipice, crying out:
"O Father, I come!"
Then, with one blood-curdling shriek, she vanished also, and again
there followed the sound of a great splash that slowly echoed itself
to silence.
All had passed away, leaving Dorcas paralysed with terror, and wet
with its dew, so that her night-gear clung to her body. The room was
just as it had been, filled with the soft moonlight and looking very
comfortable.
"Thomas!" gasped his wife, "wake up."
"I /am/ awake," he answered in his deep voice, which shook a little.
"I have had a bad dream."
"What did you dream? Did you see two people thrown from the cliff?"
"Something of that sort."
"Oh! Thomas, Thomas, I have been in hell. This place is haunted. Don't
talk to me of dreams. Tabitha will have seen and heard too. She will
be driven mad. Come to her."
"I think not," answered Thomas.
Still he came.
At the door of Tabitha's room they found the woman Ivana, wide-eyed,
solemn, silent.
"Have you seen or heard anything, Ivana?" asked Thomas.
"Yes, Teacher," she answered, "I have seen what I expected to see and
heard what I expected to hear on this night of full moon, but I am
guarded and do not fear."
"The child! The child!" said Dorcas.
"The /Inkosikazi/ Imba sleeps. Disturb her not."
Taking no heed, they thrust past her into the room. There on her
little white bed lay Tabitha fast asleep, and looking like an angel in
her sleep, for a sweet smile played about her mouth, and while they
watched she laughed in her dreams. Then they looked at each other and
went back to their own chamber to spend the rest of the night as may
be imagined.
Next morning when they emerged, very shaken and upset, the first
person they met was Ivana, who was waiting for them with their coffee.
"I have a message for you, Teacher and Lady. Never mind who sends it,
I have a message for you to which you will do well to give heed. Sleep
no more in this house on the night of full moon, though all other
nights will be good for you. Only the little Chieftainess Imba ought
to sleep in this house on the night of full moon."
So indeed it proved to be. No suburban villa could have been more
commonplace and less disturbed than was their dwelling for twenty-
seven nights of every month, but on the twenty-eighth they found a
change of air desirable. Once it is true the stalwart Thomas, like
Ajax, defied the lightning, or rather other things that come from
above--or from below. But before morning he appeared at the hut
beneath the koppie announcing that he had come to see how they were
getting on, and shaking as though he had a bout of fever.
Dorcas asked him no questions (afterwards she gathered that he had
been favoured with quite a new and very varied midnight programme);
but Tabitha smiled in her slow way. For Tabitha knew all about this
business as she knew everything that passed in Sisa-Land. Moreover,
she laughed at them a little, and said that /she/ was not afraid to
sleep in the mission-house on the night of full moon.
What is more, she did so, which was naughty of her, for on one such
occasion she slipped back to the house when her parents were asleep,
followed only by her "night-dog," the watchful Ivana, and returned at
dawn just as they had discovered that she was missing, singing and
laughing and jumping from stone to stone with the agility of her own
pet goat.
"I slept beautifully," she cried, "and dreamed I was in heaven all
night."
Thomas was furious and rated her till she wept. Then suddenly Ivana
became furious too and rated him.
Should he be wrath with the Little Chieftainess Imba, she asked him,
because the /Isitunzis/, the spirits of the dead, loved her as did
everything else? Did they not understand that the Floweret was unlike
them, one adored of dead and living, one to be cherished even in her
dreams, one whom "Heaven Above," together with those who had "gone
below," built round with a wall of spells?--and more of such talk,
which Thomas thought so horrible and blasphemous that he fled before
its torrent.
But when he came back calmer he said no more to Tabitha about her
escapade.
It was a long while afterwards, at the beginning of the great drought,
that another terrible thing happened. On a certain calm and beautiful
day Tabitha, who still grew and flourished, had taken some of the
Christian children to a spot on the farther side of the koppie, where
stood an old fortification originally built for purposes of defence.
Here, among the ancient walls, with the assistance of the natives, she
had made a kind of summer-house as children love to do, and in this
house, like some learned eastern pundit in a cell, a very pretty
pundit crowned with a wreath of flowers, she sat upon the ground and
instructed the infant mind of Sisa-Land.
She was supposed to be telling them Bible stories to prepare them for
their Sunday School examination, which, indeed, she did with
embellishments and in their own poetic and metaphorical fashion. The
particular tale upon which she was engaged, by a strange coincidence,
was that from the Acts which narrates how St. Paul was bitten by a
viper upon the Island of Melita, and how he shook it off into the fire
and took no hurt.
"He must have been like Menzi," said Ivana, who was present, whereon
Tabitha's other attendant, who was also with her as it was daytime,
started an argument, for being a Christian she was no friend to Menzi,
whom she called a "dirty old witch-doctor."
Tabitha, who was used to these disputations, listened smiling, and
while she listened amused herself by trying to thrust a stone into a
hole in the side of her summer-house, which was formed by one of the
original walls of the old kraal.
Presently she uttered a scream, and snatched her arm out of the hole.
To it, or rather to her hand, was hanging a great hooded snake of the
cobra variety such as the Boers call /ringhals/. She shook it off, and
the reptile, after sitting up, spitting, hissing and expanding its
hood, glided back into the wall. Tabitha sat still, staring at her
lacerated finger, which Ivana seized and sucked.
Then, bidding one of the oldest of the children to take her place and
continue sucking, Ivana ran to a high rock a few yards away which
overlooked Menzi's kraal, that lay upon a plain at a distance of about
a quarter of a mile, and called out in the low, ringing voice that
Kaffirs can command, which carries to an enormous distance.
"Awake, O Menzi! Come, O Doctor, and bring with you your /Dawa/. The
little Chieftainess is bitten in the finger by a hooded snake. The
Floweret withers! Imba dies!"
Almost instantly there was a disturbance in the kraal and Menzi
appeared, following by a man carrying a bag. He cried back in the same
strange voice:
"I hear. I come. Tie string or grass round the lady Imba's finger
below the bite. Tie it hard till she screams with pain."
Meanwhile the Christian nurse had rushed off over the crest of the
koppie to fetch Thomas and Dorcas, or either of them. As it chanced
she met them both walking to join Tabitha in her bower, and thus it
came about that they reached the place at the same moment as did old
Menzi bounding up the rocks like a /klipspringer/ buck, or a mountain
sheep. Hearing him, Thomas turned in the narrow gateway of the kraal
and asked wildly:
"What has happened, Witch-doctor?"
"This has happened, White-man," answered Menzi, "the Floweret has been
bitten by a hooded snake and is about to die. Look at her," and he
pointed to Tabitha, who notwithstanding the venom sucking and the
grass tied round her blackened finger, sat huddled-up, shivering and
half comatose.
"Let me pass, White-man, that I may save her if I can," he went on.
"Get back," said Thomas, "I will have none of your black magic
practised on my daughter. If she is to live God will save her."
"What medicines have you, White-man?" asked Menzi.
"None, at least not here. Faith is my medicine."
Dorcas looked at Tabitha. She was turning blue and her teeth were
chattering.
"Let the man do his best," she said to Thomas. "There is no other
hope."
"He shan't touch her," replied her husband obstinately.
Then Dorcas fired up, meek-natured though she was and accustomed
though she was to obey her husband's will.
"I say that he shall," she cried. "I know what he can do. Don't you
remember the goat? I will not see my child die as a sacrifice to your
pride."
"I have made up my mind," answered Thomas. "If she dies it is so
decreed, and the spells and filth of a heathen cannot save her."
Dorcas tried to thrust him aside with her feeble strength, but big and
burly, he stood in the path like a rock, blocking the way, with the
stone entrance walls of the little pleasure-house on either side of
him.
Suddenly the old Zulu, Menzi, became rather terrible; he drew himself
up; he seemed to swell in size; his thin face grew set and fierce.
"Out of the path, White-man!" he said, "or by Chaka's head I will kill
you," and from somewhere he produced a long, thin-bladed knife of
native iron fixed on a buck's horn.
"Kill on, Wizard," shouted Thomas. "Kill if you can."
"Listen," said Dorcas. "If our daughter dies because of you, then I
have done with you. We part for ever. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand," he answered heavily. "So be it."
Tabitha behind them made some convulsive noise. Thomas turned and
looked at her; she was slowly sinking down upon her side. His face
changed. All the rage and obstinacy went out of it.
"My child! Oh, my child!" he cried, "I cannot bear this. Love is
stronger than all. When I come up for judgment, may it be remembered
that love is stronger than all!"
Then he stepped out of the gateway, and sat down upon a stone hiding
his eyes with his hand.
Menzi threw down the knife and leapt in, followed by his servant who
bore his medicines, and the woman Ivana. He did his office; he uttered
his spells and invocations, he rubbed /Dawa/ into the wound, and
prising open the child's clenched teeth, thrust more of it, a great
deal more, down her throat, while all three of them rubbed her cold
limbs.
About half an hour afterwards he came out of the place followed by
Ivana, who carried Tabitha in her strong arms; Tabitha was very weak,
but smiling, and with the colour returning to her cheeks. Of Thomas he
took no notice, but to Dorcas he said:
"Lady, I give you back your daughter. She is saved. Let her drink milk
and sleep."
Then Thomas, whose judgment and charity were shaken for a while,
spoke, saying:
"As a man and a father I thank you, Witch-doctor, but know that as a
priest I swear that I will never have more to do with you, who, I am
sure, by your arts, can command these reptiles to work your will and
have planned all this to shame me. No, not even if you lay dying would
I come to visit you."
Thus stormed Thomas in his wrath and humiliation, believing that he
had been the victim of a plot and not knowing that he would live
bitterly to regret his words.
"I see that you hate me, Teacher," said Menzi, "and though here I do
not find the gentleness you preach, I do not wonder; it is quite
natural. Were I you I should do the same. But you are Little Flower's
father--strange that she should have grown from such a seed--and
though we fight, for that reason I cannot hate you. Be not disturbed.
Perhaps it was the sucking of the wound and the grass tied round her
finger which saved her, not my spells and medicine. No, no, I cannot
hate you, although we fight for mastery, and you pelt me with vile
words, saying that I charmed a deadly /immamba/ to bite Little Flower
whom I love, that I might cure her and make a mock of you. Yet I do
hate that snake which bit the maiden Imba of its own wickedness, the
hooded /immamba/ that you believe to be my familiar, and it shall die.
Man," here he turned to his servant, "and you, Ivana and the others,
pull down that wall."
They leapt to do his bidding, and presently discovered the /ringhals/
in its hole. Heedless of its fangs and writhings, Menzi sprang at it
with a Zulu curse, and seizing it, proceeded to kill it in a very slow
and cruel fashion.
