Haviland's Chum Part 25

All eyes were raised, so startling was the tone. The Great Great One was indeed bewitched, was the one thought in the minds of the now silent mult.i.tude. And, indeed, there seemed some colour for the idea.

Umnovunovu had half risen from his seat, and, both hands gripping the arms of the throne, he was staring wildly at the unfortunate prisoner.

"Loose him!" he cried. Then, in excellent English, "Come here, Haviland. I know you now."

In after times Haviland used to say that he had met with some wild surprises in the course of a somewhat adventurous career, but none wilder, madder, more utterly dumb-striking than when the King of the Inswani broke out into good English, hailing him by name. He started, stared, rubbed his eyes, gasped--then stared again.

"Great Scott! Am I drunk or dreaming?" broke from him at last. "Why, it can't be--. But it is--Cetchy--Anthony--Mpukuza?"

But with the last name a mighty groan broke forth from all who heard, then another and another. Even in the whirl of his amazement and relief, Haviland recognised that he had blundered terribly. He had actually named the King by his veiled name, and that in the presence of the whole nation.

"Not Mpukuza now, but Umnovunovu. The Stump has spread into the Fire-striking Tree," said the King in a loud voice, speaking in Zulu.

Then, dropping into English again:

"I have never forgotten you, Haviland, although you have forgotten me.

When your friend there called you Haviland, I made him repeat it, so as to make sure. Then I remembered that bad scratch you gave yourself one day at Saint Kirwin's, when we were scrambling through a wire fence. I knew the scar would be there still, so I arranged to make sure of that too."

No wonder his people deemed Umnovunovu bewitched. Here he was, talking easily, fluently, in the tongue of these strangers; nor was that all, for his very countenance had changed, and the hardened savagery of the ferocious despot had given way to an expression that was bright and pleasing.

"No fear. I didn't forget you, Cetchy," answered Haviland, unconsciously reverting to the old nickname, which, however, didn't matter, being English. "Why I was quite a long while in the Zulu country, and inquired for you everywhere. Ask k.u.mbelwa if I didn't. I wanted no end to run against you again."

"Well, and now you have, and in a mighty queer sort of way. And, do you know, Haviland, if you had been any one else, I'd have let them do what they liked with you. I hate white people. Nick and the others at Saint Kirwin's taught me that. I wish I'd got Nick here. I'd put him through what Mushad's dogs underwent. Then I'd make him dance on that fire."

The recollection of his school experiences and discipline revived all the savage in the young King. His face hardened vengefully.

"Oh, bosh, Cetchy," replied Haviland, with a laugh. "You surely don't bear a grudge against Nick for giving you a licking now and then; it's all in the ordinary course of things when a fellow's at school.

Supposing every fellow I'd ever given a licking to wanted to burn me.

Instead of that, we'd be shaking hands and talking over old times.

Jarnley, for instance."

Umnovunovu burst into a roar, his good humour quite restored.

"Jarnley!" he echoed, "I gave him such a licking before I left. You see, I was growing every day, and I felt strong enough to lick Jarnley.

So we fought, and I licked him."

It was a curious contrast, this easy and light-hearted school reminiscence, proceeding from the mouth of a blood-stained barbarian despot, clad in his savage panoply, and enthroned at the head of his astounded subjects. And on the ground, where they had fallen, the huge gory trunks of the decapitated executioners. Haviland saw the _bizarre_ incongruity of the situation, and said as much, adding with something of a shudder as his glance fell upon the hideous corpses:--

"You're a cruel young beggar, Cetchy, you know. Why are you?"

"Cruel? Look here, Haviland. When you did wrong, Nick gave you a thousand lines, or a thras.h.i.+ng. I can't give my people lines because they can't write, and a thrashed man does wrong again, but a killed man, never. If I stopped killing, I should stop being King, for it would mean that. But--who is he?" pointing towards Oakley.

"A friend I rescued in rather a strange manner. I'll call him." And he started towards Oakley, all making way before him now, so great was the general amazement. And he had a purpose in this move.

"Oakley," he said hurriedly, and in an undertone. "For your very life, don't let go you're related to Nick, or that you ever so much as heard of him. Be careful. I'll tell you after."

Then to Oakley's astonishment the King began to converse with him in fluent English, and he, listening, thought it was a lucky day for Haviland the day he punched Jarnley's head for bullying the new boy at Saint Kirwin's, whom the missionary's well-intentioned zeal had placed at that seat of learning--a lucky day for himself, too. But quick to grasp Haviland's warning, he was nothing if not non-committal.

"Ha!" chuckled Umnovunovu, erewhile Anthony. "They thought to make me Umfundisi [Missionary], but it suits me better to be a King."

Later, he told Haviland of all his vicissitudes since the scheme for his education and civilisation had failed, also how he came to be installed on the Inswani throne in succession to his father, but it was a long and intricate history, full of strange and startling plottings and developments, and in no wise material to this narrative--later, we repeat, this was revealed, but not then. For then happened one of those very occurrences which the young despot claimed to justify him in the savage severities for which his white friend had been taking him to task, and the prime mover therein was Dumaliso.

Whether it was that the chief had really resolved upon a _coup d'etat_ or was acting upon one of those irresponsible impulses to which savages are so liable, he now rushed forward, waving his great a.s.segai, and shouting in stentorian tones that the King was bewitched by these white people, and that it was time to make an end of them. A frantic uproar greeted his words, and blades flashed in ominous manner. But Umnovunovu hesitated not a moment. Drawing his towering stature to its full height, he gazed for one second with that terrible gaze of his upon the excited mult.i.tude, then there was a rush and a spring and he was upon Dumaliso, and the great spear was shearing through that ill-advised leader's heart.

"Is the King bewitched?" he roared, flinging the great carcase from him, and rolling his eyes around. But the whole mult.i.tude cowered, shouting aloud the _sibonga_. Then he turned to the two white men, his equanimity quite restored.

"There you are, Haviland. Where would I be if I didn't kill? Dumaliso has been getting too big for his boots, as we used to say, for some time past, so now I've killed him. It's quite simple."

"Well, Haviland, we've fallen into luck's way, it seems," was Oakley's comment, as they found themselves alone again, now in one of the largest and roomiest huts the town could show, and with plenty of attendance and abundance of everything. "And now, I suppose, we can be trotting home again when we feel like it."

"Well, I feel like it now, Oakley. It is, as you say, a piece of luck; and, apart from that, I'm awfully glad to see Cetchy again. But all this sanguinary business has got upon my nerves rather--and I think a change of climate will be good for us."

So, a few days later, having made known their wishes to the King, he sent for them.

"You want to leave me, do you, Haviland?" he said. "Well, you can. But I trust to you both to say and do nothing that might bring a crowd of white people to my country. I don't want them, I tell you, and if any do come I shall kill them--and so I warn you. You can leave whenever you feel inclined--you and the Arab, Somala. I am going to send an impi to look after you till you are safe beyond the reach of Rumaliza's bands. I am also sending with you, as a parting present, fifty tusks of ivory. And, Haviland, if ever you feel like coming to see me again, you will be welcome, only don't come with a number of people. You, k.u.mbelwa" relapsing into Zulu, "come hither."

"See. Thou art a great fighting man," he went on, when the Zulu had crept to his feet, "and I have need for such as thee. Wilt thou stay and wield a spear in my army?"

"_Nkose_! _Baba_! Great is the Lion of the Inswani! But what of my wives in my kraal beneath Babanango--father of the mighty?"

The King burst into a loud laugh.

"Thy wives! _Au_! I will give thee three new ones--six if thou wilt, and thou shalt have abundant choice. Say?"

The big Zulu thought a moment. His own country had been conquered by the English, and there was no more fighting. What should he do with himself for the rest of his life there? Here there would be plenty.

And his wives? Well, the King had promised him six new ones here, and he had but two at home, and they were not new. His mind was made up.

"Great Great One. I will _konza_ to the Black Elephant of the Inswani,"

he replied. "But may I not go as far with my white chief as the King's impi goeth? Then I return with the King's lions."

"That thou mayest do, k.u.mbelwa," said the King.

So it came about that a few days later our two friends took leave of the King--and started on their return journey. They had plenty of bearers now, and a valuable load, and, moreover, travelled with a formidable escort of five hundred s.h.i.+elds.

"I tell you what it is, Haviland," Oakley observed, as they turned to take a last look at the great stockade with its array of ghastly and grinning heads, spiked on the stakes. "That chum of yours is a bloodthirsty young villain. But he's jolly well worth being chummy with on an occasion like this."

"Rather. The fellows at Saint Kirwin's who used to call him 'Haviland's Chum' to rag me, would stare if they only knew how I had run against him over here. In fact, they wouldn't believe it."

"Why don't you put it into print?"

"Then they'd believe it still less."

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

CONCLUSION.