The Ruined Cities of Zululand Part 16

"Look, is not that Umhleswa coming towards us," said Wyzinski. "G.o.d grant he may have made arrangements for our journey."

"It is he, indeed," replied the other, as he rose to heap fresh branches on the fire.

Slowly the chief stalked along, apparently not caring where he went, stopped opposite the two, and then, as if perceiving them for the first time, approached and squatted by the fire.

Umhleswa's evil nature was now too well-known, for this seeming carelessness to dupe them.

"Have my white brethren all they can want?" he asked.

"No, chief, we ask the fulfilment of our contract, namely, an escort as far as the Zambesi."

"My braves are badly armed, and may be unable to protect you. Will the white men give their rifles now?"

The treacherous nature of the request was too evident for the veriest tyro to fall into the trap. To give up their means of protection, and at the same time the only ransom they had to offer, would have been an act of folly, "No, chief, we will not," replied Wyzinski, a silence following on his words. Suddenly an idea struck him. What if he were to utilise Masheesh's absence? It could not possibly do any harm, and it might do good.

"Will Umhleswa wait until the Matabele chief comes with Mozelkatse's warriors to serve us as an escort. He has been gone many days and should be on his return?" he asked.

The wily savage started, fidgeting as he sat. "It is a long journey across the Tati," he replied.

"The Tati, chief?" asked Wyzinski, remembering at once that Masheesh had spoken of that river.

"Yes, the Tati, where the yellow gold is found, which the Bamangwato now claim," replied the savage, pointing with his hand. "It lies yonder, between those hills of the Matopo and the more distant Zouga mountains."

"And who owns the land?" inquired Wyzinski.

"The great chief Machin calls it his," was the answer, "and Mozelkatse claims it as his, too."

"You see, Hughes, how all tallies. Beyond those mountain somewhere near the sources of the Limpopo, there exist gold fields, and these rivers which Umhleswa names run into the Limpopo. Here, between those gold fields and the coast, were built the cities of the gold seekers of Solomon. We have trod their streets, and yonder stream, which Masheesh truly named Auro, took their riches to the port."

"The deuce take your ruins, Wyzinski!" said Hughes. "Do try to get us out of the sc.r.a.pe we are in. Humour the scoundrel."

Umhleswa seemed uneasy at this by-play, not understanding one word of English.

"Will the white men keep their promise if Masheesh comes?"

"Certainly not. He will then be our deliverer, not you, and the rifles must be his."

"Umhleswa saved you when the knives of his people were about to drink your blood?" sententiously remarked the savage.

Wyzinski shuddered. "Come, chief," he replied, taking from his belt a revolver, "send us on our journey, and this shall be yours." Raising his arm, he fired barrel after barrel into the air, pausing between each ere he drew the trigger to enhance the effect.

The savage's eyes glistened, and he showed his filed teeth. He doubted not that Masheesh had been sent to bring down the Matabele warriors upon him, in which case he should lose the promised reward.

The thought swayed him; the sight of the revolver finished the matter.

Slowly rising, he walked away several paces, and the missionary's heart beat quickly, for all seemed lost. Turning, he pointed to the sky.

"When the moon rises yonder, and my people are buried in sleep, let the white men be ready. Umhleswa does not lie," he said, moving away.

Hardly had he gone a dozen paces, when he again paused, hesitated, and once more returned.

"The rifles are for my braves," he said, again speaking slowly; "the small gun," pointing to the revolver, "is for Umhleswa. Will the chief give it now?"

Wyzinski hesitated, and for a few moments seemed plunged in thought.

"Take it," he said at length frankly, as he placed the coveted weapon in the hands of the savage. "Take it, but remember that at a chief's belt two such weapons should hang; the second will be yours when we reach the Zambesi."

Umhleswa looked the speaker full in the face, slowly nodding his head three times, then once more pointing to the sky.

"Let my white brethren be ready when the moon rises," he said, as he stalked away proudly; perhaps the only native in that part of the country possessed of a revolver.

"Do you think he will keep his word, Wyzinski?" asked Hughes, when the conversation was translated to him.

"He is sure to do so," replied the missionary, "simply because it is his interest."

"Then the best thing we can do is to be in readiness. There are many things we must leave behind," returned Hughes. "The moon will rise in two hours."

Entering the hut once more, and as they fervently hoped for the last time, they set about their preparations, no easy task, when out of the scanty materials, all of which had been deemed necessary a short time since, the greater part were to be left behind. They were still busy, when a body of men gliding out from among the huts by twos and by threes, a.s.sembled at the entrance, one of their number signing to its tenants to follow. Carrying their rifles in the hollow of the arm, their pistols at their belts, they cast one look round the interior of the hut which had served them so long as a home, and stepped out into the night.

The moon was just rising over the mountain range, the night was quite still, save when from time to time the cry of the jackal could be heard from the plain. In the native kraal all slept, and the party, consisting of fifteen men armed with a.s.segais, and commanded by the same brave who had conducted them from their camp at Gorongoza, moved silently away the moment the white men joined them. Avoiding the kraal, they shaped their course to the north, travelling as swiftly as they could through a country densely covered with forest. Game seemed to grow more scarce as they neared the end of their journey; and, except for necessary purposes, it was little sought after, the object of all being identical, namely, to strike the Zambesi as soon as possible.

This they at length did, though the forest growth impeded their progress so much, that it was only on the evening of the ninth day after leaving the country of the Amatonga that they reached its banks. Under the shade of the high hill of Baramuana a small tent was pitched, not larger than that used by the French soldier, and known by the name of tente d'abri. A fire burned fiercely in front of it, and close by ran the Zambesi, a fine broad stream flowing towards the sea, between banks covered with reeds of luxuriant growth. Beyond the river a level plain, broken by forest-land, and in the distance the blue outline of a high mountain range.

Near the fire were seated the two Europeans, and in a semicircle round them the fifteen Amatonga warriors who had been their guides. Further down the stream, at a bend of the river, the walls of a brick building were visible, some ten miles away.

A perfect jungle of forest swept up almost to the spot where the group were seated, the tamarind and acacia trees growing to the river bank, covered with creeping plants, such as the convolvulus, the jasmine, the deadly nightshade, all festooned from tree to tree, while the wild guava, the pomegranate, and many a sweet-scented bush pushed upwards their luxuriant undergrowth. The bees were humming among the sweetly-scented flowers of the dholicos, and the rus.h.i.+ng sound of the river, as it took its way to the sea past the fort of Senna, was music to the ears of the two travellers.

"Give them their due, Wyzinski, and let us be rid of them; I hate the very look of an Amatonga," exclaimed Hughes.

The group of savages sat round, staring at the two with a steady, concentrated gaze, their long a.s.segais raised in the air, "Matumba,"

said the powerful, but stunted brave, who had been in command of the party, speaking with difficulty the Zulu tongue, "Matumba has done his duty, let the chiefs do theirs. Yonder are the walls of their brethren's fort."

The missionary did not at once reply, but pus.h.i.+ng the promised arms towards the speaker, took from his belt his revolver, discharging its barrels into the air, handed it to the Amatonga.

"This is now Umhleswa's property, and thus the white man fulfils his promise."

"We are left with our two rifles and one revolver between us," remarked Hughes. "If ever I get the chance of paying off these thieves, won't I?"

Matumba took the arm, and, turning to his men, distributed the rifles among them. A sharp conversation followed, unintelligible to the Europeans, save that the Amatonga pointed several times to the two remaining rifles.

"The white men," resumed Matumba, once more turning to them, "are near their friends. They have no need of their guns, the Amatonga are far from their kraal. Let them give the two guns, which are now useless."

"Never, Matumba," exclaimed Wyzinski, springing to his feet and c.o.c.king both barrels of his piece. "Look out, Hughes, they mean mischief. We have kept our word, Amatonga. Keep yours."

A sharp conversation ensued between the natives, all talking together, the chief, Matumba, evidently trying to keep them within bounds, while they as evidently wished to take the coveted rifles by force. Placing their backs against the rocks, their rifles ready, the two waited the result, but great was their relief when the whole party, after much talking, at last moved off in Indian file, and disappeared under the deepening forest shade.

"We are well out of that, Wyzinski," remarked Hughes, as he seated himself at the foot of the rock, "and now, what are we to do next?"

"Break ground as soon and as speedily as possible. We have but to follow the stream, and we shall be within the walls of Senna in three hours."