“Footsteps! footsteps! footsteps! the tread of the white man coming from afar. It shakes the earth; the earth trembles before her master.
“Blood is good, the red blood is bright; there is no smell like the smell of new-shed blood. The lions shall lap it and roar, the vultures shall wash their wings in it and shriek with joy.
“I am old! I am old! I have seen much blood; ha, ha! but I shall see more ere I die, and be merry. How old am I, think ye? Your fathers knew me, and their fathers knew me, and their fathers’ fathers. I have seen the white man and know his desires. I am old, but the mountains are older than I. Who made the great road, tell me? Who wrote the pictures on the rocks, tell me? Who reared up the three Silent Ones yonder, that gaze across the pit, tell me?” and she pointed towards the three precipitous mountains which we had noticed on the previous night.
“Ye know not, but I know. It was a white people who were before ye are, who shall be when ye are not, who shall eat you up and destroy you. Yea! yea! yea!
“And what came they for, the White Ones, the Terrible Ones, the skilled in magic and all learning, the strong, the unswerving? What is that bright stone upon thy forehead, O king? Whose hands made the iron garments upon thy breast, O king? Ye know not, but I know. I the Old One, I the Wise One, I the Isanusi, the witch doctress!”
Then she turned her bald vulture-head towards us.
“What seek ye, white men of the Stars—ah, yes, of the Stars? Do ye seek a lost one? Ye shall not find him here. He is not here. Never for ages upon ages has a white foot pressed this land; never except once, and I remember that he left it but to die. Ye come for bright stones; I know it—I know it; ye shall find them when the blood is dry; but shall ye return whence ye came, or shall ye stop with me? Ha! ha! ha!
“And thou, thou with the dark skin and the proud bearing,” and she pointed her skinny finger at Umbopa, “who art thou, and what seekest thou? Not stones that shine, not yellow metal that gleams, these thou leavest to ‘white men from the Stars.’ Methinks I know thee; methinks I can smell the smell of the blood in thy heart. Strip off the girdle—”
Here the features of this extraordinary creature became convulsed, and she fell to the ground foaming in an epileptic fit, and was carried into the hut.
The king rose up trembling, and waved his hand. Instantly the regiments began to file off, and in ten minutes, save for ourselves, the king, and a few attendants, the great space was left empty.
“White people,” he said, “it passes in my mind to kill you. Gagool has spoken strange words. What say ye?”
I laughed. “Be careful, O king, we are not easy to slay. Thou hast seen the fate of the ox; wouldst thou be as the ox is?”
The king frowned. “It is not well to threaten a king.”
“We threaten not, we speak what is true. Try to kill us, O king, and learn.”
The great savage put his hand to his forehead and thought.
“Go in peace,” he said at length. “Tonight is the great dance. Ye shall see it. Fear not that I shall set a snare for you. Tomorrow I will think.”
“It is well, O king,” I answered unconcernedly, and then, accompanied by Infadoos, we rose and went back to our kraal.
X
The Witch-Hunt
On reaching our hut I motioned to Infadoos to enter with us.
“Now, Infadoos,” I said, “we would speak with thee.”
“Let my lords say on.”
“It seems to us, Infadoos, that Twala the king is a cruel man.”
“It is so, my lords. Alas! the land cries out because of his cruelties. Tonight ye shall see. It is the great witch-hunt, and many will be smelt out as wizards and slain. No man’s life is safe. If the king covets a man’s cattle, or a man’s wife, or if he fears a man that he should excite a rebellion against him, then Gagool, whom ye saw, or some of the witch-finding women whom she has taught, will smell that man out as a wizard, and he will be killed. Many must die before the moon grows pale tonight. It is ever so. Perhaps I too shall be killed. As yet I have been spared because I am skilled in war, and am beloved by the soldiers; but I know not how long I have to live. The land groans at the cruelties of Twala the king; it is wearied of him and his red ways.”
“Then why is it, Infadoos, that the people do not cast him down?”
“Nay, my lords, he is the king, and if he were killed Scragga would reign in his place, and the heart of Scragga is blacker than the heart of Twala his father. If Scragga were king his yoke upon our neck would be heavier than the yoke of Twala. If Imotu had never been slain, or if Ignosi his son had lived, it might have been otherwise; but they are both dead.”
“How knowest thou that Ignosi is dead?” said a voice behind us. We looked round astonished to see who spoke. It was Umbopa.
“What meanest thou, boy?” asked Infadoos; “who told thee to speak?”
“Listen, Infadoos,” was the answer, “and I will tell thee a story. Years ago the king Imotu was killed in this country and his wife fled with the boy Ignosi. Is it not so?”
“It is so.”
“It was said that the woman and her son died upon the mountains. Is it not so?”
“It is even so.”
“Well, it came to pass that the mother and the boy Ignosi did not die. They crossed the mountains and were
