"I know not, O Elephant," I answered, "who have not seen them for many years. Perhaps they number three full regiments."
"Nay, more," said the king; "what thinkest thou, Mopo, would this people of thine fill the rift behind us?" and he nodded at the gulf of stone.
Now, my father, I trembled in all my flesh, seeing the purpose of Chaka; but I could find no words to say, for my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth.
"The people are many," said Chaka, "yet, Mopo, I bet thee fifty head of cattle that they will not fill the donga."
"The king is pleased to jest," I said.
"Yea, Mopo, I jest; yet as a jest take thou the bet."
"As the king wills," I murmured--who could not refuse. Now the people of my tribe drew near: at their head was an old man, with white hair and beard, and, looking at him, I knew him for my father, Makedama. When he came within earshot of the king, he gave him the royal salute of Bayete, and fell upon his hands and knees, crawling towards him, and konzaed to the king, praising him as he came. All the thousands of the people also fell on their hands and knees, and praised the king aloud, and the sound of their praising was like the sound of a great thunder.
At length Makedama, my father, writhing on his breast like a snake, lay before the majesty of the king. Chaka bade him rise, and greeted him kindly; but all the thousands of the people yet lay upon their b.r.e.a.s.t.s beating the dust with their heads.
"Rise, Makedama, my child, father of the people of the Langeni," said Chaka, "and tell me why art thou late in coming to my mourning?"
"The way was far, O King," answered Makedama, my father, who did not know me. "The way was far and the time short. Moreover, the women and the children grew weary and footsore, and they are weary in this hour."
"Speak not of it, Makedama, my child," said the king. "Surely thy heart mourned and that of thy people, and soon they shall rest from their weariness. Say, are they here every one?"
"Every one, O Elephant!--none are wanting. My kraals are desolate, the cattle wander untended on the hills, birds pick at the unguarded crops."
"It is well, Makedama, thou faithful servant! Yet thou wouldst mourn with me an hour--is it not so? Now, hearken! Bid thy people pa.s.s to the right and to the left of me, and stand in all their numbers upon the slopes of the gra.s.s that run down to the lips of the rift."
So Makedama, my father, bade the people do the bidding of the king, for neither he nor the indunas saw his purpose, but I, who knew his wicked heart, I saw it. Then the people filed past to the right and to the left by hundreds and by thousands, and presently the gra.s.s of the slopes could be seen no more, because of their number. When all had pa.s.sed, Chaka spoke again to Makedama, my father, bidding him climb down to the bottom of the donga, and thence lift up his voice in mourning. The old man obeyed the king. Slowly, and with much pain, he clambered to the bottom of the rift and stood there. It was so deep and narrow that the light scarcely seemed to reach to where he stood, for I could only see the white of his hair gleaming far down in the shadows.
Then, standing far beneath, he lifted up his voice, and it reached the thousands of those who cl.u.s.tered upon the slopes. It seemed still and small, yet it came to them faintly like the voice of one speaking from a mountain-top in a time of snow:--
"Mourn, children of Makedama!"
And all the thousands of the people--men, women, and children--echoed his words in a thunder of sound, crying:--
"Mourn, children of Makedama!"
Again he cried:--
"Mourn, people of the Langeni, mourn with the whole world!"
And the thousands answered:--
"Mourn, people of the Langeni, mourn with the whole world!"
A third time came his voice:--
"Mourn, children of Makedama, mourn, people of the Langeni, mourn with the whole world!
"Howl, ye warriors; weep, ye women; beat your b.r.e.a.s.t.s, ye maidens; sob, ye little children!
"Drink of the water of tears, cover yourselves with the dust of affliction.
"Mourn, O tribe of the Langeni, because the Mother of the Heavens is no more.
"Mourn, children of Makedama, because the Spirit of Fruitfulness is no more.
"Mourn, O ye people, because the Lion of the Zulu is left so desolate.
"Let your tears fall as the rain falls, let your cries be as the cries of women who bring forth.
"For sorrow is fallen like the rain, the world has conceived and brought forth death.
"Great darkness is upon us, darkness and the shadow of death.
"The Lion of the Zulu wanders and wanders in desolation, because the Mother of the Heavens is no more.
"Who shall bring him comfort? There is comfort in the crying of his children.
"Mourn, people of the Langeni; let the voice of your mourning beat against the skies and rend them.
"Ou-ai! Ou-ai! Ou-ai!"
Thus sang the old man, my father Makedama, far down in the deeps of the cleft. He sang it in a still, small voice, but, line after line, his song was caught up by the thousands who stood on the slopes above, and thundered to the heavens till the mountains shook with its sound.
Moreover, the noise of their crying opened the bosom of a heavy rain-cloud that had gathered as they mourned, and the rain fell in great slow drops, as though the sky also wept, and with the rain came lightning and the roll of thunder.
Chaka listened, and large tears coursed down his cheeks, whose heart was easily stirred by the sound of song. Now the rain hissed fiercely, making as it were a curtain about the thousands of the people; but still their cry went up through the rain, and the roll of the thunder was lost in it. Presently there came a hush, and I looked to the right. There, above the heads of the people, coming over the brow of the hill, were the plumes of warriors, and in their hands gleamed a hedge of spears.
I looked to the left; there also I saw the plumes of warriors dimly through the falling rain, and in their hands a hedge of spears. I looked before me, towards the end of the cleft; there also loomed the plumes of warriors, and in their hands was a hedge of spears.
Then, from all the people there arose another cry, a cry of terror and of agony.
"Ah! now they mourn indeed, Mopo," said Chaka in my ear; "now thy people mourn from the heart and not with the lips alone."
As he spoke the mult.i.tude of the people on either side of the rift surged forward like a wave, surged back again, once more surged forward, then, with a dreadful crying, driven on by the merciless spears of the soldiers, they began to fall in a torrent of men, women, and children, far into the black depths below.
My father, forgive me the tears that fall from these blind eyes of mine; I am very aged, I am but as a little child, and as a little child I weep. I cannot tell it. At last it was done, and all grew still.
Thus was Makedama buried beneath the bodies of his people; thus was ended the tribe of the Langeni; as my mother had dreamed, so it came about; and thus did Chaka take vengeance for that cup of milk which was refused to him many a year before.
"Thou hast not won thy bet, Mopo," said the king presently. "See there is a little s.p.a.ce where one more may find room to sleep. Full to the brim is this corn-chamber with the ears of death, in which no living grain is left. Yet there is one little s.p.a.ce, and is there not one to fill it? Are all the tribe of the Langeni dead indeed?"
"There is one, O King!" I answered. "I am of the tribe of the Langeni, let my carcase fill the place."
"Nay, Mopo, nay! Who then should take the bet? Moreover, I slay thee not, for it is against my oath. Also, do we not mourn together, thou and I?"
"There is no other left living of the tribe of the Langeni, O King! The bet is lost; it shall be paid."