LITMIR.BIZ

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headmen—a man named Xaba—the ghost of a smile seemed to flit. Xaba had quite recently been appointed to the headmanship in succession to his father. There was enmity and jealousy between him and Mangèlè. Both had been paying their addresses to the same girl, and the suit of Mangèlè had prospered. He had, as a matter of fact, already paid more than one instalment of the “lobola” cattle (Note 1), and the wedding was expected to take place within a few months.

      After giving full instructions as to the collection of the unfortunate sufferers, Galada, accompanied by the others, returned to the beer-feast with a clear conscience. After removing his uniform to prevent its getting soiled, he borrowed a blanket from Rolobèlè and gave himself up to enjoyment.

      Mangèlè was the “great son” of his father, who was so old and infirm that he slept away his days and took no further interest in life. When the weather was cold he lay all day long on his mat next to the fireplace in his hut—a little boy being always on duty to prevent the fire either going out or setting the old man’s mat or blanket alight. In mild weather he lay outside in the open. When the sun stung he sought the shady side of the hut, and groaned grievously when the pursuing sunbeams forced him to shift his quarters.

      Makanda was a rich man, and, as the greater portion of his riches belonged to his “great house,” such would, consequently, fall to Mangèlè. The latter had many half-brothers who were older than himself, but, his mother having been the “great wife,” he took precedence of the rest of the family.

      A few years previously Mangèlè’s mother, who had been afflicted with leprosy for many years, died miserably. Mangèlè, when little more than a boy, had quarrelled with his father and run away from home, meaning to return no more. He wandered far and near—sometimes working at the docks at Cape Town or East London—sometimes at the gold or diamond mines. The love of home is always very deep in the Kaffir, and Mangèlè came to find the longing to return to his father’s kraal so strong, that he could no longer withstand it. For some months previously he had suffered from a feeling of painful weakness in his left hand and wrist, which had made it difficult for him to use pick or shovel.

      Upon his return Mangèlè found that his mother had died recently, and that his father had become very feeble in mind and body. But the old man welcomed him with open arms. Makanda had been badly treated by his other sons, who, after the fashion in such cases, had begun to despoil him of his property in the most barefaced manner. Soon after his “great son’s” return old Makanda formally abdicated the headship of the family in his favour and thenceforth spent most of his days and all his nights in peaceful, dreamless slumber.

      Mangèlè’s hand became weaker and weaker. He found that he could not exert it in the least degree without suffering dull, gnawing pain for days afterward. Then the hand began to swell and the knuckles became distorted. Shortly after this a weakness, followed by a swelling, appeared in the left knee.

      A cloud seemed to settle down upon his face, and his features gradually took on that strange, pathetic, and by no means repellent, look which one so often sees in strongly marked cases of tubercular leprosy before the frightful disfiguring stage has set in. This look distinctly suggests the face of a lion in repose. In strongly marked cases the resemblance cannot fail to strike the most careless observer. There is nothing in it suggestive of ferocity, but rather of a deep, dignified, and sombre sadness, with a touch of that sublimity which belongs to everything that appalls.

      Mangèlè knew well that he was smitten with the incurable disease of which his mother had died. He became solitary in his habits and would sometimes sit on a stone outside his hut the whole night through. And the sombre, leonine look deepened upon his face with the passing of the months.

      At first Mangèlè had, as is usual in such cases among the Kaffirs, put down his own as well as his mother’s illness to the malevolence of an enemy, and believed that if he could counteract the spell woven against him, he would recover his health, but he no longer deceived himself on this score. The Kaffirs are, as a rule, utterly ignorant of Nature’s laws as such affect the human body, but Mangèlè was intelligent to a degree far above the average of his race. Moreover, his sojourn among the Europeans had given him enlightenment. Recently the dire significance of his situation had struck him to the heart. Now and then he would appear among his fellows at a “beer-drink” or other function, but as a rule he remained at home and brooded in solitude over his doom.

      A Kaffir “beer-drink” is a very curious and distinctive feature of South African native life. One peculiarity of the “beer-drink” is that the drinkers pass through several definite stages corresponding with the amount of their potations. In the earlier the utmost good-humour prevails. Soon, however, comes a period of boasting which, if different clans are represented at the gathering, shortly changes into one electric with possibilities of strife, for vaunting leads to irritation, recrimination, and eventual blows.

      A fierce quarrel may arise from something utterly trivial; any two men present who dislike each other never being at a loss for a casus belli. The mere mention of an old garden dispute, or a lawsuit of half a century back between the respective grandfathers of two men who have reached the critical point, is quite enough to set the sticks whirling. Indeed, beer seems to act like a kind of sympathetic ink in bringing every ancient and half-obliterated grievance to the surface.

      After the quarrelsome stage succeeds one of torpor, and from this the revellers arise with appetites which only meat, and plenty of it, can assuage. Then, unless the giver of the feast be rich and liberal enough to kill for his guests, the flocks and herds of the stock-owners in the vicinity are apt to suffer.

      The stage of boasting had been reached when Galada and the headmen returned to the banquet. On different sides men were declaiming loudly of the wealth and greatness of their relations, ancestral and contemporary—several talking at the same time. Galada’s eye at once sought out Mangèlè, the son of Makanda, who had just been mentioned to him as being a leper. Mangèlè was a most splendid specimen of manhood. As he lay naked on his blanket in the bright sunshine, his splendid torso and muscular limbs seemed to be the very embodiment of health and reposeful strength. Looking more closely, however, the Sergeant was able to notice the signs of the disease which had been mentioned by Rolobèlè. Superficially, all that was wrong with the knee was a slight thickening on the outside—so slight, indeed, that Galada would certainly never have noticed the thing had his attention not been drawn to it. Mangèlè’s left hand was, however, distinctly swollen and distorted. He kept it concealed as much as possible, hiding it under a fold of the blanket he lay upon.

      Mangèlè’s voice was not heard among those of the boasters. He lay silent and abstracted, slightly apart from the others, drinking deeply and apparently taking no notice of the Babel around him. For an instant he looked up as Xaba joined the circle, and the glances of these two seemed to flash at each other like spears. Then Mangèlè took another long draught of beer and bent his head lower than before.

      “We of the Radèbè,” shouted ’Mzondo, a fierce-looking savage, who had a heavy ivory armlet above his left elbow, “hau—there are none like us; we are the black cattle of the pastures. My father was a bull with a strong neck and I am his calf. Look at our sticks in a fight—look how the strangers come to seek our daughters in marriage. Wau—but we are a race of chiefs—a great people.”

      “We of the Amahlubi,” shouted one ’Mbulawa, “were never tillers of the fields of the Amagcaleka, nor were our daughters taken as concubines by the sons of Hintza. We were bulls when the Radèbè were oxen.”

      At this reference to the captivity of the Radèbè, half a century previously, all present of that clan leaped to their feet and seized their sticks. Rolobèlè, however, managed to restore tranquillity. The majority of those present were Hlubis. The headman rebuked ’Mbulawa for his rudeness. Then, in the course of a long and eloquent speech, he adroitly led the thoughts of his guests to an episode in which both clans had equally covered themselves with glory. Thus was the anger appeased and the danger of a breach of the peace averted for the moment.

      Xaba, who had for some time been drinking heavily in silence, began to dispute with one Fodo over the merits of some old family quarrel which had been settled many

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