By Veldt and Kopje - W. C. Scully

Скачать книгу

love that I have brought you here to-day to put an end to your pain. Out of the darkness came another strange word—a word which has taught me how to die, to die with my eyes open; but I could not bear to die and leave you helpless in the pain you have endured so long. All this is the wisdom which I have learned from those voices of which the darkness is full.”

      When Mangèlè ceased speaking his hearers broke out into loud wailing. One of the women crept shrinkingly to the verge of the precipice, glanced over the edge, and drew back with a shriek. Then she covered her face with her blanket and lay upon the ground, grovelling. The others, who had silently watched her, broke into renewed and terror-stricken wails as she drew back. Mangèlè once more began to speak, a note of thunder in his voice; all at once shrank into silence.

      “This will I do for the sake of the love I bear you, and for that ye know not your own minds, nor what is good for you; this will I do because my heart is strong where yours is weak: I will hurl you one by one over the rock and then follow you myself. Look your last upon the sun, oh my brothers and sisters whom I love, for you are about to die.”

      At this the wretched creatures grovelled about Mangèlè’s feet, beseeching him to spare their lives. They would, they said, go to Emjanyana and live peacefully like cattle in the kraal of their father, the Government. Their hearts were full of water; they were old and weak. They would not have minded death by shooting, at the Residency, but this was an evil place which bore a bad name from the most ancient days. The House of Death was cold and the road to it, over the steep cliff and the sharp stone beneath, painful. Even though they were sick they still could feel the warmth of the sun. If he loved them, let Mangèlè leave them until Death came of his own accord and sought them out.

      Mangèlè stood with bent head in the middle of the prostrate crowd and listened to their piteous pleadings. When at length he lifted his face a change had come over it—a wistful, transfiguring gentleness had taken the place of the look of stern indignation it had borne when he last spoke. Silencing the wailing creatures with a gesture, he said:

      “Peace, peace; your words have made me weak. Live, then, since you fear to die.”

      Mangèlè stepped from among the crouching throng and took his stand on the very verge of the cliff. The sun was just about to disappear; its last level beams swept across the world and seemed to search out and reveal every noble curve and graceful line in the ebon limbs and trunk of the splendidly proportioned man who was about to destroy his beauty to save it from loathsome decay—they lit the noble face and head until these took on a sublime look of leonine anguish and the sombre eyes seemed to glare a tremendous indictment against Nature and Fate.

      “Farewell, brothers and sisters who have not been taught how to die. Tell the girl Nosèmbè that my thoughts were of her as I sped to the sharp rocks.”

      As he spoke the last word Mangèlè sprang backward over the cliff. Old ’Mpofu and a woman shut their eyes and bent their heads sideways toward the verge. A few seconds afterward a heavy thud from below smote on the ears of all. A low groan broke from their lips—

      A sound of approaching footsteps and laboured breathing was heard, and just afterward a tall young woman stepped in among the huddled throng. It was Nosèmbè, who, having heard a rumour of the impending tragedy, hastened to join the man she loved and die with him.

      “Ho, ye who are here,” she said, after her eye had swept around the circle, “how is it then that your leader has not come? But there is his blanket and his stick; speak; where is Mangèlè, my lover?”

      No one dared to answer; all sank their faces to the earth.

      “Ha!” Nosèmbè cried, “I see the truth ye dare not speak—he is dead and ye are not ashamed to be alive … He waits for me … I take him his unborn child.”

      Then, with a long, shrill call upon her lover’s name, Nosèmbè leaped into the abyss.

      Shortly after these events, on a day that was a dream of beauty, a couple of wagons drawn by long teams of oxen crossed the Lunda Divide by the road to Emjanyana. In the wagons were seated those of the lepers who were unable to walk. Hobbling after them came the rest, a dreary band, their heads bent, their whole appearance suggestive of stolid and hopeless misery. None attempted to turn back. They had attained the calm of consent.

      When the top of the divide was reached the drivers called a halt for the purpose of breathing the oxen. The poor lepers gazed back long and lovingly at the valleys wherein they had dwelt all their lives and which they never more would see.

      No tear was shed; not a word was spoken; not a sigh or a groan broke the silence. The police who formed the escort had dismounted for a space at the side of the road.

      After a few minutes Sergeant Galada signed to the drivers to proceed, and the wagons rumbled heavily down the slope. The lepers sat on the ground, still gazing backward, and seemingly unconscious that the wagons had gone forward.

      Then the policemen came up and gently—very gently—urged the exiled and disinherited creatures to continue their journey.

      Note 1. The dowry paid by the bridegroom to the bride’s father after the manner of the ancient Spartans.

       Table of Contents

      The Writing on the Rock.

      A few years ago I happened to be detained for several weeks in a somewhat remote village in the Cape Colony. Having very little to do I availed myself of an invitation received from a certain Boer named Jacobus van der Merwe—to visit his farm for the purpose of shooting.

      The farm, “Honey Krantz,” was about twenty miles away; it lay in the midst of the grandest mountain scenery. The only road was a very rugged one along the course of a devious gorge, with frequent crossings of a brawling stream. Each of the many sharp turns was marked by an immense rock-buttress, hundreds of feet in height. The mountainous sides of the gorge were thickly strewn with mighty boulders, whilst here and there wide moraines extended from summit to base.

      I at once became very much interested in the members of the household. My host was about forty-five years of age and, even for a Boer, extremely stout. In fact he was obliged to excuse himself, on the score of his size, from accompanying me to the hunting-grounds, which lay so high that reaching them involved considerable and steep climbing. Accordingly, an alert-looking Hottentot was assigned to me as after-rider and guide. This “boy” knew every corner of the great mountain mass and was thoroughly familiar with the haunts and habits of the game.

      Mrs. van der Merwe was almost as stout as her husband, who was also her cousin. It was, however, evident that when young she must have possessed great beauty. The house was full of children; these were of all ages and they strongly resembled each other in appearance. All were blue-eyed, flaxen-haired and rosy-cheeked. There was one grown-up daughter—Gertrude—a girl of eighteen. She only lacked animation to be a most beautiful woman. Her dead-gold hair lay in a dense mass upon her shoulders; her calm, deep eyes of a most tender blue were set beneath a broad, smooth, white brow; her teeth were dazzlingly white and her face pure oval in shape.

      It was just after sundown when I arrived at the homestead. Supper over, I was invited to visit Sarei van der Merwe—the old, blind grandfather—who had not left his room for many years. I found him sitting in a very large home-made chair, with his feet upon a wooden stool containing a pan of charcoal. His bulk was huge; in fact, he was, probably, the biggest man I had ever seen. He had a long white beard and a mass of silvery hair. On a table, within reach of his hand, were several pipes and a large tobacco-pouch—the latter made out of a portion of the stomach of a sheep, brayed. Close to his feet a diminutive Hottentot crouched upon a sheep-skin. The face of this creature was old-looking and monkey-like. His duties were to attend to the old man’s needs; more especially to hold a burning coal, when required, to the often-replenished pipe. This he did with a skill evidently born of long practice—picking

Скачать книгу