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CHAPTER VIII - BAMBATSE
Nearly four months had gone by when at length the waggon with which
were Mr. Clifford, Benita, and Jacob Meyer camped one night within the
country of the Molimo of Bambatse, whose name was Mambo. Or perhaps
that was his title, since (according to Tamas his son) every chief in
succession was called Mambo, though not all of them were Molimos, or
representatives and prophets of God, or the Great Spirit whom they
knew as Munwali. Thus sometimes the Molimo, or priest of Munwali, and
the Mambo or chief were different persons. For instance, he said that
he, Tamas, would be Mambo on his father's death, but no visions were
given to him; therefore as yet, at any rate, he was not called to be
Molimo.
In the course of this long journey they had met with many adventures,
such as were common to African travellers before the days of
railroads; adventures with wild beasts and native tribes, adventures
with swollen rivers also, and one that was worst, with thirst, since
for three days (owing to the failure of a pit or pan, where they
expected to find water) they were obliged to go without drink. Still,
none of these were very serious, nor had any of the three of them ever
been in better health than they were at this moment, for by good luck
they had escaped all fever. Indeed, their rough, wild life had agreed
with Benita extraordinarily well, so well that any who had known her
in the streets of London would scarcely have recognized her as the
sunburnt, active and well-formed young woman who sat that night by the
camp fire.
All the horses they had brought with them had been sold, except some
which had died, and three that were "salted," or proof against the
deadly horse sickness, which they took on with them. Their own
servants also had been sent back to Rooi Krantz in charge of a Scotch
cart laden with ivory, purchased from Boer hunters who had brought it
down from the north of the Transvaal. Therefore, for this was part of
the bargain, the three Makalanga were now their only attendants who
drove and herded the cattle, while Benita cooked the food which the
two white men shot, or sometimes bought from natives.
For days they had been passing through a country that was practically
deserted, and now, having crossed a high nek, the same on which Robert
Seymour had left his waggon, they were camped in low land which, as
they could see by the remains of walls that appeared everywhere, had
once been extensively enclosed and cultivated. To their right was a
rising mountainous ground, beyond which, said the Makalanga, ran the
Zambesi, and in front of them, not more than ten miles away, a great
isolated hill, none other than that place that they had journeyed so
far to reach, Bambatse, round which flowed the great river. Indeed,
thither one of the three Makalanga, he who was named Hoba, had gone on
to announce their approach.
They had outspanned amongst ruins, most of them circular in shape, and
Benita, studying them in the bright moonlight, guessed that once these
had been houses. That place now so solitary, hundreds or thousands of
years ago was undoubtedly the home of a great population. Thousands,
rather than hundreds, she thought, since close at hand in the middle
of one of these round houses, grew a mighty baobab tree, that could
not have seen less than ten or fifteen centuries since the seed whence
it sprang pierced the cement floor which was still visible about its
giant bole.
Tamas, the Molimo's son, saw her studying these evidences of
antiquity, and, approaching, saluted her.
"Lady," he said in his own language, which by now she spoke very well,
"lady"--and he waved his hand with a fine gesture--"behold the city of
my people."
"How do you know that it was their city?" she asked.
"I do not know, lady. Stones cannot speak, the spirits are silent, and
we have forgotten. Still, I think so, and our fathers have told us
that but six or eight generations ago many folk lived here, though it
was not they who built these walls. Even fifty years ago there were
many, but now the Matabele have killed them, and we are few; to-morrow
you will see how few. Come here and look," and he led her through the
entrance of a square cattle kraal which stood close by. Within were
tufts of rank grass, and a few bushes, and among these scores of
skulls and other bones.
"The Matabele killed these in the time of Moselikatse," he said. "Now
do you wonder that we who remain fear the Matabele, and desire guns to
defend ourselves from them, even if we must sell our secrets, in order
to buy those guns, who have no money to pay for them?"
"No," she answered, looking at the tall, dignified man, into whose
soul the irons of fear and slavery had burnt so deep. "No, I do not
wonder."
Next morning at daybreak they trekked on, always through these
evidences of dead, forgotten people. They had not more than ten miles
to cover to reach their long journey's end, but the road, if so it
could be called, ran up-hill, and the oxen, whereof only fourteen were
now left to drag the heavy-laden waggon, were thin and footsore, so
that their progress was very slow. Indeed, it was past midday when at
length they began to enter what by apology might be called the town of
Bambatse.
"When we go away from this, it will have to be by water, I think,
unless we can buy trek-cattle," said Meyer, looking at the labouring
oxen with a doubtful eye.
"Why?" asked Mr. Clifford anxiously.
"Because several of those beasts have been bitten by tetsefly, like my
horse, and the poison is beginning to work. I thought so last night,
but now I am sure. Look at their eyes. It was down in that bit of bush
veld eight days ago. I said that we ought not to camp there."
At this moment they came to the crest of the ridge, and on its further
side saw the wonderful ruins of Bambatse close at hand. In front of
them stood a hill jutting out, as it were into the broad waters of the
Zambesi river, which, to a great extent, protected it upon three
sides. The fourth, that opposite to them, except at one place where a
kind of natural causeway led into the town, was also defended by
Nature, since here for more than fifty feet in height the granite rock
of the base of the hill rose sheer and unclimbable. On the mount
itself, that in all may have covered eight or ten acres of ground, and
surrounded by a deep donga or ditch, were three rings of
fortifications, set one above the other, mighty walls which, it was
evident, had been built by no modern hand. Looking at them Benita
could well understand how it came about that the poor fugitive
Portuguese had chosen this as their last place of refuge, and were
overcome at length, not by the thousands of savages who followed and
surrounded them, but by hunger. Indeed, the place seemed impregnable
to any force that was not armed with siege guns.
On the hither side of this natural fosse, which, doubtless, in ancient
times had been filled with water led from the Zambesi, stood the
village of the Bambatse Makalanga, a collection of seventy or eighty
wretched huts, round, like those of their forefathers, but built of
mud and thatch. About them lay the gardens, or square fields, that
were well cultivated, and at this season rich with ripening corn.
Benita, however, could see no cattle, and concluded, therefore, that
these must be kept on the hill for safety, and within its walls.
Down the rough road they lumbered, and through the village, where the
few women and children stared at them in a frightened way. Then they
came to the causeway, which, on its further side, was blocked with
thorns and rough stones taken from the ruins. While they waited for
these to be removed by some men who now appeared, Benita looked at the
massive, circular wall still thirty or forty feet in height, by
perhaps twenty through its base, built of granite blocks without
mortar, and ornamented with quaint patterns of other coloured stones.
In its thickness she could see grooves, where evidently had once been
portcullises, but these had disappeared long ago.
"It is a wonderful place," she said to her father. "I am glad that I
came. Have you been all over it?"
"No; only between the first and second walls, and once between the
second and third. The old temple, or whatever it is, is on the top,
and into that they would never admit us. It is there that the treasure
lies."
"That the treasure is supposed to lie," she answered with a smile.
"But, Father, what guarantee have you that they will do so now?
Perhaps they will take the guns and show us the door--or rather the
gate."
"Your daughter is right, there is none; and before a box is taken off
the waggon we must get one," said Meyer. "Oh! I know it is risky, and
it would have been better to make sure first, but it is too late to
talk of that now. Look, the stones are cleared. Trek on--trek!"
The long waggon-whip cracked, the poor, tired-out oxen strained at the
yokes, and on they went through the entrance of that fateful fortress
that was but just wide enough to admit them. Inside lay a great open
space, which, as they could see from the numerous ruins, had once been
filled with buildings that now were half hidden by grass, trees, and
creepers. This was the outer ring of the temple where, in ancient
days, the priests and captains had their home. Travelling across it
for perhaps a hundred and fifty yards, they came near the second wall,
which was like the first, only not quite so solid, and saw that on a
stretch of beaten ground, and seated in the shadow, for the day was
hot, the people of Bambatse were gathered to greet them.
When within fifty yards they dismounted from the horses, which were
left with the waggon in the charge of the Makalanga, Tamala. Then
Benita taking her position between her father and Jacob Meyer, they
advanced towards the ring of natives, of whom there may have been two
hundred--all of them adult men.
As they came, except one figure who remained seated with his back
against the wall, the human circle stood up as a token of respect, and
Benita saw that they were of the same stamp as the messengers--tall
and good-looking, with melancholy eyes and a cowed expression, wearing
the appearance of people who from day to day live in dread of slavery
and death. Opposite to them was a break in the circle, through which
Tamas led them, and as they crossed it Benita felt that all those
people were staring at her with their sad eyes. A few paces from where
the man crouched against the wall, his head hidden by a beautifully
worked blanket that was thrown over it, were placed three well-carved
stools. Upon these, at a motion from Tamas, they sat themselves down,
and, as it was not dignified for them to speak first, remained silent.
"Be patient and forgive," said Tamas at length. "My father, Mambo,
prays to the Munwali and the spirits of his fathers that this coming
of yours may be fortunate, and that a vision of those things that are
to be may descend upon him."
Benita, feeling nearly two hundred pairs of eyes concentrated upon
her, wished that the vision might come quickly, but after a minute or
two fell into tune with the thing, and almost enjoyed this strange
experience. Those mighty ancient walls built by hands unknown, which
had seen so much history and so much death; the silent, triple ring of
patient, solemn men, the last descendants of a cultured race, the
crouching figure hidden beneath the blanket, who imagined himself to
be communicating with his god--it was all very strange, very well
worth the seeing to one who had wearied of the monotony of
civilization.
Look, the man stirred, and threw back his blanket, revealing a head
white with age, a spiritual, ascetic face, so thin that every bone
showed in it, and dark eyes which stared upwards unseeingly, like
those of a person in a trance. Thrice he sighed, while his tribesmen
watched him. Then he let his eyes fall upon the three white people
seated in front of him. First he looked at Mr. Clifford, and his face
grew troubled; then at Jacob Meyer, and it was anxious and alarmed.
Lastly, he stared at Benita, and while he did so the dark eyes became
calm and happy.
"White maiden," he said in a soft, low voice, "for you, at least, I
have good tidings. Though Death come near to you, though you see him
on your right hand and your left, and in front of you and behind you,
I say, fear not. Here you, who have known deep sorrow, shall find
happiness and rest, O maiden, with whom goes the spirit of one pure
and fair as you, who died so long ago."
Then, while Benita wondered at his words, spoken with such sweet
earnestness that although she believed nothing of them, they brought a
kind of comfort to her, he looked once more at her father and Jacob
Meyer, and, as it were with an effort, was silent.
"Have you no pleasant prophecy for me, old friend," said Jacob, "who
have come so far to hear it?"
At once the aged face grew inscrutable, all expression vanished behind
a hundred wrinkles, and he answered:
"None, white man--none that I am charged to deliver. Search the skies
for yourself, you who are so wise, and read them if you can. Lords,"
he went on in another voice, "I greet you in the name and presence of
my children. Son Tamas, I greet you also; you have done your mission
well. Listen, now--you are weary and would rest and eat; still, bear
with me, for I have a word to say. Look around you. You see all my
tribe, not twenty times ten above the age of boys, we who once were
countless as the leaves on yonder trees in spring. Why are we dead?
Because of the Amandabele, those fierce dogs whom, two generations
ago, Moselikatse, the general of Chaka, brought up to the south of us,
who ravish us and kill us year by year.
"We are not warlike, we who have outlived war and the lust of slaying.
We are men of peace, who desire to cultivate the land, and to follow
our arts which have descended to us from our ancestors, and to worship
the Heavens above us, whither we depart to join the spirits of our
forefathers. But they are fierce and strong and savage, and they come
up and murder our children and old people, and take away the young
women and the maidens to be slaves, and with them all our cattle.
Where are our cattle? Lobengula, chief of the Amandabele, has them;
scarce a cow is left to give milk to the sick or to the motherless
babe. And yet he sends for cattle. Tribute, say his messengers,
deliver tribute, or my impi will come and take it with your lives. But
we have no cattle--all are gone. We have nothing left to us but this
ancient mountain and the works built thereon, and a little corn on
which we live. Yes, I say it--I, the Molimo--I whose ancestors were
great kings--I who have still more wisdom in me than all the hosts of
the Amandabele," and as he spoke the old man's grey head sank upon his
breast and the tears ran down his withered cheeks, while his people
answered:
"Mambo, it is true."
"Now listen again," he went on. "Lobengula threatens us, therefore I
sent to these white men who were here before, saying that if they
would bring me a hundred guns, and powder and ball, to enable us to
beat off the Amandabele from behind these strong walls of ours, I
would take them into the secret holy place where for six generations
no white man has set a foot, and there suffer them to search for the
treasure which is hid therein, no man knows where, that treasure which
they asked leave to find four winters gone. We refused it then and
drove them hence, because of the curse laid upon us by the white maid
who died, the last of the Portuguese, who foretold her people's fate
for us if we gave up the buried gold save to one appointed. My
children, the Spirit of Bambatse has visited me; I have seen her and
others have seen her, and in my sleep she said to me: 'Suffer the men
to come and search, for with them is one of the blood to whom my
people's wealth is given; and great is your danger, for many spears
draw nigh.' My children, I sent my son and other messengers on a far
journey to where I knew the men dwelt, and they have returned after
many months bringing those men with them, bringing with them also
another of whom I knew nothing--yes, her who is appointed, her of whom
the Spirit spoke."
Then he lifted his withered hand and held it towards Benita, saying:
"I tell you that yonder she sits for whom the generations have
waited."
"It is so," answered the Makalanga. "It is the White Lady come again
to take her own."
"Friends," asked the Molimo, while they wondered at his strange
speech, "tell me, have you brought the guns?"
"Surely," answered Mr. Clifford, "they are there in the waggon, every
one of them, the best that can be made, and with them ten thousand
cartridges, bought at a great cost. We have fulfilled our share of the
bargain; now will you fulfil yours, or shall we go away again with the
guns and leave you to meet the Matabele with your assegais?"
"Say you the agreement while we listen," answered the Molimo.
"Good," said Mr. Clifford. "It is this: That you shall find us food
and shelter while we are with you. That you shall lead us into the
secret place at the head of the hill, where the Portuguese died, and
the gold is hidden. That you shall allow us to search for that gold
when and where we will. That if we discover the gold, or anything else
of value to us, you shall suffer us to take it away, and assist us
upon our journey, either by giving us boats and manning them to travel
down the Zambesi, or in whatever fashion may be most easy. That you
shall permit none to hurt, molest, or annoy us during our sojourn
among you. Is that our contract?"
"Not quite all of it," said the Molimo. "There is this to add: first
that you shall teach us how to use the guns; secondly, that you shall
search for and find the treasure, if so it is appointed, without our
help, since in this matter it is not lawful for us to meddle; thirdly,
that if the Amandabele should chance to attack us while you are here,
you shall do your best to assist us against their power."
"Do you, then, expect attack?" asked Meyer suspiciously.
"White man, we always expect attack. Is it a bargain?"
"Yes," answered Mr. Clifford and Jacob Meyer in one voice, the latter
adding: "the guns and the cartridges are yours. Lead us now to the
hidden place. We have fulfilled our part; we trust to the honour of
you and all your people to fulfil yours."
"White Maiden," asked the Molimo, addressing Benita, "do you also say
that it is a bargain?"
"What my father says, I say."
"Good," said the Molimo. "Then, in the presence of my people, and in
the name of the Munwali, I, Mambo, who am his prophet, declare that it
is so agreed between us, and may the vengeance of the heavens fall
upon those who break our pact! Let the oxen of the white men be
outspanned, their horses fed, their waggon unloaded, that we may count
the guns. Let food be brought into the guest-house also, and after
they have eaten, I, who alone of all of you have ever entered it, will
lead them to the holy place, that there they may begin to search for
that which the white men desire from age to age--to find it if they
can; if not, to depart satisfied and at peace."
Content of CHAPTER VIII - BAMBATSE [H. Rider Haggard's novel: Benita]
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