Gquma; or, The White Waif

________________________________________________
Title:     Gquma; or, The White Waif
Author: William Charles Scully [More Titles by Scully]

"A sun-child whiter than the whitest snows
Was born out of the world of sunless things
That round the round earth flows and ebbs and flows!"

Thalassius.

One.

The fish had been biting splendidly since midnight, and when at dawn we ran the boat into a little creek which branched from the main lagoon between steep, shelving, rocky banks overhung with forest, we counted out eleven "kabeljouws," the lightest of which must have weighed fifteen pounds, while the heaviest would certainly have turned the scale at fifty.

We laid them out, 'Nqalate and I, on the smooth, cool rock shelves. The fish more recently caught were yet quivering, and the lovely pink and purple flushes still chased each other along their shining sides. 'Nqalate, like all Kafirs, hated having to touch fish; he regarded them as water-snakes with a bad smell superimposed upon the ordinary-ophidian disadvantages. After cleansing the "kabeljouws" under my directions, he washed and re-washed his hands with great vigour; but, to judge by the expression of his face when he smelt them afterwards, the result of the scrubbing was not satisfactory.

The morning was cool and bracing, and a wonderful breeze streamed in over the bar at the mouth of the lagoon, where the great ocean-rollers were thundering. A flock of wild geese arose and flew inland after their night's feeding, uttering wild screams of delight as they soared into the sunlight, which had not yet descended upon us. Seamews and curlews wheeled around with plaintive cries. A couple of ospreys swooped down and settled on a giant euphorbia only a few yards off. Ever and anon vivid halcyons skimmed down the creek. In the forest close at hand the bush-bucks were hoarsely barking, and the guinea-fowls uttering strident cries.

While my companion collected fuel, I took the kettle and forced my way through the bush to the bed of the creek at a spot above the reach of the salt water. On returning I found 'Nqalate blowing at the fire as only a Kafir can. Lifting his head out of the smoke, he gave a sneeze, and immediately afterwards uttered the exclamation: "Gquma 'ndincede!" This struck me as peculiar. "Gquma," pronounced "g (click) o-o-ma," means in the Kafir language, "a roar," such as the roar of a lion, or of the sea; in this instance I took it to mean the latter, and "'ndincede" means "help me," or "give assistance." After speculating upon this strange rudimentary suggestion of the widespread habit according to which divers races of men invoke their respective deities or deified ancestors after the innocuous process of sneezing, my curiosity as to how the roar of the sea came to be invoked in an apparently analogous sense prompted me to question 'Nqalate on the subject.

"Gquma, whom I invoked," he replied, "is not the roar of the sea, but a woman of your race who lived many years ago, and whom we, the Tshomane, look upon as the head of our tribe. You will notice that whenever a Tshomane sneezes he calls on Gquma."

"But where did Gquma come from?" I inquired, "and why was she so called?"

"Gquma," replied 'Nqalate, "was a white woman who came out of the sea when she was a child. She married our great chief 'Ndepa, and she and he together ruled our tribe. She was the great-grandmother of our chief Dalasile, who died last year."

The tide was running out swiftly, and I waited impatiently for it to turn, so that I could re-commence fishing. The sun was now high, and the breeze had died down to a gentle, fragrant breath. Suddenly the water ceased running, and began to sway troublously backward and forward, lapping loudly against the rocks. Then the tide turned, up it came rushing--this strange, cold, pure, bitter spirit pulsating with the ocean's strenuous life. Like a singing bird it was vocal with wonderful words that no man may understand; with joyful tidings from its habitations in the sea's most secret places were its murmurs thrilling.

We cast off the boat and let her drift with the current until a good anchorage was reached. Fishing usually affords large opportunities for reflection or conversation, and on this occasion 'Nqalate related to me all he knew about Gquma, and, moreover, gave reference to certain old men of the tribe, by whom the narrative was subsequently amplified.

Two.

One autumn morning early in the eighteenth century, some people of the Tshomane clan, then occupying that portion of the coast country of what is now Pondoland, which lies immediately to the north-east of the mouth of the Unitati river, were astonished by an unwonted spectacle. The wind had been blowing strongly from the south-east for several days previously, and the sea was running high. Just outside the fringe of breakers an immense "thing" was rolling about helplessly in the ocean swell. This "thing" looked like a great fish, such as on rare occasions had been stranded in the neighbourhood, but it had a flat top from which thick, irregular stumps, like trunks of trees, protruded. Moreover, long strings and objects resembling immense mats were hanging over the sides and trailing in the water. As the rolling brought the flat surface into view, strange creatures resembling human beings could be seen moving about on it.

Such an object had never been seen or heard of by the oldest man of the tribe. The people assembled in crowds and watched, dumb with astonishment. Then a shudder went through them. A faint cry repeated at regular intervals pierced the booming of the surf, and a white fabric, which swelled out as it arose, was seen to ascend the tallest of the protruding stumps. The breeze was now blowing lightly off the land.

All day long the monster lay wallowing. The trailing ropes and sails were cut away, and the great East Indiaman, impelled shoreward by the swell, was just able for a time to maintain her distance from the land. The current sucked her slowly southward, and the crowd of natives silently followed along the shore. Late in the afternoon the breeze died down, and the doomed vessel rolled nearer and nearer the black rocks. Just after sundown she struck with a crashing thud, and thereupon a long wail of agony arose from those on board. Then she heeled over somewhat, and it soon appeared as though she were melting away in the water. By the time night fell, strange objects which the people feared to touch had begun to wash up; these were stranded by the receding tide. Nevertheless, the outline of the dark hull could still be faintly seen when the startled people withdrew to their homes, where they talked until far into the night, over the wonderful and unprecedented events of the day.

At the first streak of dawn the people began to re-assemble on the beach. The vessel was no longer to be seen, but the strand was strewn with wreckage of every description, a quantity of which had been flung high and dry by the waves. When the sun arose the people gained confidence and scattered about examining the different articles, which were distributed over an extent of several hundred yards of beach.

A shout arose, and then a rush was made to a certain spot where, in a wide cleft of the black reef, which was floored with gleaming white sand, a strange object had been discovered. Huddled against the rock on one side of the cleft lay a child, a little white girl with long yellow hair. She was clad in a light-coloured garment of a texture unknown to the natives, and around the upper part of her body were tied a number of discs of a substance resembling soft wood of little weight.

The people crowded around the spot, keeping at a distance of a few yards, and gazed with astonishment at this strange creature cast up by the sea. The night had been mild and the sun was now shining warmly on the pallid child, who was breathing slowly in a swoon-like sleep. At length she opened her eyes, they were of the hue of the sky, a colour never previously seen by any of the spectators in the eyes of a human being.

The gazing crowd increased, some of the people who climbed over the rocks gaining foot-hold on the higher ledges of the steep reef, and gazing eagerly over the heads of the others who were nearer. At length an old man, Gambushe, head councillor to Sango, the chief, stepped forward and lifted the little girl in his arms. She was deathly cold, and when she felt the warmth of the old man's body she clung to him and tried to throw her arms about his neck. This, however, the discs of cork prevented her doing, so Gambushe sate her on his knee, and untied the string by which they were fastened. She then nestled her face against his shoulder. The child appeared to be quite without dread; probably she was accustomed to black faces, but in any case the terrors of the past night would, for the time being, have dulled her capacity for further fear.

The kraal of Gambushe was situated in a valley behind the adjacent forest-covered sandhills which rose abruptly almost from high-water-mark, and thither he carried the worn-out child, who had fallen asleep on his shoulder. A few of the natives followed him, but the greater number remained on the shore. Their curiosity had now got the better of the dread inspired by the unprecedented events just witnessed, and they began to examine and appropriate flotsam and jetsam from the wreck. Bales, boxes, clothing, and furniture--all things unknown--were eagerly examined. The bales, on being ripped open, were found to contain silk and cotton fabrics, which struck the natives with wonder and delight.

An order was sent by the chief to the effect that all the property salved was to be carried to his "great place," which was situated about five miles away, and thither long lines of laden men, women, and children wended over the sinuous footpaths.

In the afternoon dead bodies began to roll in with the curling surf, and the white, bearded faces of the drowned men struck the excited natives with fresh terror. All of the Bantu race shrink with the greatest horror from contact with a dead body, so the people drew back and gathered together in affrighted groups, to discuss the strange situation. The wind again blew freshly, and as the sea arose the dead men came in more and more thickly, some with wide-open eyes, and lips parted in a terrifying smile. Faster and faster came the bodies, until the whole beach was strewn with them. Mixed with the bodies of the Europeans were those of a number of Lascars, of whom the crew was probably largely composed.

The people left off removing the wreckage, and sent to the chief for instructions. In the meantime they retired terror-stricken to their homes.

Next morning the chief came down, accompanied by the witch-doctors and soothsayers of the tribe, who, with hardly dissembled dread, passed along the strand from body to body. Then they withdrew for consultation, with ashen-grey faces and trembling limbs.

They came to a unanimous decision, which was communicated to a general meeting of the tribe convened next day at the "great place." The monster that had died on the rocks amidst the white water, was one of the creatures of the sea sent to bear the little white maiden to the land of the Tshomane. She, when old enough, was to be the "great wife" of 'Ndepa, the chief's "great son," then a boy of about twelve years of age. She was a daughter of the mighty ones that dwell in the sea,--her marine nature being clearly shown by her long yellow hair, which resembled nothing but sea-weed. All the dead people strewn on the beach had been her slaves; they had now been destroyed because she no longer needed them.

The chief gave an order that no more property should be removed from the beach, and that the things taken before the washing up of the bodies were to be carefully preserved for the use of the white maiden. She had come to the land of the Tshomane when the sea was raging and thundering against the black rocks, so her name, said the soothsayers, must be called "Gquma,"--"the roar of the sea."

Three.

In those days the European was quite unknown to the Bantu of South-Eastern Africa. Rumour had vaguely told of the advent of strange men with white, bearded faces, who had conquered the "Amalawu"--the Hottentots--by means of the thunder and lightning, over which they had command. This was, however, regarded simply as one of the many semi-mythical tales which are always current among uncivilised people. Now and then, at long intervals, strange, white-winged monsters had been seen by the Tshomane gliding over the ocean, but these appearances had been classed with meteors, eclipses of the sun and moon, and other unexplainable phenomena. Among savages the unprecedented does not occasion nearly so much astonishment as among civilised men, for the reason that the former have but a very rudimentary idea of the laws governing cause and effect. Like the early Christians, to whom the miraculous was the normal, savages assign all the many things they do not understand to the category of the magical.

The explanation of the nature and the advent of the little white waif as given by the soothsayers was fully accepted. The fair-skinned, blue-eyed child with the long, shining, yellow locks was looked upon as a gracious gift from the undefined but dreadful powers that rule the world from the realm of the unseen, a creature to be fostered and cherished as a pledge of favour,--to be reverenced as an emanation from something that had its dwelling where the sea and the sky met, and that swayed the destinies of ordinary men from afar, something the less known the more awful. It must be borne in mind that the brandy-seller, the gun-runner, and the loafer had not as yet nearly destroyed all respect on the part of the native for the European.

Little Gquma took with strange kindness to her new surroundings. She must have possessed one of those natures--more common among women than men--which can easily assimilate themselves to new surroundings. She was apparently about seven years of age. She talked freely, but of course her language could not be understood. One word she repeated over and over again--pointing the while to herself: "Bessie, Bessie." This was supposed to be her name, but the one given by the soothsayers quite superseded it.

Gquma remained at the kraal of Gambushe, whither all the things saved from the wreck had been carried--two large store-huts having been built for their reception. One day when one of the boxes was opened, the child caught sight of a pair of hairbrushes and a large mirror. These she at once seized, bursting into tears at the same time. She carried them away with her, and was soon afterwards seen to place the mirror standing against the side of one of the huts. Then she sat down before it, and began brushing out her long, yellow hair, speaking softly to herself the while. Every day thereafter she spent some time before the mirror, brushing her hair and sometimes weeping. In some of the other boxes other brushes were found, and these were put aside for Gquma's use.

Three white cows had been assigned from the chief's herd for Gquma's support, and soon afterwards a law was enacted in terms of which all pure white calves born in the Tshomane herds were regarded as "Gquma's cattle," and had to be delivered, when a year old, at Gambushe's kraal. This tribute was submitted to cheerfully by the people, and it was considered a token of good fortune when a cow gave birth to a white calf. In those days virulent cattle diseases were unknown, and in a few years "Gquma's cattle" had increased to a herd of several hundreds. The fame of "the child of the sea" spread far and wide, and people used to come great distances to see her and her wonderful herd of white cattle.

The property salved from the wreck soon became destroyed by moths and damp, consequent on bad storage. In the course of a few years nothing whatever of the textile fabrics was left. At first some attempt was made to clothe Gquma in garments selected from the salved stores, but these were mostly of an ill fit, and soon she came to prefer the untrammelled nakedness of her little native companions. These always paid her the greatest deference, and acknowledged her authority without question. She quickly picked up the language of the tribe, and she appeared to be perfectly happy in her new surroundings.

In the eighteenth century some of the best ideals of the age of chivalry were realised among the Bantu tribes of South-Eastern Africa. Battles were fought for honour and not for plunder; in warfare the lives of women and children were respected--prisoners were never put to death, but were held at ransom. After a battle the young men of one side would often send home their shields and spears by the attendant boys, and proceed as honoured guests to the kraals of their late adversaries. It was an age of gentle manners and generous deeds, which withered for ever when the butcher Tshaka turned the land into a shambles.

The uneventful years slipped by, and the white waif grew in stature and beauty. Her favourite ornaments were cowrie and other sea-shells. Being always regarded as the child of the sea, her fondness for bathing was looked upon as appropriate and natural. On the level sandy beach which stretched for miles to the north from the reef on which the ship had been wrecked, the great rollers of the Indian Ocean swept in, thundering, and here on sunny days, Gquma with her body-guard of boys and girls would sport and swim, diving through the combers, and then looking back to see them curl over and dash with a thud on the hard smooth sand. On summer days, when the sun beat fiercely on the beach, they would spend hours on the banks of one of the many streams that trickled down through the forest, plunging every now and then into some crystal-clear, fern-fringed pool.

In cold weather Gquma wore for clothing a kaross made of otter-skins, which had been tanned to the softness of silk, and sewn together cunningly with strands of sinew by an old refugee from one of the inland tribes, which excel as workers in peltries.

Gquma grew to be a most lovely woman. Her skin had browned to a rich glowing tint, and the healthy, natural life she led developed her form to the highest degree of symmetry. She was never asked or expected to perform labour of any description, the Tshomane people regarding her as one who should be left to follow her own devices. Those who sent her would show her what it was good that she should do.

The one conventional practice which she continued was the brushing of her hair. Before the wreck she had evidently been taught to take care of her locks, for from the day on which she wept at seeing the hairbrushes and the mirror, she had each night and morning brushed her hair carefully. At night, before sleeping, she would twist it together, and then coil it around her neck. In the morning when she arose she would shake it out until it fell over her shoulders to below her waist. Gquma's brushing of her hair was looked upon as a sort of rite, and the function was regarded with the deepest respect, more especially as she often wept softly during its performance.

The Tshomane clan, which is located in the 'Mqanduli district, Tembuland, is now of comparative insignificance, but in the eighteenth century it stood at the head of a tribe of considerable strength and importance. At the advent of Gquma, Sango had been chief for about four years. His "great son" was 'Ndepa, who afterwards became the husband of Gquma. Sango was a man of wisdom, who loved peace, and who kept his clan as much as possible within its own territory. 'Ndepa took after his father in character. He was about five years older than Gquma, and he married her shortly after she arrived at womanhood.

At the marriage feast of Gquma the whole tribe assembled. By advice of the soothsayers the great dance took place at the sea shore, and instead of following the custom in terms of which the bride should have been led to her husband's dwelling, Gquma and her maidens stationed themselves midway in the cleft of the black reef, where she had been tenderly delivered by the destroying waves, and thither the bridegroom went to ask his bride of the Ocean. Gifts of meat, milk, and beer were cast into the foam, and the soothsayers read the signs of the murmuring water as propitious to the union.

Within a few years of the marriage Sango died, and 'Ndepa became "great chief"; but Gquma, rather than he, was looked upon as the head of the tribe.

Gquma lived only for about eighteen years after her marriage. She bore to her husband two sons, the eldest of whom was called Begela, and a daughter, who was called Bessie. Begela inherited the chieftainship after the death of his father. During the lifetime of Gquma, 'Ndepa did not take another wife.

Gquma died of a mysterious disorder which baffled the skill of several renowned doctors. She lay almost speechless on her mat for many days, and she became more and more emaciated. Then her mind began to wander, and her speech was ever of the sea. On the day she died she was, at her own request, carried down to the cleft in the reef. Just before she breathed her last, she called for Bessie, her daughter. The child was brought and placed at her side. The dying mother strove to speak, but was unable to do so. She partly lifted herself, and pointed across the sea with her right hand; then she turned, clasped the child to her bosom, and gave out her life with a long-drawn sigh. In the night a terrible storm arose, and the shore afterwards was found to be strewn with myriads of dead fish.

When the storm subsided, Gquma's body was carried at low tide to the extreme outside verge of the black reef. After being heavily weighted, it was cast into the sea, as also were the hairbrushes and the mirror.

It was noticed that soon after Gquma returned, as all the people believed, to the ocean that had given her birth, good fortune seemed to have departed from the tribe which had acknowledged her as its honoured and beloved chief, and the insignificant remnants of which venerate her memory even at the present unromantic day.

[The end]
William Charles Scully's short story: Gquma; Or, The White Waif

________________________________________________



GO TO TOP OF SCREEN