FullReads

“Meanwhile Mashune employed himself in dragging together some dead boughs from the mimosa trees to make a sort of ‘skerm,’ or shelter for us to sleep in, about forty yards from the edge of the pool of water. We had been greatly troubled with lions in the course of our long tramp, and only on the previous night have very nearly been attacked by them, which made me nervous, especially in my weak state. Just as we had finished the skerm, or rather something which did duty for one, Mashune and I heard a shot apparently fired about a mile away.

“‘Hark to it!’ sung out Mashune in Zulu, more, I fancy, by way of keeping his spirits up than for any other reason–for he was a sort of black Mark Tapley, and very cheerful under difficulties. ‘Hark to the wonderful sound with which the “Maboona” (the Boers) shook our fathers to the ground at the Battle of the Blood River. We are hungry now, my father; our stomachs are small and withered up like a dried ox’s paunch, but they will soon be full of good meat. Hans is a Hottentot, and an “umfagozan,” that is, a low fellow, but he shoots straight–ah! he certainly shoots straight. Be of a good heart, my father, there will soon be meat upon the fire, and we shall rise up men.’

“And so he went on talking nonsense till I told him to stop, because he made my head ache with his empty words.

“Shortly after we heard the shot the sun sank in his red splendour, and there fell upon earth and sky the great hush of the African wilderness. The lions were not up as yet, they would probably wait for the moon, and the birds and beasts were all at rest. I cannot describe the intensity of the quiet of the night: to me in my weak state, and fretting as I was over the non-return of the Hottentot Hans, it seemed almost ominous–as though Nature were brooding over some tragedy which was being enacted in her sight.

“It was quiet–quiet as death, and lonely as the grave.

“‘Mashune,’ I said at last, ‘where is Hans? my heart is heavy for him.’

“‘Nay, my father, I know not; mayhap he is weary, and sleeps, or mayhap he has lost his way.’

“‘Mashune, art thou a boy to talk folly to me?’ I answered. ‘Tell me, in all the years thou hast hunted by my side, didst thou ever know a Hottentot to lose his path or to sleep upon the way to camp?’

“‘Nay, Macumazahn’ (that, ladies, is my native name, and means the man who ‘gets up by night,’ or who ‘is always awake’), ‘I know not where he is.’

“But though we talked thus, we neither of us liked to hint at what was in both our minds, namely, that misfortunate had overtaken the poor Hottentot.

“‘Mashune,’ I said at last, ‘go down to the water and bring me of those green herbs that grow there. I am hungered, and must eat something.’

“‘Nay, my father; surely the ghosts are there; they come out of the water at night, and sit upon the banks to dry themselves. An Isanusi[*] told it me.’

[*] /Isanusi/, witch-finder.

“Mashune was, I think, one of the bravest men I ever knew in the daytime, but he had a more than civilized dread of the supernatural.

“‘Must I go myself, thou fool?’ I said, sternly.

“‘Nay, Macumazahn, if thy heart yearns for strange things like a sick woman, I go, even if the ghosts devour me.’

“And accordingly he went, and soon returned with a large bundle of watercresses, of which I ate greedily.

“‘Art thou not hungry?’ I asked the great Zulu presently, as he sat eyeing me eating.

“‘Never was I hungrier, my father.’

“‘Then eat,’ and I pointed to the watercresses.

“‘Nay, Macumazahn, I cannot eat those herbs.’

“‘If thou dost not eat thou wilt starve: eat, Mashune.’

“He stared at the watercresses doubtfully for a while, and at last seized a handful and crammed them into his mouth, crying out as he did so, ‘Oh, why was I born that I should live to feed on green weeds like an ox? Surely if my mother could have known it she would have killed me when I was born!’ and so he went on lamenting between each fistful of watercresses till all were finished, when he declared that he was full indeed of stuff, but it lay very cold on his stomach, ‘like snow upon a mountain.’ At any other time I should have laughed, for it must be admitted he had a ludicrous way of putting things. Zulus do not like green food.