Adventures in Swaziland Part 11

As the fires were beginning to glow in the dusk, the old queen came.

She was accompanied by only two or three warriors and several women.

Tuys gave her a bottle of gin, and she took a very large drink before they started talking. Like all the Swazis, she was inordinately fond of spirits.

I sat close to Tuys, feeling sure that I would hear something interesting. Labotsibeni did not want to talk while I was there and suggested that I go and see the sacrifice. She said she would send her warriors with me and thus I could see the ten indunas killed. This did not appeal strongly to me, but Tuys seemed to think I ought not to miss it.

"Mzaan Bakoor, you won't get another chance soon to see a Swazi king's burial ceremonies," he said. "You had better go." Then he added in Dutch, "Don't be afraid, boy. You are perfectly safe with her men. No one dare touch them."

So I reluctantly went. It was dark by this time, and it seemed as though all Swaziland was going to attend the sacrifice. We soon found ourselves in a great crowd, every one armed and in full war costume.

There were no women, these being left behind to mind the fires.

The two warriors who acted as my escort were great grim-faced savages, both of them a head taller than me. They must have been well over six feet, and I had to almost trot to keep up with them. Both were indunas, and from what they said I gathered that a brother of one of them was to be killed at the sacrifice. Both spoke of his impending death as though it were a great honor. It was not until the actual ceremony that I was sure whose brother it was.

The fire in front of Buno's hut was a great blaze. It lighted up the scores of huts nearby and revealed thousands of warriors drawn up in rows, more than twenty deep, about it. By using Queen Labotsibeni's name, my escort forced our way through until we stood on the very edge of the fire. All about me I could hear the deep-throated voices of the warriors.

For fully fifteen minutes nothing happened, except that those behind seemed to press closer. Then suddenly a number of men dashed into the open s.p.a.ce, each bearing a huge bundle of f.a.ggots. They waited, bundles on head, and an expectant hush succeeded the hum of voices.

The only sound was the crackle of the fire.

From where we stood we could see the entrance to Buno's hut, standing out like a black spot in the illumination. While we watched a strange figure came out. He was wearing furs and feathers and wore a hideous mask. It was the head witch-doctor! Behind him came six or seven lesser witch-doctors bearing the body of the king. They straightened up, and a second later lifted their burden above their heads. At this the head witch-doctor threw up his hands and the entire mult.i.tude of warriors gave the triple royal salute. The earth fairly trembled when their feet came down. Then the f.a.ggot-men threw their loads into the fire and the flames leaped a score of feet into the air. The king's body was placed on the mats in front of his hut, the witch-doctors forming a guard on either side. This was the beginning of the real ceremony. Led by the chief witch-doctor, the dancing began.

Now the Swaziland idea of dancing consists of leaps into the air and incessant stamping of the feet. Soon thousands were dancing and the dust became a haze before the bright flames of the fire. I was probably the only person within sight of Buno's body who was not dancing. My two bodyguards were leaping wildly, and I noted that they were most earnest in their exercise.

The dance must have lasted five minutes. It was brought to a sudden stop by the chief witch-doctor, who threw up his arms and called a halt. In just as short a time as they had gone dance mad, the entire a.s.semblage quieted down. The stirring ceased and I could feel the air of dread expectancy that showed the end of the drama was in sight.

[Ill.u.s.tration: QUEEN TZANEEN, MOTHER OF THE CROWN PRINCE

She is wearing a silk wrap presented to her by Dr. O'Neil. Note the hair, which is worked up into this peculiar shape upon marriage]

[Ill.u.s.tration: QUEEN TZANEEN WITH SOME ZULU PRINCESSES

They had arrived to present themselves in marriage to the prince. They are cousins of the queen, as she is a Zulu by birth]

[Ill.u.s.tration: UMZULEK, A RESOURCEFUL AND INFLUENTIAL EXILE

He is living in a territory set aside for him. On his right is Prince Bilakzi, who is soliciting his a.s.sistance for Sebuza in obtaining his throne]

The witch-doctor gave some sort of a command, and from behind Buno's hut came ten of the most splendid savages I have ever seen. They were all indunas and wore the full costume of their rank. On their heads were great plumes and each carried his s.h.i.+eld, k.n.o.b-kerrie, and a.s.segai. With steady tramp they pa.s.sed by their dead king and lined up, facing his body, in front of the fire.

No sooner were they in place than they gave the royal salute. Then they did something I had not seen before. With steady rythmic strokes they beat on their great s.h.i.+elds with their k.n.o.b-kerries. This lasted for only a moment, but it was like the throbbing of a heart--the heart of Swaziland, it seemed to me.

When the hollow roar died, the chief witch-doctor stepped out and made an oration. We could not hear him very plainly. However, I caught a few phrases.

"Indunas, great heroes of Swaziland," he shouted, ill.u.s.trating his words with extravagant gestures and contortions, "You have been chosen of all our people to die with our king. There is not one present who does not envy you! Tens of thousands are here, and all covet the honor that is yours.

"Buno, our great king, the saviour of Swaziland, has gone! Great indunas, you would not want to live without your peerless leader--life would mean nothing!"

There was a lot more, but I did not get it. The oration must have lasted a good half hour, the condemned men standing like statues all the while. I did not understand the last remarks of the witch-doctor, but the instant he stopped the royal salute, repeated once, crashed out.

Then the first of the ten indunas stepped out. He raised his s.h.i.+eld and k.n.o.b-kerrie above his head and saluted the dead king. Immediately came the "thunder of the s.h.i.+elds." Every warrior in the entire crowd began striking his s.h.i.+eld with his k.n.o.b-kerrie. There was no staccato to the blows--rather a rubbing, pulling stroke that brought each blow out with repeated vibrations. In a few moments a cadence was set up and the strokes came all together at equal intervals. The effect was terrific; the air seemed to pulsate with the vibrations and it seemed to catch me right in the pit of the stomach.

The steady drumming slowly rose in a crescendo, and then the induna turned from the king's body and with one far-flung motion threw his s.h.i.+eld and arms into the fire. Next he turned, threw his head back, and faced the body. Slowly and firmly he stepped forward until he stood beside his dead king.

The chief witch-doctor stood a pace or two from him, his right hand holding a great curved knife which gleamed and s.h.i.+mmered in the bright light of the fire. There was a tense moment, made doubly painful by the steady roar of the beaten s.h.i.+elds. I was fascinated. I knew what was coming and dreaded to see it. Yet I found myself powerless to look away; my eyes were riveted on that murderous knife!

Slowly the witch-doctor raised the knife above his head. Then one step forward, a lightning thrust, and the induna came down like a falling tree! He did not stir; there was no convulsive death struggle. The doctor was an efficient butcher.

Each of the others went to his death in exactly the same way. There was no flinching, no hesitation; open-eyed and unafraid these savages went like stoics to their death. The witch-doctor did not bungle; each stroke brought death and there was no need for the services of his a.s.sistants who stood ready with stabbing spears.

The next to the last man to die was the brother of the fiercest of my two bodyguards. This was evident from the new energy with which my man beat his s.h.i.+eld. If I had not noticed this, his remark after the knife went home would have enlightened me.

"A man! A brave man! A warrior!" he said to his companion in a hoa.r.s.e, dust-choked voice. "My brother is a brave induna. He is a true son of my mother!"

When the last man was sacrificed, the witch-doctor made another speech. It was about what heroes the ten indunas had been and what a great king they had lost. One sentence I remember.

"So long as warriors are willing to die for Swaziland," he shouted, "our country is safe! So long as our best face death without fear, we need not fear the Zulus, Boers, or British. The white men fear death.

They can never stand against our impis if our warriors are led by such men as those who died to-night!"

The thought came to me that it was rather foolish to kill indunas, leaders of warriors, in this fas.h.i.+on, but it was the ancient custom and their brave death made for heroism among those who lived. Each kraal to which one of the sacrificed indunas belonged gloried in his death and it became a tradition for the younger warriors to live up to.

The doctor ceased speaking after a little and the crowd began to move away. The king's body was taken back to his hut and the fire allowed to burn low. When we left, which we did as soon as we could, the chief witch-doctor was marching up and down outside the hut and accompanying his steps with a sort of chant.

My most distinct memory of the sacrifice is the sensation I suffered when the drumming of the s.h.i.+elds reached its height. I shall never forget this. Every time I hear the ba.s.s drum stroked, bringing out all its ba.s.s vibrations, memory jerks me back to the unerring slash of the sacrificial knife at Buno's kraal in Lebombo. I know that for months afterward I used to hear those s.h.i.+elds in that brief moment between wakefulness and sleep.

Labotsibeni had gone when I reached camp. Oom Tuys was pacing up and down, smoking his great pipe and waiting for me. He gave me a hug when I reached the firelight and seemed quite relieved at seeing me.

"I was worried, you were so long," he said. "Buno's death means trouble in Swaziland, and I was afraid you might have been captured as a hostage or even killed. Tell me, what did you see?"

Then I told him all about the sacrifice. I found myself strangely tired and lay down while I talked. Tuys listened without interruption until I had finished. Then he asked, "Are you sure there were ten indunas sacrificed?"

I told him I was sure, because I had mechanically counted them when they stood before the fire.

"Then I am safe," he replied. "If ten have been killed, there will be no more. Ten is the royal number, and there must not be one more or less. Good!"

Then he told me about Queen Labotsibeni's visit. It seems she had called on "The White King of Swaziland" for his help in a matter of importance to the state. Buno's death had left the throne vacant.

Queen Tzaneen could not reign because she was not a native-born Swazi.

Her child, if a man, could not become king until he became of age.

Hence the throne was vacant, and Labotsibeni wanted Tuys to use his influence to have her recognized as queen by the British and Boers.

"The old lady is right," he said. "She is the only one able to rule Swaziland. Every one knows that she practically ruled as the royal queen of King Umbandine and during Buno's reign she was always the power behind the throne. Most of the time she was not very far behind, either!

"She is very keen. She demanded that I pay the tribute to her in place of Buno! I told her that she could have the gin, but that I could not give her the gold without permission from Oom Paul. She didn't like that very much, but I was able to make her see that I was right.

To-morrow I shall take her the gin and she'll have to be satisfied with that.

"I shall recommend that Labotsibeni be appointed regent until the right king is found. Umzulek, I hear, thinks that he ought to succeed Buno, and there is talk that he will take the throne by force. I shall have to prevent that."

Exhausted as I was, I found sleep difficult that night. For some time I lay there listening to Tuys's regular breathing and afraid that he might snore, as he did sometimes. If he had, I know I could not have stood it--each deep note would have started the s.h.i.+elds drumming again.

We were up at dawn next morning and never did that first cup of coffee taste so good. Buno was to be buried that day and I hoped to see a ceremony. Before we had breakfasted a score of Labotsibeni's warriors, led by a lesser induna, arrived as our escort for the day. They brought word that Buno would be "taken to the caves when the shadows were least," or at noon. The indunas who had been sacrificed, however, were being buried during the morning. So we decided to attend the funerals.