



Produced by John Bickers





NADA THE LILY

By H. Rider Haggard




DEDICATION

Sompseu:

For I will call you by the name that for fifty years has been honoured
by every tribe between Zambesi and Cape Agulbas,--I greet you!

Sompseu, my father, I have written a book that tells of men and matters
of which you know the most of any who still look upon the light;
therefore, I set your name within that book and, such as it is, I offer
it to you.

If you knew not Chaka, you and he have seen the same suns shine, you
knew his brother Panda and his captains, and perhaps even that very Mopo
who tells this tale, his servant, who slew him with the Princes. You
have seen the circle of the witch-doctors and the unconquerable Zulu
impis rushing to war; you have crowned their kings and shared their
counsels, and with your son's blood you have expiated a statesman's
error and a general's fault.

Sompseu, a song has been sung in my ears of how first you mastered this
people of the Zulu. Is it not true, my father, that for long hours you
sat silent and alone, while three thousand warriors shouted for your
life? And when they grew weary, did you not stand and say, pointing
towards the ocean: "Kill me if you wish, men of Cetywayo, but I tell
you that for every drop of my blood a hundred avengers shall rise from
yonder sea!"

Then, so it was told me, the regiments turned staring towards the Black
Water, as though the day of Ulundi had already come and they saw the
white slayers creeping across the plains.

Thus, Sompseu, your name became great among the people of the Zulu, as
already it was great among many another tribe, and their nobles did you
homage, and they gave you the Bayete, the royal salute, declaring by the
mouth of their Council that in you dwelt the spirit of Chaka.

Many years have gone by since then, and now you are old, my father. It
is many years even since I was a boy, and followed you when you went up
among the Boers and took their country for the Queen.

Why did you do this, my father? I will answer, who know the truth. You
did it because, had it not been done, the Zulus would have stamped out
the Boers. Were not Cetywayo's impis gathered against the land, and was
it not because it became the Queen's land that at your word he sent them
murmuring to their kraals? (1) To save bloodshed you annexed the country
beyond the Vaal. Perhaps it had been better to leave it, since "Death
chooses for himself," and after all there was killing--of our own
people, and with the killing, shame. But in those days we did not guess
what we should live to see, and of Majuba we thought only as a little
hill!

Enemies have borne false witness against you on this matter, Sompseu,
you who never erred except through over kindness. Yet what does that
avail? When you have "gone beyond" it will be forgotten, since the sting
of ingratitude passes and lies must wither like the winter veldt. Only
your name will not be forgotten; as it was heard in life so it shall be
heard in story, and I pray that, however humbly, mine may pass down with
it. Chance has taken me by another path, and I must leave the ways
of action that I love and bury myself in books, but the old days and
friends are in my mind, nor while I have memory shall I forget them and
you.

Therefore, though it be for the last time, from far across the seas I
speak to you, and lifting my hand I give your "Sibonga" (2) and that
royal salute, to which, now that its kings are gone and the "People of
Heaven" are no more a nation, with Her Majesty you are alone entitled:--

    Bayete! Baba, Nkosi ya makosi!
    Ngonyama! Indhlovu ai pendulwa!
    Wen' o wa vela wasi pata!
    Wen' o wa hlul' izizwe zonke za patwa nguive!
    Wa geina nge la Mabun' o wa ba hlul' u yedwa!
    Umsizi we zintandane e ziblupekayo!
    Si ya kuleka Baba!
    Bayete, T' Sompseu! (3)

and farewell!

H. RIDER HAGGARD.


To Sir Theophilus Shepstone, K.C.M.G., Natal. 13 September, 1891.

 (1) "I thank my father Sompseu for his message. I am glad that he has
    sent it, because the Dutch have tired me out, and I intended to
    fight them once and once only, and to drive them over the Vaal.
    Kabana, you see my impis are gathered. It was to fight the Dutch
    I called them together; now I send them back to their homes."
    --Message from Cetywayo to Sir. T. Shepstone, April, 1877.

 (2) Titles of praise.

 (3) Bayete, Father, Chief of Chiefs!
    Lion! Elephant that is not turned!
    You who nursed us from of old!
    You who overshadowed all peoples and took charge of them,
    And ended by mastering the Boers with your single strength!
    Help of the fatherless when in trouble!
    Salutation to you, Father!
    Bayete, O Sompseu!




PREFACE

The writer of this romance has been encouraged to his task by a purpose
somewhat beyond that of setting out a wild tale of savage life. When he
was yet a lad,--now some seventeen years ago,--fortune took him to South
Africa. There he was thrown in with men who, for thirty or forty years,
had been intimately acquainted with the Zulu people, with their history,
their heroes, and their customs. From these he heard many tales and
traditions, some of which, perhaps, are rarely told nowadays, and in
time to come may cease to be told altogether. Then the Zulus were still
a nation; now that nation has been destroyed, and the chief aim of
its white rulers is to root out the warlike spirit for which it was
remarkable, and to replace it by a spirit of peaceful progress. The Zulu
military organisation, perhaps the most wonderful that the world has
seen, is already a thing of the past; it perished at Ulundi. It was
Chaka who invented that organisation, building it up from the smallest
beginnings. When he appeared at the commencement of this century, it was
as the ruler of a single small tribe; when he fell, in the year 1828,
beneath the assegais of his brothers, Umhlangana and Dingaan, and of his
servant, Mopo or Umbopo, as he is called also, all south-eastern Africa
was at his feet, and in his march to power he had slaughtered more than
a million human beings. An attempt has been made in these pages to set
out the true character of this colossal genius and most evil man,--a
Napoleon and a Tiberius in one,--and also that of his brother and
successor, Dingaan, so no more need be said of them here. The author's
aim, moreover, has been to convey, in a narrative form, some idea of the
remarkable spirit which animated these kings and their subjects, and to
make accessible, in a popular shape, incidents of history which are now,
for the most part, only to be found in a few scarce works of reference,
rarely consulted, except by students. It will be obvious that such a
task has presented difficulties, since he who undertakes it must for a
time forget his civilisation, and think with the mind and speak with the
voice of a Zulu of the old regime. All the horrors perpetrated by the
Zulu tyrants cannot be published in this polite age of melanite and
torpedoes; their details have, therefore, been suppressed. Still much
remains, and those who think it wrong that massacre and fighting
should be written of,--except by special correspondents,--or that the
sufferings of mankind beneath one of the world's most cruel tyrannies
should form the groundwork of romance, may be invited to leave this
book unread. Most, indeed nearly all, of the historical incidents
here recorded are substantially true. Thus, it is said that Chaka did
actually kill his mother, Unandi, for the reason given, and destroy an
entire tribe in the Tatiyana cleft, and that he prophesied of the coming
of the white man after receiving his death wounds. Of the incident of
the Missionary and the furnace of logs, it is impossible to speak so
certainly. It came to the writer from the lips of an old traveller in
"the Zulu"; but he cannot discover any confirmation of it. Still, these
kings undoubtedly put their soldiers to many tests of equal severity.
Umbopo, or Mopo, as he is named in this tale, actually lived. After he
had stabbed Chaka, he rose to great eminence. Then he disappears from
the scene, but it is not accurately known whether he also went "the way
of the assegai," or perhaps, as is here suggested, came to live near
Stanger under the name of Zweete. The fate of the two lovers at the
mouth of the cave is a true Zulu tale, which has been considerably
varied to suit the purposes of this romance. The late Mr. Leslie, who
died in 1874, tells it in his book "Among the Zulus and Amatongas." "I
heard a story the other day," he says, "which, if the power of writing
fiction were possessed by me, I might have worked up into a first-class
sensational novel." It is the story that has been woven into the plot of
this book. To him also the writer is indebted for the artifice by which
Umslopogaas obtained admission to the Swazi stronghold; it was told to
Mr. Leslie by the Zulu who performed the feat and thereby won a wife.
Also the writer's thanks are due to his friends, Mr. F. B. Fynney, (1)
late Zulu border agent, for much information given to him in bygone
years by word of mouth, and more recently through his pamphlet "Zululand
and the Zulus," and to Mr. John Bird, formerly treasurer to the
Government of Natal, whose compilation, "The Annals of Natal," is
invaluable to all who would study the early history of that colony and
of Zululand.

As for the wilder and more romantic incidents of this story, such as the
hunting of Umslopogaas and Galazi with the wolves, or rather with the
hyaenas,--for there are no true wolves in Zululand,--the author can only
say that they seem to him of a sort that might well have been mythically
connected with the names of those heroes. Similar beliefs and traditions
are common in the records of primitive peoples. The club "Watcher of the
Fords," or, to give its Zulu name, U-nothlola-mazibuko, is an historical
weapon, chronicled by Bishop Callaway. It was once owned by a certain
Undhlebekazizwa. He was an arbitrary person, for "no matter what was
discussed in our village, he would bring it to a conclusion with a
stick." But he made a good end; for when the Zulu soldiers attacked him,
he killed no less than twenty of them with the Watcher, and the spears
stuck in him "as thick as reeds in a morass." This man's strength was
so great that he could kill a leopard "like a fly," with his hands only,
much as Umslopogaas slew the traitor in this story.

Perhaps it may be allowable to add a few words about the Zulu mysticism,
magic, and superstition, to which there is some allusion in this
romance. It has been little if at all exaggerated. Thus the writer well
remembers hearing a legend how the Guardian Spirit of the Ama-Zulu was
seen riding down the storm. Here is what Mr. Fynney says of her in the
pamphlet to which reference has been made: "The natives have a spirit
which they call Nomkubulwana, or the Inkosazana-ye-Zulu (the Princess
of Heaven). She is said to be robed in white, and to take the form of
a young maiden, in fact an angel. She is said to appear to some
chosen person, to whom she imparts some revelation; but, whatever
that revelation may be, it is kept a profound secret from outsiders.
I remember that, just before the Zulu war, Nomkubulwana appeared,
revealing something or other which had a great effect throughout the
land, and I know that the Zulus were quite impressed that some calamity
was about to befall them. One of the ominous signs was that fire is said
to have descended from heaven, and ignited the grass over the graves
of the former kings of Zululand.... On another occasion Nomkubulwana
appeared to some one in Zululand, the result of that visit being, that
the native women buried their young children up to their heads in sand,
deserting them for the time being, going away weeping, but returning at
nightfall to unearth the little ones again."

For this divine personage there is, therefore, authority, and the same
may be said of most of the supernatural matters spoken of in these
pages. The exact spiritual position held in the Zulu mind by the
Umkulunkulu,--the Old--Old,--the Great--Great,--the Lord of Heavens,--is
a more vexed question, and for its proper consideration the reader must
be referred to Bishop Callaway's work, the "Religious System of the
Amazulu." Briefly, Umkulunkulu's character seems to vary from the idea
of an ancestral spirit, or the spirit of an ancestor, to that of a god.
In the case of an able and highly intelligent person like the Mopo of
this story, the ideal would probably not be a low one; therefore he is
made to speak of Umkulunkulu as the Great Spirit, or God.

It only remains to the writer to express his regret that this story is
not more varied in its hue. It would have been desirable to introduce
some gayer and more happy incidents. But it has not been possible. It is
believed that the picture given of the times is a faithful one, though
it may be open to correction in some of its details. At the least, the
aged man who tells the tale of his wrongs and vengeance could not be
expected to treat his subject in an optimistic or even in a cheerful
vein.

 (1) I grieve to state that I must now say the late Mr. F. B. Fynney.




NADA THE LILY




INTRODUCTION

Some years since--it was during the winter before the Zulu War--a White
Man was travelling through Natal. His name does not matter, for he plays
no part in this story. With him were two wagons laden with goods, which
he was transporting to Pretoria. The weather was cold and there was
little or no grass for the oxen, which made the journey difficult; but
he had been tempted to it by the high rates of transport that prevailed
at that season of the year, which would remunerate him for any probable
loss he might suffer in cattle. So he pushed along on his journey, and
all went well until he had passed the little town of Stanger, once the
site of Duguza, the kraal of Chaka, the first Zulu king and the uncle of
Cetywayo. The night after he left Stanger the air turned bitterly cold,
heavy grey clouds filled the sky, and hid the light of the stars.

"Now if I were not in Natal, I should say that there was a heavy fall of
snow coming," said the White Man to himself. "I have often seen the sky
look like that in Scotland before snow." Then he reflected that there
had been no deep snow in Natal for years, and, having drunk a "tot" of
squareface and smoked his pipe, he went to bed beneath the after-tent of
his larger wagon.

During the night he was awakened by a sense of bitter cold and the low
moaning of the oxen that were tied to the trek-tow, every ox in its
place. He thrust his head through the curtain of the tent and looked
out. The earth was white with snow, and the air was full of it, swept
along by a cutting wind.

Now he sprang up, huddling on his clothes and as he did so calling to
the Kaffirs who slept beneath the wagons. Presently they awoke from
the stupor which already was beginning to overcome them, and crept out,
shivering with cold and wrapped from head to foot in blankets.

"Quick! you boys," he said to them in Zulu; "quick! Would you see the
cattle die of the snow and wind? Loose the oxen from the trek-tows and
drive them in between the wagons; they will give them some shelter." And
lighting a lantern he sprang out into the snow.

At last it was done--no easy task, for the numbed hands of the Kaffirs
could scarcely loosen the frozen reims. The wagons were outspanned
side by side with a space between them, and into this space the mob of
thirty-six oxen was driven and there secured by reims tied crosswise
from the front and hind wheels of the wagons. Then the White Man crept
back to his bed, and the shivering natives, fortified with gin, or
squareface, as it is called locally, took refuge on the second wagon,
drawing a tent-sail over them.

For awhile there was silence, save for the moaning of the huddled and
restless cattle.

"If the snow goes on I shall lose my oxen," he