



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




John Ames, Native Commissioner, by Bertram Mitford.

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JOHN AMES, NATIVE COMMISSIONER, BY BERTRAM MITFORD.



CHAPTER ONE.

MADULA'S CATTLE.

Madula's kraal, in the Sikumbutana, was in a state of quite unusual
excitement.

The kraal, a large one, surrounded by an oval ring-fence of thorn,
contained some seventy or eighty huts.  Three or four smaller kraals
were dotted around within a mile of it, and the whole lay in a wide,
open basin sparsely grown with mimosa and low scrub, shut in by
round-topped acacia-grown hills bearing up against the sky-line at no
great distance.

The time was towards evening, usually the busy time of the day, for then
it was that the cattle were driven in for milking.  But now, although
the sun was within an hour of the western horizon, no lowing herds could
be descried, threading, in dappled streams, the surrounding bush,
converging upon the kraal.  The denizens of the calf-pens might low for
their mothers, and might low in vain; and this was primarily at the root
of the prevailing excitement.

In the neighbourhood of the chief's hut squatted six or eight
head-ringed men, sullen and resentful, conversing not much, and in low
murmurs.  At a respectful distance the young men of the kraal clustered
in dark groups; less reserved, judging from the fierce hubbub of angry
voices, which their elders made no effort to restrain.  Few women were
visible, and such as were, kept well within the shelter of the huts at
the back of those of the chief, peering forth anxiously, or darting out
to retrieve some fat runaway toddler, which seemed to be straying in the
direction of all sorts of imaginary danger.  And, in the centre of all
this brewing commotion, quite unconcerned, although clearly the object
of it, stood ten men, or to be more accurate, eleven.  These were of the
same colour and build, of the same cast of features, as those around
them, but whereas the excited inhabitants of the kraal wore nothing but
the _mutya_, these were clad in neat uniform, consisting of blue serge
tunic, red-braided khaki knee-breeches, and fez caps; and while the
others showed no weapons--as yet--save knobsticks, these were armed with
Martini rifles and well-filled bandoliers.  They consisted, in fact, of
a sergeant and ten men of the Chartered Company's Matabele Police, and
to their presence and errand there at that time was due the brooding,
not to say dangerous, excitement prevailing.  The nature of that errand
stood revealed in the _indaba_ then being held between the two opposing
parties.

"Who talks of time?" said the police sergeant, swelling himself out in
his uniform, with the swagger of a native of no class who finds himself
in a position of authority, and by virtue of it qualified to domineer
over and flout those of his own race to whom formerly he looked up with
deference.  "Who talks of time?  You have had time, Madula--more than
enough time--yet the cattle have not been sent in.  Now we have come to
take them.  It is the `word' of the Government."

A click, expressive of contemptuous disgust, broke from the groups of
bystanders, and with it deep-toned murmurs of savage wrath.  But its
only effect was further to develop the arrogant swagger of the native
sergeant.

"Keep your dogs quiet, Madula," he said insolently, with a sneering
glance at the murmurers.  "_Hau_!  A man cannot talk amid such a barking
of curs."

"A man!  _Hau_!  A man!  A dog rather.  A dog--who cringes to those who
throw stones at him and his father's house," they shouted, undeterred by
the presence of their elders and chief; for the familiar, and therefore
impudent manner in which this uniformed "dog of the Government" had
dared to address their chief by name, stung them beyond control.  "Who
is the `dog'?  Nanzicele, the bastard.  Not his father's son, for Izwe
was a brave man and a true, and could never have been the father of such
a whelp as Nanzicele.  _Au_!  Go home, Nanzicele.  Go home!" they
shouted, shaking their sticks with roars of jeering laughter, in which
there was no note of real mirth.

At these insults Nanzicele's broad countenance grew set with fury and
his eyes glared, for beneath the uniform seeming to tell of discipline
and self-restraint, the heart of a savage beat hard--the heart of a
savage as fierce and ruthless as that which beat in the dusky breast of
any of those around.  A Matabele of pure blood, he had fought in the
ranks of Lo Bengula during the war of occupation, and that he and others
should have taken service under their conquerors was an offence the
conquered were not likely to forgive.  As to his courage though, there
was no question, and for all his insolence and swagger, no qualm of
misgiving was in his mind as he faced the jeering, infuriated crowd with
a savage contempt not less than their own.  They represented a couple of
hundred at least, and he and his ten men, for all their rifles and
cartridges, would be a mere mouthful to them in the event of a sudden
rush.

"Dogs?  Nay, nay.  It is ye who are the dogs--all dogs--dogs of the
Government which has made me a chief," was his fierce retort, as he
stood swelling out his chest in the pride of his newly acquired
importance.  "You have no chiefs now; all are dogs--dogs of the
Government.  I--_I_ am a chief."

"_Hau_!  A dog-chief.  _Nkose_!  We hail thee, Nanzicele, chief of the
dogs!" roared some; while others, more infuriated than the rest, began
to crowd in upon the little knot of police.  Before the latter could
even bring their rifles to the present, Madula rose, with both hands
outspread.  Like magic the tumult was stayed at the gesture, though
deep-toned mutterings still rolled through the crowd like the
threatening of distant thunder.

The chief, Madula, was an elderly man, tall and powerfully built.  Like
the police sergeant he was of the "Abezantzi," the "people from below"--
i.e. those from lower down the country, who came up with Umzilikazi, and
who constituted the aristocratic order of the Matabele nation, being of
pure Zulu parentage; whereas many of his tribal followers were not;
hence the haughty contempt with which the police sergeant treated the
menacing attitude of the crowd.  Standing there; his shaven head--
crowned with the shiny ring--thrown back in the easy unconscious dignity
of command; his tall erect frame destitute of clothing save the _mutya_
round the loins--of adornment save for a string of symbolical wooden
beads, the savage chieftain showed to immeasurable advantage as
contrasted with the cheap swagger