Now, for a while, Chaka watched the long black snake of men winding towards him across the plain till the messengers met them and the snake began to climb the slope of the hill.
"How many are these people of thine, Mopo?" asked the king.
"I know not, O Elephant," I answered, "who have not seen them for many years. Perhaps they number three full regiments.""Nay, more," said the king; "what thinkest thou, Mopo, would this people of thine fill the rift behind us?" and he nodded at the gulf of stone.
Now, my father, I trembled in all my flesh, seeing the purpose of Chaka; but I could find no words to say, for my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth.
"The people are many," said Chaka, "yet, Mopo, I bet thee fifty head of cattle that they will not fill the donga.""The king is pleased to jest," I said.
"Yea, Mopo, I jest; yet as a jest take thou the bet.""As the king wills," I murmured--who could not refuse. Now the people of my tribe drew near: at their head was an old man, with white hair and beard, and, looking at him, I knew him for my father, Makedama.
When he came within earshot of the king, he gave him the royal salute of Bayete, and fell upon his hands and knees, crawling towards him, and konzaed to the king, praising him as he came. All the thousands of the people also fell on their hands and knees, and praised the king aloud, and the sound of their praising was like the sound of a great thunder.
At length Makedama, my father, writhing on his breast like a snake, lay before the majesty of the king. Chaka bade him rise, and greeted him kindly; but all the thousands of the people yet lay upon their breasts beating the dust with their heads.
"Rise, Makedama, my child, father of the people of the Langeni," said Chaka, "and tell me why art thou late in coming to my mourning?""The way was far, O King," answered Makedama, my father, who did not know me. "The way was far and the time short. Moreover, the women and the children grew weary and footsore, and they are weary in this hour.""Speak not of it, Makedama, my child," said the king. "Surely thy heart mourned and that of thy people, and soon they shall rest from their weariness. Say, are they here every one?""Every one, O Elephant!--none are wanting. My kraals are desolate, the cattle wander untended on the hills, birds pick at the unguarded crops.""It is well, Makedama, thou faithful servant! Yet thou wouldst mourn with me an hour--is it not so? Now, hearken! Bid thy people pass to the right and to the left of me, and stand in all their numbers upon the slopes of the grass that run down to the lips of the rift."So Makedama, my father, bade the people do the bidding of the king, for neither he nor the indunas saw his purpose, but I, who knew his wicked heart, I saw it. Then the people filed past to the right and to the left by hundreds and by thousands, and presently the grass of the slopes could be seen no more, because of their number. When all had passed, Chaka spoke again to Makedama, my father, bidding him climb down to the bottom of the donga, and thence lift up his voice in mourning. The old man obeyed the king. Slowly, and with much pain, he clambered to the bottom of the rift and stood there. It was so deep and narrow that the light scarcely seemed to reach to where he stood, for I could only see the white of his hair gleaming far down in the shadows.
Then, standing far beneath, he lifted up his voice, and it reached the thousands of those who clustered upon the slopes. It seemed still and small, yet it came to them faintly like the voice of one speaking from a mountain-top in a time of snow:--"Mourn, children of Makedama!"
And all the thousands of the people--men, women, and children--echoed his words in a thunder of sound, crying:--"Mourn, children of Makedama!"
Again he cried:--
"Mourn, people of the Langeni, mourn with the whole world!"And the thousands answered:--
"Mourn, people of the Langeni, mourn with the whole world!"A third time came his voice:--
"Mourn, children of Makedama, mourn, people of the Langeni, mourn with the whole world!
"Howl, ye warriors; weep, ye women; beat your breasts, ye maidens;sob, ye little children!
"Drink of the water of tears, cover yourselves with the dust of affliction.
"Mourn, O tribe of the Langeni, because the Mother of the Heavens is no more.
"Mourn, children of Makedama, because the Spirit of Fruitfulness is no more.
"Mourn, O ye people, because the Lion of the Zulu is left so desolate.
"Let your tears fall as the rain falls, let your cries be as the cries of women who bring forth.
"For sorrow is fallen like the rain, the world has conceived and brought forth death.
"Great darkness is upon us, darkness and the shadow of death.
"The Lion of the Zulu wanders and wanders in desolation, because the Mother of the Heavens is no more.
"Who shall bring him comfort? There is comfort in the crying of his children.
"Mourn, people of the Langeni; let the voice of your mourning beat against the skies and rend them.
"Ou-ai! Ou-ai! Ou-ai!"
Thus sang the old man, my father Makedama, far down in the deeps of the cleft. He sang it in a still, small voice, but, line after line, his song was caught up by the thousands who stood on the slopes above, and thundered to the heavens till the mountains shook with its sound.