The Ruined Cities of Zululand

“What immense numbers of parrots these woods contain,” said Hughes.

“And how slowly and well these savages beat. I should not like to face a panther with nothing but an assegai,” replied Wyzinski.

The two were standing close to the chief as the missionary spoke, a strong party of the bowmen near, when a tremendous uproar took place among the spearmen, a shrill, piercing scream sounding high above the clamour.

“The panther has struck down one of my braves,” exclaimed the Amatonga chief, listening eagerly.

The clamour became louder and louder, seeming to recede.

“Look out, Hughes, they are doubling back, and, if they don’t succeed, must break out.”

Hardly had the words been uttered, when three panthers dashed out from the cover, about twenty paces only from where Umhleswa stood. They looked beautiful but dangerous, as they crouched for a few moments on their bellies in the sand, the bright sun streaming over their painted hides, the end of the tail moving slowly to and fro, and showing their white teeth; then rising, the three, evidently male and female, with their young one a little behind them, came slowly forward, ever crouching for the spring and snarling savagely.

“Are you ready, Wyzinski?” said Hughes, in a low hoarse tone; “take the female—it is nearest to you.”

The men with the bows had disappeared; not so Umhleswa, who stood his ground firmly.

“Take the young one, chief,” whispered the missionary to the Amatonga.

Both the rifles united in one common report, the Spanish piece ringing out a second later. The male panther sprang into the air and fell, nearly at the feet of the little party, quite dead. The female, badly wounded, broke away towards the mountains, while the young one made his spring, striking down the Amatonga chief, and, dashing through a party of the assegai men, again sought shelter in the bush. The fore-arm of the female panther was broken, but it ultimately gained the mountains, with a party of some dozen men after it, yelling, shouting, and discharging their arrows at impossible distances. The poor fellow who had been struck down in the bush was dead, and his body was laid beside the carcass of the leopard. Umhleswa was a good deal hurt; the blow having struck his head, but the animal being young, weak, and frightened, had inflicted only a scalp wound; nevertheless, the chief was stunned, and it was an hour before he recovered consciousness.

For the first time since their arrival among the Amatongas the white men were left to their own device. The confusion was very great, and all assembled round their unconscious chief. A litter was constructed, and they started for the kraal, the whole party of savages accompanying it.

The two Europeans, having once more loaded their rifles, stood watching the retiring and discomfited savages.

“We ought to have that second tiger, Wyzinski; you fired too low,” at last observed Hughes.

“I suppose I did, confused doubtless by the three leaping animals. I am sorry for it. Umhleswa missed his, and it is humiliating that I only wounded mine.”

“Well, what say you, shall we follow the spoor; it will lead us to yonder mountains, where we shall in all probability find the wounded panther?”

“What if we were to follow the young one?”

“No, it would lead us into the forest, and besides it is unwounded. The Amatonga chief missed, and his braves ran away; let us bring in the female; and besides that, now that the hope of finding your cherished ruins has vanished, we have nothing to do but look for sport. The more reason we should not lose this chance.”

The missionary stood leaning on his rifle, and he slowly shook his head as he answered—

“My faith in the existence of those ruins is unshaken; but there was a look of truth in the face of the savage when he assured us none such existed here. Well, we will go to Manica, and perhaps Machin, who is represented as a powerful chief, may throw some light on that.”

“Ay, but how will you get over the sacred nature of the ruins if they do exist?”

“By bribery; depend upon it, nothing succeeds better with the virtuous Amatonga.”

“Well, good-bye to the ruins at present; and whether Solomon knew the land or not, or whether Ophir be here of elsewhere, our object is the skin of the panther.”

Their rifles at the trail, the two hunters moved forward towards the mountains, from which they were separated by several belts of forest, guided by the gouts of blood which the wounded animal had left. These tracks led at first across the open. Here there could be no mistake, for the bowmen had followed the animal for some distance, shouting and firing off their arrows, but the two hunters soon struck into the brush once more, and still guided by the spots of blood, pressed on cautiously but quickly. Hardly a word was spoken as they forced their way onward, the yells and shouts of the Amatongas dying away; and, with the exception of the breaking of the branches, and the sound of running water in the bed of the stream, all was still. After heavy rains this river must be a considerable one, but at that moment it was small, so the hunters followed, so far as was practicable, its course, the wounded panther having done the same. After having proceeded thus some two miles in the brush, sometimes stumbling over the boulders of stone, sometimes with difficulty forcing a pathway among the trees and bushes, the river turned suddenly to the right, and as suddenly the forest ceased.

The missionary halted, and looked about him anxiously.

“What’s the matter?” asked Hughes in a low tone, cocking his rifle as he spoke.

“See,” answered the other, “the stream has been dammed up here, and there are evident traces of masonry. This is strange.”

“We are close to the end of this belt of forest-land, and shall soon solve the mystery, if there be one.”

“There is a considerable sheet of water here, and why should it exist? Can we be near some large kraal?”

Slowly the two moved forward, and as they did so the trees became gradually further apart, the banks of the stream seemed quite clear, even from brushwood. A sharp bend led to the right, and there before them, tumbled here and there among the mighty trees, looking like masses of rock, lay scattered far as the eye could reach, following the bend of the river, fallen masonry.

Both stopped dead in utter astonishment, looking like men at once frightened and bewildered, the missionary’s usually calm and impassive countenance growing one moment deadly, pale, the next flushing a deep crimson. So great was the shock, so totally unexpected the event—for he had perfectly believed in what the Amatonga had said—that the tears stood in his eyes.

Here, then, was a confirmation of all his theories. Here the vast ruins among the gold fields of king Solomon; here the source of the Sabe, or Golden River, down whose stream the boats of bygone days floated gold, cedar-wood, and precious stones. An Englishman’s first impulse at once seized on Hughes, and, yielding to it, the two exchanged a vigorous shake of the hand.

“What could induce Umhleswa to tell us such an untruth?” were the first words which broke from the missionary’s lips.

“Because the ruins are sacred, and these people believe no rain will fall for three years if they be molested,” was the reply. A sense of the danger now stole upon the missionary’s mind as his comrade spoke.

“Hughes, I shall go on; but I have no right and no wish to endanger your life. Leave the adventure to me; return to camp while there is yet time.”

The soldier’s face flushed to the roots of his hair, and he made no reply, simply grasping his rifle and moving forward.

“Stay,” urged the missionary, laying his hand on the other’s shoulder, “I meant no unkindness. As a matter of simple prudence you ought to return. If harm happened to one of us, it would not matter as far as the world is concerned; if to both, this secret would be lost with us.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” replied Hughes, firmly, “but come along. We are comrades in danger as in all else. What one shares, the other does too. This must have been once a vast pile.”

“Gold, cedars, and now the ruins; we have found all,” muttered the missionary, as, yielding the point, he strode onward, once more sinking into reverie.

There rose right in front of them two massive ruins of pyramidical form, which must at one time have been of great height. Even now, broken and fallen as they were, the solid bases only remaining, they were noble and imposing. Part had come tumbling down, in one jumbled mass, into the bed of the river, while the dwarf acacia and palm were shooting up among the stones, breaking and disjointing them. The two gazed long and silently at these vast mounds, the very memory of whose builders had passed away.

Awe-struck and surprised, they sat down by the stream, and, without exchanging a word, drank of the clear water. Their clothes torn, hands and faces bleeding from the exertions made in forcing their way through the bush, their skin tanned to a deep mahogany colour, there they stood at last among the ruined cities of a lost race. By the banks of the stream the pomegranate, the plantain, and the mango, were growing in wild luxuriance—trees not known in the land, consequently imported.

Overshadowing the fallen blocks of stone, the date-tree and palmyra waved their fan-like leaves. Dense masses of powerful creepers crept up the ruins, rending the solid masonry; and the seeds of the trees dropping year by year had produced a rapid undergrowth, those which had once been valuable fruit-trees having degenerated into wild ones. Chaos had, in a word, re-appeared where once trade and prosperity, order and regularity reigned.

“Let us gather some of the custard-apples, and climb yonder ruin,” said the missionary, speaking for the first time.

It was no easy task; for the accumulation of fallen masonry, and the dense growth of the brush, rendered it often necessary for the onward path to be cleared by the use of the knife. The whole mass appeared at one time to have been encircled by a wall, now fallen, the entrances to which could be distinctly traced, and this confirmed the report which, had been gathered by the missionaries of Santa Lucia Bay.

Slowly the two forced their way towards the vast ruined mound they were striving to gain, often stumbling and falling among the loose stones and treacherous creepers.

A crowd of half-fallen passages led away to right and left, terminating in what appeared to be a court-yard, in which were the remains of pillars of stone.

“There has once been carved work on these pillars, Hughes,” said the missionary, as they paused, breathless with their exertions, before a mighty column. “The action of ages has worn it away.”

“And what is more singular,” replied Hughes, who now seemed as much interested in the ruins as his comrade, “no mortar of any kind appears to have been used, the massive stones fitting into one another exactly.”

“This temple or palace has stood upon a kind of platform of masonry,” remarked the missionary, “with broad steps leading up to it. What a commanding object it must then have been.”

“The difficulty will be to climb what was once the flight of steps,” said Hughes. “I don’t see how we can manage it.”

Slinging their rifles behind them, and after many failures, the two helping each other from time to time, and taking advantage of every projection, stood at last on the raised platform on which the building had rested. Below them ran a maze of crumbled galleries and court-yards: and wherever the eye could penetrate, mounds of fallen masonry cropped up amidst the dense forest growth.

The vast ruin itself was now a shapeless mass, being utterly broken and defaced. The top of the mound was overgrown by bush, interlaced with creeping plants, and, as using their knives, the two cut their way onward, the light of day penetrated feebly into a ruined chamber of vast size. A dead silence reigned therein, and as they paused at the entrance and looked back on the scene which lay below, perhaps the first Europeans who had stood on that weird spot for many ages, the missionary could not but feel dispirited.

“The day-dream of my life realised. I stand among the ruins of the cities of old; but where they begin, or where they end I know not. The forest has re-asserted her old rights, torn from her by the hand of civilisation,” he remarked.

“Look where you will there is nothing to be seen but broken mounds and tottering walls; it would require a brigade of men and years of work to clear these ruins,” replied Hughes.

“Yes, the extent of them is a mystery at present. We can but affirm their existence. What a deep dead silence hangs over the spot. Let us go on.”

They penetrated the ruined chamber, but hardly had they put their feet across the threshold, when bats in vast numbers came sweeping along, raising, as they did so, a fine dust, which was nearly blinding. The ruins seemed their home, and there they lived, bred, and died in countless numbers. Some were of a sickly-looking greenish colour, and of heavy and lumbering flight, often striking against the two explorers as they came along.

At one moment the missionary was surrounded by these tenants of the ruined palace, these winged things which had taken for themselves the abodes of the Pharaohs of old. He struck out in self-defence and killed several, measuring one for curiosity. Its length was only between five and six inches, but when the wings were spread it was at least nineteen from tip to tip. Their numbers seemed to increase, for troops of others, of a dull brownish-red colour, joined their loathsome companions, and then a third species of a chestnut brown, mingled with dingy white, came trooping along. What the building had been it was impossible to tell; but it must have once seemed a mighty pile standing on its platform of stonework, with a flight of broad steps leading to it. These steps had disappeared; but remains of them could be noticed, and from the elevation where the two stood the line which had once been the wall of the town could be traced here and there. There were not any remains of a purely Egyptian character, save a worn arabesque representing the process of maize-grinding; but this was to be seen daily practised among the tribes, and therefore proved nothing, for it remained an open question whether the natives had taken it from the sculptor, or whether he had imitated the natives. Here and there were remains of carvings representing serpents, birds, and beasts of uncouth form, leading to the belief that the building had once been a temple. Passing along, nearly blinded by the fine dust, their knives cut them a way out, and the breeze and sunshine seemed doubly welcome after the dank, confined air of the old ruin. Huge lizards glided away among the broken stones as they emerged from the corridor—for such it seemed—and monkeys were to be seen darting away among the trees as they let themselves down from the platform. These animals had not any tails, resembling those found among the Atlas mountains; while the jackal and hyena, surprised at the sight of human beings in this solitary spot, sneaked away among the masses of fallen masonry, snarling as they looked back. Near the stream the spoor of the elephant was distinctly visible, and it was evident this was one of their favourite feeding grounds, for the banks were strewed with the broken branches of the mashuka-trees, and the débris of the plantains. The tamarind-trees and palmyra grew luxuriantly, and for hours the two wandered among the ruins or, seated on the fallen heaps, lost themselves in conjectures on the past, “It is impossible,” at last said Wyzinski, seating himself, fairly wearied out, “for us to explore further these relics of the past. We can but tell of their existence, I repeat.”

“The axe, or fire—perhaps both—would be necessary before even their extent could be known,” replied Hughes. “Look at that mass of masonry, thickly hedged round with date, camel thorn, and white mimosa. Mark the thick undergrowth and the strange creeping vine-like shrubs running along the ground, and festooning themselves to the trees, and the difficulty will be realised.”

“There seem to me to be caves cut in yonder mountain-side: let us go there.”

In rear of the ruins rose the slopes of the Malopopo hills, and leading in that direction was a kind of passage through a lower range, the river flowing in the middle. On each side rose the rocks, scarped down towards the bed of the stream, from which coal was cropping out. The summits of the hills were worn and rounded by the action of time, and here and there clumps of trees were growing on the river banks. It was up this cut the two advanced, Hughes leading. Stopping as he turned a shoulder of the rock, the missionary joined him. Seven rhinoceroses were sleeping quietly by the water side under the trees, the boughs of which were literally bending under the mass of nests made by the same bright yellow bird which had been seen so numerous on the Sofala river.

The animals were totally different from any other that had been seen.

“They have a perfectly smooth skin,” remarked Hughes.

“Yes, and are of a pale yellow colour instead of brown, like the one which treated me so unceremoniously in the country of the Matabele. Both the horns too are pointed, and both long.”

“We had better look out. See they have awoke, and are getting into line ready to charge us.”

In fact the brutes seemed very savage, and so soon as they perceived the intruders on their solitude, they charged down the glen. Scrambling up a rock, the danger was easily avoided. The herd passed on except one old cow with its young one, who halted after having gone some twenty yards, and turning deliberately round returned, gazing with apparently great curiosity at the white men. It was impossible to pass; and there stood the great lumbering animal fairly mounting guard over the two who, perched on the rock, were only wishful to be left alone.

There was nothing for it, however, but to get rid of the troublesome visitor; so, leaning the rifles on the flat rock on which they were lying, by agreement both aimed for the centre of the forehead. The two reports seemed as one, as for a moment the rhinoceros stood firmly, and then fell over into the river, dyeing the water with blood. It was a great size, measuring close upon twelve feet in length, and ten in girth, while the horns were so nearly matched that there was not a quarter of an inch difference between them. The openings of several caves were to be seen, and near one there appeared to have been some fight lately, for blood, evidently quite fresh, was lying about.

To this cave the two climbed, entering very cautiously. Chance had again favoured them, for there lay the leopard quite dead. Bones of different kinds were heaped about, showing that for a time at least it had been the abode of wild animals. It was about twenty feet high, and there were some curious carvings on the walls, the entrance having evidently been scarped down by the hand of man. Close to the doorway were two colossal carvings, as if to guard the mouth of the cave. Each represented the figure of a nearly naked warrior, having a covering only round the loins; and each held in his hand two spears, and not having any shield—in this widely differing from the present race. The faces of these figures seemed of an Arab type. There was no trace of door, but some broken remains would seem to indicate that the entrance had once been walled up, while close by lay a slab of stone bearing a tracing on it of the figure of the African elephant. There were many similar caverns here and there in the mountain-side.

“The sun is sinking, Wyzinski,” said Hughes, “It will be impossible to retrace our way in the darkness, and the moon does not rise until eleven o’clock; we had better stay where we are.”

“I am tired out,” replied the missionary. “I don’t doubt but that these caverns have once been the graves of the dead belonging to yonder city. This may well serve for ours, only we must contrive a fire.”

“Yes, or we may have the young leopard back, if Umhleswa’s Spanish rifle has not done for him. We have still half an hour of daylight: the branches dragged down by the elephants lie in heaps down yonder, and are dry.”

The half hour sufficed, a fire was lit at the entrance of the cave on the ledge outside, and the missionary, lying down, was soon buried in sleep.

The day had been very hot, and what with the excitement, fatigue, and want of nourishment, the two were tired out. Still Hughes determined to watch, as heaping wood on the fire, he placed his rifle on his knees, and leaned back in a sitting posture against the rock. Night came on; the cries of the animals began to be heard, and the jackals soon found out the carcass of the rhinoceros. The stars were very brilliant, and the soldier sat thinking of the past, and peopling in imagination those fantastic masses of fallen ruin which had once at that hour rang with bustle and merriment. The wind came in hot puffs, making the date and palmyra leaves rustle as they waved to and fro; the noise of the stream breaking over the fallen masonry was very monotonous, and soon the sentry found himself dozing. He rose, heaped fresh wood on the fire, looked out from the ledge into the night, listened to the cracking of the branches, which told him that elephants were not far off, and then again sat down.

The moon rose, silvering with its beams the finely-cut leaves of the tall palmyra and the broken ruins, shining on the human figure at the entrance of the cave, and gleaming on the bright barrel and lock of the English rifle; but the soldier slept on his post; the jackals fought over the carrion, the fire burned lower and lower, and finally went out. Day was dawning, when a loud shout close to the mouth of the cavern woke both the soldier and the missionary, but only to find themselves surrounded by a band of the Amatonga warriors fully armed, while the savage eyes and filed teeth of their chief Umhleswa, seemed to give a more vindictive expression than ever to his repulsive face.