“My name is Umbopa. I am of the Zulu people,
yet not of them. The house of my tribe is in
the far North; it was left behind when the Zulus came
down here a ‘thousand years ago,’ long
before Chaka reigned in Zululand. I have no kraal.
I have wandered for many years. I came from the
North as a child to Zululand. I was Cetewayo’s
man in the Nkomabakosi Regiment, serving there under
the great Captain, Umslopogaasi of the Axe,[*] who
taught my hands to fight. Afterwards I ran away
from Zululand and came to Natal because I wanted to
see the white man’s ways. Next I fought
against Cetewayo in the war. Since then I have
been working in Natal. Now I am tired, and would
go North again. Here is not my place. I
want no money, but I am a brave man, and am worth
my place and meat. I have spoken.”
[*] For the history of Umslopogaasi and his Axe, the
reader is
referred to the books called
“Allan Quatermain” and “Nada the
Lily.”—Editor.
I was rather puzzled by this man and his way of speech.
It was evident to me from his manner that in the main
he was telling the truth, but somehow he seemed different
from the ordinary run of Zulus, and I rather mistrusted
his offer to come without pay. Being in a difficulty,
I translated his words to Sir Henry and Good, and asked
them their opinion.
Sir Henry told me to ask him to stand up. Umbopa
did so, at the same time slipping off the long military
great coat which he wore, and revealing himself naked
except for the moocha round his centre and a necklace
of lions’ claws. Certainly he was a magnificent-looking
man; I never saw a finer native. Standing about
six foot three high he was broad in proportion, and
very shapely. In that light, too, his skin looked
scarcely more than dark, except here and there where
deep black scars marked old assegai wounds. Sir
Henry walked up to him and looked into his proud,
handsome face.
“They make a good pair, don’t they?”
said Good; “one as big as the other.”
“I like your looks, Mr. Umbopa, and I will take
you as my servant,” said Sir Henry in English.
Umbopa evidently understood him, for he answered in
Zulu, “It is well”; and then added, with
a glance at the white man’s great stature and
breadth, “We are men, thou and I.”
AN ELEPHANT HUNT
Now I do not propose to narrate at full length all
the incidents of our long travel up to Sitanda’s
Kraal, near the junction of the Lukanga and Kalukwe
Rivers. It was a journey of more than a thousand
miles from Durban, the last three hundred or so of
which we had to make on foot, owing to the frequent
presence of the dreadful “tsetse” fly,
whose bite is fatal to all animals except donkeys and
men.
We left Durban at the end of January, and it was in
the second week of May that we camped near Sitanda’s
Kraal. Our adventures on the way were many and
various, but as they are of the sort which befall every
African hunter—with one exception to be
presently detailed—I shall not set them
down here, lest I should render this history too wearisome.
