In the midst of these scenes which passed outside
her hut, sat Sihamba brooding. As chieftainess
she still had about a pint of water stored in a jar,
but though she had made Suzanne drink, herself she
drank but little, for she would not consent to suffer
less than those about her.
Now Sihamba’s eyes fell upon the child who was
licking stones, and her heart was wrung with pity.
Going into the hut she fetched most of the water in
a gourd, and calling to the child, who staggered towards
her, for she could scarcely walk, she gave it to her,
bidding her drink slowly.
In a moment it was gone, every drop of it, and, behold!
the dim eyes brightened, and the shrunken limbs seemed
to grow round again, while the young voice, no longer
high and cracked, praised and blessed her name.
Sihamba motioned the child away, then she went into
the hut to weep, only weep she could not, since her
eyes were too dry for tears.
“Three more days,” she thought to herself,
“and they will all be dead unless rain should
fall. Yes, the cowards, and those whom their
cowardice has betrayed will all be dead together.”
As she thought thus, Suzanne entered the hut, and
there was tidings in her eyes.
“What is it, sister,” asked Sihamba, “and
whence do you come?”
“I come from the high seat upon the edge of
the cliff,” she answered, “where I have
sat all day, for I can no longer bear these sights,
and I have this to tell, that the Zulus are marching
across the plain, but not towards Zululand, since
they head for the Quathlamba Mountains.”
SIHAMBA PREVAILS
Now a fire of hope shot up in Sihamba’s eyes,
but soon it died out again.
“It is a trick, it must be a trick,” she
said, “for who ever heard of a Zulu loosing
the prey that was in his hand? Never dare he do
it save by the command of the king,” and she
left the hut to be met by others running with the
same tidings. Of these she sent some down the
gorge to bring her report of what had happened, and
with them Zinti, for she could not altogether trust
the word of her own people.
Within an hour the messengers returned, and on their
faces was a strange look which, clever as she was,
Sihamba did not understand.
“Is the path clear?” she asked.
“No, chieftainess,” they replied, “it
is still blocked, for though the Zulus have gone we
know not where by order received from Dingaan, Bull-Head
holds it with such of his own men as are left alive.”
“Had you speech with the white man?” she
asked.
“Yes, lady.”
“Say on.”
Now they looked about them like people who are ashamed,
but at last the oldest of them spoke.
