Child of Storm

Saduko walked away as though he did not hear.

"Who is he?" I asked.

"One of high blood," answered Umbezi shortly. "He might be a chief

to-day had not his father been a plotter and a wizard. Dingaan smelt him

out"--and he made a sideways motion with his hand that among the Zulus

means much. "Yes, they were killed, almost every one; the chief, his

wives, his children and his headmen--every one except Chosa

his brother and his son Saduko, whom Zikali the dwarf, the

Smeller-out-of-evil-doers, the Ancient, who was old before Senzangakona

became a father of kings, hid him. There, that is an evil tale to talk

of," and he shivered. "Come, White Man, and doctor that old Cow of mine,

or she will give me no peace for months."

So I went to see the Worn-out-Old-Cow--not because I had any particular

interest in her, for, to tell the truth, she was a very disagreeable and

antique person, the cast-off wife of some chief whom at an unknown date

in the past the astute Umbezi had married from motives of policy--but

because I hoped to hear more of Miss Mameena, in whom I had become

interested.

Entering a large hut, I found the lady so impolitely named "the Old Cow"

in a parlous state. There she lay upon the floor, an unpleasant object

because of the blood that had escaped from her wound, surrounded by a

crowd of other women and of children. At regular intervals she announced

that she was dying, and emitted a fearful yell, whereupon all the

audience yelled also; in short, the place was a perfect pandemonium.

Telling Umbezi to get the hut cleared, I said that I would go to fetch

my medicines. Meanwhile I ordered my servant, Scowl, a humorous-looking

fellow, light yellow in hue, for he had a strong dash of Hottentot in

his composition, to cleanse the wound. When I returned from the wagon

ten minutes later the screams were more terrible than before, although

the chorus now stood without the hut. Nor was this altogether wonderful,

for on entering the place I found Scowl trimming up "the Old Cow's" ear

with a pair of blunt nail-scissors.

"O Macumazana," said Umbezi in a hoarse whisper, "might it not perhaps

be as well to leave her alone? If she bled to death, at any rate she

would be quieter."

"Are you a man or a hyena?" I answered sternly, and set about the job,

Scowl holding the poor woman's head between his knees.

It was over at length; a simple operation in which I exhibited--I

believe that is the medical term--a strong solution of caustic applied

with a feather.

"There, Mother," I said, for now we were alone in the hut, whence Scowl

had fled, badly bitten in the calf, "you won't die now."