The Angels Weep - Smith Wilbur (чтение книг txt) 📗
"We do not understand such deep wisdom, Babo, please be kind and patient with your children and explain it to us. You say that if we try to hide our cattle, then you will confiscate them from us to pay the heavy fines that Lodzi demands. You say in the same breath, Babo, that if we are obedient children and bring the cattle to you, then you will" shoot them and burn them up." In the packed ranks an elderly white beard who had taken snuff sneezed loudly, and there was immediately an epidemic of sneezing and coughing. Mungo St. John knew they were encouraging the young and una in this sly impudence.
"Babo, gentle Father, you warn us that you will double our work quotas, and we will be as slaves. This is another matter which escapes from us, for is a man who works one day at another's command less a slave than he who works two days? Is not a slave merely a slave and is not a free man truly free? Babo, explain to us the degrees of slavery." There was a faint humming sound now, like the sound of a hive at noon, and though the lips of the Matabele facing Mungo St. John did not move, he saw that their throats trembled slightly. They were beginning to drum, it was the prelude and unchecked it would be followed by the deep ringing'j.eel Jee!"of the chant.
"I know you, Bazo," Mungo St. John shouted. "I hear and mark your words. Be sure that Lodzi also will hear them." "I am honoured, little Father, that my humble words will be carried to the great white father, Lodzi This time there were cunning and wicked grins on the faces of the men around Bazo.
Sergeant, "Mungo St. John shouted. "Bring that man to mei!
The big sergeant leaped forward with the brass badge of his rank glittering on his upper arm, but as he did so the ranks. of silent Matabele rose to their feet and closed up. No man raised a hand, but the sergeant's forward rush was smothered and he struggled in the crowd as though in living black quicksand, and when he reached the place where Bazo had been, the and una was gone.
"Very well," Mungo St. John nodded grimly, when the sergeant reported back to him. "Let him go. It will wait for another day, but now we have work to do. Get your men into position." A dozen armed black police trotted forward and formed a line facing the throng of tribesmen, holding their rifles at high port. At the same time the rest of the contingent climbed up onto the thorny walls of the kraal and at the command they pumped cartridges into the breeches of the repeating Winchester rifles.
"Let it begin," Mungo nodded, and the first volley of rifle fire thundered out.
The black constables were firing down into, the milling mass of cattle in the kraal, and at each shot a beast would fling its horned head high and collapse, to be hidden at once by the others. The smell of fresh blood maddened the herd and it surged wildly against the Thorn barrier, the din of the blood-bellow was deafening, and from the ranks of watching Matabele went up a mourning howl of sympathy.
These animals were their wealth and their very reason for existence. As mujiba they had attended the birthings, in the veld, and helped to beat off the hyena and the other predators. They knew each animal by name and loved them with that special type of love that will make the pastoral man lay down his own life to protect his herds.
In the front rank was a warrior so old that his legs were thin as those of the marabou stork and whose skin was the colour of a tobacco pouch and puckered in a network of fine wrinkles. It seemed there was no moisture left in his dried out ancient frame, and yet fat heavy tears rolled down his withered cheeks as he watched the cattle shot down.
The crash of rifle fire went on until sunset, and when it at last was silent, the kraal was filled with carcasses. They lay upon each other in deep windrows like the wheat after the scythes have passed. Not a single Matabele had left the scene, they watched in silence now, their mourning long ago silenced.
"The carcasses must be burned," Mungo St. John strode down the front rank of warriors. "I want the carcasses covered with wood. No man is spared this labour, neither the sick nor the old. Every man will wield an axe, and when they are covered, I will put the fire to it myself." "What is the mood of the people?" Bazo asked softly, and Babiaan, the senior of all the old king's councillors, answered him.
It was not lost on the others in the packed beehive thatched hut that Babiaan's tone was respectful.
"They are sick with grief," said Babiaan. "Not since the death of the old king has there been such despair in their hearts as now that the cattle are being killed." "It is almost as though the white men wish to plunge the assegai in their own breast." Bazo nodded. "Each cruel deed strengthens us, and confirms the prophecy of the Umlimo.
Can there be one amongst you who still has doubts?" "There are no doubts. We are ready now," replied Gandang, his father, and yet he also looked to Bazo for confirmation, and waited for his reply.
"We are not ready." Bazo shook his head. "We will not be ready until the third prophecy of the Umlimo has come to pass." "When the hornless cattle are eaten up by the cross"," Sornabula. whispered.
"We saw the cattle destroyed today, those that the pestilence has spared." "That is not the prophecy," Bazo told them. "When it comes, there will be no doubt in our minds. Until that time we must continue with the preparations. What is the number of the spears, and where are they held?" One by one the other indunas stood and each made his report. They listed the numbers of warriors that were trained and ready, where each group was situated and how soon they could be armed and in the field.
When the last one had finished, Bazo went through the form of consulting the senior indunas, and then gave the field commanders their objectives.
"Suku, and una of the Imbezu impi. Your men will sweep the road from the Malundi drift southwards to Gwanda mine. Kill anybody you find upon the road, cut the copper wires at each pole. The amadoda working at the mine will be ready to join you when you reach there.
There are twenty-eight whites at Gwanda, including the women and the family at the trading-post. Afterwards, count the bodies to make certain that none has escaped." Suku repeated the orders, war perfectly displaying the phenomenal recall of the illiterate who cannot rely on written notes, and Bazo nodded and turned to the next commander to give him his instructions and to hear them recited back to him.
