u gone, and do your worst, or you shall be thrown from
the walls of the fortress."
"Good, but know that very soon we shall return and make an end of
you, who are tired of these long and troublesome journeys to gather so
little. Go, tend your corn, dwellers in Bambatse, for this I swear in
the name of Lobengula, never shall you see it ripen more."
Now the crowd of listening Makalanga trembled at his words, but in the
old Molimo they seemed only to rouse a storm of prophetic fury. For a
moment he stood staring up at the blue sky, his arms outstretched as
though in prayer. Then he spoke in a new voice--a clear, quiet voice,
that did not seem to be his own.
"Who am I?" he said. "I am the Molimo of the Bambatse Makalanga; I am
the ladder between them and Heaven; I sit on the topmost bough of
the tree under which they shelter, and there in the crest of the
tree Munwali speaks with me. What to you are winds, to me are voices
whispering in my spirit's ears. Once my forefathers were great kings,
they were Mambos of all the land, and that is still my name and dignity.
We lived in peace; we laboured, we did wrong to no man. Then you Zulu
savages came upon us from the south-east and your path was red with
blood. Year after year you robbed and you destroyed; you raided our
cattle, you murdered our men, you took our maidens and our children to
be your women and your slaves, until at length, of all this pit filled
with the corn of life, there is left but a little handful. And this you
say you will eat up also, lest it should fall into good ground and grow
again. I tell you that I think it will not be so; but whether or no that
happens, I have words for the ear of your king--a message for a message.
Say to him that thus speaks the wise old Molimo of Bambatse.
"I see him hunted like a wounded hyena through the rivers, in the deep
bush, and over the mountain. I see him die in pain and misery; but his
grave I see not, for no man shall know it. I see the white man take his
land and all his wealth; yea, to them and to no son of his shall his
people give the Bayete, the royal salute. Of his greatness and his
power, this alone shall remain to him--a name accursed from generation
to generation. And last of all I see peace upon the land and upon my
children's children." He paused, then added: "For you, cruel dog that
you are, this message also from the Munwali, by the lips of his Molimo.
I lift no hand against you, but you shall not live
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