s time it had ceased to be a
historical memory, and had become a religious cult. They worshipped a
great Power who had been their ancestor, and the favourite Zulu word
for him was Umkulunkulu. The belief was perverted into fifty different
forms, but this was the central creed--that Umkulunkulu had been the
father of the tribe, and was alive as a spirit to watch over them.

'They brought more than a creed with them. Somehow or other, some
fetich had descended from Prester John by way of the Mazimba and Angoni
and Makaranga. What it is I do not know, but it was always in the
hands of the tribe which for the moment held the leadership. The great
native wars of the sixteenth century, which you can read about in the
Portuguese historians, were not for territory but for leadership, and
mainly for the possession of this fetich. Anyhow, we know that the
Zulus brought it down with them. They called it Ndhlondhlo, which
means the Great Snake, but I don't suppose that it was any kind of
snake. The snake was their totem, and they would naturally call their
most sacred possession after it.

'Now I will tell you a thing that few know. You have heard of Tchaka.
He was a sort of black Napoleon early in the last century, and he made
the Zulus the paramount power in South Africa, slaughtering about two
million souls to accomplish it. Well, he had the fetich, whatever it
was, and it was believed that he owed his conquests to it. Mosilikatse
tried to steal it, and that was why he had to fly to Matabeleland. But
with Tchaka it disappeared. Dingaan did not have it, nor Panda, and
Cetewayo never got it, though he searched the length and breadth of the
country for it. It had gone out of existence, and with it the chance
of a Kaffir empire.'

Captain Arcoll got up to light his pipe, and I noticed that his face
was grave. He was not telling us this yarn for our amusement.

'So much for Prester John and his charm,' he said. 'Now I have to take
up the history at a different point. In spite of risings here and
there, and occasional rows, the Kaffirs have been quiet for the better
part of half a century. It is no credit to us. They have had plenty
of grievances, and we are no nearer understanding them than our fathers
were. But they are scattered and divided. We have driven great wedges
of white settlement into their territory, and we have taken away their
arms. Still, they are six times as many as we are, and they have long