my father? You do not know. You think that I am an
old, old witch-doctor named Zweete. So men have thought for many years,
but that is not my name. Few have known it, for I have kept it locked in
my breast, lest, thought I live now under the law of the White Man, and
the Great Queen is my chieftainess, an assegai still might find this
heart did any know my name.

Look at this hand, my father--no, not that which is withered with fire;
look on this right hand of mine. You see it, though I who am blind
cannot. But still, within me, I see it as it was once. Ay! I see it red
and strong--red with the blood of two kings. Listen, my father; bend
your ear to me and listen. I am Mopo--ah! I felt you start; you start
as the regiment of the Bees started when Mopo walked before their ranks,
and from the assegai in his hand the blood of Chaka (1) dropped slowly
to the earth. I am Mopo who slew Chaka the king. I killed him with
Dingaan and Umhlangana the princes; but the wound was mine that his life
crept out of, and but for me he would never have been slain. I killed
him with the princes, but Dingaan, I and one other slew alone.

(1) The Zulu Napoleon, one of the greatest geniuses and most wicked
men who ever lived. He was killed in the year 1828, having
slaughtered more than a million human beings.--ED.

What do you say? "Dingaan died by the Tongola."

Yes, yes, he died, but not there; he died on the Ghost Mountain; he lies
in the breast of the old Stone Witch who sits aloft forever waiting for
the world to perish. But I also was on the Ghost Mountain. In those days
my feet still could travel fast, and vengeance would not let me sleep.
I travelled by day, and by night I found him. I and another, we killed
him--ah! ah!

Why do I tell you this? What has it to do with the loves of Umslopogaas
and Nada the Lily? I will tell you. I stabbed Chaka for the sake of my
sister, Baleka, the mother of Umslopogaas, and because he had murdered
my wives and children. I and Umslopogaas slew Dingaan for the sake of
Nada, who was my daughter.

There are great names in the story, my father. Yes, many have heard the
names: when the Impis roared them out as they charged in battle, I have
felt the mountains shake and seen the waters quiver in their sound. But
where are they now? Silence has them, and the white men write them down
in books. I opened the gates of distance for the holders of the names.
They passed through and they are gone be