I took six Kaffirs
with me, and three good horses, which were supposed to be salted--that
is, proof against the sickness. Among the Kaffirs was an old fellow
named Indaba-zimbi, which, being translated, means "tongue of iron."
I suppose he got this name from his strident voice and exhaustless
eloquence. This man was a great character in his way. He had been a
noted witch-doctor among a neighbouring tribe, and came to the station
under the following circumstances, which, as he plays a considerable
part in this history, are perhaps worth recording.
Two years before my father's death I had occasion to search the country
round for some lost oxen. After a long and useless quest it occurred
to me that I had better go to the place where the oxen were bred by a
Kaffir chief, whose name I forget, but whose kraal was about fifty miles
from our station. There I journeyed, and found the oxen safe at home.
The chief entertained me handsomely, and on the following morning I went
to pay my respects to him before leaving, and was somewhat surprised to
find a collection of some hundreds of men and women sitting round him
anxiously watching the sky in which the thunder-clouds were banking up
in a very ominous way.
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