Classic Poem

Shlanza! Shlanza!—
Thus was I named, Inkoos.
‘Shlanza,’ they shouted, the men of Matshanga.
Swift rose my mother and fled to the reed-door—
Tore at the reeds, and behold! she was slaughter'd—
Swiftly she died
And they shouted with laughter.

Then rose my father,—
Grey Guru, my father,
And stumbled, wide-eyed, in the time of his waking;
Yea, stumbled and swore.
But the corpse of my mother lay still by the doorway,
And the blood of my mother was staining the lintel.

Then shouted grey Guru, old Guru, my father:
‘You dogs of Matshanga!
You slay not grey Guru—
He dies by his hand!’
He tore at the thatch: with a brand from the fire
He kindled the roofing; and thick were the smoke-wreaths.

But over the shouting—
The shrieks of the slaughter'd—
The cries of the women—
The songs of the slayers—
Makumbo Rashumba, who waited without,
Heard Guru; and thunder'd:—
‘Wait, filth, for thy slaying!’
And broke the wood-door with the blows of his kerrie.

I saw the hide shield and the head of the Tshangaan—
White were the plumes of the ostrich that deck'd it.
Makumbo Rashumba came cursing and choking;
For thick was the smoke, and the whirl of the fire
Lick'd red at the plumes on the head of the Slitear.

But Guru was dead.
In the flare of the fire
I saw the red blood on the throat of my father.
I scream'd in my horror, and hurl'd at the Tshangaan
A beer-pot that lay on the ridge of the clay-shelf.

Makumbo Rashumba loud-laugh'd as he seiz'd me:
‘W'nasawa kuafa, heh? Mwana ka Swina!’
And dragg'd me outside—and the flare of the village
Went red to the sky, and the flame of the village
Glared white on the timber, and white in the darkness
The smoke of the kaias whirl'd out on the night-wind,
And huddled together the women were moaning,
The cattle were lowing with fear of the fires
And fear of the shouting, and groans of the dying,
And hot was the reek of the dead who were assegaied,
(Thickly they lay in the light of the fires!)

And down at the dance-ground the huts of Majaha
Were burning; and out on the dance-ground the Slit-ears
Had dragg'd the big drums and the best of the maidens;
And, beating the war-drums, the youth of the impi
Were starting a dance and a chant of Matshanga;
And seeing Rashumba they shouted with laughter—

For 'Kumbo Rashumba was greatest among them—
(A man of great strength, with the voice of a lion)
‘Kazi feni!’ they shouted, ‘Makumbo Makuru!
Rashumba ya ishla imwana ka Swina!’
But 'Kumbo Rashumba said:—‘Weary of women,
I live for the blood-smell; and now for my hunting
I take me a boy from the kraal of the Swina—
A boy who is frighten'd to die by the kerrie—
A boy who will cook for Makumbo Rashumba.’

And thus was I named
By the men of Matshanga,
Who called me Kusawa—
Kusawa the Frighten'd.
But out of the dust and the blood of their hunting
I came on the soul of my father, grey Guru,
And learnt at the hand of Makumbo Rashumba,
Till I was a captain—
As brave as the bravest—
And ravaged Manika and slew the Maswina,
And looted Makoni—a land full of women—
Till out of the South, in the strength of their rifles,
The White Men advanc'd, and their peace was establish'd.