Nada the Lily | Page 6

spirit of an ancestor, to
that of a god. In the case of an able and highly intelligent person like
the Mopo of this story, the ideal would probably not be a low one;
therefore he is made to speak of Umkulunkulu as the Great Spirit, or
God.
It only remains to the writer to express his regret that this story is not
more varied in its hue. It would have been desirable to introduce some
gayer and more happy incidents. But it has not been possible. It is
believed that the picture given of the times is a faithful one, though it
may be open to correction in some of its details. At the least, the aged

man who tells the tale of his wrongs and vengeance could not be
expected to treat his subject in an optimistic or even in a cheerful vein.
[1] I grieve to state that I must now say the late Mr. F. B. Fynney.

NADA THE LILY

INTRODUCTION
Some years since--it was during the winter before the Zulu War--a
White Man was travelling through Natal. His name does not matter, for
he plays no part in this story. With him were two wagons laden with
goods, which he was transporting to Pretoria. The weather was cold and
there was little or no grass for the oxen, which made the journey
difficult; but he had been tempted to it by the high rates of transport
that prevailed at that season of the year, which would remunerate him
for any probable loss he might suffer in cattle. So he pushed along on
his journey, and all went well until he had passed the little town of
Stanger, once the site of Duguza, the kraal of Chaka, the first Zulu king
and the uncle of Cetywayo. The night after he left Stanger the air
turned bitterly cold, heavy grey clouds filled the sky, and hid the light
of the stars.
"Now if I were not in Natal, I should say that there was a heavy fall of
snow coming," said the White Man to himself. "I have often seen the
sky look like that in Scotland before snow." Then he reflected that there
had been no deep snow in Natal for years, and, having drunk a "tot" of
squareface and smoked his pipe, he went to bed beneath the after-tent
of his larger wagon.
During the night he was awakened by a sense of bitter cold and the low
moaning of the oxen that were tied to the trek-tow, every ox in its place.
He thrust his head through the curtain of the tent and looked out. The
earth was white with snow, and the air was full of it, swept along by a
cutting wind.

Now he sprang up, huddling on his clothes and as he did so calling to
the Kaffirs who slept beneath the wagons. Presently they awoke from
the stupor which already was beginning to overcome them, and crept
out, shivering with cold and wrapped from head to foot in blankets.
"Quick! you boys," he said to them in Zulu; "quick! Would you see the
cattle die of the snow and wind? Loose the oxen from the trek-tows and
drive them in between the wagons; they will give them some shelter."
And lighting a lantern he sprang out into the snow.
At last it was done--no easy task, for the numbed hands of the Kaffirs
could scarcely loosen the frozen reims. The wagons were outspanned
side by side with a space between them, and into this space the mob of
thirty-six oxen was driven and there secured by reims tied crosswise
from the front and hind wheels of the wagons. Then the White Man
crept back to his bed, and the shivering natives, fortified with gin, or
squareface, as it is called locally, took refuge on the second wagon,
drawing a tent-sail over them.
For awhile there was silence, save for the moaning of the huddled and
restless cattle.
"If the snow goes on I shall lose my oxen," he said to himself; "they
can never bear this cold."
Hardly had the words passed his lips when the wagon shook; there was
a sound of breaking reims and trampling hoofs. Once more he looked
out. The oxen had "skrecked" in a mob. There they were, running away
into the night and the snow, seeking to find shelter from the cold. In a
minute they had vanished utterly. There was nothing to be done, except
wait for the morning.
At last it came, revealing a landscape blind with snow. Such search as
could be made told them nothing. The oxen had gone, and their spoor
was obliterated by the fresh-fallen flakes. The White Man called a
council of his Kaffir servants. "What was