comrades, and altogether she gave me the impression of being a sensible,
respectable woman, who was very much ashamed of herself for playing such
antics. However, she brandished her divining brush with the rest, and cut in now
and then to ‘keep the fleer’ with the untiring Nozilwane.”
Lady Barker and her friends grew tired of this imaginary “witch-finding,” and to
end the affair it was proposed to test the professed power of the “weird women”
to discover lost property. A silver pipe stem had recently “gone a-missing,” and
they were requested to find what had been lost, and where. They set to work in a
curious and interesting way. In front, squatted on heels and haunches, a
semicircle of about a dozen men, who were supposed to have invited the
assistance of the sisterhood. They had no idea of what was asked for, and were
told to go on with their part until a signal was given that the article had been
named.
“What is it the Inkos has lost?” they cried; “discover, reveal, make plain to us.”
The witch-finders, by their singing and dancing, had wrought themselves up to a
highly-excited and enthusiastic condition, so that they unhesitatingly accepted
the challenge, Nowamso crying, “Sing for me: make a cadence for me.” Then,
after a moment’s pause, she went on rapidly, in her own language.
“Is this real? is it a test? is it but a show? Do the white chiefs want to laugh at
our pretensions? Has the white lady called us only to show other white people
that we can do nothing? Is anything really lost? is it not hidden? No, it is lost. Is
it lost by a black person? No, a white person has lost it. Is it lost by the great
white chief? No, it is lost by an ordinary white man. Let me see what it is that is
lost. Is it money? No. Is it a weighty thing? No, it can be always carried about—
it is not heavy. All people like to carry it, especially the white Inkosi: it is made
of the same metal as money. I could tell you more, but there is no earnestness in
all this,—it is only a spectacle.”
Between each of these ejaculations she made a pause, looking eagerly into the
faces of the men before her, who, for sole answer, gave a loud, simultaneous
snap of finger and thumb, pointing towards the ground as they did so, and
shouting the one word, “Yiz-ora,” (the first syllable strongly accented and much
prolonged;) “discover, reveal!” They can say nothing more to urge her on,
because they themselves are ignorant: but the weird women watch their
countenances eagerly, to detect, if they can, some unconscious sign or token that
their guesses are near the truth. Suspecting a trick, Nowamso lapses into silence;