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Updated: July 14, 2025
O Dust, I hear, I hear; a royal child, a child in whom ran the blood of the Father of the Zulus, he who was my friend? The blood of Senzangakona, the blood of the 'Black One, the blood of Panda." He stopped, while both from the chorus and from the thousands of the circle gathered around went up one roar of "Izwa!" emphasised by a mighty movement of outstretched arms and down-pointing thumbs.
It must be a child, unless indeed it is the death of a spirit. But what do you people know of spirits? A child! A child! Ah! you hear me a child. A male child, I think. Do you not say so, O Dust?" "Izwa!" "A common child? A bastard? The son of nobody?" "Izwa!" "A well-born child? One who would have been great?
Now a great roar of "Izwa!" accompanied by the clapping of hands, rose from all the outer multitude who heard, for there was no information that the Zulu people desired so earnestly as this at the time of which I write.
Look! It grows red, it is full of spots! The child died with a twisted face." "Izwa! Izwa! Izwa!" "This death was not natural. Now, was it witchcraft or was it poison? Both, I think, both. And whose was the child? Not that of a son of the King, I think. Oh, yes, you hear me, People, you hear me; but be silent; I do not need your help. No, not of a son; of a daughter, then."
Speak more plainly, Little Voices, for you know I grow deaf. Oh! now I understand. The matter is even smaller than I thought. Just of one wizard " "Izwa!" " just of a few deaths and some sicknesses." "Izwa!" "Just of one death, one principal death." "Izwa!" "Ah! So we have it one death. Now, was it a man?" "Izwa!" "A woman?" "Izwa!" "Then a child?
Now, those of the inner circle of the spectators, who at these "smellings-out" act as a kind of chorus, looked at the King, and, seeing that he shook his head vigorously, stretched out their right hands, holding the thumb downwards, and said simultaneously in a cold, low voice: "Izwa!" Zikali stamped upon this set of markings. "It is well," he said.
It is an oath that whatever follows on the word, while there is a Zulu left living in the world, I, the Voice of the Spirits, shall be safe from hurt or from reproach, I and those of my House and those over whom I throw my blanket, be they black or be they white. That is my fee, without which I am silent." "Izwa! We hear you.
Well, I have taken my fee, and I will earn it, although I thought that I was brought here to speak of great matters, such as the death of princes and the fortunes of peoples. Is it desired that my Spirit should speak of wizardries in this town of Nodwengu?" "Izwa!" said the chorus in a loud voice. Zikali nodded his great head and seemed to talk with the dust, waiting now and again for an answer.
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